[30]
Apologia pro1 Vita Sua. By John Henry Newman, D.D. Guardian2, 22nd
June 1864.
We have not noticed before Dr. Newman's Apologia, which has been coming out lately in weekly numbers, because we wished, when we spoke3 of it, to speak of it as a whole. The special circumstances out of which it arose may have prescribed the mode of publication. It may have been thought more suitable, in point of form, to answer a pamphlet by a series of pamphlets rather than at once by a set octavo of several hundred pages. But the real subject which Dr. Newman has been led to handle is one which will continue to be of the deepest interest long after the controversy4 which suggested it is forgotten. The real subject is the part played in the great Church movement by him who was the leading mind in it; and it was unsatisfactory to speak of this till all was said, and we could look on the whole course described. Such a subject might have well excused a deliberate and leisurely5 volume to itself; perhaps in this way we should have gained, in the laying out and concentration of the narrative6, and in what helps to bring it as a whole before our thoughts. But a man's account of himself is never so fresh and natural as when it is called out by the spur and pressure of an accidental and instant necessity, and is directed to a purpose and quickened by feelings which belong to immediate7 and passing circumstances. The traces of hurried work are of light account when they are the guarantees that a man is not sitting down to draw a picture of himself, but stating his case in sad and deep earnest out of the very fulness of his heart.
The aim of the book is to give a minute and open account of the steps and changes by which Dr. Newman passed from the English Church to the Roman. The history of a change of opinion has often been written from the most opposite points of view; but in one respect this book seems to stand alone. Let it be remembered what it is, the narrative and the justification8 of a great conversion9; of a change involving an entire reversal of views, judgments10, approvals, and condemnations; a change which, with all ordinary men, involves a reversal, at least as great, of their sympathies and aversions, of what they tolerate and speak kindly12 of. Let it be considered what changes of feeling most changes of religion compel and consecrate13; how men, commonly and very naturally, look back on what they have left and think they have escaped from, with the aversion of a captive to his prison; how they usually exaggerate and make absolute their divergence14 from what they think has betrayed, fooled, and degraded them; how easily they are tempted15 to visit on it and on those who still cling to it their own mistakes and faults. Let it be remembered that there was here to be told not only the history of a change, but the history of a deep disappointment, of the failure of a great design, of the breakdown16 of hopes the most promising17 and the most absorbing; and this, not in the silence of a man's study, but in the fever and contention18 of a great struggle wrought19 up to the highest pitch of passion and fierceness, bringing with it on all sides and leaving behind it, when over, the deep sense of wrong. It is no history of a mere20 intellectual movement, or of a passage from strong belief to a weakened and impaired21 one, to uncertainty22, or vagueness, or indifference23; it is not the account of a change by a man who is half sorry for his change, and speaks less hostilely of what he has left because he feels less friendly towards what he has joined. There is no reserved thought to be discerned in the background of disappointment or a wish to go back again to where he once was. It is a book which describes how a man, zealous24 and impatient for truth, thought he had found it in one Church, then thought that his finding was a delusion25, and sought for it and believed he had gained it in another. What it shows us is no serene26 readjustment of abstract doctrines27, but the wreck28 and overturning of trust and conviction and the practical grounds of life, accompanied with everything to provoke, embitter29, and exasperate30. It need not be said that what Dr. Newman holds he is ready to carry out to the end, or that he can speak severely31 of men and systems.
Let all this be remembered, and also that there is an opposition32 between what he was and what he is, which is usually viewed as irreconcilable33, and which, on the ordinary assumptions about it, is so; and we venture to say that there is not another instance to be quoted, of the history of a conversion, in which he who tells his conversion has so retained his self-possession, his temper, his mastery over his own real judgment11 and thoughts, his ancient and legitimate34 sympathies, his superiority to the natural and inevitable35 temptations of so altered a position; which is so generous to what he feels to be strong and good in what he has nevertheless abandoned, so fearless about letting his whole case come out, so careless about putting himself in the right in detail; which is so calm, and kindly, and measured, with such a quiet effortless freedom from the stings of old conflicts, which bears so few traces of that bitterness and antipathy36 which generally—and we need hardly wonder at it—follows the decisive breaking with that on which a man's heart was stayed, and for which he would once have died.
