The moment one tries to define what habit is, one is led to the fundamental properties of matter. The laws of Nature are nothing but the immutable6 habits which the different elementary sorts of matter follow in their actions and reactions upon each other. In the organic world, however, the habits are more variable than this. Even instincts vary from one individual to another of a kind; and are modified in the same individual, as we shall later see, to suit the exigencies7 of the case. The habits of an elementary particle of matter cannot change (on the principles of the atomistic philosophy), because the particle is itself an unchangeable thing; but those of a compound mass of matter can change, because they are in the last instance due to the structure of the compound, and either outward forces or inward tensions can, from one hour to another, turn that structure into something different from what it was. That is, they can do so if the body be plastic enough to maintain its integrity, and be not disrupted when its structure yields. The change of structure here spoken of need not involve the outward shape; it may be invisible and molecular8, as when a bar of iron becomes magnetic or crystalline through the action of certain outward causes, or India-rubber becomes friable9, or plaster 'sets.' All these changes are rather slow; the material in question opposes a certain resistance to the modifying cause, which it takes time to overcome, but the gradual yielding whereof often saves the material from being disintegrated10 altogether. When the structure has yielded, the same inertia11 becomes a condition of its comparative permanence in the new form, and of the new habits the body then manifests. Plasticity, then, in the wide sense of the word, means the possession of a structure weak enough to yield to an influence, but strong enough not to yield all at once. Each relatively13 stable phase of equilibrium14 in such a structure is marked by what we may call a new set of habits. Organic matter, especially nervous tissue, seems endowed with a very extraordinary degree of plasticity of this sort; so that we may without hesitation15 lay down as our first proposition the following, that the phenomena16 of habit in living beings are due to the plasticity 2 of the organic materials of which their bodies are composed.
But the philosophy of habit is thus, in the first instance, a chapter in physics rather than in physiology17 or psychology18. That it is at bottom a physical principle is admitted by all good recent writers on the subject. They call attention to analogues19 of acquired habits exhibited by dead matter. Thus, M. Léon Dumont, whose essay on habit is perhaps the most philosophical20 account yet published, writes:
"Every one knows how a garment, after having been worn a certain time, clings to the shape of the body better than when it was new; there has been a change in the tissue, and this change is a new habit of cohesion21. A lock works better after being used some time; at the outset more force was required to overcome certain roughnesses in the mechanism22. The overcoming of their resistance is a phenomenon of habituation. It costs less trouble to fold a paper when it has been folded already. This saving of trouble is due to the essential nature of habit, which brings it about that, to reproduce the effect, a less amount of the outward cause is required. The sounds of a violin improve by use in the hands of an able artist, because the fibres of the wood at last contract habits of vibration23 conformed to harmonic relations. This is what gives such inestimable value to instruments that have belonged to great masters. Water, in flowing, hollows out for itself a channel, which grows broader and deeper; and, after having ceased to flow, it resumes, when it flows again, the path traced by itself before. Just so, the impressions of outer objects fashion for themselves in the nervous system more and more appropriate paths, and these vital phenomena recur24 under similar excitements from without, when they have been interrupted a certain time."3
Not in the nervous system alone. A scar anywhere is a locus25 minoris resistentioe, more liable to be abraded26, inflamed27, to suffer pain and cold, than are the neighboring parts. A sprained28 ankle, a dislocated arm, are in danger of being sprained or dislocated again; joints29 that have once been attacked by rheumatism30 or gout, mucous31 membranes32 that have been the seat of catarrh, are with each fresh recurrence33 more prone34 to a relapse, until often the morbid36 state chronically37 substitutes itself for the sound one. And if we ascend38 to the nervous system, we find how many so-called functional39 diseases seem to keep themselves going simply because they happen to have once begun; and how the forcible cutting short by medicine of a few attacks is often sufficient to enable the physiological40 forces to get possession of the field again, and to bring the organs back to functions of health. Epilepsies, neuralgias, convulsive affections of various sorts, insomnias, are so many cases in point. And, to take what are more obviously habits, the success with which a 'weaning' treatment can often be applied41 to the victims of unhealthy indulgence of passion, or of mere42 complaining or irascible disposition43, shows us how much the morbid manifestations themselves were due to the mere inertia of the nervous organs, when once launched on a false career.
Can we now form a notion of what the inward physical changes may be like, in organs whose habits have thus struck into new paths? In other words, can we say just what mechanical facts the expression 'change of habit' covers when it is applied to a nervous system? Certainly we cannot in anything like a minute or definite way. But our usual scientific custom of interpreting hidden molecular events after the analogy of visible massive ones enables us to frame easily an abstract and general scheme of processes which the physical changes in question may be like. And when once the possibility of some kind of mechanical interpretation44 is established, Mechanical Science, in her present mood, will not hesitate to set her brand of ownership upon the matter, feeling sure that it is only a question of time when the exact mechanical explanation of the case shall be found out.
If habits are due to the plasticity of materials to outward agents, we can immediately see to what outward influences, if to any, the brain-matter is plastic. Not to mechanical pressures, not to thermal46 changes, not to any of the forces to which all the other organs of our body are exposed; for nature has carefully shut up our brain and spinal48 cord in bony boxes where no influences of this sort can get at them. She has floated them in fluid so that only the severest shocks can give them a concussion49, and blanketed and wrapped them about in an altogether exceptional way. The only impressions that can be made upon them are through the blood, on the one hand, and through the sensory50 nerve-roots, on the other; and it is to the infinitely51 attenuated52 currents that pour in through these latter channels that the hemispherical cortex shows itself to be so peculiarly susceptible54. The currents, once in, must find a way out. In getting out they leave their traces in the paths which they take. The only thing they can do, in short, is to deepen old paths or to make new ones; and the whole plasticity of the brain sums itself up in two words when we call it an organ in which currents pouring in from the sense-organs make with extreme facility paths which do not easily disappear. For, of course, a simple habit, like every other nervous event - the habit of snuffling, for example, or of putting one's hands into one's pockets, or of biting one's nails - is, mechanically, nothing but a reflex discharge; and its anatomical substratum must be a path in the system. The most complex habits, as we shall presently see more fully47, are, from the same point of view, nothing but concatenated55 discharges in the nerve-centres, due to the presence there of systems of reflex paths, so organized as to wake each other up successively - the impression produced by one muscular contraction56 serving as a stimulus57 to provoke the next, until a final impression inhibits58 the process and closes the chain. The only difficult mechanical problem is to explain the formulation de novo of a simple reflex or path in a pre-existing nervous system. Here, as in so many other cases, it is only the premier59 pas qui coûte. For the entire nervous system is nothing but a system of paths between a sensory terminus a quo and a muscular, glandular60, or other terminus ad quem. A path once traversed by a nerve-current might be expected to follow the law of most of the paths we know, and to be scooped61 out and made more permeable than before;4 and this ought to be repeated with each new passage of the current. Whatever obstructions62 may have kept it at first from being a path should then, little by little, and more and more, be swept out of the way, until at last it might become a natural drainage-channel. This is what happens where either solids or liquids pass over a path; there seems no reason why is should not happen where the thing that passes is a mere wave of rearrangement in matter that does not displace itself, but merely changes chemically or turns itself round in place, or vibrates across the line. The most plausible63 views of the nerve-current make it out to be the passage of some such wave of rearrangement as this. If only a part of the matter of the path were to 'rearrange' itself, the neighboring parts remaining inert12, it is easy to see how their inertness64 might oppose a friction65 which it would take many waves of rearrangement to break down and overcome. If we call the path itself the 'organ,' and the wave of rearrangement the 'function,' then it is obviously a case for repeating the celebrated66 French formula of 'La fonction fait l'organe.'
