46. Faith, such as early Christianity desired, and not infrequently achieved in the midst of a skeptical11 and southernly free-spirited world, which had centuries of struggle between philosophical12 schools behind it and in it, counting besides the education in tolerance13 which the Imperium Romanum gave—this faith is NOT that sincere, austere14 slave-faith by which perhaps a Luther or a Cromwell, or some other northern barbarian15 of the spirit remained attached to his God and Christianity, it is much rather the faith of Pascal, which resembles in a terrible manner a continuous suicide of reason—a tough, long-lived, worm-like reason, which is not to be slain16 at once and with a single blow. The Christian10 faith from the beginning, is sacrifice the sacrifice of all freedom, all pride, all self-confidence of spirit, it is at the same time subjection, self-derision, and self-mutilation. There is cruelty and religious Phoenicianism in this faith, which is adapted to a tender, many-sided, and very fastidious conscience, it takes for granted that the subjection of the spirit is indescribably PAINFUL, that all the past and all the habits of such a spirit resist the absurdissimum, in the form of which "faith" comes to it. Modern men, with their obtuseness17 as regards all Christian nomenclature, have no longer the sense for the terribly superlative conception which was implied to an antique taste by the paradox18 of the formula, "God on the Cross". Hitherto there had never and nowhere been such boldness in inversion19, nor anything at once so dreadful, questioning, and questionable20 as this formula: it promised a transvaluation of all ancient values—It was the Orient, the PROFOUND Orient, it was the Oriental slave who thus took revenge on Rome and its noble, light-minded toleration, on the Roman "Catholicism" of non-faith, and it was always not the faith, but the freedom from the faith, the half-stoical and smiling indifference21 to the seriousness of the faith, which made the slaves indignant at their masters and revolt against them. "Enlightenment" causes revolt, for the slave desires the unconditioned, he understands nothing but the tyrannous, even in morals, he loves as he hates, without NUANCE22, to the very depths, to the point of pain, to the point of sickness—his many HIDDEN sufferings make him revolt against the noble taste which seems to DENY suffering. The skepticism with regard to suffering, fundamentally only an attitude of aristocratic morality, was not the least of the causes, also, of the last great slave-insurrection which began with the French Revolution.
47. Wherever the religious neurosis has appeared on the earth so far, we find it connected with three dangerous prescriptions23 as to regimen: solitude24, fasting, and sexual abstinence—but without its being possible to determine with certainty which is cause and which is effect, or IF any relation at all of cause and effect exists there. This latter doubt is justified25 by the fact that one of the most regular symptoms among savage26 as well as among civilized27 peoples is the most sudden and excessive sensuality, which then with equal suddenness transforms into penitential paroxysms, world-renunciation, and will-renunciation, both symptoms perhaps explainable as disguised epilepsy? But nowhere is it MORE obligatory29 to put aside explanations around no other type has there grown such a mass of absurdity30 and superstition31, no other type seems to have been more interesting to men and even to philosophers—perhaps it is time to become just a little indifferent here, to learn caution, or, better still, to look AWAY, TO GO AWAY—Yet in the background of the most recent philosophy, that of Schopenhauer, we find almost as the problem in itself, this terrible note of interrogation of the religious crisis and awakening32. How is the negation33 of will POSSIBLE? how is the saint possible?—that seems to have been the very question with which Schopenhauer made a start and became a philosopher. And thus it was a genuine Schopenhauerian consequence, that his most convinced adherent34 (perhaps also his last, as far as Germany is concerned), namely, Richard Wagner, should bring his own life-work to an end just here, and should finally put that terrible and eternal type upon the stage as Kundry, type vecu, and as it loved and lived, at the very time that the mad-doctors in almost all European countries had an opportunity to study the type close at hand, wherever the religious neurosis—or as I call it, "the religious mood"—made its latest epidemical outbreak and display as the "Salvation35 Army"—If it be a question, however, as to what has been so extremely interesting to men of all sorts in all ages, and even to philosophers, in the whole phenomenon of the saint, it is undoubtedly36 the appearance of the miraculous37 therein—namely, the immediate38 SUCCESSION OF OPPOSITES, of states of the soul regarded as morally antithetical: it was believed here to be self-evident that a "bad man" was all at once turned into a "saint," a good man. The hitherto existing psychology39 was wrecked40 at this point, is it not possible it may have happened principally because psychology had placed itself under the dominion41 of morals, because it BELIEVED in oppositions42 of moral values, and saw, read, and INTERPRETED these oppositions into the text and facts of the case? What? "Miracle" only an error of interpretation43? A lack of philology44?
