In speaking of the instincts it has been impossible to keep them separate from the emotional excitements which go with them. Objects of rage, love, fear, etc., not only prompt a man to outward deeds, but provoke characteristic alterations4 in his attitude and visage, and affect his breathing, circulation, and other organic functions in specific ways. When the outward deeds are inhibited5, these latter emotional expressions still remain, and we read the anger in the face, though the blow may not be struck, and the fear betrays itself in voice and color, though one may suppress all other sign. Instinctive6 reactions and emotional expressions thus shade imperceptibly into each other. Every object that excites an instinct excites an emotion as well. Emotions, however, fall short of instincts, in that the emotional reaction usually terminates in the subject's own body, whilst the instinctive reaction is apt to go farther and enter into practical relations with the exciting object.
Emotional reactions are often excited by objects with which we have no practical dealings. A ludicrous object, for example, or a beautiful object are not necessarily objects to which we do anything; we simply laugh, or stand in admiration7, as the case may be. The class of emotional, is thus rather larger than that of instinctive, impulses, commonly so called. Its stimuli8 are more numerous, and its expressions are more internal and delicate, and often less practical. The physiological9 plan and essence of the two classes of impulse, however, is the same.
As with instincts, so with emotions, the mere10 memory or imagination of the object may suffice to liberate11 the excitement. One may get angrier in thinking over one's insult than at the moment of receiving it; and we melt more over a mother who is dead than we ever did when she was living. In the rest of the chapter I shall use the word object of emotion indifferently to mean one which is physically12 present or one which is merely thought of.
It would be tedious to go through a complete list of the reactions which characterize the various emotions. For that the special treatises13 must be referred to. A few examples of their variety, however, ought to find a place here. Let me begin with the manifestations16 of Grief as a Danish physiologist17, C. Lange, describes them:2
"The chief feature in the physiognomy of grief is perhaps its paralyzing effect on the voluntary movements. This effect is by no means as extreme as that which fright produces, being seldom more than that degree of weakening which makes it cost an effort to perform actions usually done with ease. It is, in other words, a feeling of weariness; and (as in all weariness) movements are made slowly, heavily, without strength, unwillingly18, and with exertion19, and are limited to the fewest possible. By this the grieving person gets his outward stamp: he walks slowly, unsteadily, dragging his feet and hanging his arms. His voice is weak and without resonance20, in consequence of the feeble activity of the muscles of expiration21 and of the larynx. He prefers to sit still, sunk in himself and silent. The tonicity or 'latent innervation' of the muscles is strikingly diminished. The neck is bent22, the head hangs ('bowed down' with grief), the relaxation23 of the cheek- and jaw24-muscles makes the face look long and narrow, the jaw may even hang open. The eyes appear large, as is always the case where the orbicularis muscle is paralyzed, but they may often be partly covered by the upper lid which droops25 in consequence of the laming26 of its own levator. With this condition of weakness of the voluntary nerve- and muscle-apparatus27 of the whole body, there coexists, as aforesaid, just as in all states of similar motor weakness, a subjective28 feeling of weariness and heaviness, of something which weighs upon one; one feels 'downcast,' 'oppressed,' 'laden,' one speaks of his 'weight of sorrow,' one must 'bear up' under it, just as one must 'keep down' his anger. Many there are who 'succumb29' to sorrow to such a degree that they literally30 cannot stand upright, but sink or lean against surrounding objects, fall on their knees, or, like Romeo in the monk's cell, throw themselves upon the earth in their despair.
"But this weakness of the entire voluntary motor apparatus (the so-called apparatus of 'animal' life) is only one side of the physiology31 of grief. Another side, hardly less important, and in its consequences perhaps even more so, belongs to another subdivision of the motor apparatus, namely, the involuntary or 'organic' muscles, especially those which are found in the walls of the blood-vessels33, and the use of which is, by contracting, to diminish the latter's calibre. These muscles and their nerves, forming together the 'vaso-motor apparatus,' act in grief contrarily to the voluntary motor apparatus. Instead of being paralyzed, like the latter, the vascular35 muscles are more strongly contracted than usual, so that the tissues and organs of the body become anæmic. The immediate36 consequence of this bloodlessness is pallor and shrunkenness, and the pale color and collapsed37 features are the peculiarities38 which, in connection with the relaxation of the visage, give to the victim of grief his characteristic physiognomy, and often give an impression of emaciation40 which ensues too rapidly to be possibly due to real disturbance41 of nutrition, or waste uncompensated by repair. Another regular consequence of the bloodlessness of the skin is a feeling of cold, and shivering. A constant symptom of grief is sensitiveness to cold, and difficulty in keeping warm. In grief, the inner organs are unquestionably anæmic as well as the skin. This is of course not obvious to the eye, but many phenomena43 prove it. Such is the diminution44 of the various secretions45, at least of such as are accessible to observation. The mouth grows dry, the tongue sticky, and a bitter taste ensues which, it would appear, is only a consequence of the tongue's dryness. [The expression 'bitter sorrow' may possibly arise from this.] In nursing women the milk diminishes or altogether dries up. There is one of the most regular manifestations of grief, which apparently47 contradicts these other physiological phenomena, and that is the weeping, with its profuse48 secretion46 of tears, its swollen49 reddened face, red eyes, and augmented50 secretion from the nasal mucous51 membrane52."
Lange goes on to suggest that this may be a reaction from a previously53 contracted vaso-motor state. The explanation seems a forced one. The fact is that there are changeable expressions of grief. The weeping is as apt as not to be immediate, especially in women and children. Some men can never weep. The tearful and the dry phases alternate in all who can weep, sobbing55 storms being followed by periods of calm; and the shrunken, cold, and pale condition which Lange describes so well is more characteristic of a severe settled sorrow than of an acute mental pain. Properly we have two distinct emotions here, both prompted by the same object, it is true, but affecting different persons, or the same person at different times, and feeling quite differently whilst they last, as anyone's consciousness will testify. There is an excitement during the crying fit which is not without a certain pungent57 pleasure of its own; but it would take a genius for felicity to discover any dash of redeeming58 quality in the feeling of dry and shrunken sorrow.- Our author continues:
"If the smaller vessels of the lungs contract so that these organs become anæmic, we have (as is usual under such conditions) the feeling of insufficient59 breath, and of oppression of the chest, and these tormenting60 sensations increase the sufferings of the griever, who seeks relief by long drawn61 sighs, instinctively62, like every one who lacks breath from whatever cause.3
"The anæmia of the brain in grief is shown by intellectual inertia63, dullness, a feeling of mental weariness, effort, and indisposition to work, often by sleeplessness65. Indeed it is the anæmia of the motor centres of the brain which lies at the bottom of all that weakening of the voluntary powers of motion which we described in the first instance."
My impression is that Dr. Lange simplifies and universalizes the phenomena a little too much in this description, and in particular that he very likely overdoes66 the anæmia-business. But such as it is, his account may stand as a favorable specimen67 of the sort of descriptive work to which the emotions have given rise.
Take next another emotion, Fear, and read what Mr. Darwin says of its effects:
"Fear is often preceded by astonishment68, and is so far akin1 to it that both lead to the senses of sight and hearing being instantly aroused. In both cases the eyes and mouth are widely opened and the eyebrows69 raised. The frightened man at first stands like a statue, motionless and breathless, or crouches70 down as if instinctively to escape observation. The heart beats quickly and violently, so that it palpitates or knocks against the ribs71; but it is very doubtful if it then works more efficiently72 than usual, so as to send a greater supply of blood to all parts of the body; for the skin instantly becomes pale as during incipient73 faintness. This paleness of the surface, however, is probably in large part, or is exclusively, due to the vaso-motor centre being affected74 in such a manner as to cause the contraction75 of the small arteries76 of the skin. That the skin is much affected under the sense of great fear, we see in the marvellous manner in which perspiration77 immediately exudes78 from it. This exudation79 is all the more remarkable80, as the surface is then cold, and hence the term, a cold sweat; whereas the sudorific81 glands83 are properly excited into action when the surface is heated. The hairs also on the skin stand erect84, and the superficial muscles shiver. In connection with the disturbed action of the heart the breathing is hurried. The salivary86 glands act imperfectly; the mouth becomes dry and is often opened and shut. I have also noticed that under slight fear there is strong tendency to yawn. One of the best marked symptoms is the trembling of all the muscles of the body; and this is often first seen in the lips. From this cause, and from the dryness of the mouth, the voice becomes husky or indistinct or may altogether fail. 'Obstupui steteruntque comæ, et vox faucibus hæsit.' . . . As fear increases into an agony of terror, we behold88, as under all violent emotions, diversified89 results. The heart beats wildly or must fail to act and faintness ensue; there is a death-like pallor; the breathing is labored90; the wings of the nostrils92 are widely dilated93; there is a gasping95 and convulsive motion of the lips, a tremor96 on the hollow cheek, a gulping97 and catching98 of the throat; the uncovered and protruding99 eyeballs are fixed100 on the object of terror; or they may roll restlessly from side to side, huc illuc volens oculos totumque pererrat. The pupils are said to be enormously dilated. All the muscles of the body may become rigid101 or may be thrown into convulsive movements. The hands are alternately clenched102 and opened, often with a twitching103 movement. The arms may be protruded104 as if to avert105 some dreadful danger, or may be thrown wildly over the head. The Rev54. Mr. Hagenauer has seen this latter action in a terrified Australian. In other cases there is a sudden and uncontrollable tendency to headlong flight; and so strong is this that the boldest soldiers may be seized with a sudden panic."4
Finally take Hatred107, and read the synopsis108 of its possible effects as given by Sig. Mantegazza:5
"Withdrawal109 of the head backwards110, withdrawal of the trunk; projection111 forwards of the hands, as if to defend one's self against the hated object; contraction or closure of the eyes; elevation112 of the upper lip and closure of the nose,-- these are all elementary movements of turning away. Next threatening movements, as: intense frowning; eyes wide open; display of teeth; grinding teeth and contracting jaws113; opened mouth with tongue advanced; clenched fists; threatening action of arms; stamping with the feet; deep inspirations -- panting; growling114 and various cries; automatic repetition of one word or syllable115; sudden weakness and trembling of voice; spitting. Finally, various miscellaneous reactions and vaso-motor symptoms: general trembling; convulsions of lips and facial muscles, of limbs and of trunk; acts of violence to one's self, as biting fist or nails; sardonic116 laughter; bright redness of face; sudden pallor of face; extreme dilatation of nostrils; standing117 up of hair on head."
