The Legend of Zelda and Philosophy_ I Link Therefore I Am - Luke Cuddy [27]
Ocarina of Time epitomizes this growth in a way the other games of the series allude to, but never overtly. Ocarina opens with a very pronounced “existence preceding essence” moment, with an elaborate drama about Link having finally received a fairy, specifically Navi. Getting a fairy is an early sign of growing up, sort of like Link’s first signs of a mustache. Whether Link gets teased or congratulated—and although Navi may be the most insipid Zelda character next to Tinkle—the attainment of his fairy is something noticed by all the townspeople as a necessary stage in Link’s maturity.
The Zelda series generally uses the very opening of the game to highlight Link’s unequipped initial state. In the original (and my favorite) Legend of Zelda, Link doesn’t even start with a sword! Of course, all you have to do as Link is to walk into the first door you see, but that action sets the tone that not only will you have to do standard videogame things like fight bad guys, but you’ll also need to obtain the necessary equipment to do so (and there is a lot of it!).
The second Zelda game also begins with grabbing a sword that rests right in front of you. Ocarina goes into a little more detail with the swordlessness, requiring Link to crawl around and find it. Whatever phallic implications it might have that it is a sword needed for little Link to save the imperiled princess can be left for a Freudian to analyze, but the point remains that the drama of acquiring necessary tools is part of the fun of the Zelda games. Moreover, this existential acquisition process is chronologically our first, and perhaps even our primary focus throughout.
Link as Landscaper
Much of the time in a Zelda game is spent doing what could easily be called drudge work. In trying to explain what the many, many hours of playing Zelda are actually comprised of, I find myself summarizing that for all practical purposes Link is a landscaper who just happens to be met with this task of saving a princess. He may have this rather elevated and daunting end-task, but his day to day life is mostly about cutting down trees, grass, and bushes. That’s how he makes money, or rupees, or glittering little gems that sometimes make a triumphant twinkling noise, whatever you want to call it.
Link would never succeed in his goal of saving the beautiful princess Zelda, who I guess is his girlfriend-figure, without the money he makes from his day job as glorified gardener, turning over stones, bombing low walls, even killing spiders for cash. Without this hard-earned loot he couldn’t buy the bombs, candles, shields and whatnot integral to the labyrinthine efforts he must endure to see his beloved lady. It’s like the too true maxim of the old jazz song, “Can’t get no romance without finance.”
The princess Zelda is lovely and wonderful, but is she really worth all of this? Is it so important for Link to rescue her that he has to slave away at the hard manual labor of collecting 250 rupees to buy the blue ring, ninety rupees for the big shield, eighty for the arrows … it never ends. But, as we all know, this game is about far more than just getting the girl; it’s also about saving the world from a dark, plant-killing, rock-hoarding, water-freezing, princess-abducting evil. The game player needs to find the existential meaning; remember that all this drudge work and day-to-day grind of earning money to buy equipment is all an integral part of fighting the good fight against Ganon, against evil, emptiness, and meaninglessness.
The psychological and physical battle against inconceivable evil is part of what caused one man, Viktor Frankl, to incorporate an existential