[17]
Souvenirs d'Enfance et de Jeunesse. Par1 Ernest Renan. Guardian2,
18th July 1883.
The sketches3 which M. Renan gives us of his early life are what we should have looked for from the writer of the Vie de Jésus. The story of the disintegration4 of a faith is supposed commonly to have something tragic5 about it. We expect it to be a story of heart-breaking disenchantments, of painful struggles, of fierce recoils7 against ancient beliefs and the teachers who bolstered8 them up; of indignation at having been so long deceived; of lamentation9 over years wasted in the service of falsehood. The confessions10 of St. Augustine, the biography of Blanco White, the letters of Lamennais, at least agree in the witness which they bear to the bitter pangs11 and anxieties amid which, in their case, the eventful change came about. Even Cardinal12 Newman's Apologia, self-restrained and severely13 controlled as it is, shows no doubtful traces of the conflicts and sorrows out of which he believed himself to have emerged to a calmer and surer light. But M. Renan's story is an idyl, not a tragedy. It is sunny, placid14, contented15. He calls his life the "charmante promenade16" which the "cause of all good," whatever that may be, has granted him through the realities of existence. There are in it no storms of passion, no cruelties of circumstances, no deplorable mistakes, no complaints, no recriminations. His life flows on smoothly17, peacefully, happily, with little of rapids and broken waters, gradually and in the most natural and inevitable18 way enlarging itself, moving in new and wider channels and with increased volume and force, but never detaching itself and breaking off from its beginnings. It is a spectacle which M. Renan, who has lived this life, takes a gentle pleasure in contemplating19. He looks back on it with thankfulness, and also with amusement It makes a charming and complete picture. No part could be wanting without injuring the effect of the whole. It is the very ideal of the education of the Rousseau school—a child of nature, developing, amid the simplest and humblest circumstances of life, the finest gifts and most delicate graces of faith and reverence21 and purity—brought up by sages22 whose wisdom he could not in time help outrunning, but whose piety23, sweetness, disinterestedness24, and devoted25 labour left on his mind impressions which nothing could wear out; and at length, when the time came, passing naturally, and without passion or bitterness, from out of their faithful but too narrow discipline into a wider and ampler air, and becoming, as was fit, master and guide to himself, with light which they could not bear, and views of truth greater and deeper than they could conceive. But every stage of the progress, through the virtues27 of the teachers, and the felicitous28 disposition29 of the pupil, exhibits both in exactly the due relations in which each ought to be with the other, with none of the friction30 of rebellious31 and refractory32 temper on one side, or of unintelligent harshness on the other. He has nothing to regret in the schools through which he passed, in the preparations which he made there for the future, in the way in which they shaped his life. He lays down the maxim33, "On ne doit jamais écrire que de ce qu'on aime." There is a serene34 satisfaction diffused35 through the book, which scarcely anything intervenes to break or disturb; he sees so much poetry in his life, so much content, so much signal and unlooked-for success, that he has little to tell except what is delightful36 and admirable. And then he is so certain that he is right: he can look down with so much good-humoured superiority on past and present, alike on what he calls "l'effroyable aventure du moyen age," and on the march of modern society to the dead level of "Americanism." It need not be said that the story is told with all M. Renan's consummate37 charm of storytelling. All that it wants is depth of real feeling and seriousness—some sense of the greatness of what he has had to give up, not merely of its poetic39 beauty and tender associations. It hardly seems to occur to him that something more than his easy cheerfulness and his vivid historical imagination is wanted to solve for him the problems of the world, and that his gradual transition from the Catholicism of the seminary to the absolute rejection40 of the supernatural in religion does not, as he describes it, throw much light on the question of the hopes and destiny of mankind.