There is another thing to be said, and we venture to say it out plainly, because Dr. Newman himself has shown that he knows quite well what he has been doing. While he has written what will command the sympathy and the reverence37 of every one, however irreconcilably38 opposed to him, to whom a great and noble aim and the trials of a desperate and self-sacrificing struggle to compass it are objects of admiration39 and honour, it is undeniable that ill-nature or vindictiveness40 or stupidity will find ample materials of his own providing to turn against him. Those who know Dr. Newman's powers and are acquainted with his career, and know to what it led him, and yet persist in the charge of insincerity and dishonesty against one who probably has made the greatest sacrifice of our generation to his convictions of truth, will be able to pick up from his own narrative much that they would not otherwise have known, to confirm and point the old familiar views cherished by dislike or narrowness. This is inevitable when a man takes the resolution of laying himself open so unreservedly, and with so little care as to what his readers think of what he tells them, so that they will be persuaded that he was ever, even from his boyhood, deeply conscious of the part which he was performing in the sight of his Maker41. Those who smile at the belief of a deep and religious mind in the mysterious interventions42 and indications of Providence43 in the guidance of human life, will open their eyes at the feeling which leads him to tell the story of his earliest recollections of Roman Catholic peculiarities44, and of the cross imprinted45 on his exercise-book. Those who think that everything about religion and their own view of religion is such plain sailing, so palpable and manifest, that all who are not fools or knaves46 must be of their own opinion, will find plenty to wonder at in the confessions47 of awful perplexity which equally before and after his change Dr. Newman makes. Those who have never doubted, who can no more imagine the practical difficulties accompanying a great change of belief than they can imagine a change of belief itself, will meet with much that to them will seem beyond pardon, in the actual events of a change, involving such issues and such interests, made so deliberately48 and cautiously, with such hesitation49 and reluctance50, and in so long a time; they will be able to point to many moments in it when it will be easy to say that more or less ought to have been said, more or less ought to have been done. Much more will those who are on the side of doubt, who acquiesce51 in, or who desire the overthrow52 of existing hopes and beliefs, rejoice in such a frank avowal53 of the difficulties of religion and the perplexities of so earnest a believer, and make much of their having driven such a man to an alternative so obnoxious54 and so monstrous55 to most Englishmen. It is a book full of minor56 premisses, to which many opposite majors will be fitted. But whatever may be thought of many details, the effect and lesson of the whole will not be lost on minds of any generosity57, on whatever side they may be; they will be touched with the confiding58 nobleness which has kept back nothing, which has stated its case with its weak points and its strong, and with full consciousness of what was weak as well as of what was strong, which has surrendered its whole course of conduct, just as it has been, to be scrutinised, canvassed59, and judged. What we carry away from following such a history is something far higher and more solemn than any controversial inferences; and it seems almost like a desecration60 to make, as we say, capital out of it, to strengthen mere argument, to confirm a theory, or to damage an opponent.
