The Legend of Zelda and Philosophy_ I Link Therefore I Am - Luke Cuddy [85]
Religion also crops up both in pastoral idylls, with Pan, the God of shepherds and flocks being most common, and later literary ideal world narratives. Religion is a key feature of More’s Utopia: the conceit of rewards and punishments for the immortal soul plugging directly into Plato’s theories. In such imagined Utopias, and in real life, the purpose of religion is often twofold: societal and personal. It firstly helps to maintain a good and just society, and secondly provides a comfort blanket for the populace: no matter the horrors of this life, a better one awaits. It could be argued that the less defined and rule-bound the religion, the better these purposes are served. The more an attempt is made to dot the i’s and cross the t’s of a doctrine, the more it is exposed to the rigour of reason and the burden of proof. It is better, perhaps, when religion is vague, fuzzy, and almost out of sight.
This is largely the case with The Minish Cap, where artifacts and echoes of religious imagery and myth tug at the edges of the experience. Unlike, say, that other giant of the genre, Dragon Quest, the world of The Legend of Zelda never presents the practicalities of organized religion. While the former has a chapel in every town providing formality and regularity, the latter has occasional temples that serve as comforting, fragmented hints of something more. The Legend of Zelda series also has that mythically suggestive backstory of Din, Nayru, and Farore, which remains in the player’s memory, regardless of when she took her first baby steps in Miyamoto’s Garden of Eden.
There have been numerous flashes of religion throughout the series—hints at Gods, Angels, and Demons: The Wind Fish from Link’s Awakening, The Deku Tree from The Ocarina of Time, the ubiquitous heart fairy and the near-satanic imagery of Majora’s Mask. It is in The Minish Cap, however, that this suggestion of the spiritual is at its strongest: from the opening prologue (given as the epigraph of this chapter), through Link’s numerous dealings with the Picori, to the quest for Earth Elements, and the portals to the world of the Gods themselves. The preferred reading of the prologue is clearly that the Picori are the Godhead, working with Link—himself endlessly reborn—to save mankind. Here is the crux of what makes religion so pleasing a part of this particular Hyrule: the unquestionable goodness of these Gods.
In The Minish Cap we have unambiguously benevolent beings, working for the good of humanity: “We thrive on making humans happy. It gives us energy.” It is telling that the only instance of negative Picori actions we see relates to the punishment of one who was once their own: Vaati. Ezlo’s assistance in helping Link defeat Vaati, the only Picori ever to have fallen, is a symptom of the shame felt by the Minish when humans are harmed at their hands.
The sheer multiplicity of the Picori is also pleasing. This is a God made flesh many times over: the Picori are cheerful pint-sized Christs that, like the secular society over which they watch, walk among all classes alike, albeit largely unseen. This God proffers quantifiable physical help rather than vague and aloof intervention from afar. Here are Christs that inspire such feelings of love, that they have even been afforded the honour of a nickname, the Minish, a sure measure of the affectionate esteem in which they are held. These feelings of love must be inspired by many sources: knowledge of their fight against the darkness; the “good” things that happen when Kinstones are fused; and the abundance of rude health bestowed upon the people. After all, it seems obvious that such otherworldly items such as Kinstones, hidden Rupees and hearts can only be gifts from the Gods.
This religion is also Utopian in its lack of an originating prophet or, beyond occasional fragments, any sacred text. (Judging by the aesthetics, such fragments can be