Solas, I am sorry to say, is objectively terrible at forming an argument. Have you heard him arguing with Bull about the Qun? He argues about conclusions, like a rank amateur, instead of beginning with premises and working his way up and out. It is genuinely painful to listen to if you know anything about argumentation or rhetoric.
My guess after getting to know Bull is that the Qun, or something like it, is actually a necessary philosophy for the functioning of Qunari society, but Silea's points about efficiency vs. adaptability still stand, especially for the races of Thedas who don't possess the apparently-powerful Qunari predilection for violence.
There is, I think, one translation of one endearment at the bottom.
Bright Futures
"Solas, have you read any of Koslun's writings?" I ask as he straightens, clutching a handful of feladara leaves. I hold out the basket and he drops them in. "Why do you think humans call it elfroot?" I add as a non sequitur. "It's the leaves that we - everyone - uses, not the root."
"You're full of questions today," he observes, amused, as he reaches for another feladara plant. "To start with the easier question - I couldn't say why they call it elfroot. The evolution of human language isn't my area of study. As to your first question - I have made a reasonably comprehensive study of Koslun's writing, yes. Why do you ask?"
"I finished his scripture before we left Skyhold - before I agreed to the alliance with the Qunari. I needed to know how strictly they would adhere to the terms, and whether they might attempt to use us for their own ends after the terms expired," I explain, watching as a scowl briefly crosses his face. "You don't think I should have agreed," I surmise.
"No…" he says slowly, depositing another handful of leaves in the basket. "The alliance is - a practical use of resources, if not one I endorse in principle. I am pleased to learn you didn't take the Iron Bull's word for their fidelity, however, though it seems you decided he was telling the truth. And - perhaps you would have been better served reading others' opinions on the subject, rather than attempting to interpret scripture yourself."
I sniff, slightly offended, as he turns toward another plant. "Or...I might have done both."
"Did you?" Solas asks, stopping and turning to look at me. "Where did you find the time?"
"I found it in Helisma - she read and summarized history and opinions for me, while I concentrated on getting through Koslun's work. The history is straightforward, after all, there's just a lot of it," I point out.
Solas looks thoughtful for a moment. "I may do too much of my own research."
"You have the resources of an Inquisition," I agree. "Learn to delegate." I hand him the basket. "I see some lotus over there."
"It's muddy," he warns me.
"Luckily feet are easy to wash," I retort, wading in. "There's something I don't understand - from Koslun," I call over my shoulder as I begin picking flowers.
"What is that?" Solas asks.
"Chaos versus complexity. He never really explains why the distinction matters." My hands are already full of lotus buds, so after a moment of thought I use the loose length of my tunic as a makeshift basket.
"Well - I suppose the distinction is in one's attitude toward each," Solas tells me. "Labelling something chaotic invites one to abandon all hope of understanding, whereas viewing it as complex implies that, with effort, it may be understood."
"No, I know that," I reply, bending for more buds and flowers. "But he never grapples with the amount of effort involved in understanding, or what one does with an incomplete understanding." I straighten for a moment, frowning at the sky as I try to work out how to explain what I want to convey. "Let us say for the sake of argument that every natural, unwanted event that occurs can be understood, and, once understood, controlled for in one way or another. Earthquakes, volcanoes, storms, fluctuations in the Veil - let us assume all are predictable with enough information, and therefore avoidable, either through magical means or by the simple expedient of relocating."
"Very well," Solas says behind me, and I can hear the smile in his voice, "premise granted. What do you mean to do with it?"
I walk forward a few steps, mud squelching underfoot, and pluck another handful of flowers from a plant. "If you are building a civilization, beginning without understanding any of the disasters I just listed, but with the assumption that after enough time and effort you will reach an understanding, how do you plan?"
"Plan for what?" Solas asks.
"Everything," I reply. "Cities, for example. Where do you locate your cities? How do you balance weather severity against available farmland? And what if you choose a place, and then later learn that a devastating earthquake will level it roughly once every age? You won't be able to be precise, not at first. Do you pick up and move, and hope the next place you choose isn't wracked by equally devastating storms or haunted by demons? Or do you hope you gain enough understanding to give warning before the next quake strikes your city, levels it, and kills many of your people? Or do you put your efforts into engineering better buildings, more able to withstand earthquakes? But if you focus on engineering, how much does your research into other kinds of complexity suffer? All resources are limited. What if, focusing on earthquakes, you miss the fact that your irrigation techniques are destroying your farmland?" I turn to look at him. "Do you see?"
"I - perhaps," he says, and I return to harvesting plants while he attempts to summarize. "You are asking - even understanding everything is complex and nothing chaotic, is it worth tracing every result back to a cause or set of causes? Is it truly wise to spend your resources trying to understand all complexity at the same time?"
"Exactly," I say with a nod that Solas may or may not be able to see, with my back turned as it is. My makeshift basket is filling. I pull the edge a little tighter, trying to decide how much more it can hold.
"I think - for Koslun, those questions may be irrelevant. Wisdom only matters to understanding and governing the self," Solas says.
"That's not quite true, because understanding and governing the self is the basis of building his vision for society." I reach down, grab one more handful of buds, and then turn to make my way back to Solas.
