Rei Ayanami and the Imago Dei

People are more than numbers.

This was part of my pedagogical philosophy when I was a high school history teacher (now many moons ago). Despite dealing with events long past and the frequent discussions of the numbers of people involved in those events, I hoped to help my students understand that they were studying the lives of real people. It wasn’t just 10,000 that died in a battle; it was 10,000 individuals, who were born and lived and died—and whose deaths impacted their families and friends, their communities and societies.

This was a hard idea for even me, as the teacher, to internalize, so you can imagine how challenging it was to effectively convey. I don’t know if I did.

It’s an even harder lesson these days—some 20 years later—because not only are we regularly exposed to more “numbers” through online posting and reporting, but the amount of interactions we have with a username and icon—another “number”—increasingly dwarves those we have face-to-face.

And indeed we treat those numbers as numbers. At least I tend do. I rarely “see” a person in front of me when I’m typing a digital response; their humanity disappears into a digitized icon that doesn’t feel as real as someone I’m talking to in person.

But of course, they are real.

Right from the beginning, the Bible reminds us of who those numbers really are:

So God created man in his own image,
in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.

~ Genesis 1:27

And when I think about the diminishment of human value in online interactions, one anime comes immediately to mind: Neon Genesis Evangelion (spoilers ahead). Shinji is treated like an object by his own father. Misato sees Shinji’s value and is often tender to him, but trends toward utilitarianism in the face of an apocalyptic crisis. Ritsuko and her mother are disposable to Gendo.

And Rei Ayanami? Well, she’s a clone made in the image of a dead woman.

Rei’s narrative in both the original series and the Rebuild movies centers on her search for identity. That’s a complicated topic for a typical 14-year-old to tackle, but imagine discovering that you’re also the clone of your father figure’s deceased wife. Scratch that—you’re one of multiple Yui Ikari clones.

Yikes.

Being a clone, being replaceable, and having her soul “moved” from one clone to the next makes one question whether she has a soul at all—at least in terms of our Christian definition of one. Kaworu claims that he and Rei are “vessels,” which casts further doubt on the idea that they have souls.

We could go on and on—this is the stuff of dissertations!—but what’s striking to me in terms of our discussion of numbers and how we treat people is that we as the audience treat Rei like she has value. As if she has a soul.

We’re hoping that she finds herself. That each “vessel” will survive and come to understand their worth above being a creation by Gendo Ikari for his own sick ends.

Should Rei Ayanami and the other characters in Evangelion walk off the screen and into our lives, we would immediately see and treat Rei as a person, as a human imbued with the same qualities we all have, even though she was made in the image of man and not of God. And yet, those real people in our midst—the ones on the other side of the screen? They often don’t get the same treatment from us. We clap back, ghost, vaguepost, call out, dismiss, and otherwise treat them more like animals or insects than humans.

I’m guilty of it, too. I sometimes feel a “righteous indignation” within me and write something fiery to put someone speaking evil (or really bad theology) in their place. It’s not until later that I realize that indignation probably wasn’t righteous at all, but more personal, and that my response wasn’t a good example of me loving my neighbor.

Would I have blasted this individual in person? Nope. Much of the reason I wouldn’t is because of the risk to myself, certainly, but it’s also hard to hate on the person in front of you when you see their physical body. When you see someone speaking and know that they’re there thinking and processing. When you’re faced with the Imago Dei.

Imago Dei is the concept based on the verse above (and the one preceding it) that humans have an innate dignity because they are made in the image of the Creator. They are imbued with a soul and some essence of God.

But when we tear people down online, we are saying, in effect, that they are not made in the image of God, because how could you say or think such things about one whom the Father has created with his characteristics? I think the Imago Dei is foundational for understanding Jesus’ teachings in the Sermon on the Mount about how we ought to love one another and avoid hatred—actions which ultimately dehumanize people. Which takes away their dignity and reduces them to something less than image bearer of God.

The digital separation in online communication furthers this dehumanization. When we can’t see the person, when we’re not interacting with them in real time, when we don’t have to experience instant feedback when speaking angrily to them, they become somewhat unreal. And we’re more likely to spew out angry, awful words to someone who isn’t “real.”

But of course, they are real. They’re not just a number. They’re not a clone—they are invaluable, unique, and loved by God, who made them in His own image.

And as Jesus Himself tells us, we are to treat people with all respect and dignity, to love them as we love ourselves.

Or in classic anime speak: If you wouldn’t treat Rei Ayanami—a clone—that way, why would you treat those with souls and bearing the very image of God like that?

This piece is adapted from a devotional originally posted on Above Anime, our weekly anime devotional + newsletter. Visit this link to subscribe and receive Above Anime in your inbox every Friday.

Rebuild of Shinji, Asuka, and Rei: You (Can) Hope

Featured illustration by Homutan (reprinted w/permission)

Twwk
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