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Chapter 11 It is two hours, and ten minutesand no morecried my father, looking at his watch, since Dr. Slop and Obadiah arrivedand I know not how it happens, Brother Tobybut to my imagination it seems almost an age. Herepray, Sir, take hold of my capnay, take the bell along with it, and my pantoufles too. Now, Sir, they are all at your service; and I freely make you a present of em, on condition you give me all your attention to this chapter. Though my father said, he knew not how it happend,yet he knew very well how it happend;and at the instant he spoke it, was pre-determined in his mind to give my uncle Toby a clear account of the matter by a metaphysical dissertation upon the subject of duration and its simple modes, in order to shew my uncle Toby by what mechanism and mensurations in the brain it came to pass, that the rapid succession of their ideas, and the eternal scampering of the discourse from one thing to another, since Dr. Slop had come into the room, had lengthened out so short a period to so inconceivable an extent.I know not how it happenscried my father,but it seems an age. Tis owing entirely, quoth my uncle Toby, to the succession of our ideas. My father, who had an itch, in common with all philosophers, of reasoning upon every thing which happened, and accounting for it tooproposed infinite pleasure to himself in this, of the succession of ideas, and had not the least apprehension of having it snatchd out of his hands by my uncle Toby, who (honest man!) generally took every thing as it happened; and who, of all things in the world, troubled his brain the least with abstruse thinking;the ideas of time and spaceor how we came by those ideasor of what stuff they were madeor whether they were born with us or we picked them up afterwards as we went alongor whether we did it in frocksor not till we had got into breecheswith a thousand other inquiries and disputes about Infinity Prescience, Liberty, Necessity, and so forth, upon whose desperate and unconquerable theories so many fine heads have been turned and crackednever did my uncle Tobys the least injury at all; my father knew itand was no less surprized than he was disappointed, with my uncles fortuitous solution. Do you understand the theory of that affair? replied my father. Not I, quoth my uncle. But you have some ideas, said my father, of what you talk about? No more than my horse, replied my uncle Toby. Gracious heaven! cried my father, looking upwards, and clasping his two hands togetherthere is a worth in thy honest ignorance, brother Toby twere almost a pity to exchange it for a knowledge.But Ill tell thee. To understand what time is aright, without which we never can comprehend infinity, insomuch as one is a portion of the otherwe ought seriously to sit down and consider what idea it is we have of duration, so as to give a satisfactory account how we came by it.What is that to any body? quoth my uncle Toby. (Vide Locke.) For if you will turn your eyes inwards upon your mind, continued my father, and observe attentively, you will perceive, brother, that whilst you and I are talking together, and thinking, and smoking our pipes, or whilst we receive successively ideas in our minds, we know that we do exist, and so we estimate the existence, or the continuation of the existence of ourselves, or any thing else, commensurate to the succession of any ideas in our minds, the duration of ourselves, or any such other thing co-existing with our thinkingand so according to that preconceivedYou puzzle me to death, cried my uncle Toby. |
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