“Ne te quaesiveris extra.”
“Man is his own star; and the soul that can
Render an honest and a perfect man,
Commands all light, all influence, all fate;
Nothing to him falls early or too late.
Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.”
Epilogue to Beaumont and Fletcher’s Honest Man’s Fortune
Cast the bantling on the rocks,
Suckle him with the she-wolf’s teat;
Wintered with the hawk1 and fox,
Power and speed be hands and feet.
ESSAY II Self-Reliance
I read the other day some verses written by an eminent2 painter which were original and not conventional. The soul always hears an admonition in such lines, let the subject be what it may. The sentiment they instil3 is of more value than any thought they may contain. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men, — that is genius. Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense; for the inmost in due time becomes the outmost,—— and our first thought is rendered back to us by the trumpets4 of the Last Judgment5. Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato, and Milton is, that they set at naught6 books and traditions, and spoke7 not what men but what they thought. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre8 of the firmament9 of bards10 and sages12. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated13 majesty14. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to abide15 by our spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility16 then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else, to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely17 what we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another.
There is a time in every man’s education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel18 of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil19 bestowed20 on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact, makes much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray. We but half express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse22 befriends; no invention, no hope.
Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence23 has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided24 themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same transcendent destiny; and not minors25 and invalids26 in a protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers, and benefactors28, obeying the Almighty29 effort, and advancing on Chaos30 and the Dark.
What pretty oracles31 nature yields us on this text, in the face and behaviour of children, babes, and even brutes33! That divided and rebel mind, that distrust of a sentiment because our arithmetic has computed34 the strength and means opposed to our purpose, these have not. Their mind being whole, their eye is as yet unconquered, and when we look in their faces, we are disconcerted. Infancy35 conforms to nobody: all conform to it, so that one babe commonly makes four or five out of the adults who prattle36 and play to it. So God has armed youth and puberty and manhood no less with its own piquancy37 and charm, and made it enviable and gracious and its claims not to be put by, if it will stand by itself. Do not think the youth has no force, because he cannot speak to you and me. Hark! in the next room his voice is sufficiently38 clear and emphatic39. It seems he knows how to speak to his contemporaries. Bashful or bold, then, he will know how to make us seniors very unnecessary.
The nonchalance40 of boys who are sure of a dinner, and would disdain41 as much as a lord to do or say aught to conciliate one, is the healthy attitude of human nature. A boy is in the parlour what the pit is in the playhouse; independent, irresponsible, looking out from his corner on such people and facts as pass by, he tries and sentences them on their merits, in the swift, summary way of boys, as good, bad, interesting, silly, eloquent42, troublesome. He cumbers himself never about consequences, about interests: he gives an independent, genuine verdict. You must court him: he does not court you. But the man is, as it were, clapped into jail by his consciousness. As soon as he has once acted or spoken with eclat43, he is a committed person, watched by the sympathy or the hatred44 of hundreds, whose affections must now enter into his account. There is no Lethe for this. Ah, that he could pass again into his neutrality! Who can thus avoid all pledges, and having observed, observe again from the same unaffected, unbiased, unbribable, unaffrighted innocence45, must always be formidable. He would utter opinions on all passing affairs, which being seen to be not private, but necessary, would sink like darts46 into the ear of men, and put them in fear.
These are the voices which we hear in solitude47, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world. Society everywhere is in conspiracy48 against the manhood of every one of its members. Society is a joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better securing of his bread to each shareholder49, to surrender the liberty and culture of the eater. The virtue50 in most request is conformity51. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs.
Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist. He who would gather immortal52 palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness, but must explore if it be goodness. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve53 you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage54 of the world. I remember an answer which when quite young I was prompted to make to a valued adviser55, who was wont56 to importune57 me with the dear old doctrines59 of the church. On my saying, What have I to do with the sacredness of traditions, if I live wholly from within? my friend suggested, — “But these impulses may be from below, not from above.” I replied, “They do not seem to me to be such; but if I am the Devil’s child, I will live then from the Devil.” No law can be sacred to me but that of my nature. Good and bad are but names very readily transferable to that or this; the only right is what is after my constitution, the only wrong what is against it. A man is to carry himself in the presence of all opposition60, as if every thing were titular61 and ephemeral but he. I am ashamed to think how easily we capitulate to badges and names, to large societies and dead institutions. Every decent and well-spoken individual affects and sways me more than is right. I ought to go upright and vital, and speak the rude truth in all ways. If malice62 and vanity wear the coat of philanthropy, shall that pass? If an angry bigot assumes this bountiful cause of Abolition63, and comes to me with his last news from Barbadoes, why should I not say to him, ‘Go love thy infant; love thy wood-chopper: be good-natured and modest: have that grace; and never varnish64 your hard, uncharitable ambition with this incredible tenderness for black folk a thousand miles off. Thy love afar is spite at home.’ Rough and graceless would be such greeting, but truth is handsomer than the affectation of love. Your goodness must have some edge to it, — else it is none. The doctrine58 of hatred must be preached as the counteraction65 of the doctrine of love when that pules and whines66. I shun67 father and mother and wife and brother, when my genius calls me. I would write on the lintels of the door-post, Whim68. I hope it is somewhat better than whim at last, but we cannot spend the day in explanation. Expect me not to show cause why I seek or why I exclude company. Then, again, do not tell me, as a good man did to-day, of my obligation to put all poor men in good situations. Are they my poor? I tell thee, thou foolish philanthropist, that I grudge69 the dollar, the dime70, the cent, I give to such men as do not belong to me and to whom I do not belong. There is a class of persons to whom by all spiritual affinity71 I am bought and sold; for them I will go to prison, if need be; but your miscellaneous popular charities; the education at college of fools; the building of meeting-houses to the vain end to which many now stand; alms to sots; and the thousandfold Relief Societies; — though I confess with shame I sometimes succumb72 and give the dollar, it is a wicked dollar which by and by I shall have the manhood to withhold73.
Virtues74 are, in the popular estimate, rather the exception than the rule. There is the man and his virtues. Men do what is called a good action, as some piece of courage or charity, much as they would pay a fine in expiation75 of daily non-appearance on parade. Their works are done as an apology or extenuation76 of their living in the world, — as invalids and the insane pay a high board. Their virtues are penances78. I do not wish to expiate79, but to live. My life is for itself and not for a spectacle. I much prefer that it should be of a lower strain, so it be genuine and equal, than that it should be glittering and unsteady. I wish it to be sound and sweet, and not to need diet and bleeding. I ask primary evidence that you are a man, and refuse this appeal from the man to his actions. I know that for myself it makes no difference whether I do or forbear those actions which are reckoned excellent. I cannot consent to pay for a privilege where I have intrinsic right. Few and mean as my gifts may be, I actually am, and do not need for my own assurance or the assurance of my fellows any secondary testimony80.
What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous81 in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.
The objection to conforming to usages that have become dead to you is, that it scatters83 your force. It loses your time and blurs85 the impression of your character. If you maintain a dead church, contribute to a dead Bible-society, vote with a great party either for the government or against it, spread your table like base housekeepers86, — under all these screens I have difficulty to detect the precise man you are. And, of course, so much force is withdrawn87 from your proper life. But do your work, and I shall know you. Do your work, and you shall reinforce yourself. A man must consider what a blindman’s-buff is this game of conformity. If I know your sect89, I anticipate your argument. I hear a preacher announce for his text and topic the expediency90 of one of the institutions of his church. Do I not know beforehand that not possibly can he say a new and spontaneous word? Do I not know that, with all this ostentation91 of examining the grounds of the institution, he will do no such thing? Do I not know that he is pledged to himself not to look but at one side, — the permitted side, not as a man, but as a parish minister? He is a retained attorney, and these airs of the bench are the emptiest affectation. Well, most men have bound their eyes with one or another handkerchief, and attached themselves to some one of these communities of opinion. This conformity makes them not false in a few particulars, authors of a few lies, but false in all particulars. Their every truth is not quite true. Their two is not the real two, their four not the real four; so that every word they say chagrins92 us, and we know not where to begin to set them right. Meantime nature is not slow to equip us in the prison-uniform of the party to which we adhere. We come to wear one cut of face and figure, and acquire by degrees the gentlest asinine93 expression. There is a mortifying94 experience in particular, which does not fail to wreak95 itself also in the general history; I mean “the foolish face of praise,” the forced smile which we put on in company where we do not feel at ease in answer to conversation which does not interest us. The muscles, not spontaneously moved, but moved by a low usurping96 wilfulness97, grow tight about the outline of the face with the most disagreeable sensation.
