"Where'd This Come From?"
"Bored," Twilight mumbled as she sprawled across the library floor and gazed listlessly up at the ceiling, "Bored bored bored bored bored. BO-red. Bo-o-ored. Bo-RED. Bor-Roared. Aaaand now I'm contemplating how funny the word bored sounds. That's it," she said with what would have been a dramatic gesture if she felt like putting any effort into moving, "I've hit a new low: I'm so bored that thinking about how bored I am is interesting! Who even does that?"
She attempted to sit up and hopefully stir herself into doing something, but just couldn't find the energy.
"Spike?" She called, "Spiiiike. Could you come give me a hoof? I've fallen and I can't get up."
Silence. "Oh, right," Twilight murmured, draping a hoof across her chest as it tried and failed to meet her face, "He's out helping the CMC refurbish their clubhouse." She blinked, "Wow, even Spike has more things to do do than me. When did my life come to this? I have no duties, no appointments to keep, and I've read every book in my castle twice! At this point I'd be willing to do anything, just as long as it's something! I don't know how much longer I can take this."
Whump.
Twilight stiffened, then carefully rolled to her hooves as her eyes focused on the table the sound had come from. She knew she was alone in the castle, so what could've-? She did a double take. A brand new book was sitting on the table in front of her favorite reading chair. Curious, she pulled the chair out, sat in it, and used her magic to scoot herself up to the table. The book was surprisingly plain, with a grayish-blue paperback cover that had the words, "The Methods of Rationality" printed on it in a blocky font. The only piece of decoration was a yellow sticky note with the words, "Read Me!" scribbled on it in a #2 pencil.
Twilight's mind immediately filled with questions like "Where did this book come from?" but they were all pushed aside by one ecstatic, overwhelming thought: "Finally, something to do!" Twilight exclaimed, flipping the book open and starting on the introduction, "And maybe the map will give me something while I'm reading!" She giggled as her eyes fell on the first line.
This book exists because I was the village idiot.
I know, that's not what you were expecting from I, Eye, the Maestro of the Mind, but it's the truth. I was the village idiot. Granted, that village was full of super geniuses, but I was still the dumbest person in town and I knew it. I had the worst grades in class, the only people who hung out with me did it to feel better about themselves, as the third child of four I was both overshadowed by my older siblings and not the baby of the family. It was only through hard work and sacrifice that I managed to get a job as the town librarian, and even that was a close call.
In my town, intelligence was everything, and as such the library became the center of public life: a research facility, public forum, bureaucratic office, and the school system all under one roof. If something important was happening, chances were it was in the library. However, despite the great importance our town placed upon the facility, the position of curator, my position was looked down upon, as something to be gotten over with as soon as possible on the way to more important duties. As a result, while anyone I approached invariably gave me the cold shoulder, if I stayed inconspicuous and did my job well I could pretty much go wherever and listen to whoever I pleased.
My favorite spot to hang around and listen in (eavesdropping was, if not encouraged, then at least not looked down upon in our society) as I worked was the joint break room between the applied and theoretical science divisions, partially because they had the best chairs and partially because I liked to listen to the scientists discuss various theories. I found the sound of arguments and counterarguments being exchanged soothing, even if I didn't usually understand what they were talking about.
This led to my first discovery: whenever certain topics came up, I forget which ones, everyone had a tendency to argue in circles, saying the same things over and over again without actually convincing the opposing side or properly making their case. No matter how many times they happened those debates went nowhere, and to me it seemed to be because neither side was expressing themselves properly. I did some research (in my town everyone did research at some point or other) drew up a few charts, made up a couple of lists of various logical fallacies both sides seemed to fall into, then sat on them, listened some more, tweaked them to more accurately match what I was seeing and hearing, made hypothesis on what made those fallacies so appealing, subtly tested them, and repeated the whole process.