48. It seems that the Latin races are far more deeply attached to their Catholicism than we Northerners are to Christianity generally, and that consequently unbelief in Catholic countries means something quite different from what it does among Protestants—namely, a sort of revolt against the spirit of the race, while with us it is rather a return to the spirit (or non-spirit) of the race.
We Northerners undoubtedly derive45 our origin from barbarous races, even as regards our talents for religion—we have POOR talents for it. One may make an exception in the case of the Celts, who have theretofore furnished also the best soil for Christian infection in the North: the Christian ideal blossomed forth46 in France as much as ever the pale sun of the north would allow it. How strangely pious47 for our taste are still these later French skeptics, whenever there is any Celtic blood in their origin! How Catholic, how un-German does Auguste Comte's Sociology seem to us, with the Roman logic48 of its instincts! How Jesuitical, that amiable49 and shrewd cicerone of Port Royal, Sainte-Beuve, in spite of all his hostility50 to Jesuits! And even Ernest Renan: how inaccessible51 to us Northerners does the language of such a Renan appear, in whom every instant the merest touch of religious thrill throws his refined voluptuous52 and comfortably couching soul off its balance! Let us repeat after him these fine sentences—and what wickedness and haughtiness53 is immediately aroused by way of answer in our probably less beautiful but harder souls, that is to say, in our more German souls!—"DISONS DONC HARDIMENT QUE LA RELIGION EST UN PRODUIT DE L'HOMME NORMAL, QUE L'HOMME EST LE PLUS DANS LE VRAI QUANT IL EST LE PLUS RELIGIEUX ET LE PLUS ASSURE D'UNE DESTINEE INFINIE.... C'EST QUAND IL EST BON QU'IL VEUT QUE LA VIRTU CORRESPONDE A UN ORDER ETERNAL, C'EST QUAND IL CONTEMPLE LES CHOSES D'UNE MANIERE DESINTERESSEE QU'IL TROUVE LA MORT REVOLTANTE ET ABSURDE. COMMENT NE PAS SUPPOSER QUE C'EST DANS CES MOMENTS-LA, QUE L'HOMME VOIT LE MIEUX?"... These sentences are so extremely ANTIPODAL to my ears and habits of thought, that in my first impulse of rage on finding them, I wrote on the margin54, "LA NIAISERIE RELIGIEUSE PAR9 EXCELLENCE55!"—until in my later rage I even took a fancy to them, these sentences with their truth absolutely inverted56! It is so nice and such a distinction to have one's own antipodes!
49. That which is so astonishing in the religious life of the ancient Greeks is the irrestrainable stream of GRATITUDE58 which it pours forth—it is a very superior kind of man who takes SUCH an attitude towards nature and life.—Later on, when the populace got the upper hand in Greece, FEAR became rampant59 also in religion; and Christianity was preparing itself.
50. The passion for God: there are churlish, honest-hearted, and importunate60 kinds of it, like that of Luther—the whole of Protestantism lacks the southern DELICATEZZA. There is an Oriental exaltation of the mind in it, like that of an undeservedly favoured or elevated slave, as in the case of St. Augustine, for instance, who lacks in an offensive manner, all nobility in bearing and desires. There is a feminine tenderness and sensuality in it, which modestly and unconsciously longs for a UNIO MYSTICA ET PHYSICA, as in the case of Madame de Guyon. In many cases it appears, curiously61 enough, as the disguise of a girl's or youth's puberty; here and there even as the hysteria of an old maid, also as her last ambition. The Church has frequently canonized the woman in such a case.