Were we to go through the whole list of emotions which have been named by men, and study their organic manifestations, we should but ring the changes on the elements which these three typical cases involve. Rigidity118 of this muscle, relaxation of that, constriction119 of arteries here, dilatation there, breathing of this sort or that, pulse slowing or quickening, this gland82 secreting120 and that one dry, etc., etc. We should, moreover, find that our descriptions had no absolute truth; that they only applied121 to the average man; that every one of us, almost, has some personal idiosyncrasy of expression, laughing or sobbing differently from his neighbor, or reddening or growing pale where others do not. We should find a like variation in the objects which excite emotion in different persons. Jokes at which one explodes with laughter nauseate123 another, and seem blasphemous124 to a third; and occasions which overwhelm me with fear or bashfulness are just what give you the full sense of ease and power. The internal shadings of emotional feeling, moreover, merge125 endlessly into each other. Language has discriminated126 some of them, as hatred, antipathy128, animosity, dislike, aversion, malice129, spite, vengefulness, abhorrence130, etc., etc.; but in the dictionaries of synonyms131 we find these feelings distinguished132 more by their severally appropriate objective stimuli than by their conscious or subjective tone.
The result of all this flux133 is that the merely descriptive literature of the emotions is one of the most tedious parts of psychology134. And not only is it tedious, but you feel that its subdivisions are to a great extent either fictitious135 or unimportant, and that its pretences136 to accuracy are a sham137. But unfortunately there is little psychological writing about the emotions which is not merely descriptive. As emotions are described in novels, they interest us, for we are made to share them. We have grown acquainted with the concrete objects and emergencies which call them forth138, and any knowing touch of introspection which may grace the page meets with a quick and feeling response. Confessedly literary works of aphoristic139 philosophy also flash lights into our emotional life, and give us a fitful delight. But as far as "scientific psychology" of the emotions goes, I may have been surfeited140 by too much reading of classic works on the subject, but I should as lief read verbal descriptions of the shapes of the rocks on a New Hampshire farm as toil141 through them again. They give one nowhere a central point of view, or a deductive or generative principle. They distinguish and refine and specify142 in infinitum without ever getting on to another logical level. Whereas the beauty of all truly scientific work is to get to ever deeper levels. Is there no way out from this level of individual description in the case of the emotions? I believe there is a way out, but I fear that few will take it.
The trouble with the emotions in psychology is that they are regarded too much as absolutely individual things. So long as they are set down as so many eternal and sacred psychic143 entities144, like the old immutable145 species in natural history, so long all that can be done with them is reverently146 to catalogue their separate characters, points, and effects. But if we regard them as products of more general causes (as 'species' are now regarded as products of heredity and variation), the mere distinguishing and cataloguing becomes of subsidiary importance. Having the goose which lays the golden eggs, the description of each egg already laid is a minor147 matter. Now the general causes of the emotions are indubitably physiological. Prof. C. Lange, of Copenhagen, in the pamphlet from which I have already quoted, published in 1885 a physiological theory of their constitution and conditioning, which I had already broached148 the previous year in an article in Mind. None of the criticisms which I have heard of it have made me doubt its essential truth. I will therefore devote the next few pages to explaining what it is. I shall limit myself in the first instance to what may be called the coarser emotions, grief, fear, rage, love, in which every one recognizes a strong organic reverberation149, and afterwards speak of the subtler emotions, or of those whose organic reverberation is less obvious and strong.
Emotion Follows upon the Bodily Expression in the Coarser Emotions at Least.
Our natural way of thinking about these coarser emotions is that the mental perception of some fact excites the mental affection called the emotion, and that this latter state of mind gives rise to the bodily expression. My theory, on the contrary, is that the bodily changes follow directly the perception of the exciting fact, and that our feeling of the same changes as they occur IS the emotion. Common-sense says, we lose our fortune, are sorry and weep; we meet a bear, are frightened and run; we are insulted by a rival, are angry and strike. The hypothesis here to be defended says that this order of sequence is incorrect, that the one mental state is not immediately induced by the other, that the bodily manifestations must first be interposed between, and that the more rational statement is that we feel sorry because we cry, angry because we strike, afraid because we tremble, and not that we cry, strike, or tremble, because we are sorry, angry, or fearful, as the case may be. Without the bodily states following on the perception, the latter would be purely151 cognitive152 in form, pale, colorless, destitute153 of emotional warmth. We might then see the bear, and judge it best to run, receive the insult and deem it right to strike, but we should not actually feel afraid or angry.
Stated in this crude way, the hypothesis is pretty sure to meet with immediate disbelief. And yet neither many nor far-fetched considerations are required to mitigate154 its paradoxical character, and possibly to produce conviction of its truth.
To begin with, no reader of the last two chapters will be inclined to doubt the fact that objects do excite bodily changes by a preorganized mechanism155, or the farther fact that the changes are so indefinitely numerous and subtle that the entire organism may be called a sounding-board, which every change of consciousness, however slight, may make reverberate156. The various permutations and combinations of which these organic activities are susceptible157 make it abstractly possible that no shade of emotion, however slight, should be without a bodily reverberation as unique, when taken in its totality, as is the mental mood itself. The immense number of parts modified in each emotion is what makes it so difficult for us to reproduce in cold blood the total and integral expression of any one of them. We may catch the trick with the voluntary muscles, but fail with the skin, glands, heart, and other viscera. Just as an artificially imitated sneeze lacks something of the reality, so the attempt to imitate an emotion in the absence of its normal instigating158 cause is apt to be rather 'hollow.'
The next thing to be noticed is this, that every one of the bodily changes, whatsoever159 it be, is FELT, acutely or obscurely, the moment it occurs. If the reader has never paid attention to this matter, he will be both interested and astonished to learn how many different local bodily feelings he can detect in himself as characteristic of his various emotional moods. It would be perhaps too much to expect him to arrest the tide of any strong gust160 of passion for the sake of any such curious analysis as this; but he can observe more tranquil161 states, and that may be assumed here to be true of the greater which is shown to be true of the less. Our whole cubic capacity is sensibly alive; and each morsel162 of it contributes its pulsations of feeling, dim or sharp, pleasant, painful, or dubious163, to that sense of personality that every one of us unfailingly carries with him. It is surprising what little items give accent to these complexes of sensibility. When worried by any slight trouble, one may find that the focus of one's bodily consciousness is the contraction, often quite inconsiderable, of the eyes and brows. When momentarily embarrassed, it is something in the pharynx that compels either a swallow, a clearing of the throat, or a slight cough; and so on for as many more instances as might be named. Our concern here being with the general view rather than with the details, I will not linger to discuss these, but, assuming the point admitted that every change that occurs must be felt, I will pass on.
I now proceed to urge the vital point of my whole theory, which is this: If we fancy some strong emotion, and then try to abstract from our consciousness of it all the feelings of its bodily symptoms, we find we have nothing left behind, no 'mind-stuff' out of which the emotion can be constituted, and that a cold and neutral state of intellectual perception is all that remains164. It is true that, although most people when asked say that their introspection verifies this statement, some persist in saying theirs does not. Many cannot be made to understand the question. When you beg them to imagine away every feeling of laughter and of tendency to laugh from their consciousness of the ludicrousness of an object, and then to tell you what the feeling of its ludicrousness would be like, whether it be anything more than the perception that the object belongs to the class 'funny,' they persist in replying that the thing proposed is a physical impossibility, and that they always must laugh if they see a funny object. Of course the task proposed is not the practical one of seeing a ludicrous object and annihilating165 one's tendency to laugh. It is the purely speculative166 one of subtracting certain elements of feeling from an emotional state supposed to exist in its fulness, and saying what the residual167 elements are. I cannot help thinking that all who rightly apprehend168 this problem will agree with the proposition above laid down. What kind of an emotion of fear would be left if the feeling neither of quickened heart-beats nor of shallow breathing, neither of trembling lips nor of weakened limbs, neither of goose-flesh nor of visceral stirrings, were present, it is quite impossible for me to think. Can one fancy the state of rage end picture no ebullition in the chest, no flushing of the face, no dilatation of the nostrils, no clenching169 of the teeth, no impulse to vigorous action, but in their stead limp muscles, calm breathing, and a placid170 face? The present writer, for one, certainly cannot. The rage is as completely evaporated as the sensation of its so-called manifestations, and the only thing that can possibly be supposed to take its place is some cold-blooded and dispassionate judicial171 sentence, confined entirely172 to the intellectual realm, to the effect that a certain person or persons merit chastisement173 for their sins. In like manner of grief: what would it be without its tears, its sobs174, its suffocation175 of the heart, its pang176 in the breast-bone? A feelingless cognition that certain circumstances are deplorable, and nothing more. Every passion in turn tells the same story. A purely disembodied human emotion is a nonentity177. I do not say that it is a contradiction in the nature of things, or that pure spirits are necessarily condemned178 to cold intellectual lives; but I say that for us, emotion dissociated from all bodily feeling is inconceivable. The more closely I scrutinize179 my states, the more persuaded I become that whatever moods, affections, and passions I have are in very truth constituted by, and made up of, those bodily changes which we ordinarily call their expression or consequence; and the more it seems to me that if I were to become corporeally181 anæsthetic, I should be excluded from the life of the affections, harsh and tender alike, and drag out an existence of merely cognitive or intellectual form. Such an existence, although it seems to have been the ideal of ancient sages182, is too apathetic183 to be keenly sought after by those born after the revival184 of the worship of sensibility, a few generations ago.
Let not this view be called materialistic185. It is neither more nor less materialistic than any other view which says that our emotions are conditioned by nervous processes. No reader of this book is likely to rebel against such a saying so long as it is expressed in general terms; and if any one still finds materialism186 in the thesis now defended, that must be because of the special processes invoked187. They are sensational188 processes, processes due to inward currents set up by physical happenings. Such processes have, it is true, always been regarded by the platonizers in psychology as having something peculiarly base about them. But our emotions must always be inwardly what they are, whatever be the physiological ground of their apparition189. If they are deep, pure, worthy190, spiritual facts on any conceivable theory of their physiological source, they remain no less deep, pure, spiritual, and worthy of regard on this present sensational theory. They carry their own inner measure of worth with them; and it is just as logical to use the present theory of the emotions for proving that sensational processes need not be vile191 and material, as to use their vileness192 and materiality as a proof that such a theory cannot be true.
If such a theory is true, then each emotion is the resultant of a sum of elements, and each element is caused by a physiological process of a sort already well known. The elements are all organic changes, and each of them is the reflex effect of the exciting object. Definite questions now immediately arise -- questions very different from those which were the only possible ones without this view. Those were questions of classification: "Which are the proper genera of emotion, and which the species under each?" or of description: "By what expression is each emotion characterized?" The questions now are causal: Just what changes does this object and what changes does that object excite?" and "How come they to excite these particular changes and not others?" We step from a superficial to a deep order of inquiry193. Classification and description are the lowest stage of science. They sink into the background the moment questions of genesis are formulated195, and remain important only so far as they facilitate our answering these. Now the moment the genesis of an emotion is accounted for, as the arousal by an object of a lot of reflex acts which are forthwith felt, we immediately see why there is no limit to the number of possible different emotions which may exist, and why the emotions of different individuals may vary indefinitely, both as to their constitution and as to objects which call them forth. For there is nothing sacramental or eternally fixed in reflex action. Any sort of reflex effect is possible, and reflexes actually vary indefinitely, as we know.
