"Evangelion" raises important themes: loneliness, identity, the fear of rejection. Shinji is a teenager whose struggles are universal and understandable even without knowledge of philosophy. His conflict with the world and himself is portrayed through accessible metaphors. This makes the anime relatable to a wide audience, but it doesn't turn it into a philosophical treatise.
Yet, fans often add layers of interpretation that the author may not have intended. Anno created an atmosphere of anxiety, a visually rich and emotionally charged work, not a manifesto of existentialism. Attempts to find hidden meanings in "Evangelion" that "only the chosen ones will understand" often turn the anime into an object of intellectual snobbery. This doesn't make the work better—it makes it a hostage to someone else's arrogance.
Why do viewers seek depth?
The demand for "depth" in every work is a natural reaction to the commercialization of art. The anime industry is overflowing with formulaic plots: isekai, harems, endless sequels. When something original like "Evangelion" or your alternative comes along, viewers want to believe it's not just entertainment. This way, they justify their passion and distinguish themselves from those who watch mainstream content.
On the other hand, it's cognitive dissonance. If a viewer has spent years analyzing complex works, it's hard for them to accept that "Evangelion" might be simple. They unconsciously complicate the text to justify the effort and time spent. This isn't a search for meaning—it's an attempt to save face.
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The uniqueness of "Evangelion" lies in its atmosphere, not its philosophy
The main strength of "Evangelion" isn't in complex ideas, but in its atmosphere, characters, and visual aesthetics. Philosophical depth doesn't equate to the quality of a work. Philosophy in art is a tool, not an end in itself. If a work evokes emotions or makes you think (even on a mundane level), it has already fulfilled its purpose.
"Evangelion" became iconic not because it's complex, but because it resonates with its audience. Its themes—loneliness, fear, self-discovery—are relevant to any generation. The atmosphere of anxiety and impending catastrophe that Anno creates makes the anime unique, even if its philosophical ideas lie on the surface.
A work becomes "complex" because the audience has agreed to consider it as such. This phenomenon is well-studied. For example, Marcel Duchamp, with his readymades, showed that an ordinary object becomes art when placed in a museum context. Similarly, anime with abstract imagery is perceived as intellectual, even if its creators didn't embed any philosophy in it.
"Evangelion" has fallen victim to this effect. Its abstract imagery and ambiguous ending have created fertile ground for endless interpretations. However, this doesn't make the anime complex—it makes it open to interpretation. And here lies the paradox: the more viewers search for depth in it, the further they stray from the simplicity that makes "Evangelion" iconic.
Demanding "depth" from every work is snobbery. Art should exist on different levels—from pure entertainment to philosophical manifestos. The problem arises when the audience denies works the right to be simple or, conversely, imposes an unnatural depth on them.
"Evangelion" isn't a complex work, but it is an important one. It speaks about things that concern each of us, and it does so through a unique atmosphere, memorable characters, and visual power. And that's already enough to consider it great.
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