51. The mightiest62 men have hitherto always bowed reverently63 before the saint, as the enigma64 of self-subjugation65 and utter voluntary privation—why did they thus bow? They divined in him—and as it were behind the questionableness66 of his frail67 and wretched appearance—the superior force which wished to test itself by such a subjugation; the strength of will, in which they recognized their own strength and love of power, and knew how to honour it: they honoured something in themselves when they honoured the saint. In addition to this, the contemplation of the saint suggested to them a suspicion: such an enormity of self-negation and anti-naturalness will not have been coveted68 for nothing—they have said, inquiringly. There is perhaps a reason for it, some very great danger, about which the ascetic69 might wish to be more accurately70 informed through his secret interlocutors and visitors? In a word, the mighty71 ones of the world learned to have a new fear before him, they divined a new power, a strange, still unconquered enemy:—it was the "Will to Power" which obliged them to halt before the saint. They had to question him.
52. In the Jewish "Old Testament72," the book of divine justice, there are men, things, and sayings on such an immense scale, that Greek and Indian literature has nothing to compare with it. One stands with fear and reverence73 before those stupendous remains74 of what man was formerly75, and one has sad thoughts about old Asia and its little out-pushed peninsula Europe, which would like, by all means, to figure before Asia as the "Progress of Mankind." To be sure, he who is himself only a slender, tame house-animal, and knows only the wants of a house-animal (like our cultured people of today, including the Christians76 of "cultured" Christianity), need neither be amazed nor even sad amid those ruins—the taste for the Old Testament is a touchstone with respect to "great" and "small": perhaps he will find that the New Testament, the book of grace, still appeals more to his heart (there is much of the odour of the genuine, tender, stupid beadsman and petty soul in it). To have bound up this New Testament (a kind of ROCOCO77 of taste in every respect) along with the Old Testament into one book, as the "Bible," as "The Book in Itself," is perhaps the greatest audacity78 and "sin against the Spirit" which literary Europe has upon its conscience.
53. Why Atheism79 nowadays? "The father" in God is thoroughly80 refuted; equally so "the judge," "the rewarder." Also his "free will": he does not hear—and even if he did, he would not know how to help. The worst is that he seems incapable81 of communicating himself clearly; is he uncertain?—This is what I have made out (by questioning and listening at a variety of conversations) to be the cause of the decline of European theism; it appears to me that though the religious instinct is in vigorous growth,—it rejects the theistic satisfaction with profound distrust.
54. What does all modern philosophy mainly do? Since Descartes—and indeed more in defiance82 of him than on the basis of his procedure—an ATTENTAT has been made on the part of all philosophers on the old conception of the soul, under the guise28 of a criticism of the subject and predicate conception—that is to say, an ATTENTAT on the fundamental presupposition of Christian doctrine83. Modern philosophy, as epistemological skepticism, is secretly or openly ANTI-CHRISTIAN, although (for keener ears, be it said) by no means anti-religious. Formerly, in effect, one believed in "the soul" as one believed in grammar and the grammatical subject: one said, "I" is the condition, "think" is the predicate and is conditioned—to think is an activity for which one MUST suppose a subject as cause. The attempt was then made, with marvelous tenacity84 and subtlety, to see if one could not get out of this net,—to see if the opposite was not perhaps true: "think" the condition, and "I" the conditioned; "I," therefore, only a synthesis which has been MADE by thinking itself. KANT really wished to prove that, starting from the subject, the subject could not be proved—nor the object either: the possibility of an APPARENT EXISTENCE of the subject, and therefore of "the soul," may not always have been strange to him,—the thought which once had an immense power on earth as the Vedanta philosophy.