The outline of his story is soon told. It is in general like that of many more who in France have broken away from religion. A clever studious boy, a true son of old Brittany—the most melancholy41, the most tender, the most ardent42, the most devout43, not only of all French provinces, but of all regions in Europe—is passed on from the teaching of good, simple, hard-working country priests to the central seminaries, where the leaders of the French clergy44 are educated. He comes up a raw, eager, ignorant provincial45, full of zeal46 for knowledge, full of reverence and faith, and first goes through the distinguished47 literary school of St. Nicolas du Chardonnet, of which Dupanloup was the founder48 and the inspiring soul. Thence he passed under the more strictly49 professional discipline of St. Sulpice: first at the preparatory philosophical50 school at Issy, then to study scientific theology in the house of St. Sulpice itself at Paris. At St. Sulpice he showed special aptitudes52 for the study of Hebrew, in which he was assisted and encouraged by M. le Hir, "the most remarkable53 person," in his opinion, "whom the French clergy has produced in our days," a "savant and a saint," who had mastered the results of German criticism as they were found in the works of Gesenius and Ewald. On his faith all this knowledge had not made the faintest impression; but it was this knowledge which broke down M. Renan's, and finally led to his retiring from St. Sulpice. On the one side was the Bible and Catholic theology, carefully, scientifically, and consistently taught at St. Sulpice; on the other were the exegesis54 and the historical criticism of the German school. He came at length to the conclusion that the two are incompatible55; that there was but a choice of alternatives; and purely56 on the ground of historical criticism, he says, not on any abstract objections to the supernatural, or to miracles, or to Catholic dogma, he gave up revealed religion. He gave it up not without regrets at the distress57 caused to friends, and at parting with much that was endeared to him by old associations, and by intrinsic beauty and value; but, as far as can be judged, without any serious sense of loss. He spent some time in obscurity, teaching, and studying laboriously58, and at length beginning to write. Michel Lévy, the publisher, found him out, and opened to him a literary career, and in due time he became famous. He has had the ambiguous honour of making the Bible an object of such interest to French readers as it never was before, at the cost of teaching them to find in it a reflection of their own characteristic ways of looking at life and the world. It is not an easy thing to do with such a book as the Bible; but he has done it.
As a mere38 history of a change of convictions, the Souvenirs are interesting, but hardly of much importance. They are written with a kind of Epicurean serenity59 and dignity, avoiding all exaggeration and violence, profuse60 in every page in the delicacies61 and also in the reticences of respect, not too serious to exclude the perpetual suggestion of a well-behaved amused irony62, not too much alive to the ridiculous and the self-contradictory to forget the attitude of composure due to the theme of the book. He warns his readers at the outset that they must not look for a stupid literalness in his account. "Ce qu'on dit de soi est toujours poésie"—the reflection of states of mind and varying humours, not the exact details of fact. "Tout63 est vrai dans ce petit volume, mais non de ce genre64 de verité qui est requis pour une Biographie universelle. Bien des choses ont été mises, afin qu'on sourie; si l'usage l'e?t permis, j'aurais d? écrire plus d'une fois à la marge—cum grano salis". It is candid65 to warn us thus to read a little between the lines; but it is a curious and unconscious disclosure of his characteristic love of a mixture of the misty66 and the clear. The really pleasant part of it is his account, which takes up half the volume, of Breton ways and feelings half a century ago, an account which exactly tallies67 with the pictures of them in Souvestre's writings; and the kindliness68 and justice with which he speaks of his old Catholic and priestly teachers, not only in his boyish days at Tréguier, but in his seminary life in Paris. His account of this seminary life is unique in its picturesque69 vividness. He describes how, at St. Nicolas, under the fiery70 and irresistible71 Dupanloup, whom he speaks of with the reserved courtesy due to a distinguished person whom he much dislikes, his eager eyes were opened to the realities of literature, and to the subtle powers of form and style in writing, which have stood him in such stead, and have been the real secret of his own success.
Le monde s'ouvrit pour moi. Malgré sa prétention d'être un asile fermé aux bruits72 du dehors, Saint-Nicolas était a cette époque la maison la plus brillante et la plus mondaine. Paris y entrait à pleins bords par les portes et les fenêtres, Paris tout entier, moins la corruption73, je me hate de le dire74, Paris avec ses petitesses et ses grandeurs, ses hardiesses et ses chiffons, sa force révolutionnaire et ses mollesses flasques. Mes vieux prêtres de Bretagne savaient bien mieux les mathématiques et le latin que mes nouveaux ma?tres; mais ils vivaient dans des catacombes sans lumière et sans air. Ici, l'atmosphère du siècle circulait librement…. Au bout6 de quelque temps une chose tout à fait inconnue m'etait révélée. Les mots, talent, éclat, réputation eurent un sens pour moi. J'étais perdu pour l'idéal modeste que mes anciens ma?tres m'avaient inculqué.