"We have all seen men dumb, instead of talkative, with joy; we have seen fright drive the blood into the head of its victim, instead of making him pale; we have seen grief run restlessly about lamenting196, instead of sitting bowed down and mute; etc., etc., and this naturally enough, for one and the same cause can work differently on different men's blood-vessels (since these do not always react alike), whilst moreover the impulse on its way through the brain to the vaso-motor centre is differently influenced by different earlier impressions in the form of recollections or associations of ideas."6
In short, any classification of the emotions is seen to be as true and as 'natural ' as any other, if it only serves some purpose; and such a question as "What is the 'real' or 'typical' expression of anger, or fear?" is seen to have no objective meaning at all. Instead of it we now have the question as to how any given 'expression' of anger or fear may have come to exist; and that is a real question of physiological mechanics on the one hand, and of history on the other, which (like all real questions) is in essence answerable, although the answer may be hard to find. On a later page I shall mention the attempts to answer it which have been made.
Difficulty of Testing the Theory Experimentally.
I have thus fairly propounded197 what seems to me the most fruitful way of conceiving of the emotions. It must be admitted that it is so far only a hypothesis, only possibly a true conception, and that much is lacking to its definitive198 proof. The only way coercively to disprove it, however, would be to take some emotion, and then exhibit qualities of feeling in it which should be demonstrably additional to all those which could possibly be derived199 from the organs affected at the time. But to detect with certainty such purely spiritual qualities of feeling would obviously be a task beyond human power. We have, as Professor Lange says, absolutely no immediate criterion by which to distinguish between spiritual and corporeal180 feelings; and, I may add, the more we sharpen our introspection, the more localized all our qualities of feeling become (see above, Vol. I. p. 300) and the more difficult the discrimination consequently grows.7
A positive proof of the theory would, on the other hand, be given if we could find a subject absolutely anæsthetic inside and out, but not paralytic200, so that emotion-inspiring objects might evoke201 the usual bodily expressions from him, but who, on being consulted, should say that no subjective emotional affection was felt. Such a man would be like one who, because he eats, appears to bystanders to be hungry, but who afterwards confesses that he had no appetite at all. Cases like this are extremely hard to find. Medical literature contains reports, so far as I know, of but three. In the famous one of Remigius Leins no mention is made by the reporters of his emotional condition. In Dr. G. Winter's case8 the patient is said to be inert64 and phlegmatic202, but no particular attention, as I learn from Dr. W., was paid to his psychic condition. In the extraordinary case reported by Professor Strumpell (to which I must refer later in another connection)9 we read that the patient, a shoemaker's apprentice203 of fifteen, entirely anæsthetic, inside and out, with the exception of one eye and one ear, had shown shame on the occasion of soiling his bed, and grief, when a formerly204 favorite dish was set before him, at the thought that he could no longer taste its flavor. Dr. Strumpell is also kind enough to inform me that he manifested surprise, fear, and anger on certain occasions. In observing him, however, no such theory as the present one seems to have been thought of; and it always remains possible that, just as he satisfied his natural appetites and necessities in cold blood, with no inward feeling, so his emotional expressions may have been accompanied by a quite cold heart.10 Any new case which turns up of generalized anæsthesia ought to be carefully examined as to the inward emotional sensibility as distinct from the 'expressions' of emotion which circumstances may bring forth.
Objections Considered.
Let me now notice a few objections. The replies will make the theory still more plausible205.
First Objection. There is no real evidence, it may be said, for the assumption that particular perceptions do produce wide-spread bodily effects by a sort of immediate physical influence, antecedent to the arousal of an emotion or emotional idea?
Reply. There is most assuredly such evidence. In listening to poetry, drama, or heroic narrative206 we are often surprised at the cutaneous shiver which like a sudden wave flows over us, and at the heart-swelling and the lachrymal effusion that unexpectedly catch us at intervals208. In listening to music the same is even more strikingly true. If we abruptly209 see a dark moving form in the woods, our heart stops beating, and we catch our breath instantly and before any articulate idea of danger can arise. If our friend goes near to the edge of a precipice210, we get the well-known feeling of 'all-overishness,' and we shrink back, although we positively211 know him to be safe, and have no distinct imagination of his fall. The writer well remembers his astonishment, when a boy of seven or eight, at fainting when he saw a horse bled. The blood was in a bucket, with a stick in it, and, if memory does not deceive him, he stirred it round and saw it drip from the stick with no feeling save that of childish curiosity. Suddenly the world grew black before his eyes, his ears began to buzz, and he knew no more. He had never heard of the sight of blood producing faintness or sickness, and he had so little repugnance212 to it, and so little apprehension213 of any other sort of danger from it, that even at that tender age, as he well remembers, he could not help wondering how the mere physical presence of a pailful of crimson214 fluid could occasion in him such formidable bodily effects.
Professor Lange writes:
"No one has ever thought of separating the emotion produced by an unusually loud sound from the true inward affections. No one hesitates to call it a sort of fright, and it shows the ordinary signs of fright. And yet it is by no means combined with the idea of danger, or in any way occasioned by associations, memories, or other mental processes. The phenomena of fright follow the noise immediately without a trace of 'spiritual' fear. Many men can never grow used to standing beside a cannon215 when it is fired off, although they perfectly87 know that there is danger neither for themselves nor for others -- the bare sound is too much for them."11
Imagine two steel knife-blades with their keen edges crossing each other at right angles, and moving to and fro. Our whole nervous organization is 'on-edge ' at the thought; and yet what emotion can be there except the unpleasant nervous feeling itself, or the dread106 that more of it may come? The entire fund and capital of the emotion here is the senseless bodily effect which the blades immediately arouse. This case is typical of a class: where an ideal emotion seems to precede the bodily symptoms, it is often nothing but an anticipation216 of the symptoms themselves. One who has already fainted at the sight of blood may witness the preparations for a surgical217 operation with uncontrollable heart-sinking and anxiety. He anticipates certain feelings, and the anticipation precipitates219 their arrival. In cases of morbid220 terror the subjects often confess that what possesses them seems, more than anything, to be fear of the fear itself. In the various forms of what Professor Pain calls 'tender emotion,' although the appropriate object must usually be directly contemplated221 before the emotion can be aroused, yet sometimes thinking of the symptoms of the emotion itself may have the same effect. In sentimental222 natures the thought of 'yearning223' will produce real 'yearning.' And, not to speak of coarser examples, a mother's imagination of the caresses224 she bestows225 on her child may arouse a spasm226 of parental227 longing228.
In such cases as these we see plainly how the emotion both begins and ends with what we call its effects or manifestations. It has no mental status except as either the vivid feeling of the manifestations, or the idea of them; and the latter thus constitute its entire material, and sum and substance. And these cases ought to make us see how in all cases the feeling of the manifestations may play a much deeper part in the constitution of the emotion than we are wont229 to suppose.
The best proof that the immediate cause of emotion is a physical effect on the nerves is furnished by those pathological cases in which the emotion is objectless. One of the chief merits, in fact, of the view which I propose seems to be that we can so easily formulate194 by its means pathological cases and normal cases under a common scheme. In every asylum230 we find examples of absolutely unmotived fear, anger, melancholy231, or conceit232; and others of an equally unmotived apathy233 which persists in spite of the best of outward reasons why it should give way. In the former cases we must suppose the nervous machinery234 to be so 'labile235' in some one emotional direction that almost every stimulus236 (however inappropriate) causes it to upset in that way, and to engender237 the particular complex of feelings of which the psychic body of the emotion consists. Thus, to take one special instance, if inability to draw deep breath, fluttering of the heart, and that peculiar39 epigastric change felt as 'precordial anxiety,' with an irresistible238 tendency to take a somewhat crouching239 attitude and to sit still, and with perhaps other visceral processes not now known, all spontaneously occur together in a certain person; his feeling of their combination is the emotion of dread, and he is the victim of what is known as morbid fear. A friend who has had occasional attacks of this most distressing240 of all maladies tells me that in his case the whole drama seems to centre about the region of the heart and respiratory apparatus, that his main effort during the attacks is to get control of his inspirations and to slow his heart, and that the moment he attains241 to breathing deeply and to holding himself erect, the dread, ipso facto, seems to depart.12
The emotion here is nothing but the feeling of a bodily state, and it has a purely bodily cause.
"All physicians who have been much engaged in general practice have seen cases of dyspepsia in which constant low spirits and occasional attacks of terror rendered the patient's condition pitiable in the extreme. I have observed these cases often, and have watched them closely, and I have never seen greater suffering of any kind than I have witnessed during these attacks. . . . Thus, a man is suffering from what we call nervous dyspepsia. Some day, we will suppose in the middle of the afternoon, without any warning or visible cause, one of these attacks of terror comes on. The first thing the man feels is great but vague discomfort242. Then he notices that his heart is beating much too violently. At the same time shocks or flashes as of electrical discharges, so violent as to be almost painful, pass one after another through his body and limbs. Then in a few minutes he falls into a condition of the most intense fear. He is not afraid of anything; he is simply afraid. His mind is perfectly clear. He looks for a cause his wretched condition, but sees none. Presently his terror is such that he trembles violently and utters low moans; his body is damp with perspiration; his mouth is perfectly dry; and at this stage there are no tears in his eyes, though his suffering is intense. When the climax243 of the attack is reached and passed, there is a copious244 flow of tears, or else a mental condition in which the person weeps upon the least provocation245. At this stage a large quantity of pale urine is passed. Then the heart's action becomes again normal, and the attack passes off."13
Again:
"There are outbreaks of rage so groundless and unbridled that all must admit them to be expressions of disease. For the medical layman246 hardly anything can be more instructive than the observation of such a pathological attack of rage, especially when it presents itself pure and unmixed with other psychical247 disturbances248. This happens in that rather rare disease named transitory mania249. The patient predisposed to this -- otherwise an entirely reasonable person -- will be attacked suddenly without the slightest outward provocation, and thrown (to use the words of the latest writer on the subject, O. Schwartzer, Die transitorische Tobsucht, Wien, 1880), 'into a paroxysm of the wildest rage, with a fearful and blindly furious impulse to do violence and destroy.' He flies at those about him; strikes, kicks, and throttles250 whomever he can catch; dashes every object about which he can lay his hands on; breaks and crushes what is near him; tears his clothes; shouts, howls, and roars, with eyes that flash and roll, and shows meanwhile all those symptoms of vaso-motor congestion251 which we have learned to know as the concomitants of anger. His face is red, swollen, his cheeks hot, his eyes protuberant252 and their whites bloodshot, the heart beats violently, the pulse marks 100-120 strokes a minutes. The arteries of the neck are full and pulsating253, the veins254 are swollen, the saliva85 flows. The fit lasts only a few hours, and ends suddenly with a sleep of from 8 to 12 hours, on waking from which the patient has entirely forgotten what has happened."14
In these (outwardly) causeless emotional conditions the particular paths which are explosive are discharged by any and every incoming sensation. Just as, when we are seasick255, every smell, every taste, every sound, every sight, every movement, every sensible experience whatever, augments256 our nausea122, so the morbid terror or anger is increased by each and every sensation which stirs up the nerve-centres. Absolute quiet is the only treatment for the time. It seems impossible not to admit that in all this the bodily condition takes the lead, and that the mental emotion follows. The intellect may, in fact, be so little affected as to play the cold-blooded spectator all the while, and note the absence of a real object for the emotion.15
A few words from Henle may close my reply to this first objection:
"Does it not seem as if the excitations of the bodily nerves met the ideas half way, in order to raise the latter to the height of emotions? [Note how justly this expresses our theory!] That they do so is proved by the cases in which particular nerves, when specially32 irritable257, share in the emotion and determine its quality. When one is suffering from an open wound, any grievous or horrid258 spectacle will cause pain in the wound. In sufferers from heart-disease there is developed a psychic excitability, which is often incomprehensible to the patients themselves, but which comes from the heart's liability to palpitate. I said that the very quality of the emotion is determined259 by the organs disposed to participate in it. Just as surely as a dark foreboding, rightly grounded on inference from the constellations260, will be accompanied by a feeling of oppression in the chest, so surely will a similar feeling of oppression, when due to disease of the thoracic organs, be accompanied by groundless forebodings. So small a thing as a bubble of air rising from the stomach through the œsophagus, and loitering on its way a few minutes and exerting pressure on the heart, is able during sleep to occasion a nightmare, and during waking to produce a vague anxiety. On the other hand, we see that joyous261 thoughts dilate94 our blood-vessels, and that a suitable quantity of wine, because it dilates262 the vessels, also disposes us to joyous thoughts. If both the jest and the wine work together, they supplement each other in producing the emotional effect, and our demands on the jest are the more modest in proportion as the wine takes upon itself a larger part of the task."16
Second Objection. If our theory be true, a necessary corollary of it ought to be this: that any voluntary and cold-blooded arousal of the so-called manifestations of a special emotion ought to give us the emotion itself. Now this (the objection says) is not found to be the case. An actor can perfectly simulate an emotion and yet be inwardly cold; and we can all pretend to cry and not feel grief; and feign263 laughter without being amused.