55. There is a great ladder of religious cruelty, with many rounds; but three of these are the most important. Once on a time men sacrificed human beings to their God, and perhaps just those they loved the best—to this category belong the firstling sacrifices of all primitive85 religions, and also the sacrifice of the Emperor Tiberius in the Mithra-Grotto on the Island of Capri, that most terrible of all Roman anachronisms. Then, during the moral epoch86 of mankind, they sacrificed to their God the strongest instincts they possessed87, their "nature"; THIS festal joy shines in the cruel glances of ascetics88 and "anti-natural" fanatics89. Finally, what still remained to be sacrificed? Was it not necessary in the end for men to sacrifice everything comforting, holy, healing, all hope, all faith in hidden harmonies, in future blessedness and justice? Was it not necessary to sacrifice God himself, and out of cruelty to themselves to worship stone, stupidity, gravity, fate, nothingness? To sacrifice God for nothingness—this paradoxical mystery of the ultimate cruelty has been reserved for the rising generation; we all know something thereof already.
56. Whoever, like myself, prompted by some enigmatical desire, has long endeavoured to go to the bottom of the question of pessimism90 and free it from the half-Christian, half-German narrowness and stupidity in which it has finally presented itself to this century, namely, in the form of Schopenhauer's philosophy; whoever, with an Asiatic and super-Asiatic eye, has actually looked inside, and into the most world-renouncing of all possible modes of thought—beyond good and evil, and no longer like Buddha91 and Schopenhauer, under the dominion and delusion92 of morality,—whoever has done this, has perhaps just thereby93, without really desiring it, opened his eyes to behold94 the opposite ideal: the ideal of the most world-approving, exuberant95, and vivacious96 man, who has not only learnt to compromise and arrange with that which was and is, but wishes to have it again AS IT WAS AND IS, for all eternity97, insatiably calling out da capo, not only to himself, but to the whole piece and play; and not only the play, but actually to him who requires the play—and makes it necessary; because he always requires himself anew—and makes himself necessary.—What? And this would not be—circulus vitiosus deus?
57. The distance, and as it were the space around man, grows with the strength of his intellectual vision and insight: his world becomes profounder; new stars, new enigmas98, and notions are ever coming into view. Perhaps everything on which the intellectual eye has exercised its acuteness and profundity99 has just been an occasion for its exercise, something of a game, something for children and childish minds. Perhaps the most solemn conceptions that have caused the most fighting and suffering, the conceptions "God" and "sin," will one day seem to us of no more importance than a child's plaything or a child's pain seems to an old man;—and perhaps another plaything and another pain will then be necessary once more for "the old man"—always childish enough, an eternal child!
58. Has it been observed to what extent outward idleness, or semi-idleness, is necessary to a real religious life (alike for its favourite microscopic100 labour of self-examination, and for its soft placidity101 called "prayer," the state of perpetual readiness for the "coming of God"), I mean the idleness with a good conscience, the idleness of olden times and of blood, to which the aristocratic sentiment that work is DISHONOURING—that it vulgarizes body and soul—is not quite unfamiliar102? And that consequently the modern, noisy, time-engrossing, conceited103, foolishly proud laboriousness105 educates and prepares for "unbelief" more than anything else? Among these, for instance, who are at present living apart from religion in Germany, I find "free-thinkers" of diversified106 species and origin, but above all a majority of those in whom laboriousness from generation to generation has dissolved the religious instincts; so that they no longer know what purpose religions serve, and only note their existence in the world with a kind of dull astonishment107. They feel themselves already fully108 occupied, these good people, be it by their business or by their pleasures, not to mention the "Fatherland," and the newspapers, and their "family duties"; it seems that they have no time whatever left for religion; and above all, it is not obvious to them whether it is a question of a new business or a new pleasure—for it is impossible, they say to themselves, that people should go to church merely to spoil their tempers. They are by no means enemies of religious customs; should certain circumstances, State affairs perhaps, require their participation109 in such customs, they do what is required, as so many things are done—with a patient and unassuming seriousness, and without