The truth, in fact, is, that the interest is personal much more than controversial. Those who read it as a whole, and try to grasp the effect of all its portions compared together and gathered into one, will, it seems to us, find it hard to bend into a decisive triumph for any of the great antagonist61 systems which appear in collision. There can be no doubt of the perfect conviction with which Dr. Newman has taken his side for good. But while he states the effect of arguments on his own mind, he leaves the arguments in themselves as they were, and touches on them, not for the sake of what they are worth, but to explain the movements and events of his own course. Not from any studied impartiality62, which is foreign to his character, but from his strong and keen sense of what is real and his determined63 efforts to bring it out, he avoids the temptation—as it seems to us, who still believe that he was more right once than he is now—to do injustice64 to his former self and his former position. At any rate, the arguments to be drawn65 from this narrative, for or against England, or for or against Rome, seem to us very evenly balanced. Of course, such a history has its moral. But the moral is not the ordinary vulgar one of the history of a religious change. It is not the supplement or disguise of a polemical argument. It is the deep want and necessity in our age of the Church, even to the most intensely religious and devoted66 minds, of a sound and secure intellectual basis for the faith which they value more than life and all things. We hope that we are strong enough to afford to judge fairly of such a spectacle, and to lay to heart its warnings, even though the particular results seem to go against what we think most right. It is a mortification67 and a trial to the English Church to have seen her finest mind carried away and lost to her, but it is a mortification which more confident and peremptory68 systems than hers have had to undergo; the parting was not without its compensations if only that it brought home so keenly to many the awfulness and the seriousness of truth; and surely never did any man break so utterly69 with a Church, who left so many sympathies behind him and took so many with him, who continued to feel so kindly and with such large-hearted justice to those from whom his changed position separated him in this world for ever.
The Apologia is the history of a great battle against Liberalism, understanding by Liberalism the tendencies of modern thought to destroy the basis of revealed religion, and ultimately of all that can be called religion at all. The question which he professedly addresses himself to set at rest, that of his honesty, is comparatively of slight concern to those who knew him, except so far that they must be interested that others, who did not know him, should not be led to do a revolting injustice. The real interest is to see how one who felt so keenly the claims both of what is new and what is old, who, with such deep and unusual love and trust for antiquity71, took in with quick sympathy, and in its most subtle and most redoubtable72 shapes, the intellectual movement of modern times, could continue to feel the force of both, and how he would attempt to harmonise them. Two things are prominent in the whole history. One is the fact of religion, early and deeply implanted in the writer's mind, absorbing and governing it without rival throughout. He speaks of an "inward conversion" at the age of fifteen, "of which I was conscious, and of which I am still more certain than that I have hands and feet." It was the religion of dogma and of a definite creed73 which made him "rest in the thought of two, and two only, supreme74 and luminously75 self-evident beings, myself and my Creator"—which completed itself with the idea of a visible Church and its sacramental system. Religion, in this aspect of it, runs unchanged from end to end of the scene of change:—
I have changed in many things; in this I have not. From the age of fifteen dogma has been the fundamental principle of my religion; I know no other religion. I cannot enter into the idea of any other sort of religion; religion, as a mere sentiment, is to me a dream and a mockery. As well can there be filial love without the fact of a father, as devotion without the fact of a Supreme Being. What I held in 1816 I held in 1833, and I hold in 1864. Please God I shall hold it to the end. Even when I was under Dr. Whately's influence I had no temptation to be less zealous for the dogmas of the faith.
The other thing is the haunting necessity, in an age of thought and innovation, of a philosophy of religion, equally deep, equally comprehensive and thorough, with the invading powers which it was wanted to counteract76; a philosophy, not on paper or in theory, but answering to and vouched77 for by the facts of real life. In the English Church he found, we think that we may venture to say, the religion which to him was life, but not the philosophy which he wanted. The Apologia is the narrative of his search for it. Two strongly marked lines of thought are traceable all through, one modern in its scope and sphere, the other ancient. The leading subject of his modern thought is the contest with liberal unbelief; contrasted with this was his strong interest in Christian78 antiquity, his deep attachment79 to the creed, the history, and the moral temper of the early Church. The one line of thought made him, and even now makes him, sympathise with Anglicanism, which is in the same boat with him, holds the same principle of the unity80 and continuity of revealed truth, and is doing the same work, though, as he came to think in the end, feebly and hopelessly. The other, more and more, carried him away from Anglicanism; and the contrast and opposition between it and the ancient Church, in organisation81, in usage, and in that general tone of feeling which quickens and gives significance and expression to forms, overpowered more and more the sense of affinity82, derived83 from the identity of creeds84 and sacraments and leading points of Church polity, and from the success with which the best and greatest Anglican writers had appropriated and assimilated the theology of the Fathers. But though he urges the force of ecclesiastical precedents85 in a startling way, as in the account which he gives of the effect of the history of the Monophysites on his view of the tenableness of the Anglican theory, absolutely putting out of consideration the enormous difference of circumstances between the cases which are compared, and giving the instance in question a force and importance which seem to be in singular contrast with the general breadth and largeness of his reasoning, it was not the halting of an ecclesiastical theory which dissatisfied him with the English Church.