And he describes how Dupanloup brought his pupils perpetually into direct relations with himself and communicated to them something of his own enthusiasm. He gained the power over their hearts which a great general gains over his soldiers. His approval, his interest in a man, were the all-absorbing object, the all-sufficient reward; the one punishment feared was dismissal, always inflicted75 with courtesy and tact76, from the honour and the joy of serving under him:—
Adoré de ses élèves, M. Dupanloup n'était pas toujours agréable à ces collaborateurs. On m'a dit que, plus tard, dans son diocèse, les choses se passèrent de la même manière, qu'il fut toujours plus aimé de ses la?ques que de ses prêtres. Il est certain qu'il écrasait tout autour de lui. Mais sa violence même nous attachait; car nous sentions que nous étions son but unique. Ce qu'il était, c'était un éveilleur incomparable; pour tirer de chacun de ses élèves la somme de ce qu'il pouvait donner, personne ne l'égalait. Chacun de ses deux cents élèves existait distinct dans sa pensée; il était pour chacun d'eux l'excitateur toujours présent, le motif77 de vivre et de travailler. Il croyait au talent et en faisait la base de la foi. Il répétait souvent que l'homme vaut en proportion de sa faculté d'admirer. Son admiration78 n'était pas toujours assez éclairée par la science; mais elle venait d'une grande chaleur d'ame et d'un coeur vraiment possédé de l'amour du beau…. Les défauts de l'éducation qu'il donnait étaient les défauts même de son esprit. Il était trop peu rationnel, trop peu scientifique. On e?t dit que ses deux cents élèves étaient destinés à être tous poètes, écrivains, orateurs.
St. Nicolas was literary. Issy and St. Sulpice were severely philosophic51 and scientific, places of "fortes79 études"; and the writer thinks that they were more to his own taste than the more brilliant literary education given under Dupanloup. In one sense it may be so. They introduced him to exactness of thought and precision of expression, and they widened his horizon of possible and attainable80 knowledge. He passed, he says, from words to things. But he is a writer who owes so much to the form into which he throws his thoughts, to the grace and brightness and richness of his style, that he probably is a greater debtor81 to the master whom he admires and dislikes, Dupanloup, than to the modest, reserved, and rather dull Sulpician teachers, whom he loves and reveres82 and smiles at, whose knowledge of theology was serious, profound, and accurate, and whose characteristic temper was one of moderation and temperate83 reason, joined to a hatred84 of display, and a suspicion of all that seemed too clever and too brilliant. But his witness to their excellence85, to their absolute self-devotion to their work, to their dislike of extravagance and exaggeration, to their good sense and cultivation86, is ungrudging and warm. Of course he thinks them utterly87 out of date; but on their own ground he recognises that they were men of strength and solidity, the best and most thorough of teachers; the most sincere, the most humble20, the most self-forgetting of priests:—
Beaucoup de mes jugements étonnent les gens du monde parcequ'ils n'out pas vu ce que j'ai vu. J'ai vu à Saint-Sulpice, associés à des idées étroites, je l'avoue, les miracles que nos races peuvent produire en fait de bonté, de modestie, d'abnégation personelle. Ce qu'il y a de vertu à Saint-Sulpice suffirait pour gouverner un monde, et cela m'a rendu difficile pour ce que j'ai trouvé ailleurs.
M. Renan, as we have said, is very just to his education, and to the men who gave it. He never speaks of them except with respect and gratitude88. It is seldom, indeed, that he permits himself anything like open disparagement89 of the men and the cause which he forsook90. The shafts91 of his irony are reserved for men on his own side, for the radical92 violences of M. Clémenceau, and for the exaggerated reputation of Auguste Comte, "who has been set up as a man of the highest order of genius, for having said, in bad French, what all scientific thinkers for two hundred years have seen as clearly as himself." He attributes to his ecclesiastical training those excellences93 in his own temper and principles on which he dwells with much satisfaction and thankfulness. They are, he considers, the result of his Christian94 and "Sulpician" education, though the root on which they grew is for ever withered95 and dead. "La foi disparue, la morale96 reste…. C'est par le caractère que je suis resté essentiellement l'élève de mes anciens ma?tres." He is proud of these virtues, and at the same time amused at the odd contradictions in which they have sometimes involved him:—
Il me plairait d'expliquer par le détail et de montrer comment la gageure paradoxale de garder les vertus cléricales, sans la foi qui leur sert de base et dans un monde pour lequel elles ne sont pas faites, produisit, en ce que me concerne, les rencontres les plus divertissantes. J'aimerais à raconter toutes les aventures que mes vertus sulpiciennes m'amenèrent, et les tours singuliers qu'elles m'ont joués. Après soixante ans de vie sérieuse on a le droit de sourire; et où trouver une source de rire plus abondante, plus à portée, plus inoffensive qu'en soimême? Si jamais un auteur comique voulait amuser le public de mes ridicules97, je ne lui demanderais qu'une chose; c'est de me prendre pour collaborateur; je lui conterais des choses vingt fois plus amusantes que celles qu'il pourrait inventer.