So nothing is easier than to imagine how, when a current once has traversed a path, it should traverse it more readily still a second time. But what made it ever traverse it the first time?5 In answering this question we can only fall back on our general conception of a nervous system as a mass of matter whose parts, constantly kept in states of different tension, are as constantly tending to equalize their states. The equalization between any two points occurs through whatever path may at the moment be most pervious. But, as a given point of the system may belong, actually or potentially, to many different paths, and, as the play of nutrition is subject to accidental changes, blocks may from time to time occur, and make currents shoot through unwonted lines. Such an unwonted line would be a new-created path, which if traversed repeatedly, would become the beginning of a new reflex arc. All this is vague to the last degree, and amounts to little more than saying that a new path may be formed by the sort of chances that in nervous material are likely to occur. But, vague as it is, it is really the last word of our wisdom in the matter.6
It must be noticed that the growth of structural67 modification68 in living matter may be more rapid than in any lifeless mass, because the incessant69 nutritive renovation70 of which the living matter is the seat tends often to corroborate71 and fix the impressed modification, rather than to counteract72 it by renewing the original constitution of the tissue that has been impressed. Thus,we notice after exercising our muscles or our brain in a new way, that we can do so no longer at that time; but after a day or two of rest, when we resume the discipline, our increase in skill not seldom surprises us. I have often noticed this in learning a tune73; and it has led a German author to say that we learn to swim during the winter and to skate during the summer.
Dr. Carpenter writes:7
"It is a matter of universal experience that every kind of training for special aptitudes74 is both far more effective, and leaves a more permanent impress, when exerted on the growing organism than when brought to bear on the adult. The effect of such training is shown in the tendency of the organ to 'grow to' the mode in which it is habitually76 exercised; as is evidenced by the increased size and power of particular sets of muscles, and the extraordinary flexibility77 of joints, which are acquired by such as have been early exercised in gymnastic performances . . . There is no part of the organism of man in which the reconstructive activity is so great, during the whole period of life, as it is in the ganglionic substance of the brain. This is indicated by the enormous supply of blood which it receives. . . . It is, moreover, a fact of great significance that the nerve-substance is specially2 distinguished78 by its reparative power. For while injuries of other tissues (such as the muscular) which are distinguished by the speciality of their structure and endowments, are repaired by substance of a lower or less specialized79 type, those of nerve-substance are repaired by a complete reproduction of the normal tissue; as is evidenced in the sensibility of the newly forming skin which is closing over an open wound, or in the recovery of the sensibility of a piece of 'transplanted' skin, which has for a time been rendered insensible by the complete interruption of the continuity of its nerves. The most remarkable80 example of this reproduction, however, is afforded by the results of M. Brown-Séquard's8 experiments upon the gradual restoration of the functional activity of the spinal cord after its complete division; which takes place in way that indicates rather a reproduction of the whole, or the lower part of the cord and of the nerves proceeding81 from it, than a mere reunion of divided surfaces. This reproduction is but a special manifestation5 of the reconstructive change which is always taking place in the nervous system; it being not less obvious to the eye of reason that the 'waste' occasioned by its functional activity must be constantly repaired by the production of new tissue, than it is to the eye of sense that such reparation supplies an actual loss of substance by disease or injury.
"Now, in this constant and active reconstruction82 of the nervous system, we recognize a most marked conformity83 to the general plan manifested in the nutrition of the organism as a whole. For, in the first place, it is obvious that there is a tendency to the production of a determinate type of structure; which type is often not merely that of the species, but some special modification of it which characterized one or both of the progenitors84. But this type is peculiarly liable to modification during the early period of life; in which the functional activity of the nervous system (and particularly of the brain) is extraordinarily85 great, and the reconstructive process proportionally active. And this modifiability expresses itself in the formation of the mechanism by which those secondarily automatic modes of movement come to be established, which, in man, take the place of those that are congenital in most of the animals beneath him; and those modes of sense-perception come to be acquired, which are elsewhere clearly instinctive86. For there can be no reasonable doubt that, in both cases, a nervous mechanism is developed in the course of this self-education, corresponding with that which the lower animals inherit from their parents. The plan of that rebuilding process, which is necessary to maintain the integrity of the organism generally, and which goes on with peculiar53 activity in this portion of it, is thus being incessantly87 modified; and in this manner all that portion of it which ministers to the external life of sense and motion that is shared by man with the animal kingdom at large, becomes at adult age the expression of the habits which the individual has acquired during the period of growth and development. Of these habits, some are common to the race generally, while others are peculiar to the individual; those of the former kind (such as walking erect) being universally acquired, save where physical inability prevents; while for the latter a special training is needed, which is usually the more effective the earlier it is begun - as is remarkably88 seen in the case of such feats89 of dexterity90 as require a conjoint education of the perspective and of the motor powers. And when thus developed during the period of growth, so as to have become a part of the constitution of the adult, the acquired mechanism is thenceforth maintained in the ordinary course of the nutritive operations, so as to be ready for use when called upon, even after long inaction.