For nonconformity the world whips you with its displeasure. And therefore a man must know how to estimate a sour face. The by-standers look askance on him in the public street or in the friend’s parlour. If this aversation had its origin in contempt and resistance like his own, he might well go home with a sad countenance99; but the sour faces of the multitude, like their sweet faces, have no deep cause, but are put on and off as the wind blows and a newspaper directs. Yet is the discontent of the multitude more formidable than that of the senate and the college. It is easy enough for a firm man who knows the world to brook100 the rage of the cultivated classes. Their rage is decorous and prudent101, for they are timid as being very vulnerable themselves. But when to their feminine rage the indignation of the people is added, when the ignorant and the poor are aroused, when the unintelligent brute32 force that lies at the bottom of society is made to growl102 and mow103, it needs the habit of magnanimity and religion to treat it godlike as a trifle of no concernment.
The other terror that scares us from self-trust is our consistency105; a reverence107 for our past act or word, because the eyes of others have no other data for computing108 our orbit than our past acts, and we are loath109 to disappoint them.
But why should you keep your head over your shoulder? Why drag about this corpse110 of your memory, lest you contradict somewhat you have stated in this or that public place? Suppose you should contradict yourself; what then? It seems to be a rule of wisdom never to rely on your memory alone, scarcely even in acts of pure memory, but to bring the past for judgment into the thousand-eyed present, and live ever in a new day. In your metaphysics you have denied personality to the Deity111: yet when the devout112 motions of the soul come, yield to them heart and life, though they should clothe God with shape and color. Leave your theory, as Joseph his coat in the hand of the harlot, and flee.
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — ‘Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.’ — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.
I suppose no man can violate his nature. All the sallies of his will are rounded in by the law of his being, as the inequalities of Andes and Himmaleh are insignificant113 in the curve of the sphere. Nor does it matter how you gauge114 and try him. A character is like an acrostic or Alexandrian stanza115; — read it forward, backward, or across, it still spells the same thing. In this pleasing, contrite116 wood-life which God allows me, let me record day by day my honest thought without prospect117 or retrospect118, and, I cannot doubt, it will be found symmetrical, though I mean it not, and see it not. My book should smell of pines and resound119 with the hum of insects. The swallow over my window should interweave that thread or straw he carries in his bill into my web also. We pass for what we are. Character teaches above our wills. Men imagine that they communicate their virtue or vice120 only by overt121 actions, and do not see that virtue or vice emit a breath every moment.
There will be an agreement in whatever variety of actions, so they be each honest and natural in their hour. For of one will, the actions will be harmonious122, however unlike they seem. These varieties are lost sight of at a little distance, at a little height of thought. One tendency unites them all. The voyage of the best ship is a zigzag123 line of a hundred tacks124. See the line from a sufficient distance, and it straightens itself to the average tendency. Your genuine action will explain itself, and will explain your other genuine actions. Your conformity explains nothing. Act singly, and what you have already done singly will justify125 you now. Greatness appeals to the future. If I can be firm enough to-day to do right, and scorn eyes, I must have done so much right before as to defend me now. Be it how it will, do right now. Always scorn appearances, and you always may. The force of character is cumulative126. All the foregone days of virtue work their health into this. What makes the majesty of the heroes of the senate and the field, which so fills the imagination? The consciousness of a train of great days and victories behind. They shed an united light on the advancing actor. He is attended as by a visible escort of angels. That is it which throws thunder into Chatham’s voice, and dignity into Washington’s port, and America into Adams’s eye. Honor is venerable to us because it is no ephemeris. It is always ancient virtue. We worship it to-day because it is not of to-day. We love it and pay it homage127, because it is not a trap for our love and homage, but is self-dependent, self-derived, and therefore of an old immaculate pedigree, even if shown in a young person.
