Abby's Justifiable Vendetta: a Response to Drinker about *Last of Us*. 

[I should preface this by saying that I have not played *The Last of Us*, nor do I mean to. I have found the recent trend in Naughty Dog, since the conclusion of the *Jak and Daxter* trilogy, to be quite hostile to my tastes, and with regards to how divisive this most recent franchise is I think I know where I would stand on that divide. All that I know about its narrative I’ve gleaned from sparse accounts by other gamers, and these tales were skewed to such extremes that gleaning any objectivity was an achievement. What you are about to read is commentary on the story as it was conveyed to me, yet not as it had been interpreted by those who have conveyed it. Yet such is the power in a story: that it causes me distress upon first hearing, bringing me to tears of sheer despair and shame, yet with the passing of a year I’ve found a finer clarity than I had had before I heard it, and with courage I can criticize the critics, though I love them nonetheless and all the more.]


While the Drinker’s content often acts as antidote against the poisons of most modern media, his retrospective in defence of Joel is the one analysis of his that I cannot condone. I think the fallacy that he commits here is that he assumes his ultimate conclusion in the premise (which, while it is something I condone in terms of an objective ground for dialogue, I can’t condone it when it seeks to undermine that ground, since such a ground must be assumed for civil conversation). He assumes that the scenario is morally ambiguous, yet moral ambiguity implies that no objective answer *does* exist. Yet even in his video he mentions an objective answer of this kind, and, what is more, he takes it from a character whom he respects within a franchise that he loves: the words of Spock from *Star Trek* in a moment of self-sacrifice.


The rationale, as well as the example, both exist to make a proper choice, and in the light of such a rationale it’s clear when such a choice has not been made, and any seeming reason not to make that choice exists as little more than explanation for the weaknesses of character which ultimately doomed the species. Yet by weighing such a weakness as an equal to the rationale, the Drinker makes the same mistake which MacIntyre has ascribed to Kierkegaard, regarding *Either/Or*: that, weighing ethical responsibility against a life of private feeling, judging either to be equal to the other, he assumes that Choice, without criteria, must be the only arbiter, and so no choice is wrong and everything we choose is right. Yet even MacIntyre has conceded that, within that novel, Kierkegaard acknowledges that simply choosing between one life and the other will propel one to select the Ethical, since only in the Ethical is Choice itself a meaningful consideration.

With regards to Joel, it is not the Ethical but the Religious which we are concerned with, and another work entirely would help us to evaluate his actions: *Fear and Trembling*. The situation Joel faces is analogous to Abraham when God commands that he kill Isaac. Joel fails to take the leap of faith, while Abraham succeeds. 

Yes: most of us may fail, yet when we fail and celebrate the failure we will never know if there was any chance of Grace: an optimum solution coming at the Last of Moments. That is Faith, and that is ambiguity, yet *taking* such a leap, *embracing* such an ambiguity with courage, rather than abusing it to justify our cowardice, is necessary, and, so long as it is necessary, it is rational, and, in so far as it is rational, it’s moral, and, so long as it remains the only moral way, for everything besides it is emotional and selfish, it’s objectively correct, and failure to live up to it is wrong.


The Drinker knows that such an ambiguity is far from necessary and that it is only meant to muddle the objective facts. It’s simply much too tempting, for most modern audiences, not to seek escape in an excuse, for we have suffered under countless paradigms excusing bad decisions for some centuries, and often we were victims, rather than oppressors, powerless to act against those bad decisions and compelled to keep our heads down and seek dignity in our acceptance.


Yet we are not slaves in need of such a Stoic attitude. In many cases, we are ourselves presented with the choice to glorify our weaknesses or to pursue a higher path, to let the masses fall into decay, to riot in the streets in the defence of one man’s life, or to accept responsibility for what our Society requires, knowing what men live and die for.


I agree that it is easier to say than do, but that’s precisely why it is objective; anybody can deduce it, yet the few will follow through with it. Yet such is the Heroic Life. That many do not lead this sort of life does not disprove that it is right, but rather it may be explained by just how harder is the action than the thought. Yet action is required nonetheless. The Drinker always was an advocate for Heroism, and perhaps this one review of his was just a moment of intoxicated sentiment, to interrupt his spirited accounts of valour.

The truth is this: that either you believe that Abby cannot be redeemed or you believe she need not be redeemed. Considering all that we know, however, it must clearly be the latter.

Abby’s journey to avenge her father by destroying Joel was a nobler act than Joel’s choice to salvage Ellie, because Joel chose to doom the species, damning any hope of altruism or salvation, just so that he wouldn’t have to make a necessary sacrifice, while Abby then redeemed the species, holding him accountable for what would otherwise have been an utterly absurd and needless loss that passes comprehension. Such a matter is not “gray”, nor can it be reduced to feelings, such as “Abby failed to understand him and to sympathize with him.” So long as we can sympathize with him, we must condemn him, for we share with him that passion which he chose over the Rest of Us, him knowing as he did so that he shared it and that, by so choosing, he would be the villain of our common story.

We cannot deceive ourselves by trying to reverse the situation, to pretend that insofar as each of us has suffered loss or dreaded it that we might all have done as he did, for, in this case, we all know that *why* we suffered loss was *owing to* the fact that he was trying to escape it for himself, and, in so far as we would never wish such loss upon another, least of all the whole, entire species, we’d aspire *not* to do as he had done, and he would be beyond forgiveness for his having done it. It’s impossible for me to say, “I know the force that killed my father was the very love that saved your daughter, and the love I felt for him I feel for you,” for, knowing that *he* had this power and *he* chose this course of action, I must say instead, “*You* knew that this same love you felt for her was felt by those of us whose families you killed. How could you, knowing that the pain you felt would be far greater for the Rest of Us?”

This latter standard clearly is the higher path, for it requires us to strive against our selfish natures rather than to let them rule us. He who overcomes them is a Hero; he who fails must always be the Villain. Nor is holding someone to this standard villainous or selfish in itself, for we were powerless to make this righteous choice yet have the dignity, as victims and as citizens, of holding our oppressors culpable for making wicked choices where we know a righteous choice, which anyone could make in their position, would have saved not only our lives but those of our neighbors.


It is like in *Parasite*: perhaps, were roles reversed, the Parks would have oppressed the Kims, yet, insofar as we cannot assume that wealth is truly at the heart of virtue, it is far more likely that the Parks would have remained as noble, even in a state of poverty, and so the Kims have no excuse, and, should the Parks berate them from the grave, it would be just. What Joel’s tragedy reveals may be a flaw in human nature, yet a flaw in human nature, even if it seems profound (for it’s so deeply buried in us all) remains a flaw, to be corrected rather than accepted. While we cannot say what anybody “would have done” in such a situation, there must be a sense of obligation to what *should* be done. 


Unfortunately, Ellie had to die, and Joel’s failure was what led to all the hardship in *Part II*. There was no one to blame, objectively, but him, and failing to acknowledge the objective answer does not make it go away. So Abby has made sure of that for Joel, and those of us with strength to reason, even if it breaks our hearts to do so, will make sure of it for anybody else.

**[({R.G.)}]**

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