Part 11 (1/2)

I have dropped the curtain over this scene for a minute,-to remind you of one thing,-and to inform you of another.

What I have to inform you, comes, I own, a little out of its due course;-for it should have been told a hundred and fifty pages ago, but that I foresaw then 'twould come in pat hereafter, and be of more advantage here than elsewhere.-Writers had need look before them, to keep up the spirit and connection of what they have in hand.

When these two things are done,-the curtain shall be drawn up again, and my uncle Toby, my father, and Dr. Slop, shall go on with their discourse, without any more interruption.

First, then, the matter which I have to remind you of, is this;-that from the specimens of singularity in my father's notions in the point of Christian-names, and that other previous point thereto,-you was led, I think, into an opinion,-(and I am sure I said as much) that my father was a gentleman altogether as odd and whimsical in fifty other opinions. In truth, there was not a stage in the life of man, from the very first act of his begetting,-down to the lean and slippered pantaloon in his second childishness, but he had some favourite notion to himself, springing out of it, as sceptical, and as far out of the high-way of thinking, as these two which have been explained.

-Mr. Shandy, my father, Sir, would see nothing in the light in which others placed it;-he placed things in his own light;-he would weigh nothing in common scales;-no, he was too refined a researcher to lie open to so gross an imposition.-To come at the exact weight of things in the scientific steel-yard, the fulcrum, he would say, should be almost invisible, to avoid all friction from popular tenets;-without this the minutiae of philosophy, which would always turn the balance, will have no weight at all. Knowledge, like matter, he would affirm, was divisible in infinitum;-that the grains and scruples were as much a part of it, as the gravitation of the whole world.-In a word, he would say, error was error,-no matter where it fell,-whether in a fraction,-or a pound,-'twas alike fatal to truth, and she was kept down at the bottom of her well, as inevitably by a mistake in the dust of a b.u.t.terfly's wing,-as in the disk of the sun, the moon, and all the stars of heaven put together.

He would often lament that it was for want of considering this properly, and of applying it skilfully to civil matters, as well as to speculative truths, that so many things in this world were out of joint;-that the political arch was giving way;-and that the very foundations of our excellent const.i.tution in church and state, were so sapped as estimators had reported.

You cry out, he would say, we are a ruined, undone people. Why? he would ask, making use of the sorites or syllogism of Zeno and Chrysippus, without knowing it belonged to them.-Why? why are we a ruined people?-Because we are corrupted.-Whence is it, dear Sir, that we are corrupted?-Because we are needy;-our poverty, and not our wills, consent.-And wherefore, he would add, are we needy?-From the neglect, he would answer, of our pence and our halfpence:-Our bank notes, Sir, our guineas,-nay our s.h.i.+llings take care of themselves.

'Tis the same, he would say, throughout the whole circle of the sciences;-the great, the established points of them, are not to be broke in upon.-The laws of nature will defend themselves;-but error-(he would add, looking earnestly at my mother)-error, Sir, creeps in thro' the minute holes and small crevices which human nature leaves unguarded.

This turn of thinking in my father, is what I had to remind you of:-The point you are to be informed of, and which I have reserved for this place, is as follows.

Amongst the many and excellent reasons, with which my father had urged my mother to accept of Dr. Slop's a.s.sistance preferably to that of the old woman,-there was one of a very singular nature; which, when he had done arguing the matter with her as a Christian, and came to argue it over again with her as a philosopher, he had put his whole strength to, depending indeed upon it as his sheet-anchor.-It failed him, tho' from no defect in the argument itself; but that, do what he could, he was not able for his soul to make her comprehend the drift of it.-Cursed luck!-said he to himself, one afternoon, as he walked out of the room, after he had been stating it for an hour and a half to her, to no manner of purpose;-cursed luck! said he, biting his lip as he shut the door,-for a man to be master of one of the finest chains of reasoning in nature,-and have a wife at the same time with such a head-piece, that he cannot hang up a single inference within side of it, to save his soul from destruction.

This argument, though it was entirely lost upon my mother,-had more weight with him, than all his other arguments joined together:-I will therefore endeavour to do it justice,-and set it forth with all the perspicuity I am master of.

My father set out upon the strength of these two following axioms:

First, That an ounce of a man's own wit, was worth a ton of other people's; and,

Secondly, (Which by the bye, was the ground-work of the first axiom,-tho' it comes last) That every man's wit must come from every man's own soul,-and no other body's.

Now, as it was plain to my father, that all souls were by nature equal,-and that the great difference between the most acute and the most obtuse understanding-was from no original sharpness or bluntness of one thinking substance above or below another,-but arose merely from the lucky or unlucky organization of the body, in that part where the soul princ.i.p.ally took up her residence,-he had made it the subject of his enquiry to find out the identical place.