much curiosity or discomfort;—they live too much apart and outside to feel even the necessity for a FOR or AGAINST in such matters. Among those indifferent persons may be reckoned nowadays the majority of German Protestants of the middle classes, especially in the great laborious104 centres of trade and commerce; also the majority of laborious scholars, and the entire University personnel (with the exception of the theologians, whose existence and possibility there always gives psychologists new and more subtle puzzles to solve). On the part of pious, or merely church-going people, there is seldom any idea of HOW MUCH good-will, one might say arbitrary will, is now necessary for a German scholar to take the problem of religion seriously; his whole profession (and as I have said, his whole workmanlike laboriousness, to which he is compelled by his modern conscience) inclines him to a lofty and almost charitable serenity110 as regards religion, with which is occasionally mingled111 a slight disdain112 for the "uncleanliness" of spirit which he takes for granted wherever any one still professes113 to belong to the Church. It is only with the help of history (NOT through his own personal experience, therefore) that the scholar succeeds in bringing himself to a respectful seriousness, and to a certain timid deference114 in presence of religions; but even when his sentiments have reached the stage of gratitude towards them, he has not personally advanced one step nearer to that which still maintains itself as Church or as piety115; perhaps even the contrary. The practical indifference to religious matters in the midst of which he has been born and brought up, usually sublimates116 itself in his case into circumspection117 and cleanliness, which shuns118 contact with religious men and things; and it may be just the depth of his tolerance and humanity which prompts him to avoid the delicate trouble which tolerance itself brings with it.—Every age has its own divine type of naivete, for the discovery of which other ages may envy it: and how much naivete—adorable, childlike, and boundlessly119 foolish naivete is involved in this belief of the scholar in his superiority, in the good conscience of his tolerance, in the unsuspecting, simple certainty with which his instinct treats the religious man as a lower and less valuable type, beyond, before, and ABOVE which he himself has developed—he, the little arrogant120 dwarf121 and mob-man, the sedulously122 alert, head-and-hand drudge123 of "ideas," of "modern ideas"!
59. Whoever has seen deeply into the world has doubtless divined what wisdom there is in the fact that men are superficial. It is their preservative124 instinct which teaches them to be flighty, lightsome, and false. Here and there one finds a passionate125 and exaggerated adoration126 of "pure forms" in philosophers as well as in artists: it is not to be doubted that whoever has NEED of the cult4 of the superficial to that extent, has at one time or another made an unlucky dive BENEATH it. Perhaps there is even an order of rank with respect to those burnt children, the born artists who find the enjoyment127 of life only in trying to FALSIFY its image (as if taking wearisome revenge on it), one might guess to what degree life has disgusted them, by the extent to which they wish to see its image falsified, attenuated128, ultrified, and deified,—one might reckon the homines religiosi among the artists, as their HIGHEST rank. It is the profound, suspicious fear of an incurable129 pessimism which compels whole centuries to fasten their teeth into a religious interpretation of existence: the fear of the instinct which divines that truth might be attained TOO soon, before man has become strong enough, hard enough, artist enough.... Piety, the "Life in God," regarded in this light, would appear as the most elaborate and ultimate product of the FEAR of truth, as artist-adoration and artist-intoxication in presence of the most logical of all falsifications, as the will to the inversion of truth, to untruth at any price. Perhaps there has hitherto been no more effective means of beautifying man than piety, by means of it man can become so artful, so superficial, so iridescent130, and so good, that his appearance no longer offends.
60. To love mankind FOR GOD'S SAKE—this has so far been the noblest and remotest sentiment to which mankind has attained. That love to mankind, without any redeeming131 intention in the background, is only an ADDITIONAL folly132 and brutishness, that the inclination133 to this love has first to get its proportion, its delicacy134, its gram of salt and sprinkling of ambergris from a higher inclination—whoever first perceived and "experienced" this, however his tongue may have stammered135 as it attempted to express such a delicate matter, let him for all time be holy and respected, as the man who has so far flown highest and gone astray in the finest fashion!
