The End of Evangelion (1997): Why Gendo Ikari is Anime’s Very First “Sekai-kei” Protagonist

In the vast landscape of Japanese anime discourse, there exists a fascinating, highly specific subgenre known as “Sekai-kei” (World-type). It can be a tricky concept to pin down academically, but once you understand it, it makes perfect, intuitive sense. To figure out who the very first “Sekai-kei protagonist” in anime history actually was, we first need to define the term.

While Wikipedia and various anime forums offer sprawling explanations, for the purpose of this analysis, we will define Sekai-kei as:

“A narrative where the protagonist’s intimate, personal relationship problems are directly and metaphysically linked to apocalyptic world events, completely bypassing any middle ground like society, governments, or the military.“

The term itself was coined in the early 2000s, heavily inspired by the cultural crater left behind by Hideaki Anno’s masterpiece, Neon Genesis Evangelion. Because the term was invented “post-Evangelion,” it is technically a chronological paradox to claim an Evangelion character is the first Sekai-kei protagonist.

However, if we look purely at the narrative structure, I firmly believe the very first Sekai-kei protagonist in history exists right there in NERV headquarters. You might immediately assume it is the angsty teenage pilot, Shinji Ikari. But you would be wrong. The first true “Sekai-kei” protagonist in anime history is the 48-year-old deadbeat dad, Gendo Ikari.

*This is a translated version. The original (Japanese) is available here.

The End of Evangelion (1997) Analysis: The Story vs. The World

Neon Genesis Evangelion, the legendary TV series directed by Hideaki Anno, aired from 1995 to 1996. It was brilliantly sprinkled with deep, religious mysteries—SEELE, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Angels, and the enigmatic “Human Instrumentality Project.” Famously, these grand sci-fi mysteries were completely abandoned during the avant-garde TV finale, and were ultimately carried over to the apocalyptic 1997 theatrical feature, The End of Evangelion.

I have previously written a deep dive into why audiences felt so profoundly betrayed and dissatisfied with the TV ending:

Read more: Evangelion vs. Gundam: Decoding the Final Episode

The core thesis of that article is this: “In the Evangelion TV series, there is a massive, deliberate gap between the protagonist of the story and the protagonist of the world.”

The protagonist of the emotional story is undeniably Shinji Ikari. Because there was no realistic, grounded way for a depressed 14-year-old boy to solve the apocalyptic sci-fi mysteries surrounding him, Anno had no choice but to drop the lore entirely and end the TV show with an abstract psychological therapy session, culminating in everyone clapping and saying, “Congratulations!”

So, if Shinji is the protagonist of the heart, who is the “protagonist of the world”? That title belongs solely to Gendo Ikari.

In the grand, geopolitical chessboard of Evangelion, Shinji is, tragically, just an overpowered pawn. No matter how much he screams, bleeds, or struggles, he does not alter the trajectory of the world. The world undergoes rapid, terrifying shifts in high-tech boardrooms far beyond his comprehension.

The only character who imposes his absolute will upon the world is Gendo. While the secret society SEELE technically holds the highest authority, structurally speaking, it is Gendo—the man actively deceiving and manipulating the Illuminati to achieve his own rogue agenda—who acts as the true narrative “protagonist.”

This begs the ultimate question: What exactly was Gendo willing to deceive the world to achieve?

The End of Evangelion (1997) Lore: Gendo Ikari’s True Motivation

Throughout the 26-episode TV run, Gendo communicates almost entirely in cryptic, Machiavellian riddles, constantly confusing both Shinji and the audience. But when you strip away the sci-fi jargon, his ultimate, driving motivation was staggeringly simple…

“He just wanted to see his beloved wife, Yui Ikari, who had vanished inside the Eva, one more time.“

“Are you serious, Gendo? That’s it?!” many viewers likely screamed at their screens. There is actually a highly obscure, frustratingly subtle hint validating this early in the TV series. In Episode 15, “Lies and Silence,” when Shinji and Gendo awkwardly visit Yui’s grave (or rather, her empty memorial marker), Gendo coldly states:

“People can live on by forgetting their memories. But there are some things you must never forget. Yui taught me about those irreplaceable things. I come here to reaffirm that.”