Anglicanism was not daring enough for him. With his ideas of the coming dangers and conflicts, he wanted something bold and thoroughgoing, wide-reaching in its aims, resolute86 in its language, claiming and venturing much. Anglicanism was not that. It had given up as impracticable much that the Church had once attempted. It did not pretend to rise so high, to answer such great questions, to lay down such precise definitions. Wisely modest, or timidly uncertain—mindful of the unalterable limits of our human condition, we say; forgetful, he thought, or doubting, or distrustful, of the gifts and promises of a supernatural dispensation—it certainly gave no such complete and decisive account of the condition and difficulties of religion and the world, as had been done once, and as there were some who did still. There were problems which it did not profess70 to solve; there were assertions which others boldly risked, and which it shrunk from making; there were demands which it ventured not to put forward. Again, it was not refined enough for him; it had little taste for the higher forms of the saintly ideal; it wanted the austere87 and high-strung-virtues; it was contented88, for the most part, with the domestic type of excellence89, in which goodness merged90 itself in the interests and business of the common world, and, working in them, took no care to disengage itself or mark itself off, as something distinct from them and above them. Above all, Anglicanism was too limited; it was local, insular91, national; its theory was made for its special circumstances; and he describes in a remarkable92 passage how, in contrast with this, there rung in his ears continually the proud self-assertion of the other side, Securus judicat orbis terrarum. What he wanted, what it was the aim of his life to find, was a great and effective engine against Liberalism; for years he tried, with eager but failing hope, to find it in the theology and working of the English Church; when he made up his mind that Anglicanism was not strong enough for the task, he left it for a system which had one strong power; which claimed to be able to shut up dangerous thought.
Very sorrowful, indeed, is the history, told so openly, so simply, so touchingly93, of the once promising advance, of the great breakdown. And yet, to those who still cling to what he left, regret is not the only feeling. For he has the nobleness and the generosity to say what he did find in the English Church, as well as what he did not find. He has given her up for good, but he tells and he shows, with no grudging94 frankness, what are the fruits of her discipline. "So I went on for years, up to 1841. It was, in a human point of view, the happiest time of my life…. I did not suppose that such sunshine would last, though I knew not what would be its termination. It was the time of plenty, and during its seven years I tried to lay up as much as I could for the dearth95 which was to follow it." He explains and defends what to us seem the fatal marks against Rome; but he lets us see with what force, and for how long, they kept alive his own resistance to an attraction which to him was so overwhelming. And he is at no pains to conceal—it seems even to console him to show—what a pang96 and wrench97 it cost him to break from that home under whose shadow his spiritual growth had increased. He has condemned98 us unreservedly; but there must, at any rate, be some wonderful power and charm about that which he loved with a love which is not yet extinguished; else how could he write of the past as he does? He has shown that he can understand, though he is unable to approve, that others should feel that power still.