Now, from the best accounts he had been able to get of this matter, he was satisfied it could not be where Des Cartes had fixed it, upon the top of the pineal gland of the brain; which, as he philosophized, formed a cus.h.i.+on for her about the size of a marrow pea; tho' to speak the truth, as so many nerves did terminate all in that one place,-'twas no bad conjecture;-and my father had certainly fallen with that great philosopher plumb into the centre of the mistake, had it not been for my uncle Toby, who rescued him out of it, by a story he told him of a Walloon officer at the battle of Landen, who had one part of his brain shot away by a musket-ball,-and another part of it taken out after by a French surgeon; and after all, recovered, and did his duty very well without it.

If death, said my father, reasoning with himself, is nothing but the separation of the soul from the body;-and if it is true that people can walk about and do their business without brains,-then certes the soul does not inhabit there. Q.E.D.

As for that certain, very thin, subtle and very fragrant juice which Coglionissimo Borri, the great Milaneze physician affirms, in a letter to Bartholine, to have discovered in the cellulae of the occipital parts of the cerebellum, and which he likewise affirms to be the princ.i.p.al seat of the reasonable soul, (for, you must know, in these latter and more enlightened ages, there are two souls in every man living,-the one, according to the great Metheglingius, being called the Animus, the other, the Anima;)-as for the opinion, I say of Borri,-my father could never subscribe to it by any means; the very idea of so n.o.ble, so refined, so immaterial, and so exalted a being as the Anima, or even the Animus, taking up her residence, and sitting dabbling, like a tad-pole all day long, both summer and winter, in a puddle,-or in a liquid of any kind, how thick or thin soever, he would say, shocked his imagination; he would scarce give the doctrine a hearing.

What, therefore, seemed the least liable to objections of any, was that the chief sensorium, or head-quarters of the soul, and to which place all intelligences were referred, and from whence all her mandates were issued,-was in, or near, the cerebellum,-or rather somewhere about the medulla oblongata, wherein it was generally agreed by Dutch anatomists, that all the minute nerves from all the organs of the seven senses concentered, like streets and winding alleys, into a square.

So far there was nothing singular in my father's opinion,-he had the best of philosophers, of all ages and climates, to go along with him.-But here he took a road of his own, setting up another Shandean hypothesis upon these corner-stones they had laid for him;-and which said hypothesis equally stood its ground; whether the subtilty and fineness of the soul depended upon the temperature and clearness of the said liquor, or of the finer net-work and texture in the cerebellum itself; which opinion he favoured.

He maintained, that next to the due care to be taken in the act of propagation of each individual, which required all the thought in the world, as it laid the foundation of this incomprehensible contexture, in which wit, memory, fancy, eloquence, and what is usually meant by the name of good natural parts, do consist;-that next to this and his Christian-name, which were the two original and most efficacious causes of all;-that the third cause, or rather what logicians call the Causa sina qua non, and without which all that was done was of no manner of significance,-was the preservation of this delicate and fine-spun web, from the havock which was generally made in it by the violent compression and crush which the head was made to undergo, by the nonsensical method of bringing us into the world by that foremost.

-This requires explanation.

My father, who dipped into all kinds of books, upon looking into Lithopaedus Senonesis de Portu difficili, (The author is here twice mistaken; for Lithopaedus should be wrote thus, Lithopaedii Senonensis Icon. The second mistake is, that this Lithopaedus is not an author, but a drawing of a petrified child. The account of this, published by Athosius 1580, may be seen at the end of Cordaeus's works in s.p.a.chius. Mr. Tristram Shandy has been led into this error, either from seeing Lithopaedus's name of late in a catalogue of learned writers in Dr..., or by mistaking Lithopaedus for Trinecavellius,-from the too great similitude of the names.) published by Adria.n.u.s Smelvgot, had found out, that the lax and pliable state of a child's head in parturition, the bones of the cranium having no sutures at that time, was such,-that by force of the woman's efforts, which, in strong labour-pains, was equal, upon an average, to the weight of 470 pounds avoirdupois acting perpendicularly upon it;-it so happened, that in 49 instances out of 50, the said head was compressed and moulded into the shape of an oblong conical piece of dough, such as a pastry-cook generally rolls up in order to make a pye of.-Good G.o.d! cried my father, what havock and destruction must this make in the infinitely fine and tender texture of the cerebellum!-Or if there is such a juice as Borri pretends-is it not enough to make the clearest liquid in the world both seculent and mothery?

But how great was his apprehension, when he farther understood, that this force acting upon the very vertex of the head, not only injured the brain itself, or cerebrum,-but that it necessarily squeezed and propelled the cerebrum towards the cerebellum, which was the immediate seat of the understanding!-Angels and ministers of grace defend us! cried my father,-can any soul withstand this shock?-No wonder the intellectual web is so rent and tattered as we see it; and that so many of our best heads are no better than a puzzled skein of silk,-all perplexity,-all confusion within-side.