If you translate that from stoic, emotionally repressed “Gendo-speak” into plain English, he is basically saying: “Daddy still loves Mommy! I brought you here, even though we never talk, because I desperately wanted you to know that! Do you get it, Shinji?! Daddy just wants to see Mommy again!”

But of course, there is absolutely no way a traumatized 14-year-old boy could decode that level of emotional suppression.

If Shinji had possessed the telepathic ability to figure out his father’s true, pathetic vulnerability from that brief conversation, he wouldn’t have suffered such catastrophic psychological damage. Gendo silently, single-mindedly bulldozed toward his goal, foolishly hoping his son would just look at his back and silently understand.

The End of Evangelion (1997) Climax: Shinji Usurps the Throne

Let’s synthesize the facts: Gendo Ikari’s core internal crisis was his inability to cope with the loss of “Yui Ikari.” To resolve this intimate, personal grief, he hijacked the Human Instrumentality Project, intending to forcibly melt down the souls of all humanity into a single puddle of Tang, fundamentally altering the state of the universe just so he could hold his wife again.

Is that not the absolute, dictionary definition of a Sekai-kei narrative?

Furthermore, he was mere inches away from actually succeeding. Gendo Ikari is canonically 48 years old. He will likely go down in anime history as the oldest Sekai-kei protagonist ever written. Honestly, Gendo, melting down the planet because of your personal heartbreak is a trope meant for melodramatic high school students. At your age, you really should consider the apocalyptic inconvenience you are causing everyone else.

While his son Shinji was agonizing over standard teenage relationship drama as the “story’s protagonist,” Gendo was ruthlessly advancing his master plan. However, at the absolute final second in the geofront, his plan is spectacularly derailed. And the person who stops him is none other than his discarded son.

Not only does Shinji stop Instrumentality, but Shinji violently snatches the steering wheel of the apocalypse, stealing the role of the “world’s protagonist” directly from his father.

Because the striking, nightmarish visuals of The End of Evangelion are so overwhelming, it is incredibly easy for the audience to lose track of the actual narrative structure. But stripped to its mythological bones, EoE is simply “the story of a son slaying his father.” And by the time Shinji rejects Instrumentality and floats back up to the surface of the LCL sea, it becomes “the story of a boy finally letting go of his mother.”

In other words, the thematic arc of the movie is: “Thank you, Father; goodbye, Mother.” However, because Anno directed it as a blood-soaked nightmare rather than a polite “Congratulations” circle, the core structural triumph gets completely buried in the trauma. (Which honestly just reinforces how structurally pure and wonderful the original TV ending actually was).

When viewed through this specific structural lens, The End of Evangelion is actually a rather triumphant, classic story about “overcoming one’s father.” So why does watching the film feel so incredibly awful?

Conclusion: Anno’s Harsh Reality Check

If you extract only the narrative bones of The End of Evangelion, it is a brilliant mythological epic. However, the reason the movie leaves you feeling completely hollow and violated is because Director Hideaki Anno spends the runtime aggressively scolding you. The meta-textual message of the film is essentially Anno screaming at his obsessive fanbase: “You guys! Stop using my anime as an escapist crutch and go back to your real lives! It’s disgusting!”

As a fan, my immediate reaction is to shout back, “Well, it’s your own fault for creating a universe this compelling!” But realistically, Anno likely felt an immense, crushing responsibility for the toxic, escapist cult that had formed around his creation. His frustration mirrors the legendary anger of Hayao Miyazaki, who famously grumbled, “Parents who use Totoro as a digital babysitter to pacify their children are the absolute worst!”

It is true that we are actively mocked and scolded by the very director who made The End of Evangelion. But I don’t believe a masterpiece of that caliber can be birthed purely from hatred toward an audience. There was likely a profound amount of self-directed anger and vulnerability mixed into that cinematic cocktail, which is why it resonated so deeply.

Still, maybe we should take Director Anno’s harsh scolding to heart. Let’s live our daily, messy, real-world lives properly, and only dive into the escapism of anime when we genuinely need a break. I think even a grumpy Hideaki Anno would forgive us for that.