I never told anyone about my little side project: why would I, when everybody else was busy plumbing the mysteries of the universe? As far as I knew I was just making the mental equivalent of doodles. In any case, this went on for about five years before circumstances forced me to act on what I was learning.
It all came to a head when one of our field researchers came back to town for a few weeks to drop off his findings, visit his family, and make fun of the stupid people, the unofficial town pastime. He picked me out, and taunted me with a few contradictory insults. I corrected them for him without showing the slightest flicker of hurt at his words, and that must have set something off because the next thing I knew he was calling for a Duelbate and my removal from our society.
My town used mental competition to settle scores instead of physical combat, with the best debaters usually becoming our elected officials once they won enough rounds. I'd only entered a duelbate once before, and been so soundly defeated I'd conceded defeat rather than be humiliated like that ever again.
However, this time something was different. I don't know if it was the fact that I parried his insults so easily, the implied breeding habits of my mother, or the one small fragment of backbone I still possessed suddenly making itself known, but I didn't back down. Instead, I studied up on the topic, prepared my presentation, checked it over for fallacies and removed them, then got up on stage and proceeded to shock the entire auditorium, including myself. I won easily, stomping all over someone that for my entire life I had considered so far above me I could never come close to matching him. Every point he made fell apart before my questions, and every point I made swept aside anything he tried to destroy it.
I hadn't set any terms for my victory since I wasn't expecting it any more than anyone else was, so I just told him to never mock anyone ever again and left it at that. What mattered was the aftermath. Instead of being even more shunned than before like I might have expected, everyone was bugging me incessantly about how I'd done it. I relented and showed them my work after a few days, and while they ridiculed it at first, I could tell they were a more uncertain about its unimportant than they pretended to be. It wasn't long before I got my first apprenticeship request in what seemed to be a new field, the field of rational thought. A field where I was the only practitioner.
Of course, the mere idea of me teaching anyone anything was so flattering I said yes immediately, and quickly discovered just what had happened as I passed my findings on to the pony would become Scarvo the Sharp-Tongued: I had trained my intelligence, weeding out the bad thought patterns that led to a faulty worldview and nurturing those helped me see more clearly, and in doing so surpassed my more intelligent but less rational peers. I may not have been the smartest in town, but I could use my intelligence the most effectively, getting more and better results out of every once of brainpower compared to those who hadn't gone through my unintentional training.
This realization is what spurred me write this book, now at the end of my considerable life and with many more years of careful study that has double-checked by the rest of my town, who I have trained in the rational arts: a complete study in how and why we think the way we think. Our strengths, our weaknesses, and the techniques you can use to account for both are hopefully contained within these pages. I have made many mistakes along the way, hurt and been hurt in return as I struggled with a puzzle that most never realized needed solving. Instead of looking outward, at the stars and the world and seas, I turned inward, to the mind and the logic that drives it, and in doing so unlocked more secrets than I ever thought I would find.
For you, dear reader, I have only one request: rip this book to shreds. Take everything I have learned, learn it yourself, and then use your newfound perspective to find and destroy every flaw in my discoveries. This book is not perfect, even if I hope it comes close, and I will never believe it to be so.
Good luck, and may the stars illumine your path.
Eye Spy
Twilight smiled to herself as she turned the page. She loved happy endings, and while Eye's childhood may have been rough, he sounded like he'd made a good life for himself. she wasn't sure whether this book was actually everything it said it was, but she was willing to give it a chance, perpetual boredom not-with-standing. As she read, a niggling question popped up at the back of her mind, one that she could ignore for now, although it might become bothersome later: "If Eye Spy was so important, why have I never heard of him before?"
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"Are you certain it worked?"
"Yes, the book has gone to he or she who would use it best. Our legacy is preserved."
"Thank the stars. I was worried something would go wrong what with all the magical distortions running around." Inhale, Exhale. Do you think the world will ever return to normal someday?"
"Once that foul beast is gone? I pray that it will, master. I pray that it will."