He is still thinking as I spill my bounty into the basket. "You are equating a lack of understanding of the world with a lack of understanding of the self," he says, but then quickly corrects himself: "You see Koslun as equating the two."
"Isn't he?" I ask. "Or - if he isn't, shouldn't he be? If all you look at is the self and never wonder about complexity within the world, perhaps you solve some questions regarding the moral functioning of a society, but your buildings still fall down when the ground starts shaking, your farming techniques may not support your population, and your ships sink when storms hit. Besides, if knowledge of the self and knowledge of the world are linked, then what does it say about your knowledge of the self if you can't predict where and when the rain is going to fall, or the ground shake, or the Veil tear? And if so much of the world - and thereby the self - remains a mystery, why are you attempting to build an entire society based on such a shaky foundation of understanding?"
"I agree with you entirely," Solas says, "but as a practical matter, the Qunari have built a society, and, with tyrannical control, they have forced it to function with admittedly admirable efficiency."
"Certainly - within the current set of circumstances," I reply. "The problem is that the world is extremely complex - so complex that even the Qunari don't yet understand more than the smallest fraction of its connections and how they function. And yet, they strip themselves of the most important resource any society that hopes for a future can cultivate: adaptability."
"Adaptability," Solas repeats thoughtfully. "And is adaptability necessarily opposed to efficiency?" he muses.
"It seems to be, within nature - and the Qunari are supposedly fond of natural principles." I search for a specific example, and then remember Varsamahl, though the poor creature died before I even reached adulthood. "Did you know when my mother was a child, there were no woodpeckers in our clan's range?" I ask Solas.
"I did not know that," he replies, looking at me curiously, no doubt wondering where I am headed.
"There were these funny little animals, perhaps twice the size of a cat, that hunted for insects under bark in much the same way a woodpecker does, except instead of a beak they had a single long, thin finger on each hand. They tapped trees, chewed open the bark when they found hollow places, and then stuck that long finger inside to find whatever insects might be nesting there. We called them varmir," I told him.
"But then, for some reason, woodpeckers started moving north. The first ones appeared in the decade before I was born. As it turned out, nothing specifically preys on woodpeckers that far outside their traditional range, while young varmir were a favorite for owls. Besides that, varmir claws weren't that good for things besides finding and pulling out insects. They weren't as good at climbing as other animals, and while they would eat fruit, they were never as good at getting at it as bats at night, or monkeys by day. Not much good at climbing. Couldn't fly. The Keeper before Deshanna actually tried to tame and breed them, because they were disappearing so fast, but they didn't breed well in captivity. Our clan had one as a sort of pet when I was growing up - one of the few born in captivity, and the only one I have ever seen. She was named Varsamahl. No one in my clan has seen one since she died. We believe the entire species may have died out."
"Ah," Solas says. "I see your point, though I don't know that the Qunari would agree. They do allow for certain kinds of creativity within certain channels, and they would no doubt argue that these are sufficient."
"And I would counter that disruptions in the order of things rarely flow along approved channels," I retort. "If you haven't mapped every bit of complexity in the world, you cannot possibly hope to judge where and how disruptions will occur. Channeling creativity along certain channels is just another sort of over-specialization, leaving you without individuals mentally nimble enough to find solutions to unexpected problems."
Solas is silent for a moment as I wait, and then lets out a long breath. "I have been going about this entirely the wrong way," he says, rubbing his eyes with his free hand and shaking his head.
"Going about what?" I ask.
"Arguing with Iron Bull," he replies. "I began with a moral conclusion, never even trying to establish the premises we each worked from. I ought to have left my conclusions out of it entirely, questioned his premises, granted any I could not disprove, and then exposed where his arguments broke with them." He drops his hand and looks at me. "You display a rare gift for finding the heart of a piece of questionable logic, vhenan."
"Well...ma serannas," I reply. Even if he is right, I'm not certain how much use such a skill will be to me as Inquisitor - but I suppose it can't hurt.
Solas snorts, and then looks sad. "If only I had taken you to meet my friend, the wisdom spirit, before it was killed. It would have found in you a far better debate partner than it found in me."
I reach out across the space between us, and thread my fingers through his. "Ir abelas, vhenan'ara. I wish I could have known it."
"As long as I am wishing for impossibilities - if you were less central to the current crisis, less needed for everything else only you can accomplish, you would likely have a bright future as a philosopher." He glances at me, a rueful smile pulling at his mouth, though his eyes are still shadowed with grief.
"Is that something that exists?" I wonder. "Philosophers with bright futures?"
"They can hardly be rarer than Inquisitors with bright futures," he retorts.
"Now you sound like Dorian, which I'm not certain I appreciate. He warned me that no one would thank me for saving the world." I cast my eyes skyward. "I am going to retire in grand style just to spite the both of you."
Solas looks me over, taking in my wind-blown hair, green, sap-stained fingers, water- and mud-spattered clothing, and my mud-encrusted feet, and laughs. I grin back at him and shrug. As long as I am defining "grand style," it might include a return to the wilderness, after all - whether with my clan or with a certain wandering mage who possesses an affinity for abandoned ruins.
However it falls out, I am glad to see him laugh.
Vhenan'ara: Heart's desire