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Game Over

There seem to be few more gaping questions of human existence than why are we here, and more importantly, where do we go next? Over several millennia we have yet to come to a religious, scientific, or philosophical answer to this question that suits everyone. Or at least one that seems sensical to everyone. The philosophy of death, as it stands, is still broken into two camps; the dualists and the materialists.

Both philosophical camps have recently acquired a new technological weapon to explore ideas: videogames. If there’s one thing the Zelda franchise, and to a greater extent all videogames, do demonstrate, it’s the strength of this tool for exploring existential questions. Zelda is a successful means of exploring the notion of nothingness after death, as well as being a potential means for gaining structure and formula in a chaotic universe. But the saga also can be used to tackle older philosophical notions in regard to the philosophy of death like what it means to have an immortal soul, contrasted with the contemporary criticisms of this theological perspective.

The game’s creators tackle such notions subconsciously, or at least as a secondary goal. Creator Shigeru Miyamoto has a very strong personal philosophy, but this cannot be his primary driving force when shaping The Legend of Zelda. As an experienced game designer, he knows that there are more important elements that need to be prioritised—intuitive game design and enjoyable play experiences, for example. But whether Miyamoto injected his personal philosophy into The Legend of Zelda, or had no interest in doing so at all, the franchise is a useful means of exploring the seemingly unexplorable; what happens after experience ceases.

The Zelda saga stirs up the most passionate emotions in gamers, and after such a strong run, it rightly should. Zelda’s artistry, music, and consistently engrossing game play make it an essential group of titles for any videogame collection. But the series also makes a fantastic vessel for philosophical inquiry. Zelda’s cultural and philosophical impact will likely be remembered long after society’s memory of game cartridges has gone a little hazy.

Level 3

Don’t Get Manhandled by Manhandla—or … Mind-handled?

6

Slave Morality and Master Swords: Ludus and Paidia in Zelda

KRISTINA DRZAIC and PETER RAUCH

Kristina is playing Ocarina of Time. Her avatar Link is running through Hyrule field. Suddenly, Link jolts and takes flight through the air. This isn’t supposed to happen. She can’t land. Peter enters: “Are you winning? Whoa! Awesome! How did you do that?” “I’m stuck in the air” exclaims Kristina. The screen goes dark. The game crashes. “Oh no! You’re toast!” exclaims Peter, “Let’s do it again!”

What happened? Peter and Kristina encountered one of Ocarina of Time’s glitch secrets. By moving in the exact right way, they initiated a bug that causes Link to fly momentarily, then crashes the game. Following this incident, the two of them practiced flying to see how far they could “break” the game. This did not help them win—crashing the game thwarts winning, apparently—but they were having fun, being naughty. Making Link fly was not about playing to win and saving the land.

Over the years, gamers have come to know our hero Link well. As the protagonist of the Legend of Zelda series, Link has saved the Hylians, defeated various evil wizards, and rescued Princess Zelda again and again. Players, of course, have followed right along with him, experiencing every single one of Link’s battles and triumphs. Yet how are the experience of Link the Hero and the experience of the player connected? Does the player lead Link on these daring adventures? Does the player become Link? Or does the player merely observe Link? All of these ideas are, from certain perspectives, true. The relationship between Link and the player is a complicated one, due to the inherently dualistic nature of the avatar.

The Avatar: Link Says “…”

Defined colloquially as the person or thing the player controls (