"What is so clearly true of the nervous apparatus92 of animal life can scarcely be otherwise than true of that which ministers to the automatic activity of the mind. For, as already shown, the study of psychology has evolved no more certain result than that there are uniformities of mental action which are so entirely93 conformable to those of bodily action as to indicate their intimate relation to a 'mechanism of thought and feeling,' acting94 under the like conditions with that of sense and motion. The psychical96 principles of association, indeed, and the physiological principles of nutrition, simply express - the former in terms of mind, the latter in terms of brain - the universally admitted fact that any sequence of mental action which has been frequently repeated tends to perpetuate97 itself; so that we find ourselves automatically prompted to think, feel, or do what we have been before accustomed to think, feel, or do, under like circumstances, without any consciously formed purpose, or anticipation98 of results. For there is no reason to regard the cerebrum as an exception to the general principle that, while each part of the organism tends to form itself in accordance with the mode in which it is habitually exercised, this tendency will be especially strong in the nervous apparatus, in virtue99 of that incessant regeneration which is the very condition of its functional activity. It scarcely, indeed, admits of doubt that every state of ideational consciousness which is either very strong or is habitually repeated leaves an organic impression on the cerebrum; in virtue of which that same state may be reproduced at any future time, in respondence to a suggestion fitted to excite it. . . . . . The 'strength of early association' is a fact so universally recognized that the expression of it has become proverbial; and this precisely100 accords with the physiological principle that, during the period of growth and development, the formative activity of the brain will be most amenable101 to directing influences. It is in this way that what is early 'learned by heart' becomes branded in (as it were) upon the cerebrum; so that its 'traces' are never lost, even though the conscious memory of it may have completely faded out. For, when the organic modification has been once fixed103 in the growing brain, it becomes a part of the normal fabric104, and is regularly maintained by nutritive substitution; so that it may endure to the end of life, like the scar of a wound."
Dr. Carpenter's phrase that our nervous system grows to the modes in which it has been exercised expresses the philosophy of habit in a nutshell. We may now trace some of the practical applications of the principle to human life.
The first result of it is that habit simplifies the movements required to achieve a given result, makes them more accurate and diminishes fatigue105.
"The beginner at the piano not only moves his finger up and down in order to depress the key, he moves the whole hand, the forearm and even the entire body, especially moving its least rigid106 part, the head, as if he would press down the key with that organ too. Often a contraction of the abdominal107 muscles occurs as well. Principally, however, the impulse is determined108 to the motion of the hand and of the single finger. This is, in the first place, because the movement of the finger is the movement thought of, and, in the second place, because its movement and that of the key are the movements we try to perceive, along with the results of the latter on the ear. The more often the process is repeated, the more easily the movement follows, on account of the increase in permeability of the nerves engaged.
"But the more easily the movement occurs, the slighter is the stimulus required to set it up; and the slighter the stimulus is, the more its effect is confined to the fingers alone.
"Thus, an impulse which originally spread its effects over the whole body, or at least over many of its movable parts, is gradually determined to a single definite organ, in which it effects the contraction of a few limited muscles. In this change the thoughts and perceptions which start the impulse acquire more and more intimate causal relations with a particular group of motor nerves.
"To recur to a simile109, at least partially110 apt, imagine the nervous system to represent a drainage-system, inclining, on the whole, toward certain muscles, but with the escape thither111 somewhat clogged112. Then streams of water will, on the whole, tend most to fill the drains that go towards these muscles and to wash out the escape. In case of a sudden 'flushing,' however, the whole system of channels will fill itself, and the water overflow113 everywhere before it escapes. But a moderate quantity of water invading the system will flow through the proper escape alone.
"Just so with the piano-player. As soon as his impulse, which has gradually learned to confine itself to single muscles, grows extreme, it overflows114 into larger muscular regions. He usually plays with his fingers, his body being at rest. But no sooner does he get excited than his whole body becomes 'animated115,' and he moves his head and trunk, in particular, as if these also were organs with which he meant to belabor116 the keys."9
Man in born with a tendency to do more things than he has ready-made arrangements for in his nerve-centres. Most of the performances of other animals are automatic. But in him the number of them is so enormous, that most of them must be the fruit of painful study. If practice did not make perfect, nor habit economize117 the expense of nervous and muscular energy, he would therefore be in a sorry plight118. As Dr. Maudsley says: 10
:If an act became no easier after being done several times, if the careful direction of consciousness were necessary to its accomplishment119 on each occasion, it is evident that the whole activity of a lifetime might be confined to one or two deeds - that no progress could take place in development. A man might be occupied all day in dressing120 and un-dressing himself; the attitude of his body would absorb all his attention and energy; the washing of his hands or the fastening of a button would be as difficult to him on each occasion as to the child on its first trial; and he would, furthermore, be completely exhausted121 by his exertions122. Think of the pains necessary to teach a child to stand, of the many efforts which it must make, and of the ease with which it at last stands, unconscious of any effort. For while secondarily automatic acts are accomplished123 with comparatively little weariness - in this regard approaching the organic movements, or the original reflex movements - the conscious effort of the will soon produces exhaustion124. A spinal cord without . . . memory would simply be an idiotic125 spinal cord . . . It is impossible for an individual to realize how much he owes to its automatic agency until disease has impaired126 its functions."
The next result is that habit diminishes the conscious attention with which our acts are performed.
One may state this abstractly thus: If an act require for its execution a chain, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, etc., of successive nervous events, then in the first performances of the action the conscious will must choose each of these events from a number of wrong alternatives that tend to present themselves; but habit soon brings it about that each event calls up its own appropriate successor without any alternative offering itself, and without any reference to the conscious will, until at last the whole chain, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, rattles127 itself off as soon as A occurs, just as if A and the rest of the chain were fused into a continuous stream. When we are learning to walk, to ride, to swim, skate, fence, write, play, or sing, we interrupt ourselves at every step by unnecessary movements and false notes. When we are proficients128, on the contrary, the results not only follow with the very minimum of muscular action requisite129 to bring them forth91, they also follow from a single instantaneous 'cue.' The marksman sees the bird, and, before he knows it, he has aimed and shot. A gleam in his adversary's eye, a momentary130 pressure from his rapier, and the fencer finds that he has instantly made the right parry and return. A glance at the musical hieroglyphics131, and the pianist's fingers have ripped through a cataract132 of notes. And not only is it the right thing at the right time that we thus involuntarily do, but the wrong thing also, if it be an habitual75 thing. Who is there that has never wound up his watch on taking off his waistcoat in the daytime, or taken his latchkey out on arriving at the door-step of a friend? Very absent-minded persons in going to their bedroom to dress for dinner have been known to take off one garment after another and finally to get into bed, merely because that was the habitual issue of the first few movements when performed at a later hour. The writer well remembers how, on revisiting Paris after ten years' absence, and, finding himself in the street in which for one winter he had attended school, he lost himself in a brown study, from which he was awakened134 by finding himself upon the stairs which led to the apartment in a house many streets away in which he had lived during that earlier time, and to which his steps from the school had then habitually led. We all of us have a definite routine manner of performing certain daily offices connected with the toilet, with the opening and shutting of familiar cupboards, and the like. Our lower centres know the order of these movements, and show their knowledge by their 'surprise' if the objects are altered so as to oblige the movement to be made in a different way. But our higher thought-centres know hardly anything about the matter. Few men can tell off-hand which sock, shoe, or trousers-leg they put on first. They must first mentally rehearse the act; and even that is often insufficient135 - the act must be performed. So of the questions, Which valve of my double door opens first? Which way does my door swing? etc. I cannot tell the answer; yet my hand never makes a mistake. No one can describe the order in which he brushes his hair or teeth; yet it is likely that the order is a pretty fixed one in all of us.