Reply. In the majority of emotions this test is inapplicable; for many of the manifestations are in organs over which we have no voluntary control. Few people in pretending to cry can shed real tears, for example. But, within the limits in which it can be verified, experience corroborates264 rather than disproves the corollary from our theory, upon which the present objection rests. Every one knows how panic is increased by flight, and how the giving way to the symptoms of grief or anger increases those passions themselves. Each fit of sobbing makes the sorrow more acute, and calls forth another fit stronger still, until at last repose265 only ensues with lassitude and with the apparent exhaustion266 of the machinery. In rage, it is notorious how we 'work ourselves up' to a climax by repeated outbreaks of expression. Refuse to express a passion, and it dies. Count ten before venting267 your anger, and its occasion seems ridiculous. Whistling to keep up courage is no mere figure of speech. On the other hand, sit all day in a moping posture269, sigh, and reply to everything with a dismal270 voice, and your melancholy lingers. There is no more valuable precept271 in moral education than this, as all who have experience know: if we wish to conquer undesirable272 emotional tendencies in ourselves, we must assiduously, and in the first instance cold-bloodedly, go through the outward movements of those contrary dispositions273 which we prefer to cultivate. The reward of persistency274 will infallibly come, in the fading out of the sullenness275 or depression, and the advent276 of real cheerfulness and kindliness277 in their stead. Smooth the brow, brighten the eye, contract the dorsal278 rather than the ventral aspect of the frame, and speak in a major key, pass the genial279 compliment, and your heart must be frigid280 indeed if it do not gradually thaw281!
This is recognized by all psychologists, only they fail to see its full import. Professor Bain writes, for example:
"We find that a feeble [emotional] wave . . . is suspended inwardly by being arrested outwardly; the currents of the brain and the agitation282 of the centres die away if the external vent268 is resisted at every point. It is by such restraint that we are in the habit of suppressing pity, anger, fear, pride -- on many trifling283 occasions. If so, it is a fact that the suppression of the actual movements has a tendency to suppress the nervous currents that incite284 them, so that the external quiescence285 is followed by the internal. The effect would not happen in any case if there were not some dependence286 of the cerebral287 wave upon the free outward vent or manifestation15. . . . By the same interposition we may summon up a dormant288 feeling. By acting34 out the external manifestations, we gradually infect the nerves leading to them, and finally waken up the diffusive289 current by a sort of action ab extra. . . . Thus it is that we are sometimes able to assume a cheerful tone of mind by forcing a hilarious290 expression.17
We have a mass of other testimony291 of similar effect. Burke, in his treatise14 on the Sublime292 and Beautiful, writes as follows of the physiognomist Campanella:
"This man, it seems, had not only made very accurate observations on human faces, but was very expert in mimicking294 such as were in any way remarkable. When he had a mind to penetrate295 into the inclinations296 of those lie had to deal with, he composed his face, his gesture, and his whole body, as nearly as he could, into the exact similitude of the person he intended to examine; and then carefully observed what turn of mind he seemed to acquire by the change. So that, says my author, he was able to enter into the dispositions and thoughts of people as effectually as if he had been changed into the very men. I have often observed [Burke now goes on in his own person] that, on mimicking the looks and gestures of angry, or placid, or frightened, or daring men, I have involuntarily found my mind turned to that passion whose appearance I strove to imitate; nay297, I am convinced it is hard to avoid it, though one strove to separate the passion from its corresponding gestures."18
Against this it is to be said that many actors who perfectly mimic293 the outward appearances of emotion in face, gait, and voice declare that they feel no emotion at all. Others, however, according to Mr. Wm. Archer298, who has made a very instructive statistical299 inquiry among them, say that the emotion of the part masters them whenever they play it well.19 Thus:
"I often turn pale,' writes Miss Isabel Bateman, 'in scenes of terror or great excitement. I have been told this many times, and I can feel myself getting very cold and shivering and pale in thrilling situations.' 'When I am playing rage or terror,' writes Mr. Lionel Brough, 'I believe I do turn pale. My mouth gets dry, my tongue cleaves300 to my palate. In Bob Acres, for instance (in the last act), I have to continually moisten my mouth, or I shall become inarticulate. I have to "swallow the lump," as I call it.' All artists who have had much experience of emotional parts are absolutely unanimous. . . . 'Playing with the brain,' says Miss Alma Murray, 'is far less fatiguing301 than playing with the heart. An adventuress taxes the physique far less than a sympathetic heroine. Muscular exertion has comparatively little to do with it.' . . . 'Emotion while acting,' writes Mr. Howe, 'will induce perspiration much more than physical exertion. I always perspired302 profusely303 while acting Joseph Surface, which requires little or no exertion.' . . . 'I suffer from fatigue,' writes Mr. Forbes Robertson, 'in proportion to the amount of emotion I may have been called upon to go through, and not from physical exertion.' . . . 'Though I have played Othello,' writes Mr. Coleman, 'ever since I was seventeen (at nineteen I had the honor of acting the Moor304 to Macready's Iago), husband my resources as I may, this is the one part, the part of parts, which always leaves me physically prostrate305. I have never been able to find a pigment306 that would stay on my face, though I have tried every preparation in existence. Even the titanic307 Edwin Forrest told me that he was always knocked over in Othello, and I have heard Charles Kean, Phelps, Brooke, Dillion, say the same thing. On the other hand, I have frequently acted Richard III. without turning a hair.'"20
The explanation for the discrepancy308 amongst actors is probably that which these quotations309 suggest. The visceral and organic part of the expression can be suppressed in some men, but not in others, and on this it is probable that the chief part of the felt emotion depends. Coquelin and the other actors who are inwardly cold are probably able to affect the dissociation in a complete way. Prof. Sikorsky of Kieff has contributed an important article on the facial expression of the insane to the Neurologisches Centralblatt for 1887. Having practised facial mimicry310 himself a great deal, he says:
"When I contract my facial muscles in any mimetic combination, I feel no emotional excitement, so that the mimicry is in the fullest sense of the word artificial, although quite irreproachable311 from the expressive312 point of view."21
We find, however, from the context that Prof. S.'s practice before the mirror has developed in him such a virtuosity313 in the control of his facial muscles that he can entirely disregard their natural association and contract them in any order of grouping, on either side of the face isolatedly, and each one alone. Probably in him the facial mimicry is an entirely restricted and localized thing, without sympathetic changes of any sort elsewhere.
Third Objection. Manifesting an emotion, so far from increasing it, makes it cease. Rage evaporates after a good outburst; it is pent-up emotions that "work like madness in the brain."
Reply. The objection fails to discriminate127 between what is felt during and what is felt after the manifestation. During the manifestation the emotion is always felt. In the normal course of things this, being the natural channel of discharge, exhausts the nerve-centres, and emotional calm ensues. But if tears or anger are simply suppressed, whilst the object of grief or rage remains unchanged before the mind, the current which would have invaded the normal channels turns into others, for it must find some outlet314 of escape. It may then work different and worse effects later on. Thus vengeful brooding may replace a burst of indignation; a dry heat may consume the frame of one who fain would weep, or he may, as Dante says, turn to stone within; and then tears or a storming fit may bring a grateful relief. This is when the current is strong enough to strike into a pathological path when the normal one is dammed. When this is so, an immediate outpour may be best. But here, to quote Prof. Bain again:
"There is nothing more implied than the fact that an emotion may be too strong to be resisted, and me only waste our strength in the endeavor. If we are really able to stem the torrent315, there is no more reason for refraining from the attempt than in the case of weaker feelings. And undoubtedly316 the habitual317 control of the emotions is not to be attained318 without a systematic319 restraint, extended to weak and strong."
When we teach children to repress their emotional talk and display, it is not that they may feel more -- quite the reverse. It is that they may think more; for, to a certain extent, whatever currents are diverted from the regions below, must swell207 the activity of the thought-tracts of the brain. In apoplexies and other brain injuries we get the opposite condition -- an obstruction320, namely, to the passage of currents among the thought-tracts, and with this an increased tendency of objects to start downward currents into the organs of the body. The consequence is tears, laughter, and temper-fits, on the most insignificant321 provocation, accompanying a proportional feebleness in logical thought and the power of volitional322 attention and decision, -- just the sort of thing from which we try to wean our child. It is true that we say of certain persons that "they would feel more if they expressed less." And in another class of persons the explosive energy with which passion manifests itself on critical occasions seems correlated with the way in which they bottle it up during the intervals. But these are only eccentric types of character, and within each type the law of the last paragraph prevails. The sentimentalist is so constructed that 'gushing324' is his or her normal mode of expression. Putting a stopper on the 'gush323' will only to a limited extent cause more 'real' activities to take its place; in the main it will simply produce listlessness. On the other hand, the ponderous325 and bilious326 'slumbering327 volcano,' let him repress the expression of his passions as he will, will find them expire if they get no vent at all; whilst if the rare occasions multiply which he deems worthy of their outbreak, he will find them grow in intensity328 as life proceeds. On the whole, I cannot see that this third objection carries any weight.