Dr. Newman has stated, with his accustomed force and philosophical99 refinement100, what he considers the true idea of that infallibility, which he looks upon as the only power in the world which can make head against and balance Liberalism—which "can withstand and baffle the fierce energy of passion, and the all-corroding, all-dissolving scepticism of the intellect in religious inquiries101;" which he considers "as a provision, adapted by the mercy of the Creator, to preserve religion in the world, and to restrain that freedom of thought which is one of the greatest of our natural gifts, from its own suicidal excesses." He says, as indeed is true, that it is "a tremendous power," though he argues that, in fact, its use is most wisely and beneficially limited. And doubtless, whatever the difficulty of its proof may be, and to us this proof seems simply beyond possibility, it is no mere power upon paper. It acts and leaves its mark; it binds102 fast and overthrows103 for good. But when, put at its highest, it is confronted with the "giant evil" which it is supposed to be sent into the world to repel104, we can only say that, to a looker-on, its failure seems as manifest as the existence of the claim to use it. It no more does its work, in the sense of succeeding and triumphing, than the less magnificent "Establishments" do. It keeps some check—it fails on a large scale and against the real strain and pinch of the mischief105; and they, too, keep some check, and are not more fairly beaten than it is, in "making a stand against the wild living intellect of man."
Without infallibility, it is said, men will turn freethinkers and heretics; but don't they, with it? and what is the good of the engine if it will not do its work? And if it is said that this is the fault of human nature, which resists what provokes and checks it, still that very thing, which infallibility was intended to counteract, goes on equally, whether it comes into play or not. Meanwhile, truth does stay in the world, the truth that there has been among us a Divine Person, of whom the Church throughout Christendom is the representative, memorial, and the repeater of His message; doubtless, the means of knowledge are really guarded; yet we seem to receive that message as we receive the witness of moral truth; and it would not be contrary to the analogy of things here if we had often got to it at last through mistakes. But when it is reached, there it is, strong in its own power; and it is difficult to think that if it is not strong enough in itself to stand, it can be protected by a claim of infallibility. A future, of which infallibility is the only hope and safeguard, seems to us indeed a prospect106 of the deepest gloom.
Dr. Newman, in a very remarkable passage, describes the look and attitude of invading Liberalism, and tells us why he is not forward in the conflict. "It seemed to be a time of all others in which Christians107 had a call to be patient, in which they had no other way of helping108 those who were alarmed than that of exhorting109 them to have a little faith and fortitude110, and 'to beware,' as the poet says, 'of dangerous steps.'" And he interprets "recent acts of the highest Catholic authority" as meaning that there is nothing to do just now but to sit still and trust. Well; but the Christian Year will do that much for us, just as well.
People who talk glibly111 of the fearless pursuit of truth may here see a real example of a life given to it—an example all the more solemn and impressive if they think that the pursuit was in vain. It is easy to declaim about it, and to be eloquent112 about lies and sophistries113; but it is shallow to forget that truth has its difficulties. To hear some people talk, it might be thought that truth was a thing to be made out and expressed at will, under any circumstances, at any time, amid any complexities114 of facts or principles, by half an hour's choosing to be attentive115, candid116, logical, and resolute; as if there was not a chance of losing what perhaps you have, as well as of gaining what you think you need. If they would look about them, if they would look into themselves, they would recognise that Truth is an awful and formidable goddess to all men and to all systems; that all have their weak points where virtually, more or less consciously, more or less dexterously117, they shrink from meeting her eye; that even when we make sacrifice of everything for her sake, we find that she still encounters us with claims, seemingly inconsistent with all that she has forced us to embrace—with appearances which not only convict us of mistake, but seem to oblige us to be tolerant of what we cannot really assent118 to.
She gives herself freely to the earnest and true-hearted inquirer; but to those who presume on the easiness of her service, she has a side of strong irony119. You common-sense men, she seems to say, who see no difficulties in the world, you little know on what shaky ground you stand, and how easily you might be reduced to absurdity120. You critical and logical intellects, who silence all comers and cannot be answered, and can show everybody to be in the wrong—into what monstrous and manifest paradoxes121 are you not betrayed, blind to the humble122 facts which upset your generalisations, not even seeing that dulness itself can pronounce you mistaken!
In the presence of such a narrative as this, sober men will think more seriously than ever about charging their most extreme opponents with dishonesty and disregard to truth.