These results may be expressed as follows:
In action grown habitual, what instigates136 each new muscular contraction to take place in its appointed order is not a thought or a perception, but the sensation occasioned by the muscular contraction just finished. A strictly137 voluntary act has to be guided by idea, perception, and volition138, throughout its whole course. In an habitual action, mere sensation is a sufficient guide, and the upper regions of brain and mind are set comparatively free. A diagram will make the matter clear:
Let A, B, C, D, E, F, G represent an habitual chain of muscular contractions139, and let a, b, c, d, e, f stand for the respective sensations which these contractions excite in us when they are successively performed. Such sensations will usually be of the muscles, skin, or joints of the parts moved, but they may also be effects of the movement upon the eye or the ear. Through them, and through them alone, we are made aware whether the contraction has or has not occurred. When the series, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, is being learned, each of these sensations becomes the object of a separate perception by the mind. By it we test each movement, to see if it be right before advancing to the next. We hesitate, compare, choose, revoke140, reject, etc., by intellectual means; and the order by which the next movement is discharged is an express order from the ideational centres after this deliberation has been gone through.
In habitual action, on the contrary, the only impulse which the centres of idea or perception need send down is the initial impulse, the command to start. This is represented in the diagram by V; it may be a thought of the first movement or of the last result, or a mere perception of some of the habitual conditions of the chain, the presence, e.g., of the keyboard near the hand. In the present case, no sooner has the conscious thought or volition instigated141 movement A, than A, through the sensation a of its own occurrence, awakens142 B reflexly; B then excites C through b, and so on till the chain is ended when the intellect generally takes cognizance of the final result. The process, in fact, resembles the passage of a wave of 'peristaltic' motion down the bowels143. The intellectual perception at the end is indicated in the diagram by the effect of G being represented, at G', in the ideational centres above the merely sensational144 line. The sensational impressions, a, b, c, d, e, f, are all supposed to have their seat below the ideational lines. That our ideational centres, if involved at all by a, b, c, d, e, f, are involved in a minimal145 degree, is shown by the fact that the attention may be wholly absorbed elsewhere. We may say our prayers, or repeat the alphabet, with our attention far away.
"A musical performer will play a piece which has become familiar by repetition while carrying on an animated conversation, or while continuously engrossed146 by some train of deeply interesting thought; the accustomed sequence of movements being directly prompted by the sight of the notes, or by the remembered succession of the sounds (if the piece is played from memory), aided in both cases by the guiding sensations derived147 from the muscles themselves. But, further, a higher degree of the same 'training' (acting on an organism specially fitted to profit by it) enables an accomplished pianist to play a difficult piece of music at sight; the movements of the hands and fingers following so immediately upon the sight of the notes that it seems impossible to believe that any but the very shortest and most direct track can be the channel of the nervous communication through which they are called forth. The following curious example of the same class of acquired aptitudes, which differ from instincts only in being prompted to action by the will, is furnished by Robert Houdin:
"'With a view of cultivating the rapidity of visual and tactile148 perception, and the precision of respondent movements, which are necessary for the success in every kind of prestidigitation, Houdin early practised the art of juggling149 with balls in the air; and having, after a month's practice, become thorough master of the art of keeping up four balls at once, he placed a book before him, and, while the balls were in the air, accustomed himself to read without hesitation. 'This,' he says, 'will probably seem to my readers very extraordinary; but I shall surprise them still more when I say that I have just amused myself with repeating this curious experiment. Though thirty years have elapsed since the time I was writing, and though I have scarcely once touched the balls during that period, I can still manage to read with ease while keeping three balls up.'" (Autobiography, p. 26.)11
We have called a, b, c, d, e, f, the antecedents of the successive muscular attractions, by the name of sensations. Some authors seem to deny that they are even this. If not even this, they can only be centripetal150 nerve-currents, not sufficient to arouse feeling, but sufficient to arouse motor response.12 It may be at once admitted that they are not distinct volitions. The will, if any will be present, limits itself to a permission that they exert their motor effects, Dr. Carpenter writes:
"There may still be metaphysicians who maintain that actions which were originally prompted by the will with a distinct intention, and which are still entirely under its control, can never cease to be volitional151; and that either an infinitesimally small amount of will is required to sustain them when they have been once set going, or that the will is in a sort of pendulum-like oscillation between the two actions - the maintenance of the train of thought, and the maintenance of the train of movement. But if only an infinitesimally small amount of will is necessary to sustain them, is not this tantamount to saying that they go on by a force of their own? And does not the experience of the perfect continuity of our train of thought during the performance of movements that have become habitual, entirely negative the hypothesis of oscillation? Besides, if such an oscillation existed, there must be intervals152 in which each action goes on of itself; so that its essentially153 automatic character is virtually admitted. The physiological explanation, that the mechanism of locomotion154, as of other habitual movements, grows to the mode in which it is early exercised, and that it then works automatically under the general control and direction of the will, can scarcely be put down by any assumption of an hypothetical necessity, which rests only on the basis of ignorance of one side of our composite nature."13
But if not distinct acts of will, these immediate45 antecedents of each movement of the chain are at any rate accompanied by consciousness of some kind. They are sensations to which we are usually inattentive, but which immediately call out attention if they go wrong. Schneider's account of these sensations deserves to be quoted. In the act of walking, he says, even when our attention is entirely off,
"we are continuously aware of certain muscular feelings; and we have, moreover, a feeling of certain impulses to keep our equilibrium and to set down one leg after another. It is doubtful whether we could preserve equilibrium if no sensation of our body's attitude were there, and doubtful whether we should advance our leg if we had no sensation of its movements as executed, and not even a minimal feeling of impulse to set it down. Knitting appears altogether mechanical, and the knitter keeps up her knitting even while she reads or is engaged in lively talk. But if we ask her how this be possible, she will hardly reply that the knitting goes on of itself. She will rather say that she has a feeling of it, that she feels in her hands that she knits and how she must knit, and that therefore the movements of knitting are called forth and regulated by the sensations associated therewithal, even when the attention is called away.
"So of every one who practises, apparently155 automatically, a long-familiar handicraft. The smith turning his tongs156 as he smites157 the iron, the carpenter wielding158 his plane, the lace-maker with her bobbin, the weaver159 at his loom160, all will answer the same question in the same way by saying that they have a feeling of the proper management of the implement161 in their hands.