If our hypothesis is true, it makes us realize more deeply than ever how much our mental life is knit up with our corporeal frame, in the strictest sense of the term. Rapture329, love, ambition, indignation, and pride, considered as feelings, are fruits of the same soil with the grossest bodily sensations of pleasure and of pain. But the reader will remember that we agreed at the outset to affirm this only of what we then called the 'coarser' emotions, and that those inward states of emotional sensibility which appeared devoid330 at first sight of bodily results should be left out of our account. We must now say a word or two about these latter feelings, the 'subtler' emotions, as we then agreed to call them.
The Subtler Emotions.
These are the moral, intellectual, and æsthetic feelings. Concords331 of sounds, of colors, of lines, logical consistencies332, teleological333 fitnesses, affect us with a pleasure that seems ingrained in the very form of the representation itself, and to borrow nothing from any reverberation surging up from the parts below the brain. The Herbartian psychologists have distinguished feelings due to the form in which ideas may be arranged. A mathematical demonstration334 may be as 'pretty,' and an act of justice as 'neat,' as a drawing or a tune150, although the prettiness and neatness seem to have nothing to do with sensation. We have, then, or some of us seem to have, genuinely cerebral forms of pleasure and displeasure, apparently not agreeing in their mode of production with the 'coarser ' emotions we have been analyzing335. And it is certain that readers whom our reasons have hitherto failed to convince will now start up at this admission, and consider that by it we give up our whole case. Since musical perceptions, since logical ideas, can immediately arouse a form of emotional feeling, they will say, is it not more natural to suppose that in the case of the so-called 'coarser' emotions, prompted by other kinds of objects, the emotional feeling is equally immediate, and the bodily expression something that comes later and is added on?
In reply to this we must immediately insist that æsthetic emotion, pure and simple, the pleasure given us by certain lines and masses, and combinations of colors and sounds, is an absolutely sensational experience, an optical or auricular feeling that is primary, and not due to the repercussion336 backwards of other sensations elsewhere consecutively337 aroused. To this simple primary and immediate pleasure in certain pure sensations and harmonious338 combinations of them, there may, it is true, be added secondary pleasures; and in the practical enjoyment339 of works of art by the masses of mankind these secondary pleasures play a great part. The more classic one's taste is, however, the less relatively340 important are the secondary pleasures felt to be in comparison with those of the primary sensation as it comes in.22 Classicism and romanticism have their battles over this point. Complex suggestiveness, the awakening341 of vistas342 of memory and association, and the stirring of our flesh with picturesque343 mystery and gloom, make a work of art romantic. The classic taste brands these effects as coarse and tawdry, and prefers the naked beauty of the optical and auditory sensations, unadorned with frippery or foliage344. To the romantic mind, on the contrary, the immediate beauty of these sensations seems dry and thin. I am of course not discussing which view is right, but only showing that the discrimination between the primary feeling of beauty, as a pure incoming sensible quality, and the secondary emotions which are grafted345 thereupon, is one that must be made.
These secondary emotions themselves are assuredly for the most part constituted of other incoming sensations aroused by the diffusive wave of reflex effects which the beautiful object sets up. A glow, a pang in the breast, a shudder346, a fulness of the breathing, a flutter of the heart, a shiver down the back, a moistening of the eyes, a stirring in the hypogastrium, and a thousand unnamable symptoms besides, may be felt the moment the beauty excites us. And these symptoms also result when we are excited by moral perceptions, as of pathos347, magnanimity, or courage. The voice breaks and the sob56 rises in the struggling chest, or the nostril91 dilates and the fingers tighten348, whilst the heart beats, etc., etc.
As far as these ingredients of the subtler emotions go, then, the latter form no exception to our account, but rather an additional illustration thereof. In all cases of intellectual or moral rapture we find that, unless there be coupled a bodily reverberation of some kind with the mere thought of the object and cognition of its quality; unless we actually laugh at the neatness of the demonstration or witticism349; unless we thrill at the case of justice, or tingle350 at the act of magnanimity; our state of mind can hardly be called emotional at all. It is in fact a mere intellectual perception of how certain things are to be called -- neat, right, witty351, generous, and the like. Such a judicial state of mind as this is to be classed among awarenesses of truth; it is a cognitive act. As a matter of fact, however, the moral and intellectual cognitions hardly ever do exist thus unaccompanied. The bodily sounding-board is at work, as careful introspection will show, far more than we usually suppose. Still, where long familiarity with a certain class of effects, even æsthetic ones, has blunted mere emotional excitability as much as it has sharpened taste and judgment352, we do get the intellectual emotion, if such it can be called, pure and undefiled. And the dryness of it, the paleness, the absence of all glow, as it may exist in a thoroughly353 expert critic's mind, not only shows us what an altogether different thing it is from the 'coarser' emotions we considered first, but makes us suspect that almost the entire difference lies in the fact that the bodily sounding-board, vibrating in the one case, is in the other mute. "Not so very bad" is, in a person of consummate354 taste, apt to be the highest limit of approving expression. "Rien ne me choque" is said to have been Chopin's superlative of praise of new music. A sentimental layman would feel, and ought to feel, horrified355, on being admitted into such a, critic's mind, to see how cold, how thin, how void of human significance, are the motives356 for favor or disfavor that there prevail. The capacity to make a nice spot on the wall will outweigh357 a picture's whole content; a foolish trick of words will preserve a poem; an utterly358 meaningless fitness of sequence in one musical composition set at naught359 any amount of 'expressiveness360' in another.
I remember seeing an English couple sit for more than an hour on a piercing February day in the Academy at Venice before the celebrated361 'Assumption' by Titian; and when I, after being chased from room to room by the cold, concluded to get into the sunshine as fast as possible and let the pictures go, but before leaving drew reverently near to them to learn with what superior forms of susceptibility they might be endowed, all I overheard was the woman's voice murmuring: "What a deprecatory expression her face wears! What self-abnegation! How unworthy she feels of the honor she is receiving!" Their honest hearts had been kept warm all the time by a glow of spurious sentiment that would have fairly made old Titian sick. Mr. Ruskin somewhere makes the (for him terrible) admission that religious people as a rule care little for pictures, and that when they do care for them they generally prefer the worst ones to the best. Yes! in every art, in every science, there is the keen perception of certain relations being right or not, and there is the emotional flush and thrill consequent thereupon. And these are two things, not one. In the former of them it is that experts and masters are at home. The latter accompaniments are bodily commotions363 that they may hardly feel, but that may be experienced in their fulness by crétins and philistines364 in whom the critical judgment is at its lowest ebb365. The 'marvels366' of Science, about which so much edifying367 popular literature is written, are apt to be 'caviare' to the men in the laboratories. And even divine Philosophy itself, which common mortals consider so 'sublime' an occupation, on account of the vastness of its data and outlook, is too apt to the practical philosopher himself to he but a sharpening and tightening368 business, a matter of 'points,' of screwing down things, of splitting hairs, and of the 'intent' rather than the 'extent' of conceptions. Very little emotion here! -- except the effort of setting the attention fine, and the feeling of ease and relief (mainly in the breathing apparatus) when the inconsistencies are overcome and the thoughts run smoothly369 for a while. Emotion and cognition seem then parted even in this last retreat; and cerebral processes are almost feelingless, so far as we can judge, until they summon help from parts below.
No Special Brain-Centres for Emotion.
If the neural370 process underlying371 emotional consciousness be what I have now sought to prove it, the physiology of the brain becomes a simpler matter than has been hitherto supposed. Sensational, associational, and motor elements are all that the organ need contain. The physiologists372 who, during the past few years, have been so industriously373 exploring the brain's functions, have limited their explanations to its cognitive and volitional performances. Dividing the brain into sensory374 and motor centres, they have found their division to be exactly paralleled by the analysis made by empirical psychology of the perceptive375 and volitional parts of the mind into their simplest elements. But the emotions have been so ignored in all these researches that one is tempted376 to suppose that if these investigators377 were asked for a theory of them in brain-terms, they would have to reply, either that they had as yet bestowed378 no thought upon the subject, or that they had found it so difficult to make distinct hypotheses that the matter lay among the problems of the future, only to be taken up after the simpler ones of the present should have been definitively379 solved.
And yet it is even now certain that of two things concerning the emotions, one must be true. Either separate and special centres, affected to them alone, are their brain-seat, or else they correspond to processes occurring in the motor and sensory centres already assigned, or in others like them, not yet known. If the former be the case, we must deny the view that is current, and hold the cortex to be something more than the surface of 'projection' for every sensitive spot and every- muscle in the body. If the latter be the case, rye must ask whether the emotional process in the sensory or motor centre be an altogether peculiar one, or whether it resembles the ordinary perceptive processes of which those centres are already recognized to be the seat. Now if the theory I have defended be true, the latter alternative is all that it demands. Supposing the cortex to contain parts, liable to be excited by changes in each special sense-organ, in each portion of the skin, in each muscle, each joint380, and each viscus, and to contain absolutely nothing else, we still have a scheme capable of representing the process of the emotions. An object falls on a sense-organ, affects a cortical part, and is perceived; or else the latter, excited inwardly, gives rise to an idea of the same object. Quick as a flash, the reflex currents pass down through their preordained channels, alter the condition of muscle, skin, and viscus; and these alterations, perceived, like the original object, in as many portions of the cortex, combine with it in consciousness and transform it from an object-simply-apprehended into an object-emotionally-felt. No new principles have to be invoked, nothing postulated381 beyond the ordinary reflex circuits, and the local centres admitted in one shape or another by all to exist.
Emotional Differences Between Individuals.
The revivability in memory of the emotions, like that of all the feelings of the lower senses, is very small. We can remember that we underwent grief or rapture, but not just how the grief or rapture felt. This difficult ideal revivability is, however, more than compensated42 in the case of the emotions by a very easy actual revivability. That is, we can produce, not remembrances of the old grief or rapture, but new griefs and raptures382, by summoning up a lively thought of their exciting cause. The cause is now only an idea, but this idea produces the same organic irradiations, or almost the same, which were produced by its original, so that the emotion is again a reality. We have 'recaptured' it. Shame, love, and anger are particularly liable to be thus revived by ideas of their object. Professor Bain admits23 that "in their strict character of emotion proper, they [the emotions] have the minimum of revivability; but being always incorporated with the sensations of the higher senses, they share in the superior revivability of sights and sounds." But he fails to point out that the revived sights and sounds may be ideal without ceasing to be distinct; whilst the emotion, to be distinct, must become real again. Prof. Bain seems to forget that an 'ideal emotion' and a real emotion prompted by an ideal object are two very different things.
