Unpacking the concept
Jul. 4th, 2015 10:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerThe hideous squid-faced creature leant in close.
"Da yew feear dayth?" it growled.
Soren considered. "How do you mean?" he said.
The tentacled visage boggled. "Whit da yew mayn, hoi da yew mayn?" it demanded. "Ut's a pairfectly sumple quaystion. Da yew...feeear....dayth?"
"Well, do you mean do I fear the condition of being dead, about which we know nothing, or do I fear the act of dying, or rather the process of becoming dead?" Soren retorted. "They're very different things, and it's perfectly possible to fear one but not the other, or both but in different degrees. And then there are the social aspects of being dead, what happens to the people around me when I'm gone, my family and other animals, I mean dependents, the various stages of grieving...the psychological trauma that my death might cause to others...it's a big concept, death, you can't possibly just answer a question like that yes or no."
The creature considered this in its turn. "Moist payple dew," it said tentatively.
"Well, I expect they spoke without thinking, that happens sometimes, especially when unfriendly-looking denizens of the deep are pointing pointy things in a pointed manner. I bet you rushed them, didn't you? Didn't give them time to consider the question properly, from all angles?" Soren nodded sagely. "That'll bugger up your demographics every time. You'll never get decent results that way. Opinion polling is a complex business, you know, one straight yes-or-no question tells you nothing. Especially one like this. I mean fear is a relative thing, you know? 'Do you fear death compared to what?' Compared, for instance, to spending eternity on this ship, permanently cold and wet and watching bits of you drop off? Death might be worse than that, or it might be a lot better. As I said, we don't know. You need to sharpen up your questions here a bit. I could help with that...anyone got a piece of paper, they told me in the shop this pen writes underwater so it should be okay..."
The motley crew crowded round and watched in fascination as Soren and their slimy captain pored over the paper. The captain insisted, with much popping and colourful seafaring language, on only one question rather than a series of twenty, so it took quite a while, but eventually they arrived at a mutually satisfactory form of words. Immediately the creature seized the paper, studied the blotched and smeared scribble for a long moment, moving its lips silently (and Soren decided he was going to pay another visit to that shop, with special attention to the complaints department) and then darted a look of indescribable craftiness at Soren from under its hairless brows and read out what they had written.
"Awn a skeel of wan ta tayn (wan being 'strawngly dusagray' ond tayn being 'strawngly agray'), consudering all the ospaycts of the cawnsaypt, unclewding bot nawt lumited tew sawcial, saycholawgucal, ayconawmuc, taylyolawgucal, rulugious ond phusyolawgucal, and cumpayring awther strayssfol er troymotic uxpayriences awn a lake-fer-lake beasus, hoy fore wud yew agray wuth the steatment thut yew feear dayth?"
Soren considered again. "Strongly disagree," he said, "for two reasons. One, because as far as I know I can't die, and two because my mate Zander has been collecting all the pointy things on this ship, up to and including the crew, and dropping them over the side, with the exception of your own cutlass which is currently poised just above the back of your neck. Obviously it won't kill you, since you're a supernatural thingy, but we figure it might make you a bit uncomfortable if he were to chop your head off. Now," Soren went on, easing his back a little against the oozing bulkhead, "shall we talk?"
"Da yew feear dayth?" it growled.
Soren considered. "How do you mean?" he said.
The tentacled visage boggled. "Whit da yew mayn, hoi da yew mayn?" it demanded. "Ut's a pairfectly sumple quaystion. Da yew...feeear....dayth?"
"Well, do you mean do I fear the condition of being dead, about which we know nothing, or do I fear the act of dying, or rather the process of becoming dead?" Soren retorted. "They're very different things, and it's perfectly possible to fear one but not the other, or both but in different degrees. And then there are the social aspects of being dead, what happens to the people around me when I'm gone, my family and other animals, I mean dependents, the various stages of grieving...the psychological trauma that my death might cause to others...it's a big concept, death, you can't possibly just answer a question like that yes or no."
The creature considered this in its turn. "Moist payple dew," it said tentatively.
"Well, I expect they spoke without thinking, that happens sometimes, especially when unfriendly-looking denizens of the deep are pointing pointy things in a pointed manner. I bet you rushed them, didn't you? Didn't give them time to consider the question properly, from all angles?" Soren nodded sagely. "That'll bugger up your demographics every time. You'll never get decent results that way. Opinion polling is a complex business, you know, one straight yes-or-no question tells you nothing. Especially one like this. I mean fear is a relative thing, you know? 'Do you fear death compared to what?' Compared, for instance, to spending eternity on this ship, permanently cold and wet and watching bits of you drop off? Death might be worse than that, or it might be a lot better. As I said, we don't know. You need to sharpen up your questions here a bit. I could help with that...anyone got a piece of paper, they told me in the shop this pen writes underwater so it should be okay..."
The motley crew crowded round and watched in fascination as Soren and their slimy captain pored over the paper. The captain insisted, with much popping and colourful seafaring language, on only one question rather than a series of twenty, so it took quite a while, but eventually they arrived at a mutually satisfactory form of words. Immediately the creature seized the paper, studied the blotched and smeared scribble for a long moment, moving its lips silently (and Soren decided he was going to pay another visit to that shop, with special attention to the complaints department) and then darted a look of indescribable craftiness at Soren from under its hairless brows and read out what they had written.
"Awn a skeel of wan ta tayn (wan being 'strawngly dusagray' ond tayn being 'strawngly agray'), consudering all the ospaycts of the cawnsaypt, unclewding bot nawt lumited tew sawcial, saycholawgucal, ayconawmuc, taylyolawgucal, rulugious ond phusyolawgucal, and cumpayring awther strayssfol er troymotic uxpayriences awn a lake-fer-lake beasus, hoy fore wud yew agray wuth the steatment thut yew feear dayth?"
Soren considered again. "Strongly disagree," he said, "for two reasons. One, because as far as I know I can't die, and two because my mate Zander has been collecting all the pointy things on this ship, up to and including the crew, and dropping them over the side, with the exception of your own cutlass which is currently poised just above the back of your neck. Obviously it won't kill you, since you're a supernatural thingy, but we figure it might make you a bit uncomfortable if he were to chop your head off. Now," Soren went on, easing his back a little against the oozing bulkhead, "shall we talk?"
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Date: 2015-07-05 02:48 am (UTC)