"In these cases, the feelings which are conditions of the appropriate acts are very faint. But none the less are they necessary. Imagine your hands not feeling; your movements could then only be provoked by ideas, and if your ideas were then diverted away, the movements ought to come to a standstill, which is a consequence that seldom occurs."14
Again:
"An idea makes you take, for example, a violin into your left hand. But it is not necessary that your idea remain fixed on the contraction of the muscles of the left hand and fingers in order that the violin may continue to be held fast and not let fall. The sensations themselves which the holding of the instrument awakens in the hand, since they are associated with the motor impulse of grasping, are sufficient to cause this impulse, which then lasts as long as the feeling itself lasts, or until the impulse is inhibited162 by the idea of some antagonistic163 motion."
And the same may be said of the manner in which the right hand holds the bow:
"It sometimes happens, in beginning these simultaneous combinations, that one movement or impulse will cease if the consciousness turn particularly toward another, because at the outset the guiding sensations must all be strongly felt. The bow will perhaps slip from the fingers, because some of the muscles have relaxed. But the slipping is a cause of new sensations starting up in the hand, so that the attention is in a moment brought back to the grasping of the bow.
"The following experiment shows this well: When one begins to play on the violin, to keep him from raising his right elbow in playing a book is placed under his right armpit, which he is ordered to hold fast by keeping the upper arm tight against his body. The muscular feelings, and feelings of contact connected with the book, provoke an impulse to press it tight. But often it happens that the beginner, whose attention gets absorbed in the production of the notes, lets drop the book. Later, however, this never happens; the faintest sensations of contact suffice to awaken133 the impulse to keep it in its place, and the attention may be wholly absorbed by the notes and the fingering with the left hand. The simultaneous combination of movements is thus in the first instance conditioned by the facility with which in us, alongside of intellectual processes, processes of inattentive feeling may still go on."15
This brings us by a very natural transition to the ethical164 implications of the law of habit. They are numerous and momentous165. Dr. Carpenter, from whose 'Mental Physiology' we have quoted, has so prominently enforced the principle that our organs grow to the way in which they have been exercised, and dwelt upon its consequences, that his book almost deserves to be called a work of edification, on this account alone. We need make no apology, then, for tracing a few of these consequences ourselves:
"Habit a second nature! Habit is ten times nature," the Duke of Wellington is said to have exclaimed; and the degree to which this is true no one can probably appreciate as well as one who is a veteran soldier himself. The daily drill and the years of discipline end by fashioning a man completely over again, as to most of the possibilities of his conduct.
"There is a story, which is credible166 enough, though it may not be true, of a practical joker, who, seeing a discharged veteran carrying home his dinner, suddenly called out, 'Attention!' whereupon the man instantly brought his hands down, and lost his mutton and potatoes in the gutter167. The drill had been thorough, and its effects had become embodied168 in the man's nervous structure."16
Riderless cavalry-horses, at many a battle, have been seen to come together and go through their customary evolutions at the sound of the bugle-call. Most trained domestic animals, dogs and oxen, and omnibus- and car-horses, seem to be machines almost pure and simple, undoubtingly, unhesitatingly doing from minute to minute the duties they have been taught, and giving no sign that the possibility of an alternative ever suggests itself to their mind. Men grown old in prison have asked to be readmitted after being once set free. In a railroad accident to a travelling menagerie in the United States some time in 1884, a tiger, whose cage had broken open, is said to have emerged, but presently crept back again, as if too much bewildered by his new responsibilities, so that he was without difficulty secured.
Habit is thus the enormous fly-wheel of society, its most precious conservative agent. It alone is what keeps us all within the bounds of ordinance169, and saves the children of fortune from the envious170 uprisings of the poor. It alone prevents the hardest and most repulsive171 walks of life from being deserted172 by those brought up to tread therein. It keeps the fisherman and the deck-hand at sea through the winter; it holds the miner in his darkness, and nails the countryman to his log-cabin and his lonely farm through all the months of snow; it protects us from invasion by the natives of the desert and the frozen zone. It dooms173 us all to fight out the battle of life upon the lines of our nurture174 or our early choice, and to make the best of a pursuit that disagrees, because there is no other for which we are fitted, and it is too late to begin again. It keeps different social strata175 from mixing. Already at the age of twenty-five you see the professional mannerism176 settling down on the young commercial traveller, on the young doctor, on the young minister, on the young counsellor-at-law. You see the little lines of cleavage running through the character, the tricks of thought, the prejudices, the ways of the 'shop,' in a word, from which the man can by-and-by no more escape than his coat-sleeve can suddenly fall into a new set of folds. On the whole, it is best he should not escape. It is well for the world that in most of us, by the age of thirty, the character has set like plaster, and will never soften177 again.
If the period between twenty and thirty is the critical one in the formation of intellectual and professional habits, the period below twenty is more important still for the fixing of personal habits, properly so called, such as vocalization and pronunciation, gesture, motion, and address. Hardly ever is a language learned after twenty spoken without a foreign accent; hardly ever can a youth transferred to the society of his betters unlearn the nasality and other vices178 of speech bred in him by the associations of his growing years. Hardly ever, indeed, no matter how much money there be in his pocket, can he even learn to dress like a gentleman-born. The merchants offer their wares180 as eagerly to him as to the veriest 'swell,' but he simply cannot buy the right things. An invisible law, as strong as gravitation, keeps him within his orbit, arrayed this year as he was the last; and how his better-bred acquaintances contrive181 to get the things they wear will be for him a mystery till his dying day.
The great thing, then, in all education, is to make our nervous system our ally instead of our enemy. It is to fund and capitalize our acquisitions, and live at ease upon the interest of the fund. For this we must make automatic and habitual, as early as possible, as many useful actions as we can, and guard against the growing into ways that are likely to be disadvantageous to us, as we should guard against the plague. The more of the details of our daily life we can hand over to the effortless custody182 of automatism, the more our higher powers of mind will be set free for their own proper work. There is no more miserable183 human being than one in whom nothing is habitual but indecision, and for whom the lighting184 of every cigar, the drinking of every cup, the time of rising and going to bed every day, and the beginning of every bit of work, are subjects of express volitional deliberation. Full half the time of such a man goes to the deciding, or regretting, of matters which ought to be so ingrained in him as practically not to exist for his consciousness at all. If there be such daily duties not yet ingrained in any one of my readers, let him begin this very hour to set the matter right.
In Professor Bain's chapter on 'The Moral Habits' there are some admirable practical remarks laid down. Two great maxims185 emerge from his treatment. The first is that in the acquisition of a new habit, or the leaving off of an old one, we must take care to launch ourselves with as strong and decided187 an initiative as possible. Accumulate all the possible circumstances which shall re-enforce the right motives188; put yourself assiduously in conditions that encourage the new way; make engagements incompatible189 with the old; take a public pledge, if the case allows; in short, envelop190 your resolution with every aid you know. This will give your new beginning such a momentum191 that the temptation to break down will not occur as soon as it otherwise might; and every day during which a breakdown192 is postponed193 adds to the chances of its not occurring at all.