An emotional temperament383 on the one hand, and a lively imagination for objects and circumstances on the other, are thus the conditions, necessary and sufficient, for an abundant emotional life. No matter how emotional the temperament may be, if the imagination be poor, the occasions for touching384 off the emotional trains will fail to be realized, and the life will be pro3 tanto cold and dry. This is perhaps a reason why it may be better that a man of thought should not have too strong a visualizing385 power. He is less likely to have his trains of meditation386 disturbed by emotional interruptions. It will be remembered that Mr. Galton found the members of the Royal Society and of the French Academy of Sciences to be below par2 in visualizing power. If I may speak of myself, I am far less able to visualize387 now, at the age of 46, than in my earlier years; and I am strongly inclined to believe that the relative sluggishness388 of my emotional life at present is quite as much connected with this fact as it is with the invading torpor389 of hoary390 eld, or with the omnibus-horse routine of settled professional and domestic life. I say this because I occasionally have a flash of the old stronger visual imagery, and I notice that the emotional commentary, so to call it, is then liable to become much more acute than is its present wont. Charcot's patient, whose case is given above on p. 58 ff., complained of his incapacity for emotional feeling after his optical images were gone. His mother's death, which in former times would have wrung391 his heart, left him quite cold; largely, as he himself suggests, because he could form no definite visual image of the event, and of the effect of the loss on the rest of the family at home.
One final generality about the emotions remains to be noted392: They blunt themselves by repetition more rapidly than any other sort of feeling. This is due not only to the general law of 'accommodation' to their stimulus which we saw to obtain of all feelings whatever, but to the peculiar fact that the 'diffusive wave' of reflex effects tends always to become more narrow. It seems as if it were essentially393 meant to be a provisional arrangement, on the basis of which precise and determinate reactions might arise. The more we exercise ourselves at anything, the fewer muscles we employ; and just so, the oftener we meet an object, the more definitely we think and behave about it; and the less is the organic perturbation to which it gives rise. The first time we saw it we could perhaps neither act nor think at all, and had no reaction but organic perturbation. The emotions of startled surprise, wonder, or curiosity were the result. Now we look on with absolutely no emotion.24 This tendency to economy in the nerve-paths through which our sensations and ideas discharge, is the basis of all growth in efficiency, readiness, and skill. Where would the general, the surgeon, the presiding chairman, be, if their nerve-currents kept running down into their viscera, instead of keeping up amid their convolutions? But what they gain for practice by this law, they lose, it must be confessed, for feeling. For the world-worn and experienced man, the sense of pleasure which he gets from the free and powerful flow of thoughts, overcoming obstacles as they arise, is the only compensation for that freshness of the heart which he once enjoyed. This free and powerful flow means that brain-paths of association and memory have more and more organized themselves in him, and that through them the stimulus is drafted off into nerves which lead merely to the writing finger or the speaking tongue.25 The trains of intellectual association, the memories, the logical relations, may, however, be voluminous in the extreme. Past emotions may be among the things remembered. The more of all these trains an object can set going in us, the richer our cognitive intimacy394 with it is. This cerebral sense of richness seems itself to be a source of pleasure, possibly even apart from the euphoria which from time to time comes up from respiratory organs. If there be such a thing as a purely spiritual emotion, I should be inclined to restrict it to this cerebral sense of abundance and ease, this feeling, as Sir W. Hamilton would call it, of unimpeded and not overstrained activity of thought. Under ordinary conditions, it is a fine and serene395 but not an excited state of consciousness. In certain intoxications it becomes exciting, and it may be intensely exciting. I can hardly imagine a more frenzied396 excitement than that which goes with the consciousness of seeing absolute truth, which characterizes the coming to from nitrous-oxide drunkenness. Chloroform, ether, and alcohol all produce this deepening sense of insight into truth; and with all of them it may be a 'strong' emotion; but then there also come with it all sorts of strange bodily feelings and changes in the incoming sensibilities. I cannot see my way to affirming that the emotion is independent of these. I will concede, however, that if its independence is anywhere to be maintained, these theoretic raptures seem the place at which to begin the defence.
The Genesis of the Various Emotions.
On a former page (pp. 453-4) I said that two questions, and only two, are important, if we regard the emotions as constituted by feelings due to the diffusive wave.
(1) What special diffusive effects do the various special objective and subjective experiences excite? and
(2) How come they to excite them?
The works on physiognomy and expression are all of them attempts to answer question 1. As is but natural, the effects upon the face have received the most careful attention. The reader who wishes details additional to those given above on pp. 443-7 is referred to the works mentioned in the note below.26
As regards question 2, some little progress has of recent years been made in answering it. Two things are certain:
a. The facial muscles of expression are not given us simply for expression's sake;27
b. Each muscle is not affected to some one emotion exclusively, as certain writers have thought. Some movements of expression can be accounted for as weakened repetitions of movements which formerly (when they were stronger) were of utility to the subject. Others are similarly weakened repetitions of movements which under other conditions were physiologically397 necessary effects. Of the latter reactions the respiratory disturbances in anger and fear might be taken as examples -- organic reminiscences, as it were, reverberations in imagination of the blowings of the man making a series of combative398 efforts, of the pantings of one in precipitate218 flight. Such at least is a suggestion made by Mr. Spencer which has found approval. And he also was the first, so far as I know, to suggest that other movements in anger and fear could be explained by the nascent399 excitation of formerly useful acts.
"To have in a slight degree," he says, "such psychical states as accompany the reception of wounds, and are experienced during flight, is to be in a state of what we call fear. And to have in a slight degree such psychical states as the processes of catching, killing400, and eating imply, is to have the desires to catch, kill, and eat. That the propensities401 to the acts are nothing else than nascent excitations of the psychical state involved in the acts, is proved by the natural language of the propensities. Fear, when strong, expresses itself in cries, in efforts to escape, in palpitations, in tremblings; and these are just the manifestations that go along with an actual suffering of the evil feared. The destructive passion is shown in a general tension of the muscular system, in gnashing of teeth and protrusion402 of the claws, in dilated eyes and nostrils, in growls403; and these are weaker forms of the actions that accompany the killing of prey404. To such objective evidences every one can add subjective evidences. Every one can testify that the psychical state called fear consists of mental representations of certain painful results; and that the one called anger consists of mental representations of the actions and impressions which would occur while inflicting405 some kind of pain."28
About fear I shall have more to say presently. Meanwhile the principle of revival in weakened form of reactions useful in more violent dealings with the object inspiring the emotion, has found many applications. So slight a symptom as the snarl406 or sneer407, the one-sided uncovering of the upper teeth, is accounted for by Darwin as a survival from the time when our ancestors had large canines408, and unfleshed them (as dogs now do) for attack. Similarly the raising of the eyebrows in outward attention, the opening of the mouth in astonishment, come, according to the same author, from the utility of these movements in extreme cases. The raising of the eyebrows goes with the opening of the eye for better vision; the opening of the mouth with the intensest listening, and with the rapid catching of the breath which precedes muscular effort. The distention of the nostrils in anger is interpreted by Spencer as an echo of the way in which our ancestors had to breathe when, during combat, their "mouth was filled up by a part of an antagonist's body that had been seized(!)." The trembling of fear is supposed by Mantegazza to be for the sake of warming the blood(!). The reddening of the face and neck is called by Wundt a compensatory arrangement for relieving the brain of the blood-pressure which the simultaneous excitement of the heart brings with it. The effusion of tears is explained both by this author and by Darwin to be a blood-withdrawing agency of a similar sort. The contraction of the muscles around the eyes, of which the primitive409 use is to protect those organs from being too much gorged410 with blood during the screaming fits of infancy411, survives in adult life in the shape of the frown, which instantly comes over the brow when anything difficult or displeasing412 presents itself either to thought or action.
"As the habit of contracting the brows has been followed by infants during innumerable generations, at the commencement of every crying or screaming fit," says Darwin, "it has become firmly associated with the incipient sense of something distressing or disagreeable. Hence, under similar circumstances, it would be apt to be continued during maturity413, although never then developed, into a crying fit. Screaming or weeping begins to be voluntarily restrained at an early period of life, whereas frowning is hardly ever restrained at any age."29
The intermittent414 expirations which constitute laughter have, according to Dr. Hecker, the purpose of counteracting415 the anæmia of the brain, which he supposes to be brought about by the action of the joyous or comic stimulus upon the vaso-motor nerves.30 A smile is the week vestige416 of a laugh. The tight closure of the mouth in all effort is useful for retaining the air in the lungs so as to fix the chest and give a firm basis of insertion for the muscles of the flanks. Accordingly, we see the lips compress themselves upon every slight occasion of resolve. The blood-pressure has to be high during the sexual embrace; hence the palpitations, and hence also the tendency to caressing417 action, which accompanies tender emotion in its fainter forms. Other examples might be given; but these are quite enough to show the scope of the principle of revival of useful action in weaker form.
Another principle, to which Darwin perhaps hardly does sufficient justice, may be called the principle of reacting similarly to analogous-feeling stimuli. There is a whole vocabulary of descriptive adjectives common to impressions belonging to different sensible spheres -- experiences off all classes are sweet, impressions of all classes rich or solid, sensations of all classes sharp. Wundt and Piderit accordingly explain many of our most expressive reactions upon moral causes as symbolic418 gustatory movements. As soon as any experience arises which has an affinity419 with the feeling of sweet, or bitter, or sour, the same movements are executed which would result from the taste in point.31 "All the states of mind which language designates by the metaphors420 bitter, harsh, sweet, combine themselves, therefore, with the corresponding mimetic movements of the mouth." Certainly the emotions of disgust and satisfaction do express themselves in this mimetic way. Disgust is an incipient regurgitation or retching, limiting its expression often to the grimace421 of the lips and nose; satisfaction goes with a sucking smile, or tasting motion of the lips. In Mantegazza's loose if learned work, the attempt is made, much less successfully, to bring in the eye and ear as additional sources of symbolically422 expressive reaction. The ordinary gesture of negation362 -- among us, moving the head about its axis423 from side to side -- is a reaction originally used by babies to keep disagreeables from getting into their mouth, and may be observed in perfection in any nursery.32 It is now evoked424 where the stimulus is only an unwelcome idea. Similarly the nod forward in affirmation is after the analogy of taking food into the mouth. The connection of the expression of moral or social disdain425 or dislike, especially in women, with movements having a perfectly definite original olfactory426 function, is too obvious for comment. Winking427 is the effect of any threatening surprise, not only of what puts the eyes in danger; and a momentary428 aversion of the eyes is very apt to be one's first symptom of response to an unexpectedly unwelcome proposition. -- These may suffice as examples of movements expressive from analogy.