61. The philosopher, as WE free spirits understand him—as the man of the greatest responsibility, who has the conscience for the general development of mankind,—will use religion for his disciplining and educating work, just as he will use the contemporary political and economic conditions. The selecting and disciplining influence—destructive, as well as creative and fashioning—which can be exercised by means of religion is manifold and varied136, according to the sort of people placed under its spell and protection. For those who are strong and independent, destined137 and trained to command, in whom the judgment138 and skill of a ruling race is incorporated, religion is an additional means for overcoming resistance in the exercise of authority—as a bond which binds139 rulers and subjects in common, betraying and surrendering to the former the conscience of the latter, their inmost heart, which would fain escape obedience140. And in the case of the unique natures of noble origin, if by virtue141 of superior spirituality they should incline to a more retired142 and contemplative life, reserving to themselves only the more refined forms of government (over chosen disciples143 or members of an order), religion itself may be used as a means for obtaining peace from the noise and trouble of managing GROSSER affairs, and for securing immunity144 from the UNAVOIDABLE filth145 of all political agitation146. The Brahmins, for instance, understood this fact. With the help of a religious organization, they secured to themselves the power of nominating kings for the people, while their sentiments prompted them to keep apart and outside, as men with a higher and super-regal mission. At the same time religion gives inducement and opportunity to some of the subjects to qualify themselves for future ruling and commanding the slowly ascending147 ranks and classes, in which, through fortunate marriage customs, volitional148 power and delight in self-control are on the increase. To them religion offers sufficient incentives149 and temptations to aspire150 to higher intellectuality, and to experience the sentiments of authoritative151 self-control, of silence, and of solitude. Asceticism152 and Puritanism are almost indispensable means of educating and ennobling a race which seeks to rise above its hereditary153 baseness and work itself upwards154 to future supremacy155. And finally, to ordinary men, to the majority of the people, who exist for service and general utility, and are only so far entitled to exist, religion gives invaluable156 contentedness157 with their lot and condition, peace of heart, ennoblement of obedience, additional social happiness and sympathy, with something of transfiguration and embellishment, something of justification158 of all the commonplaceness, all the meanness, all the semi-animal poverty of their souls. Religion, together with the religious significance of life, sheds sunshine over such perpetually harassed159 men, and makes even their own aspect endurable to them, it operates upon them as the Epicurean philosophy usually operates upon sufferers of a higher order, in a refreshing160 and refining manner, almost TURNING suffering TO ACCOUNT, and in the end even hallowing and vindicating161 it. There is perhaps nothing so admirable in Christianity and Buddhism162 as their art of teaching even the lowest to elevate themselves by piety to a seemingly higher order of things, and thereby to retain their satisfaction with the actual world in which they find it difficult enough to live—this very difficulty being necessary.
62. To be sure—to make also the bad counter-reckoning against such religions, and to bring to light their secret dangers—the cost is always excessive and terrible when religions do NOT operate as an educational and disciplinary medium in the hands of the philosopher, but rule voluntarily and PARAMOUNTLY163, when they wish to be the final end, and not a means along with other means. Among men, as among all other animals, there is a surplus of defective165, diseased, degenerating166, infirm, and necessarily suffering individuals; the successful cases, among men also, are always the exception; and in view of the fact that man is THE ANIMAL NOT YET PROPERLY ADAPTED TO HIS ENVIRONMENT, the rare exception. But worse still. The higher the type a man represents, the greater is the improbability that he will SUCCEED; the accidental, the law of irrationality167 in the general constitution of mankind, manifests itself most terribly in its destructive effect on the higher orders of men, the conditions of whose lives are delicate, diverse, and difficult to determine. What, then, is the attitude of the two greatest religions above-mentioned to the SURPLUS of failures in life? They endeavour to preserve and keep alive whatever can be preserved; in fact, as the religions FOR SUFFERERS, they take the part of these upon principle; they are always in favour of those who suffer from life as from a disease, and they would fain treat every other experience of life as false and impossible. However highly we may esteem168 this indulgent and preservative care (inasmuch as in applying to others, it has applied169, and applies also to the highest and usually the most suffering type of man), the hitherto PARAMOUNT164 religions—to give a general appreciation170 of them—are among the principal causes which have kept the type of "man" upon a lower level—they have preserved too much THAT WHICH SHOULD HAVE PERISHED. One has to thank them for invaluable services; and who is sufficiently171 rich in gratitude not to feel poor at the contemplation of all that the "spiritual men" of Christianity have done for Europe hitherto! But when they had given comfort to the sufferers, courage to the oppressed and despairing, a staff and support to the helpless, and when they had allured172 from society into convents and spiritual penitentiaries173 the broken-hearted and distracted: what else had they to do in order to work systematically174 in that fashion, and with a good conscience, for the preservation175 of all the sick and suffering, which means, in deed and in truth, to work for the DETERIORATION176 OF THE EUROPEAN RACE? To REVERSE all estimates of value—THAT is what they had to do! And to shatter the strong, to spoil great hopes, to cast suspicion on the delight in beauty, to break down everything autonomous177, manly178, conquering, and imperious—all instincts which are natural to the highest and most successful type of "man"—into uncertainty179, distress180 of conscience, and self-destruction; forsooth, to invert57 all love of the earthly and of supremacy over the earth, into hatred181 of the earth and earthly things—THAT is the task the Church imposed on itself, and was obliged to impose, until, according to its standard of value, "unworldliness," "unsensuousness," and "higher man" fused into one sentiment. If one could observe the strangely painful, equally coarse and refined comedy of European Christianity with the derisive182 and impartial183 eye of an Epicurean god, I should think one would never cease marvelling184 and laughing; does it not actually seem that some single will has ruled over Europe for eighteen centuries in order to make a SUBLIME185 ABORTION186 of man? He, however, who, with opposite requirements (no longer Epicurean) and with some divine hammer in his hand, could approach this almost voluntary degeneration and stunting187 of mankind, as exemplified in the European Christian (Pascal, for instance), would he not have to cry aloud with rage, pity, and horror: "Oh, you bunglers, presumptuous188 pitiful bunglers, what have you done! Was that a work for your hands? How you have hacked189 and botched my finest stone! What have you presumed to do!"—I should say that Christianity has hitherto been the most portentous190 of presumptions191. Men, not great enough, nor hard enough, to be entitled as artists to take part in fashioning MAN; men, not sufficiently strong and far-sighted to ALLOW, with sublime self-constraint, the obvious law of the thousandfold failures and perishings to prevail; men, not sufficiently noble to see the radically192 different grades of rank and intervals193 of rank that separate man from man:—SUCH men, with their "equality before God," have hitherto swayed the destiny of Europe; until at last a dwarfed194, almost ludicrous species has been produced, a gregarious195 animal, something obliging, sickly, mediocre196, the European of the present day.
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attained
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| （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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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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oversee
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| vt.监督，管理 | |
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par
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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17
obtuseness
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| 感觉迟钝 | |
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18
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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19
inversion
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| n.反向，倒转，倒置 | |
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20
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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21
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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22
nuance
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| n.(意义、意见、颜色)细微差别 | |
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23
prescriptions
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| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
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24
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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25
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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26
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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27
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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28
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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29
obligatory
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| adj.强制性的，义务的，必须的 | |
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30
absurdity
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|
| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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31
superstition
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|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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32
awakening
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|
| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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33
negation
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| n.否定；否认 | |
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34
adherent
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|
| n.信徒，追随者，拥护者 | |
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35
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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36
undoubtedly
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|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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37
miraculous
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|
| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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38
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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39
psychology
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|
| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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40
wrecked
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|
| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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41
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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42
oppositions
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|
| （强烈的）反对( opposition的名词复数 )； 反对党； （事业、竞赛、游戏等的）对手； 对比 | |
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43
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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44
philology
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|
| n.语言学；语文学 | |
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45
derive
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|
| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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46
forth
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|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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47
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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48
logic
|
|
| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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49
amiable
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|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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50
hostility
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|
| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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51
inaccessible
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|
| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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52
voluptuous
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|
| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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53
haughtiness
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|
| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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54
margin
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|
| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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55
excellence
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|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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56
inverted
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|
| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
invert
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|
| vt.使反转，使颠倒，使转化 | |
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58
gratitude
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|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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59
rampant
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|
| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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60
importunate
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|
| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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61
curiously
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|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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62
mightiest
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|
| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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63
reverently
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|
| adv.虔诚地 | |
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64
enigma
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|
| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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65
subjugation
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|
| n.镇压，平息，征服 | |
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66
questionableness
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|
| 可疑的，有疑问的 | |
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67
frail
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|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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68
coveted
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|
| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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69
ascetic
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|
| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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70
accurately
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|
| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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71
mighty
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|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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72
testament
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|
| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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73
reverence
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|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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74
remains
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|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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75
formerly
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|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
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76
Christians
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|
| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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77
rococo
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|
| n.洛可可；adj.过分修饰的 | |
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78
audacity
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|
| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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79
atheism
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|
| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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80
thoroughly
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|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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81
incapable
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|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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82
defiance
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|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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83
doctrine
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|
| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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84
tenacity
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|
| n.坚韧 | |
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85
primitive
|
|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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86
epoch
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|
| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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87
possessed
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|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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88
ascetics
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|
| n.苦行者，禁欲者，禁欲主义者( ascetic的名词复数 ) | |
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89
fanatics
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|
| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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90
pessimism
|
|
| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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91
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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92
delusion
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|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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93
thereby
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|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
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94
behold
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|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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95
exuberant
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|
| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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96
vivacious
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|
| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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97
eternity
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|
| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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98
enigmas
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|
| n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等，奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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99
profundity
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|
| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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100
microscopic
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|
| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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101
placidity
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|
| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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102