The second maxim186 is: Never suffer an exception to occur till the new habit is securely rooted in your life. Each lapse35 is like the letting fall of a ball of string which one is carefully winding194 up; a single slip undoes195 more than a great many turns will wind again. Continuity of training is the great means of making the nervous system act infallibly right. As Professor Bain says:
"The peculiarity196 of the moral habits, contradistinguishing them from the intellectual acquisitions, is the presence of two hostile powers, one to be gradually raised into the ascendant over the other. It is necessary, above all things, in such a situation, never to lose a battle. Every gain on the wrong side undoes the effect of many conquests on the right. The essential precaution, therefore, is so to regulate the two opposing powers that the one may have a series of uninterrupted successes, until repetition has fortified197 it to such a degree as to enable it to cope with the opposition198, under any circumstances. This is the theoretically best career of mental progress."
The need of securing success at the outset is imperative199. Failure at first is apt to dampen the energy of all future attempts, whereas past experience of success nerves one to future vigor200. Goethe says to a man who consulted him about an enterprise but mistrusted his own powers: "Ach! you need only blow on your hands!" And the remark illustrates201 the effect on Goethe's spirits of his own habitually successful career. Prof. Baumann, from whom I borrow the anecdote,17 says that the collapse202 of barbarian203 nations when Europeans come among them is due to their despair of ever succeeding as the new-comers do in the larger tasks of life. Old ways are broken and new ones not formed.
The question of 'tapering-off,' in abandoning such habits as drink and opium204-indulgence, comes in here, and is a question about which experts differ within certain limits, and in regard to what may be best for an individual case. In the main, however, all expert opinion would agree that abrupt205 acquisition of the new habit is the best way, if there be a real possibility of carrying it out. We must be careful not to give the will so stiff a task as to insure its defeat at the very outset; but, provided one can stand it, a sharp period of suffering, and then a free time, is the best thing to aim at, whether in giving up a habit like that of opium, or in simply changing one's hours of rising or of work. It is surprising how soon a desire will die of inanition if it be never fed.
"One must first learn, unmoved, looking neither to the right nor left, to walk firmly on the straight and narrow path, before one can begin 'to make one's self over again.' He who every day makes a fresh resolve is like one who, arriving at the edge of the ditch he is to leap, forever stops and returns for a fresh run. Without unbroken advance there is no such thing as accumulation of the ethical forces possible, and to make this possible, and to exercise us and habituate us in it, is the sovereign blessing206 of regular work."18
A third maxim may be added to the preceding pair: Seize the very first possible opportunity to act on every resolution you make, and on every emotional prompting you may experience in the direction of the habits you aspire207 to gain. It is not in the moment of their forming, but in the moment of their producing motor effects, that resolves and aspirations208 communicate the new 'set' to the brain. As the author last quoted remarks:
"The actual presence of the practical opportunity alone furnishes the fulcrum209 upon which the lever can rest, by means of which the moral will may multiply its strength, and raise itself aloft. He who has no solid ground to press against will never get beyond the stage of empty gesture-making."
No matter how full a reservoir of maxims one may possess, and no matter how good one's sentiments may be, if one have not taken advantage of every concrete opportunity to act, one's character may remain entirely unaffected for the better. With mere good intentions, hell is proverbially paved. An this is an obvious consequence of the principles we have laid down. A 'character,' as J.S. Mill says, 'is a completely fashioned will'; and a will, in the sense in which he means it, is an aggregate210 of tendencies to act in a firm and prompt and definite way upon all the principal emergencies of life. A tendency to act only becomes effectively ingrained in us in proportion to the uninterrupted frequency with which the actions actually occur, and the brain 'grows' to their use. Every time a resolve or a fine glow of feeling evaporates without bearing practical fruit is worse than a chance lost; it works so as positively211 to hinder future resolutions and emotions from taking the normal path of discharge. There is no more contemptible212 type of human character than that of the nerveless sentimentalist and dreamer, who spends his life in a weltering sea of sensibility and emotion, but who never does a manly214 concrete deed. Rousseau, inflaming215 all the mothers of France, by his eloquence216, to follow Nature and nurse their babies themselves, while he sends his own children to the foundling hospital, is the classical example of what I mean. But every one of us in his measure, whenever, after glowing for an abstractly formulated217 Good, he practically ignores some actual case, among the squalid 'other particulars' of which that same Good lurks218 disguised, treads straight on Rousseau's path. All Goods are disguised by the vulgarity of their concomitants, in this work-a-day world; but woe219 to him who can only recognize them when he thinks them in their pure and abstract form! The habit of excessive novel-reading and theatre-going will produce true monsters in this line. The weeping of a Russian lady over the fictitious220 personages in the play, while her coach-man is freezing to death on his seat outside, is the sort of thing that everywhere happens on a less glaring scale. Even the habit of excessive indulgence in music, for those who are neither performers themselves nor musically gifted enough to take it in a purely221 intellectual way, has probably a relaxing effect upon the character. One becomes filled with emotions which habitually pass without prompting to any deed, and so the inertly222 sentimental213 condition is kept up. The remedy would be, never to suffer one's self to have an emotion at a concert, without expressing it afterward223 in some active way.19 Let the expression be the least thing in the world -speaking genially224 to one's aunt, or giving up one's seat in a horse-car, if nothing more heroic offers - but let it not fail to take place.
These latter cases make us aware that it is not simply particular lines of discharge, but also general forms of discharge, that seem to be grooved225 out by habit in the brain. Just as, if we let our emotions evaporate, they get into a way of evaporating; so there is reason to suppose that if we often flinch226 from making an effort, before we know it the effort-making capacity will be gone; and that, if we suffer the wandering of our attention, presently it will wander all the time. Attention and effort are, as we shall see later, but two names for the same psychic95 fact. To what brain-processes they correspond we do not know. The strongest reason for believing that they do depend on brain-processes at all, and are not pure acts of the spirit, is just this fact, that they seem in some degree subject to the law of habit, which is a material law. As a final practical maxim, relative to these habits of the will, we may, then, offer something like this: Keep the faculty227 of effort alive in you by a little gratuitous228 exercise every day. That is, be systematically229 ascetic230 or heroic in little unnecessary points, do every day or two something for no other reason than that you would rather not do it, so that when the hour of dire102 need draws nigh, it may find you not unnerved and untrained to stand the test. Asceticism231 of this sort is like the insurance which a man pays on his house and goods. The tax does him no good at the time, and possibly may never bring him a return. But if the fire does come, his having paid it will be his salvation232 from ruin. So with the man who has daily inured233 himself to habits of concentrated attention, energetic volition, and self-denial in unnecessary things. He will stand like a tower when everything rocks around him, and when his softer fellow-mortals are winnowed234 like chaff235 in the blast.