But if certain of our emotional reactions can be explained by the two principles invoked -- and the reader will himself have felt how conjectural429 and fallible in some of the instances the explanation is -- there remain many reactions which cannot so be explained at all, and these we must write down for the present as purely idiopathic effects of the stimulus. Amongst them are the effects on the viscera and internal glands, the dryness of the mouth and diarrhœa and nausea of fear, the liver-disturbances which sometimes produce jaundice after excessive rage, the urinary secretion of sanguine430 excitement, and the bladder-contraction of apprehension, the gaping431 of expectancy432, the 'lump in the throat' of grief, the tickling433 there and the swallowing of embarrassment434, the 'precordial' anxiety' of dread, the changes in the pupil, the various sweatings of the skin, cold or hot, local or general, and its flushings, together with other symptoms which probably exist but are too hidden to have been noticed or named. It seems as if even the changes of blood-pressure and heart-beat during emotional excitement might, instead of being teleologically435 determined, prove to be purely mechanical or physiological outpourings through the easiest drainage-channels -- the pneumogastrics and sympathetic nerves happening under ordinary circumstances to be such channels.
Mr. Spencer argues that the smallest muscles must be such channels; and instances the tail in dogs, cats, and birds, the ears in horses, the crest436 in parrots, the face and fingers in man, as the first organs to be moved by emotional stimuli.33 This principle (if it be one) would apply still more easily to the muscles of the smaller arteries (though not exactly to the heart); whilst the great variability of the circulatory symptoms would also suggest that they are determined by causes into which utility does not enter. The quickening of the heart lends itself, it is true, rather easily to explanation by inherited habit, organic memory of more violent excitement; and Darwin speaks in favor of this view (see his Expression, etc., pp. 74-5). But, on the other hand, we have so many cases of reaction which are indisputably pathological, as we may say, and which could never be serviceable or derived from what was serviceable, that I think we should be cautious about pushing our explanations of the varied437 heart-beat too far in the teleological direction. Trembling, which is found in many excitements besides that of terror, is, pace Mr. Spencer and Sig. Mantegazza, quite pathological. So are terror's other strong symptoms. Professor Mosso, as the total result of his study, writes as follows:
"We have seen that the graver the peril438 becomes, the more do the reactions which are positively harmful to the animal prevail in number and inefficacy. We already saw that the trembling and the palsy make it incapable439 of flight or defence; we have also convinced ourselves that in the most decisive moments of danger we are less able to see [or to think] than when we are tranquil. In face of such facts we must admit that the phenomena of fear cannot all be accounted for by 'selection.' Their extreme degrees are morbid phenomena which show an imperfection in the organism. We might almost say that Nature had not been able to frame a substance which should be excitable enough to compose the brain and spinal440 marrow441, and yet which should not be so excited by exceptional stimulation442 as to overstep in its reactions those physiological bounds which are useful to the conservation of the creature."34
Professor Bain, if I mistake not, had long previously commented upon fear in a similar way.
Mr. Darwin accounts for many emotional expressions by what he calls the principle of antithesis443. In virtue444 of this principle, if a certain stimulus prompted a certain set of movements, then a contrary-feeling stimulus would prompt exactly the opposite movements, although these might otherwise have neither utility nor significance. It is in this wise that Darwin explains the expression of impotence, raised eyebrows, and shrugged445 shoulders, dropped arms and open palms, as being the antithesis of the frowning brow, the thrown-back shoulders, and clenched fists of rage, which is the emotion of power. No doubt a certain number of movements can be formulated under this law; but whether it expresses a causal principle is more than doubtful. It has been by most critics considered the least successful of Darwin's speculations446 on this subject.
To sum up, we see the reason for a few emotional reactions; for others a possible species of reason may be guessed; but others remain for which no plausible reason can even be conceived. These may be reactions which are purely mechanical results of the way in which our nervous centres are framed, reactions which, although permanent in us now, may be called accidental as far as their origin goes. In fact, in an organism as complex as the nervous system there must be many such reactions, incidental to others evolved for utility's sake, but which would never themselves have been evolved independently, for any utility they might possess. Sea-sickness, the love of music, of the various intoxicants, nay, the entire æsthetic life of man, we have already traced to this accidental origin. It would be foolish to suppose that none of the reactions called emotional could have arisen in this quasi-accidental way.
This is all I have to say about the emotions. If one should seek to name each particular one of them of which the human heart is the seat, it is plain that the limit to their number would lie in the introspective vocabulary of the seeker, each race of men having found names for some shade of feeling which other races have left undiscriminated. If then we should seek to break the emotions, thus enumerated447, into groups, according to their affinities448, it is again plain that all sorts of groupings would be possible, according as we chose this character or that as a basis, and that all groupings would be equally real and true. The only question would be, does this grouping or that suit our purpose best? The reader may then class the emotions as he will, as sad or joyous, sthenic or asthenic, natural or acquired, inspired by animate449 or inanimate things, formal or material, sensuous450 or ideal, direct or reflective, egoistic or non-egoistic, retrospective, prospective451 or immediate, organismally or environmentally initiated452, or what more besides. All these are divisions which have been actually proposed. Each of them has its merits, and each one brings together some emotions which the others keep apart. For a fuller account, and for other classificatory schemes, I refer to the Appendix to Bain's Emotions and the Will, and to Mercier's, Stanley's, and Read's articles on the Emotions, in Mind, vols. IX, X, and XI. In vol. IX. p. 421 there is also an article by the lamented453 Edmund Gurney in criticism of the view which in this chapter I continue to defend.
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79 exudation | |
n.渗出,渗出物,分泌;溢泌 | |
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80 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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81 sudorific | |
n.发汗剂;adj.发汗的 | |
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82 gland | |
n.腺体,(机)密封压盖,填料盖 | |
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83 glands | |
n.腺( gland的名词复数 ) | |
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84 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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85 saliva | |
n.唾液,口水 | |
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86 salivary | |
adj. 唾液的 | |
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87 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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88 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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89 diversified | |
adj.多样化的,多种经营的v.使多样化,多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 );进入新的商业领域 | |
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90 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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91 nostril | |
n.鼻孔 | |
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92 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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93 dilated | |
adj.加宽的,扩大的v.(使某物)扩大,膨胀,张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94 dilate | |
vt.使膨胀,使扩大 | |
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95 gasping | |
adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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96 tremor | |
n.震动,颤动,战栗,兴奋,地震 | |
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97 gulping | |
v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的现在分词 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
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98 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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99 protruding | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的现在分词 );凸 | |
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100 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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101 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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102 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103 twitching | |
n.颤搐 | |
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104 protruded | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105 avert | |
v.防止,避免;转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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106 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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107 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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108 synopsis | |
n.提要,梗概 | |
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109 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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110 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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111 projection | |
n.发射,计划,突出部分 | |
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112 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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113 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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114 growling | |
n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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115 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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116 sardonic | |
adj.嘲笑的,冷笑的,讥讽的 | |
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117 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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118 rigidity | |
adj.钢性,坚硬 | |
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119 constriction | |
压缩; 紧压的感觉; 束紧; 压缩物 | |
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120 secreting | |
v.(尤指动物或植物器官)分泌( secrete的现在分词 );隐匿,隐藏 | |
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121 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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122 nausea | |
n.作呕,恶心;极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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123 nauseate | |
v.使作呕;使感到恶心;使厌恶 | |
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124 blasphemous | |
adj.亵渎神明的,不敬神的 | |
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125 merge | |
v.(使)结合,(使)合并,(使)合为一体 | |
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126 discriminated | |
分别,辨别,区分( discriminate的过去式和过去分词 ); 歧视,有差别地对待 | |
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127 discriminate | |
v.区别,辨别,区分;有区别地对待 | |
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128 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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129 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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130 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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131 synonyms | |
同义词( synonym的名词复数 ) | |
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132 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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133 flux | |
n.流动;不断的改变 | |
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134 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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135 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
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136 pretences | |
n.假装( pretence的名词复数 );作假;自命;自称 | |
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137 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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138 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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139 aphoristic | |
警句(似)的,格言(似)的 | |
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140 surfeited | |
v.吃得过多( surfeit的过去式和过去分词 );由于过量而厌腻 | |
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141 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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142 specify | |
vt.指定,详细说明 | |
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143 psychic | |
n.对超自然力敏感的人;adj.有超自然力的 | |
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144 entities | |
实体对像; 实体,独立存在体,实际存在物( entity的名词复数 ) | |
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145 immutable | |
adj.不可改变的,永恒的 | |
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146 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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147 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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148 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
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149 reverberation | |
反响; 回响; 反射; 反射物 | |
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150 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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151 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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152 cognitive | |
adj.认知的,认识的,有感知的 | |
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153 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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154 mitigate | |
vt.(使)减轻,(使)缓和 | |
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155 mechanism | |
n.机械装置;机构,结构 | |
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156 reverberate | |
v.使回响,使反响 | |
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157 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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158 instigating | |
v.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的现在分词 ) | |
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159 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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160 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
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161 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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162 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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163 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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164 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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165 annihilating | |
v.(彻底)消灭( annihilate的现在分词 );使无效;废止;彻底击溃 | |
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166 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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167 residual | |
adj.复播复映追加时间;存留下来的,剩余的 | |
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168 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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169 clenching | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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170 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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171 judicial | |
adj.司法的,法庭的,审判的,明断的,公正的 | |
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172 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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173 chastisement | |
n.惩罚 | |
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174 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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175 suffocation | |
n.窒息 | |
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176 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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177 nonentity | |
n.无足轻重的人 | |
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178 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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179 scrutinize | |
n.详细检查,细读 | |
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180 corporeal | |
adj.肉体的,身体的;物质的 | |
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181 corporeally | |
adv.肉体上,物质上 | |
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182 sages | |
n.圣人( sage的名词复数 );智者;哲人;鼠尾草(可用作调料) | |
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183 apathetic | |
adj.冷漠的,无动于衷的 | |
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184 revival | |
n.复兴,复苏,(精力、活力等的)重振 | |
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185 materialistic | |
a.唯物主义的,物质享乐主义的 | |
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186 materialism | |
n.[哲]唯物主义,唯物论;物质至上 | |
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187 invoked | |
v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 );行使(权利等);祈求救助;恳求 | |
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188 sensational | |
adj.使人感动的,非常好的,轰动的,耸人听闻的 | |
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189 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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190 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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191 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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192 vileness | |
n.讨厌,卑劣 | |
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193 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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194 formulate | |
v.用公式表示;规划;设计;系统地阐述 | |
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195 formulated | |
v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
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196 lamenting | |
adj.悲伤的,悲哀的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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197 propounded | |
v.提出(问题、计划等)供考虑[讨论],提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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198 definitive | |
adj.确切的,权威性的;最后的,决定性的 | |
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199 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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200 paralytic | |
adj. 瘫痪的 n. 瘫痪病人 | |
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201 evoke | |
vt.唤起,引起,使人想起 | |
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202 phlegmatic | |
adj.冷静的,冷淡的,冷漠的,无活力的 | |
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203 apprentice | |
n.学徒,徒弟 | |
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204 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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205 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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206 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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207 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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208 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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209 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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210 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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211 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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212 repugnance | |
n.嫌恶 | |
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213 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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214 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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215 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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216 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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217 surgical | |
adj.外科的,外科医生的,手术上的 | |
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218 precipitate | |
adj.突如其来的;vt.使突然发生;n.沉淀物 | |
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219 precipitates | |
v.(突如其来地)使发生( precipitate的第三人称单数 );促成;猛然摔下;使沉淀 | |
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220 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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221 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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222 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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223 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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224 caresses | |
爱抚,抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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225 bestows | |
赠给,授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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226 spasm | |
n.痉挛,抽搐;一阵发作 | |
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227 parental | |
adj.父母的;父的;母的 | |
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228 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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229 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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230 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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231 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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232 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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233 apathy | |
n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
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234 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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235 labile | |
