What Makes Evangelion “Religious”?

In 1995, a Japanese animation with the provocative title Neon Genesis Evangelion premiered on television. In the thirty years since, “Eva” has evolved through various iterations, maintaining a vice-like grip on public imagination. Hideaki Anno (b. 1960) seemingly found the original 26-episode TV run insufficient for his vision, leading him to produce two feature films and a subsequent four-part “Rebuild” series. The fandom that burned with passion in the 90s has now aged into their 40s and 50s, yet the message of Eva remains potent, fulfilling their expectations in a way few other media properties can.

The title itself is audacious. A Latin title for a modern anime? Neon Genesis Evangelion translates roughly to “Gospel of a New Genesis.” At first glance, it suggests purely religious content. However, the work presents itself as a post-apocalyptic mecha-action series featuring giant robots. One might wonder if the title was merely “clickbait” to lure unsuspecting viewers. Yet, considering the profound message permeating the series, Anno’s choice of title feels entirely earned rather than wasteful.

This essay explores the religious symbols Eva borrows. Given the title’s implications, we must start there. The inclusion of “Genesis” strongly suggests an engagement with Christian scripture. Specifically, the story of Adam and Eve in the early chapters of Genesis serves as the catalyst for Eva’s plot. The biblical narrative of Adam and Eve is a symbolic distillation of ancient Hebrew reflection on why humans suffer. The biblical author, speaking through the tempter (the serpent), suggests that the prohibition against eating from the Tree of Knowledge was rooted in a divine concern that humans would distinguish between good and evil (Genesis 3:1–5).

A scholar of religion or theology might interpret this narrative as follows: the ancient Hebrews identified the root of human suffering in the formation of self-consciousness. By separating “self” from “other,” establishing a firm identity, and dividing the world into “good” and “evil” based on specific criteria, humans created a razor-sharp self-awareness that became the source of sorrow. This biblical assertion — that human existential imperfection stems from the birth of self-consciousness — is the bedrock of Anno’s storytelling.

Anno’s Eva consistently laments this human imperfection. Whether packaged as Shinji, Rei, or Asuka, the series relentlessly argues that the human condition is fundamentally incomplete. Anno’s logic is similar to, yet distinct from, the biblical version. While the Bible cites human pride — the desire to be “like God” — as the motive for breaking the sacred covenant, Anno’s framework is more material and physical.

In the Garden, there were two significant trees: the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life. Scripture notes that after humans took the fruit of Knowledge, they were expelled to prevent them from seizing the fruit of Life and gaining immortality. These two trees become central motifs in Eva. The premise is that humanity is fragile and unstable because we possess only one. Had we secured the fruit of the Tree of Life, we might have transcended our current limitations. This is exemplified by Gendo Ikari. Having lost his wife, Yui, Gendo seeks to combine Knowledge and Life to orchestrate her resurrection. Gendo is the persona of human despair: possessing vast knowledge and intellect, yet lacking eternal life.

Thus, the motifs of Genesis provide the flesh for Eva’s narrative. The “monsters” that descend upon humanity are not merely robots; they are the “Apostles” (Angels) — humanity’s brothers who chose the Tree of Life. In the original Greek and Hebrew contexts, an “Angel” (Malakh) is simply a messenger of the divine will. In the Genesis account of Sodom and Gomorrah, the angels who visit Abraham are indistinguishable from ordinary men. From a biblical perspective, anyone who conveys God’s intent is an “Angel” or an “Apostle.”

However, through the influence of the six-winged Seraphim in the Book of Isaiah and subsequent folk traditions, angels became inextricably linked with wings. Some scholars argue that even the description of Seraphim was a symbolic representation of an “aura” or “flash.” This shift is an example of what Max Müller called the “disease of language.” Müller argued that ancients used concrete terms to describe abstract concepts. For instance, the Greek pneuma and Hebrew ruach both mean “wind” or “breath,” but were eventually abstracted to mean “spirit” or “soul.”

Over time, particularly under the influence of Platonic dualism, the physical connotations were stripped away, leaving only the abstract, “pure” spirit. When the original, concrete meaning is lost and replaced by an over-extended abstract interpretation, the concept becomes “diseased.” The transformation of a “messenger” into a supernatural winged being is a constructive result of this linguistic ailment. In this sense, Anno’s “Apostles” are also products of this linguistic evolution.

In Eva, the Apostles possess overwhelming power and vitality from the Tree of Life but lack human wisdom. Humans are their mirror image. Therefore, the two must merge to create a new world — an event Anno elegantly packages as “Recreation through the Third Impact.”

Eva is littered with other religious markers: names of Apostles drawn from scripture, the “Tree of Sephirot” from Kabbalah representing the path to divine wisdom, and the “Spear of Longinus,” which pierced the side of Christ. Yet, these symbols alone do not make Eva religious. They are the “bait” used to maintain curiosity. The true religiosity of Eva lies in its overarching theme: the longing for salvation.

Humanity requires salvation because it is a “lacking” existence. We are incomplete, hollowed out, and driven by a destiny to fill those voids to experience “perfection.” The Eva series is a long, repetitive journey to identify what humanity lacks and what must be done to remedy it. In this regard, Eva is deeply Lacanian.

Jacques Lacan argued that the primary human experience is the trauma of separation — the cutting of the umbilical cord. Entry into the “Symbolic Order” (the world of law and language) requires separation from the mother. While a child exists in the “Imaginary” state of oneness with the mother, moving into the Symbolic Order — represented by the Father — requires breaking that bond to become an independent subject. This transition is predicated on a shocking sense of loss.

Eva’s questions to the audience are profoundly religious: “Are you happy now? Are you satisfied? Is your state truly complete?” “If you are lacking and broken, why is that?” “What is required to transcend this flawed state?” Anno labeled this attempt at a solution the “Human Instrumentality Project.”

The Human Instrumentality Project: Three Paths to Salvation

• SEELE: Seeking to atone for Original Sin through the Third Impact. Their goal is the extinction of individuality into a total unity (Result: ✘)
• Gendo Ikari: Driven by the absence of Yui. He attempts to merge Adam and Lilith to force a personal reunion (Result: ✘)
• Shinji Ikari: Struggling with the absence of parents and a lack of self-worth. By facing the abandonment of ego, he eventually finds a path to reunion with others, represented by Asuka (Result: ✔)

Anno’s exploration of salvation through Eva resembles the repetitive “writing and erasing” of an adolescent. The result is the vast body of work produced over thirty years. The answer to the “Human Instrumentality Project” was never easy to find. In that sense, Eva is less a collection of religious symbols and more a cultural manifestation of Anno’s struggle for “private salvation.” The very structure of the storytelling is “religious” and “seekership-oriented.” In the latter half of The End of Evangelion (1997), Anno even resorted to the “violence” of inserting live-action footage of the audience, reflecting a desperate desire to achieve a salvific connection with reality.

Because of this, the “Eva Syndrome” does not easily fade. The fans who were once teenagers enthralled by a new kind of mecha anime are now adults grappling with the heavy anxieties of middle age. They have reached an age where “salvation” is no longer an abstract concept but a concrete, existential necessity. The Eva they desire now is different from what they sought then. Thus, the Eva syndrome becomes a myth, standing by our side.

“Like a cruel angel, young boy, become a myth!”