unfamiliar
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|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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103
conceited
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|
| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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104
laborious
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|
| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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105
laboriousness
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106
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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107
astonishment
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|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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108
fully
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|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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109
participation
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|
| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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110
serenity
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|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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111
mingled
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|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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112
disdain
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|
| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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113
professes
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|
| 声称( profess的第三人称单数 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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114
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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115
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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116
sublimates
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|
| v.（使某物质）升华( sublimate的第三人称单数 )；使净化；纯化 | |
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117
circumspection
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| n.细心，慎重 | |
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118
shuns
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的第三人称单数 ) | |
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119
boundlessly
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| adv.无穷地，无限地 | |
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120
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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121
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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122
sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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123
drudge
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| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
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124
preservative
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| n.防腐剂；防腐料；保护料；预防药 | |
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125
passionate
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|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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126
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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127
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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128
attenuated
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|
| 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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129
incurable
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|
| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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130
iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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131
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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132
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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133
inclination
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|
| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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134
delicacy
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|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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135
stammered
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|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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137
destined
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|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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138
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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139
binds
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|
| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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140
obedience
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|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
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141
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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142
retired
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|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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143
disciples
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|
| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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144
immunity
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|
| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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145
filth
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|
| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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146
agitation
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|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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147
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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148
volitional
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|
| adj.意志的，凭意志的，有意志的 | |
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149
incentives
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|
| 激励某人做某事的事物( incentive的名词复数 )； 刺激； 诱因； 动机 | |
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150
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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151
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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asceticism
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| n.禁欲主义 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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contentedness
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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vindicating
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的现在分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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162
Buddhism
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| n.佛教（教义） | |
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paramountly
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| 最高的，至上的； 最重要的，主要的； 卓越的； 有最高权力的 | |
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paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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degenerating
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的现在分词 ) | |
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irrationality
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| n. 不合理，无理性 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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allured
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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penitentiaries
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| n.监狱( penitentiary的名词复数 ) | |
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174
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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175
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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deterioration
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| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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autonomous
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| adj.自治的；独立的 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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182
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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183
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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184
marvelling
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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185
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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abortion
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| n.流产，堕胎 | |
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stunting
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| v.阻碍…发育[生长]，抑制，妨碍( stunt的现在分词 ) | |
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presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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hacked
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| 生气 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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presumptions
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| n.假定( presumption的名词复数 )；认定；推定；放肆 | |
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radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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intervals
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| 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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194
dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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195
gregarious
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| adj.群居的，喜好群居的 | |
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mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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