He dwells especially on four of these virtues which were, he thinks, graven ineffaceably on his nature at St. Sulpice. They taught him there not to care for money or success. They taught him the old-fashioned French politeness—that beautiful instinct of giving place to others, which is perishing in the democratic scramble100 for the best places, in the omnibus and the railway as in business and society. It is more curious to find that he thinks that they taught him to be modest. Except on the faith of his assertions, the readers of his book would not naturally have supposed that he believed himself specially99 endowed with this quality; it is at any rate the modesty101 which, if it shrinks into retirement102 from the pretensions103 of the crowd, goes along with a high and pitying sense of superiority, and a self-complacency of which the good humour never fails. His masters also taught him to value purity. For this he almost makes a sort of deprecating apology. He saw, indeed, "the vanity of this virtue26 as of all the others"; he admits that it is an unnatural104 virtue. But he says, "L'homme ne doit jamais se permettre deux hardiesses à la fois. Le libre penseur doit être réglé en ses moeurs." In this doctrine105 it may be doubted whether he will find many followers106. An unnatural virtue, where nature only is recognised as a guide, is more likely to be discredited107 by his theory than recommended by his example, particularly if the state of opinion in France is such as is described in the following passage—a passage which in England few men, whatever they might think, would have the boldness to state as an acknowledged social phenomenon:—
Le monde, dont les jugements sont rarement tout à fait faux, voit une sorte de ridicule98 à être vertueux quand on n'y est pas obligé par un devoir professionnel. Le prêtre, ayant pour état d'être chaste108, comme le soldat d'être brave, est, d'après ces idées, presque le seul qui puisse sans ridicule tenir à des principes sur lesquels la morale et la mode se livrent les plus étranges combats. Il est hors de doute qu'en ce point, comme en beaucoup d'autres, mes principes clericaux, conservés dans le siècle, m'ont nui aux yeux du monde.
We have one concluding observation to make. This is a book of which the main interest, after all, depends on the way in which it touches on the question of questions, the truth and reality of the Christian religion. But from first to last it docs not show the faintest evidence that the writer ever really knew, or even cared, what religion is. Religion is not only a matter of texts, of scientific criticisms, of historical investigations109, of a consistent theology. It is not merely a procession of external facts and events, a spectacle to be looked at from the outside. It is, if it is anything, the most considerable and most universal interest in the complex aggregate110 of human interests. It grows out of the deepest moral roots, out of the most characteristic and most indestructible spiritual elements, out of wants and needs and aspirations111 and hopes, without which man, as we know him, would not be man. When a man, in asking whether Christianity is true, leaves out all this side of the matter, when he shows that it has not come before him as a serious and importunate112 reality, when he shows that he is unaffected by those deep movements and misgivings113 and anxieties of the soul to which religion corresponds, and treats the whole matter as a question only of erudition and criticism, we may acknowledge him to be an original and acute critic, a brilliant master of historical representation; but he has never yet come face to face with the problems of religion. His love of truth may be unimpeachable114, but he docs not know what he is talking about. M. Renan speaks of giving up his religion as a man might speak of accepting a new and unpopular physical hypothesis like evolution, or of making up his mind to give up the personality of Homer or the early history of Rome. Such an interior attitude of mind towards religion as is implied, for instance, in Bishop115 Butler's Sermons on the Love of God, or the De Imitatione or Newman's Parochial Sermons seems to him, as far as we can judge, an unknown and unattempted experience. It is easy to deal with a question if you leave out half the factors of it, and those the most difficult and the most serious. It is easy to be clear if you do not choose to take notice of the mysterious, and if you exclude from your consideration as vague and confused all that vast department of human concerns where we at best can only "see through a glass darkly." It is easy to find the world a pleasant and comfortable and not at all perplexing place, if your life has been, as M. Renan describes his own, a "charming promenade" through it; if, as he says, you are blessed with "a good humour not easily disturbed "; and you "have not suffered much"; and "nature has prepared cushions to soften116 shocks"; and you have "had so much enjoyment117 in this life that you really have no right to claim any compensation beyond it." That is M. Renan's experience of life—a life of which he looks forward to the perfection in the clearness and security of its possible denials of ancient beliefs, and in the immense development of its positive and experimental knowledge. How would Descartes have rejoiced, he says, if he could have seen some poor treatise118 on physics or cosmography of our day, and what would we not give to catch a glimpse of such an elementary schoolbook of a hundred years hence.