The physiological study of mental conditions is thus the most powerful ally of hortatory ethics236. The hell to be endured hereafter, of which theology tells, is no worse than the hell we make for ourselves in this world by habitually fashioning our characters in the wrong way. Could the young but realize how soon they will become mere walking bundles of habits, they would give more heed237 to their conduct while in the plastic state. We are spinning our own fates, good or evil, and never to be undone238. Every smallest stroke of virtue or of vice179 leaves its never so little scar. The drunken Rip Van Winkle, in Jefferson's play, excuses himself for every fresh dereliction by saying, 'I won't count this time!' Well! he may not count it, and a kind Heaven may not count it; but it is being counted none the less. Down among his nerve-cells and fibres the molecules239 are counting it, registering and storing it up to be used against him when the next temptation comes. Nothing we ever do is, in strict scientific literalness, wiped out. Of course, this has its good side as well as its bad one. As we become permanent drunkards by so many separate drinks, so we become saints in the moral, and authorities and experts in the practical and scientific spheres, by so many separate acts and hours of work. Let no youth have any anxiety about the upshot of his education, whatever the line of it may be. If he keep faithfully busy each hour of the working-day, he may safely leave the final result to itself. He can with perfect certainty count on waking up some fine morning, to find himself one of the competent ones of his generation, in whatever pursuit he may have singled out. Silently, between all the details of his business, the power of judging in all that class of matter will have built itself up within him as a possession that will never pass away. Young people should know this truth in advance. The ignorance of it has probably engendered240 more discouragement and faint-heartedness in youths embarking241 on arduous242 careers than all other causes put together.
点击收听单词发音
1 domesticated | |
adj.喜欢家庭生活的;(指动物)被驯养了的v.驯化( domesticate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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3 innate | |
adj.天生的,固有的,天赋的 | |
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4 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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5 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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6 immutable | |
adj.不可改变的,永恒的 | |
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7 exigencies | |
n.急切需要 | |
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8 molecular | |
adj.分子的;克分子的 | |
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9 friable | |
adj.易碎的 | |
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10 disintegrated | |
v.(使)破裂[分裂,粉碎],(使)崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 inertia | |
adj.惰性,惯性,懒惰,迟钝 | |
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12 inert | |
adj.无活动能力的,惰性的;迟钝的 | |
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13 relatively | |
adv.比较...地,相对地 | |
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14 equilibrium | |
n.平衡,均衡,相称,均势,平静 | |
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15 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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16 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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17 physiology | |
n.生理学,生理机能 | |
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18 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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19 analogues | |
相似物( analogue的名词复数 ); 类似物; 类比; 同源词 | |
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20 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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21 cohesion | |
n.团结,凝结力 | |
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22 mechanism | |
n.机械装置;机构,结构 | |
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23 vibration | |
n.颤动,振动;摆动 | |
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24 recur | |
vi.复发,重现,再发生 | |
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25 locus | |
n.中心 | |
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26 abraded | |
adj.[医]刮擦的v.刮擦( abrade的过去式和过去分词 );(在精神方面)折磨(人);消磨(意志、精神等);使精疲力尽 | |
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27 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28 sprained | |
v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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29 joints | |
接头( joint的名词复数 ); 关节; 公共场所(尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所) (非正式); 一块烤肉 (英式英语) | |
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30 rheumatism | |
n.风湿病 | |
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31 mucous | |
adj. 黏液的,似黏液的 | |
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32 membranes | |
n.(动物或植物体内的)薄膜( membrane的名词复数 );隔膜;(可起防水、防风等作用的)膜状物 | |
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33 recurrence | |
n.复发,反复,重现 | |
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34 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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35 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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36 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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37 chronically | |
ad.长期地 | |
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38 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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39 functional | |
adj.为实用而设计的,具备功能的,起作用的 | |
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40 physiological | |
adj.生理学的,生理学上的 | |
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41 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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42 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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43 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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44 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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45 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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46 thermal | |
adj.热的,由热造成的;保暖的 | |
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47 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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48 spinal | |
adj.针的,尖刺的,尖刺状突起的;adj.脊骨的,脊髓的 | |
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49 concussion | |
n.脑震荡;震动 | |
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50 sensory | |
adj.知觉的,感觉的,知觉器官的 | |
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51 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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52 attenuated | |
v.(使)变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 );(使)变薄;(使)变小;减弱 | |
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53 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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54 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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55 concatenated | |
v.把 (一系列事件、事情等)联系起来( concatenate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56 contraction | |
n.缩略词,缩写式,害病 | |
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57 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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58 inhibits | |
阻止,抑制( inhibit的第三人称单数 ); 使拘束,使尴尬 | |
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59 premier | |
adj.首要的;n.总理,首相 | |
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60 glandular | |
adj.腺体的 | |
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61 scooped | |
v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 );(敏捷地)抱起;抢先获得;用铲[勺]等挖(洞等) | |
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62 obstructions | |
n.障碍物( obstruction的名词复数 );阻碍物;阻碍;阻挠 | |
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63 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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64 inertness | |
n.不活泼,没有生气;惰性;惯量 | |
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65 friction | |
n.摩擦,摩擦力 | |
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66 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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67 structural | |
adj.构造的,组织的,建筑(用)的 | |
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68 modification | |
n.修改,改进,缓和,减轻 | |
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69 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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70 renovation | |
n.革新,整修 | |
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71 corroborate | |
v.支持,证实,确定 | |
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72 counteract | |
vt.对…起反作用,对抗,抵消 | |
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73 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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74 aptitudes | |
(学习方面的)才能,资质,天资( aptitude的名词复数 ) | |
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75 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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76 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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77 flexibility | |
n.柔韧性,弹性,(光的)折射性,灵活性 | |
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78 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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79 specialized | |
adj.专门的,专业化的 | |
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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 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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82 reconstruction | |
n.重建,再现,复原 | |
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83 conformity | |
n.一致,遵从,顺从 | |
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84 progenitors | |
n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 );先驱;前辈;原本 | |
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85 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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86 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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87 incessantly | |
ad.不停地 | |
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88 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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89 feats | |
功绩,伟业,技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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90 dexterity | |
n.(手的)灵巧,灵活 | |
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91 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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92 apparatus | |
n.装置,器械;器具,设备 | |
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93 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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94 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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95 psychic | |
n.对超自然力敏感的人;adj.有超自然力的 | |
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96 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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97 perpetuate | |
v.使永存,使永记不忘 | |
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98 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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99 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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100 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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101 amenable | |
adj.经得起检验的;顺从的;对负有义务的 | |
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102 dire | |
adj.可怕的,悲惨的,阴惨的,极端的 | |
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103 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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104 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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105 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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106 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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107 abdominal | |
adj.腹(部)的,下腹的;n.腹肌 | |
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108 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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109 simile | |
n.直喻,明喻 | |
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110 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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111 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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112 clogged | |
(使)阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 ); 淤滞 | |
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113 overflow | |
v.(使)外溢,(使)溢出;溢出,流出,漫出 | |
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114 overflows | |
v.溢出,淹没( overflow的第三人称单数 );充满;挤满了人;扩展出界,过度延伸 | |