As we said before, this history seems to us to leave the theological question just where it was. The objections to Rome, which Dr. Newman felt so strongly once, but which yielded to other considerations, we feel as strongly still. The substantial points of the English theory, which broke down to his mind, seem to us as substantial and trustworthy as before. He failed, but we believe that, in spite of everything, England is the better for his having made his trial. Even Liberalism owes to the movement of which he was the soul much of what makes it now such a contrast, in largeness of mind and warmth, to the dry, repulsive124, narrow, material Liberalism of the Reform era. He, and he mainly, has been the source, often unrecognised and unsuspected, of depth and richness and beauty, and the strong passion for what is genuine and real, in our religious teaching. Other men, other preachers, have taken up his thoughts and decked them out, and had the credit of being greater than their master.
In looking back on the various turns and vicissitudes125 of his English course, we, who inherit the fruits of that glorious failure, should speak respectfully and considerately where we do not agree with him, and with deep gratitude—all the more that now so much lies between us—where we do. But the review makes us feel more than ever that the English Church, whose sturdy strength he underrated, and whose irregular theories provoked him, was fully126 worthy123 of the interest and the labours of the leader who despaired of her. Anglicanism has so far outlived its revolutions, early and late ones, has marched on in a distinct path, has developed a theology, has consolidated127 an organisation, has formed a character and tone, has been the organ of a living spirit. The "magnetic storms" of thought which sweep over the world may be destructive and dangerous to it, as much as, but not more than, to other bodies which claim to be Churches and to represent the message of God. But there is nothing to make us think that, in the trials which may be in store, the English Church will fail while others hold their own.
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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leisurely
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narrative
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immediate
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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judgment
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kindly
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consecrate
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| v.使圣化，奉…为神圣；尊崇；奉献 | |
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divergence
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tempted
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breakdown
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promising
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contention
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wrought
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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uncertainty
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indifference
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zealous
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delusion
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serene
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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wreck
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embitter
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severely
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opposition
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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35
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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36
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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37
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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38
irreconcilably
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| （观点、目标或争议）不可调和的，不相容的 | |
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39
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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40
vindictiveness
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| 恶毒；怀恨在心 | |
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41
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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42
interventions
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| n.介入，干涉，干预( intervention的名词复数 ) | |
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43
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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44
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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45
imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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46
knaves
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| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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47
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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48
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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49
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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50
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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51
acquiesce
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| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
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52
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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53
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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54
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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55
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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56
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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57
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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58
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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59
canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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60
desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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61
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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62
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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63
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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64
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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65
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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67
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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68
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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69
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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70
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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71
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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72
redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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73
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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74
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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luminously
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| 发光的； 明亮的； 清楚的； 辉赫 | |
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counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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77
vouched
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| v.保证( vouch的过去式和过去分词 )；担保；确定；确定地说 | |
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78
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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79
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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80
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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81
organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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82
affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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83
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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84
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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85
precedents
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| 引用单元； 范例( precedent的名词复数 )； 先前出现的事例； 前例； 先例 | |
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86
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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87
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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88
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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89
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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90
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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91
insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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92
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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93
touchingly
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| adv.令人同情地，感人地，动人地 | |
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94
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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95
dearth
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| n.缺乏，粮食不足，饥谨 | |
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96
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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97
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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98
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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99
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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100
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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101
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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102
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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103
overthrows
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| n.推翻，终止，结束( overthrow的名词复数 )v.打倒，推翻( overthrow的第三人称单数 )；使终止 | |
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104
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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105
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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106
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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107
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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108
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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109
exhorting
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
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110
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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111
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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112
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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113
sophistries
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| n.诡辩术( sophistry的名词复数 )；（一次）诡辩 | |
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114
complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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115
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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116
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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117
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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118
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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119
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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120
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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121
paradoxes
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| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
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122
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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123
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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124
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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125
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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126
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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127
consolidated
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| a.联合的 | |
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