adj.易变的,不稳定的 | |
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236 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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237 engender | |
v.产生,引起 | |
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238 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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239 crouching | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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240 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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241 attains | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的第三人称单数 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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242 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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243 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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244 copious | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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245 provocation | |
n.激怒,刺激,挑拨,挑衅的事物,激怒的原因 | |
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246 layman | |
n.俗人,门外汉,凡人 | |
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247 psychical | |
adj.有关特异功能现象的;有关特异功能官能的;灵魂的;心灵的 | |
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248 disturbances | |
n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 );打扰;困扰;障碍 | |
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249 mania | |
n.疯狂;躁狂症,狂热,癖好 | |
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250 throttles | |
n.控制油、气流的阀门( throttle的名词复数 );喉咙,气管v.扼杀( throttle的第三人称单数 );勒死;使窒息;压制 | |
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251 congestion | |
n.阻塞,消化不良 | |
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252 protuberant | |
adj.突出的,隆起的 | |
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253 pulsating | |
adj.搏动的,脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 );跳动;脉动;受(激情)震动 | |
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254 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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255 seasick | |
adj.晕船的 | |
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256 augments | |
增加,提高,扩大( augment的名词复数 ) | |
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257 irritable | |
adj.急躁的;过敏的;易怒的 | |
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258 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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259 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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260 constellations | |
n.星座( constellation的名词复数 );一群杰出人物;一系列(相关的想法、事物);一群(相关的人) | |
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261 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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262 dilates | |
v.(使某物)扩大,膨胀,张大( dilate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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263 feign | |
vt.假装,佯作 | |
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264 corroborates | |
v.证实,支持(某种说法、信仰、理论等)( corroborate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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265 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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266 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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267 venting | |
消除; 泄去; 排去; 通风 | |
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268 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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269 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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270 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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271 precept | |
n.戒律;格言 | |
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272 undesirable | |
adj.不受欢迎的,不良的,不合意的,讨厌的;n.不受欢迎的人,不良分子 | |
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273 dispositions | |
安排( disposition的名词复数 ); 倾向; (财产、金钱的)处置; 气质 | |
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274 persistency | |
n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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275 sullenness | |
n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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276 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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277 kindliness | |
n.厚道,亲切,友好的行为 | |
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278 dorsal | |
adj.背部的,背脊的 | |
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279 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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280 frigid | |
adj.寒冷的,凛冽的;冷淡的;拘禁的 | |
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281 thaw | |
v.(使)融化,(使)变得友善;n.融化,缓和 | |
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282 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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283 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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284 incite | |
v.引起,激动,煽动 | |
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285 quiescence | |
n.静止 | |
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286 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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287 cerebral | |
adj.脑的,大脑的;有智力的,理智型的 | |
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288 dormant | |
adj.暂停活动的;休眠的;潜伏的 | |
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289 diffusive | |
adj.散布性的,扩及的,普及的 | |
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290 hilarious | |
adj.充满笑声的,欢闹的;[反]depressed | |
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291 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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292 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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293 mimic | |
v.模仿,戏弄;n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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294 mimicking | |
v.(尤指为了逗乐而)模仿( mimic的现在分词 );酷似 | |
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295 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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296 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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297 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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298 archer | |
n.射手,弓箭手 | |
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299 statistical | |
adj.统计的,统计学的 | |
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300 cleaves | |
v.劈开,剁开,割开( cleave的第三人称单数 ) | |
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301 fatiguing | |
a.使人劳累的 | |
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302 perspired | |
v.出汗,流汗( perspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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303 profusely | |
ad.abundantly | |
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304 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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305 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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306 pigment | |
n.天然色素,干粉颜料 | |
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307 titanic | |
adj.巨人的,庞大的,强大的 | |
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308 discrepancy | |
n.不同;不符;差异;矛盾 | |
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309 quotations | |
n.引用( quotation的名词复数 );[商业]行情(报告);(货物或股票的)市价;时价 | |
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310 mimicry | |
n.(生物)拟态,模仿 | |
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311 irreproachable | |
adj.不可指责的,无过失的 | |
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312 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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313 virtuosity | |
n.精湛技巧 | |
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314 outlet | |
n.出口/路;销路;批发商店;通风口;发泄 | |
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315 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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316 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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317 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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318 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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319 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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320 obstruction | |
n.阻塞,堵塞;障碍物 | |
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321 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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322 volitional | |
adj.意志的,凭意志的,有意志的 | |
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323 gush | |
v.喷,涌;滔滔不绝(说话);n.喷,涌流;迸发 | |
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324 gushing | |
adj.迸出的;涌出的;喷出的;过分热情的v.喷,涌( gush的现在分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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325 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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326 bilious | |
adj.胆汁过多的;易怒的 | |
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327 slumbering | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的现在分词形式) | |
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328 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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329 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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330 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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331 concords | |
n.和谐,一致,和睦( concord的名词复数 ) | |
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332 consistencies | |
一致性( consistency的名词复数 ); 连贯性; 坚实度; 浓度 | |
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333 teleological | |
adj.目的论的 | |
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334 demonstration | |
n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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335 analyzing | |
v.分析;分析( analyze的现在分词 );分解;解释;对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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336 repercussion | |
n.[常pl.](不良的)影响,反响,后果 | |
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337 consecutively | |
adv.连续地 | |
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338 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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339 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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340 relatively | |
adv.比较...地,相对地 | |
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341 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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342 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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343 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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344 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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345 grafted | |
移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 ); 嫁接; 使(思想、制度等)成为(…的一部份); 植根 | |
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346 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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347 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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348 tighten | |
v.(使)变紧;(使)绷紧 | |
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349 witticism | |
n.谐语,妙语 | |
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350 tingle | |
vi.感到刺痛,感到激动;n.刺痛,激动 | |
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351 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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352 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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353 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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354 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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355 horrified | |
a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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356 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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357 outweigh | |
vt.比...更重,...更重要 | |
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358 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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359 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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360 expressiveness | |
n.富有表现力 | |
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361 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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362 negation | |
n.否定;否认 | |
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363 commotions | |
n.混乱,喧闹,骚动( commotion的名词复数 ) | |
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364 philistines | |
n.市侩,庸人( philistine的名词复数 );庸夫俗子 | |
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365 ebb | |
vi.衰退,减退;n.处于低潮,处于衰退状态 | |
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366 marvels | |
n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 );令人惊奇的事物(或事例);不平凡的成果;成就v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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367 edifying | |
adj.有教训意味的,教训性的,有益的v.开导,启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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368 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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369 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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370 neural | |
adj.神经的,神经系统的 | |
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371 underlying | |
adj.在下面的,含蓄的,潜在的 | |
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372 physiologists | |
n.生理学者( physiologist的名词复数 );生理学( physiology的名词复数 );生理机能 | |
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373 industriously | |
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374 sensory | |
adj.知觉的,感觉的,知觉器官的 | |
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375 perceptive | |
adj.知觉的,有洞察力的,感知的 | |
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376 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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377 investigators | |
n.调查者,审查者( investigator的名词复数 ) | |
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378 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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379 definitively | |
adv.决定性地,最后地 | |
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380 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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381 postulated | |
v.假定,假设( postulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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382 raptures | |
极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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383 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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384 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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385 visualizing | |
肉眼观察 | |
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386 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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387 visualize | |
vt.使看得见,使具体化,想象,设想 | |
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388 sluggishness | |
不振,萧条,呆滞;惰性;滞性;惯性 | |
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389 torpor | |
n.迟钝;麻木;(动物的)冬眠 | |
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390 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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391 wrung | |
绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 ); 握紧(尤指别人的手); 把(湿衣服)拧干; 绞掉(水) | |
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392 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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393 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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394 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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395 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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396 frenzied | |
a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
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397 physiologically | |
ad.生理上,在生理学上 | |
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398 combative | |
adj.好战的;好斗的 | |
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399 nascent | |
adj.初生的,发生中的 | |
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400 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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401 propensities | |
n.倾向,习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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402 protrusion | |
n.伸出,突出 | |
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403 growls | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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404 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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405 inflicting | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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406 snarl | |
v.吼叫,怒骂,纠缠,混乱;n.混乱,缠结,咆哮 | |
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407 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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408 canines | |
n.犬齿( canine的名词复数 );犬牙;犬科动物 | |
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409 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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410 gorged | |
v.(用食物把自己)塞饱,填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 );作呕 | |
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411 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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412 displeasing | |
不愉快的,令人发火的 | |
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413 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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414 intermittent | |
adj.间歇的,断断续续的 | |
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415 counteracting | |
对抗,抵消( counteract的现在分词 ) | |
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416 vestige | |
n.痕迹,遗迹,残余 | |
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417 caressing | |
爱抚的,表现爱情的,亲切的 | |
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418 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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419 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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420 metaphors | |
隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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421 grimace | |
v.做鬼脸,面部歪扭 | |
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422 symbolically | |
ad.象征地,象征性地 | |
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423 axis | |
n.轴,轴线,中心线;坐标轴,基准线 | |
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424 evoked | |
[医]诱发的 | |
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425 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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426 olfactory | |
adj.嗅觉的 | |
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427 winking | |
n.瞬眼,目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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428 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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429 conjectural | |
adj.推测的 | |
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430 sanguine | |
adj.充满希望的,乐观的,血红色的 | |
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431 gaping | |
adj.口的;张口的;敞口的;多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 );张开,张大 | |
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432 expectancy | |
n.期望,预期,(根据概率统计求得)预期数额 | |
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433 tickling | |
反馈,回授,自旋挠痒法 | |
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434 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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435 teleologically | |
adj.目的论的 | |
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436 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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437 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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438 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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439 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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440 spinal | |
adj.针的,尖刺的,尖刺状突起的;adj.脊骨的,脊髓的 | |
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441 marrow | |
n.骨髓;精华;活力 | |
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442 stimulation | |
n.刺激,激励,鼓舞 | |
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443 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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444 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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445 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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446 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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447 enumerated | |
v.列举,枚举,数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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448 affinities | |
n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 );亲近;(生性)喜爱;类同 | |
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449 animate | |
v.赋于生命,鼓励;adj.有生命的,有生气的 | |
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450 sensuous | |
adj.激发美感的;感官的,感觉上的 | |
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451 prospective | |
adj.预期的,未来的,前瞻性的 | |
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452 initiated | |
n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始,创始,启蒙,介绍加入 | |
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453 lamented | |
adj.被哀悼的,令人遗憾的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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