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115 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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116 belabor | |
vt.痛斥;作过长说明 | |
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117 economize | |
v.节约,节省 | |
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118 plight | |
n.困境,境况,誓约,艰难;vt.宣誓,保证,约定 | |
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119 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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120 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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121 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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122 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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123 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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124 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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125 idiotic | |
adj.白痴的 | |
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126 impaired | |
adj.受损的;出毛病的;有(身体或智力)缺陷的v.损害,削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127 rattles | |
(使)发出格格的响声, (使)作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 ); 喋喋不休地说话; 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动,堕下或走动; 使紧张,使恐惧 | |
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128 proficients | |
精通的,熟练的( proficient的名词复数 ) | |
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129 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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130 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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131 hieroglyphics | |
n.pl.象形文字 | |
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132 cataract | |
n.大瀑布,奔流,洪水,白内障 | |
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133 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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134 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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135 insufficient | |
adj.(for,of)不足的,不够的 | |
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136 instigates | |
n.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的名词复数 )v.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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137 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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138 volition | |
n.意志;决意 | |
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139 contractions | |
n.收缩( contraction的名词复数 );缩减;缩略词;(分娩时)子宫收缩 | |
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140 revoke | |
v.废除,取消,撤回 | |
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141 instigated | |
v.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142 awakens | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的第三人称单数 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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143 bowels | |
n.肠,内脏,内部;肠( bowel的名词复数 );内部,最深处 | |
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144 sensational | |
adj.使人感动的,非常好的,轰动的,耸人听闻的 | |
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145 minimal | |
adj.尽可能少的,最小的 | |
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146 engrossed | |
adj.全神贯注的 | |
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147 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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148 tactile | |
adj.触觉的,有触觉的,能触知的 | |
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149 juggling | |
n. 欺骗, 杂耍(=jugglery) adj. 欺骗的, 欺诈的 动词juggle的现在分词 | |
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150 centripetal | |
adj.向心的 | |
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151 volitional | |
adj.意志的,凭意志的,有意志的 | |
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152 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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153 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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154 locomotion | |
n.运动,移动 | |
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155 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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156 tongs | |
n.钳;夹子 | |
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157 smites | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的第三人称单数 ) | |
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158 wielding | |
手持着使用(武器、工具等)( wield的现在分词 ); 具有; 运用(权力); 施加(影响) | |
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159 weaver | |
n.织布工;编织者 | |
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160 loom | |
n.织布机,织机;v.隐现,(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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161 implement | |
n.(pl.)工具,器具;vt.实行,实施,执行 | |
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162 inhibited | |
a.拘谨的,拘束的 | |
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163 antagonistic | |
adj.敌对的 | |
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164 ethical | |
adj.伦理的,道德的,合乎道德的 | |
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165 momentous | |
adj.重要的,重大的 | |
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166 credible | |
adj.可信任的,可靠的 | |
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167 gutter | |
n.沟,街沟,水槽,檐槽,贫民窟 | |
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168 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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169 ordinance | |
n.法令;条令;条例 | |
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170 envious | |
adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
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171 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
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172 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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173 dooms | |
v.注定( doom的第三人称单数 );判定;使…的失败(或灭亡、毁灭、坏结局)成为必然;宣判 | |
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174 nurture | |
n.养育,照顾,教育;滋养,营养品;vt.养育,给与营养物,教养,扶持 | |
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175 strata | |
n.地层(复数);社会阶层 | |
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176 mannerism | |
n.特殊习惯,怪癖 | |
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177 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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178 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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179 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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180 wares | |
n. 货物, 商品 | |
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181 contrive | |
vt.谋划,策划;设法做到;设计,想出 | |
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182 custody | |
n.监护,照看,羁押,拘留 | |
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183 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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184 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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185 maxims | |
n.格言,座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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186 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
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187 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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188 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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189 incompatible | |
adj.不相容的,不协调的,不相配的 | |
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190 envelop | |
vt.包,封,遮盖;包围 | |
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191 momentum | |
n.动力,冲力,势头;动量 | |
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192 breakdown | |
n.垮,衰竭;损坏,故障,倒塌 | |
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193 postponed | |
vt.& vi.延期,缓办,(使)延迟vt.把…放在次要地位;[语]把…放在后面(或句尾)vi.(疟疾等)延缓发作(或复发) | |
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194 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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195 undoes | |
松开( undo的第三人称单数 ); 解开; 毁灭; 败坏 | |
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196 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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197 fortified | |
adj. 加强的 | |
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198 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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199 imperative | |
n.命令,需要;规则;祈使语气;adj.强制的;紧急的 | |
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200 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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201 illustrates | |
给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 ); 说明; 表明; (用示例、图画等)说明 | |
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202 collapse | |
vi.累倒;昏倒;倒塌;塌陷 | |
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203 barbarian | |
n.野蛮人;adj.野蛮(人)的;未开化的 | |
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204 opium | |
n.鸦片;adj.鸦片的 | |
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205 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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206 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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207 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
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208 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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209 fulcrum | |
n.杠杆支点 | |
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210 aggregate | |
adj.总计的,集合的;n.总数;v.合计;集合 | |
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211 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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212 contemptible | |
adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
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213 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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214 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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215 inflaming | |
v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的现在分词 ) | |
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216 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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217 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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218 lurks | |
n.潜在,潜伏;(lurk的复数形式)vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的第三人称单数形式) | |
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219 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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220 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
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221 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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222 inertly | |
adv.不活泼地,无生气地 | |
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223 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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224 genially | |
adv.亲切地,和蔼地;快活地 | |
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225 grooved | |
v.沟( groove的过去式和过去分词 );槽;老一套;(某种)音乐节奏 | |
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226 flinch | |
v.畏缩,退缩 | |
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227 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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228 gratuitous | |
adj.无偿的,免费的;无缘无故的,不必要的 | |
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229 systematically | |
adv.有系统地 | |
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230 ascetic | |
adj.禁欲的;严肃的 | |
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231 asceticism | |
n.禁欲主义 | |
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232 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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233 inured | |
adj.坚强的,习惯的 | |
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234 winnowed | |
adj.扬净的,风选的v.扬( winnow的过去式和过去分词 );辨别;选择;除去 | |
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235 chaff | |
v.取笑,嘲笑;n.谷壳 | |
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236 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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237 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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238 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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239 molecules | |
分子( molecule的名词复数 ) | |
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240 engendered | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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241 embarking | |
乘船( embark的现在分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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242 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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