But that is not at any rate the experience of all the world, nor does it appear likely ever to be within the reach of all the world. There is another aspect of life more familiar than this, an aspect which has presented itself to the vast majority of mankind, the awful view of it which is made tragic by pain and sorrow and moral evil; which, in the way in which religion looks at it, if it is sterner, is also higher and nobler, and is brightened by hope and purposes of love; a view which puts more upon men and requires more from them, but holds before them a destiny better than the perfection here of physical science. To minds which realise all this, it is more inconceivable than any amount of miracle that such a religion as Christianity should have emerged naturally out of the conditions of the first century. They refuse to settle such a question by the short and easy method on which M. Renan relies; they will not consent to put it on questions about the two Isaiahs, or about alleged119 discrepancies120 between the Evangelists; they will not think the claims of religion disposed of by M. Renan's canon, over and over again contradicted, that whether there can be or not, there is no evidence of the supernatural in the world. To those who measure and feel the true gravity of the issues, it is almost unintelligible121 to find a man who has been face to face with Christianity all his life treating the deliberate condemnation122 of it almost gaily123 and with a light heart, and showing no regrets in having to give it up as a delusion124 and a dream. It is a poor and meagre end of a life of thought and study to come to the conclusion that the age in which he has lived is, if not one of the greatest, at least "the most amusing of all ages."
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par
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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sketches
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disintegration
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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bolstered
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| v.支持( bolster的过去式和过去分词 )；支撑；给予必要的支持；援助 | |
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lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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promenade
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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humble
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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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sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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piety
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disinterestedness
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devoted
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virtue
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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felicitous
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disposition
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friction
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rebellious
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refractory
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maxim
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serene
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diffused
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delightful
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consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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mere
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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43
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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44
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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45
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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46
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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47
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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48
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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49
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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50
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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51
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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52
aptitudes
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| （学习方面的）才能，资质，天资( aptitude的名词复数 ) | |
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53
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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54
exegesis
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| n.注释，解释 | |
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55
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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56
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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57
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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58
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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59
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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60
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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61
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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62
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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63
tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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genre
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| n.(文学、艺术等的)类型，体裁，风格 | |
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65
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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66
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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67
tallies
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| n.账( tally的名词复数 )；符合；（计数的）签；标签v.计算，清点( tally的第三人称单数 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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68
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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72
bruits
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| n.传播（传说或谣言）( bruit的名词复数 ) | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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74
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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75
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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motif
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| n.(图案的)基本花纹，(衣服的)花边；主题 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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fortes
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| n.特长，专长，强项( forte的名词复数 )；强音( fortis的名词复数 ) | |
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80
attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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81
debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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82
reveres
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的第三人称单数 ) | |
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83
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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84
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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85
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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86
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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87
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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88
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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89
disparagement
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| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
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90
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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91
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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excellences
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| n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 )；（只用于所修饰的名词后）杰出的；卓越的；出类拔萃的 | |
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94
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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95
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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96
morale
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| n.道德准则，士气，斗志 | |
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97
ridicules
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| n.嘲笑( ridicule的名词复数 )；奚落；嘲弄；戏弄v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的第三人称单数 ) | |
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98
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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99
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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100
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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101
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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102
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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103
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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104
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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105
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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106
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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107
discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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108
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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109
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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110
aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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111
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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112
importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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113
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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114
unimpeachable
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| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
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115
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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116
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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117
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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118
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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119
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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120
discrepancies
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| n.差异，不符合（之处），不一致（之处）( discrepancy的名词复数 ) | |
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121
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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122
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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123
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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124
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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