I hope in these days we have heard the last of conformity and consistency. Let the words be gazetted and ridiculous henceforward. Instead of the gong for dinner, let us hear a whistle from the Spartan128 fife. Let us never bow and apologize more. A great man is coming to eat at my house. I do not wish to please him; I wish that he should wish to please me. I will stand here for humanity, and though I would make it kind, I would make it true. Let us affront129 and reprimand the smooth mediocrity and squalid contentment of the times, and hurl130 in the face of custom, and trade, and office, the fact which is the upshot of all history, that there is a great responsible Thinker and Actor working wherever a man works; that a true man belongs to no other time or place, but is the centre of things. Where he is, there is nature. He measures you, and all men, and all events. Ordinarily, every body in society reminds us of somewhat else, or of some other person. Character, reality, reminds you of nothing else; it takes place of the whole creation. The man must be so much, that he must make all circumstances indifferent. Every true man is a cause, a country, and an age; requires infinite spaces and numbers and time fully21 to accomplish his design; — and posterity131 seem to follow his steps as a train of clients. A man Caesar is born, and for ages after we have a Roman Empire. Christ is born, and millions of minds so grow and cleave132 to his genius, that he is confounded with virtue and the possible of man. An institution is the lengthened133 shadow of one man; as, Monachism, of the Hermit134 Antony; the Reformation, of Luther; Quakerism, of Fox; Methodism, of Wesley; Abolition, of Clarkson. Scipio, Milton called “the height of Rome”; and all history resolves itself very easily into the biography of a few stout135 and earnest persons.
Let a man then know his worth, and keep things under his feet. Let him not peep or steal, or skulk136 up and down with the air of a charity-boy, a bastard137, or an interloper, in the world which exists for him. But the man in the street, finding no worth in himself which corresponds to the force which built a tower or sculptured a marble god, feels poor when he looks on these. To him a palace, a statue, or a costly138 book have an alien and forbidding air, much like a gay equipage, and seem to say like that, ‘Who are you, Sir?’ Yet they all are his, suitors for his notice, petitioners139 to his faculties140 that they will come out and take possession. The picture waits for my verdict: it is not to command me, but I am to settle its claims to praise. That popular fable141 of the sot who was picked up dead drunk in the street, carried to the duke’s house, washed and dressed and laid in the duke’s bed, and, on his waking, treated with all obsequious142 ceremony like the duke, and assured that he had been insane, owes its popularity to the fact, that it symbolizes143 so well the state of man, who is in the world a sort of sot, but now and then wakes up, exercises his reason, and finds himself a true prince.
Our reading is mendicant144 and sycophantic145. In history, our imagination plays us false. Kingdom and lordship, power and estate, are a gaudier146 vocabulary than private John and Edward in a small house and common day’s work; but the things of life are the same to both; the sum total of both is the same. Why all this deference147 to Alfred, and Scanderbeg, and Gustavus? Suppose they were virtuous148; did they wear out virtue? As great a stake depends on your private act to-day, as followed their public and renowned149 steps. When private men shall act with original views, the lustre will be transferred from the actions of kings to those of gentlemen.
The world has been instructed by its kings, who have so magnetized the eyes of nations. It has been taught by this colossal150 symbol the mutual151 reverence that is due from man to man. The joyful152 loyalty153 with which men have everywhere suffered the king, the noble, or the great proprietor154 to walk among them by a law of his own, make his own scale of men and things, and reverse theirs, pay for benefits not with money but with honor, and represent the law in his person, was the hieroglyphic155 by which they obscurely signified their consciousness of their own right and comeliness156, the right of every man.
The magnetism157 which all original action exerts is explained when we inquire the reason of self-trust. Who is the Trustee? What is the aboriginal158 Self, on which a universal reliance may be grounded? What is the nature and power of that science-baffling star, without parallax, without calculable elements, which shoots a ray of beauty even into trivial and impure159 actions, if the least mark of independence appear? The inquiry160 leads us to that source, at once the essence of genius, of virtue, and of life, which we call Spontaneity or Instinct. We denote this primary wisdom as Intuition, whilst all later teachings are tuitions. In that deep force, the last fact behind which analysis cannot go, all things find their common origin. For, the sense of being which in calm hours rises, we know not how, in the soul, is not diverse from things, from space, from light, from time, from man, but one with them, and proceeds obviously from the same source whence their life and being also proceed. We first share the life by which things exist, and afterwards see them as appearances in nature, and forget that we have shared their cause. Here is the fountain of action and of thought. Here are the lungs of that inspiration which giveth man wisdom, and which cannot be denied without impiety161 and atheism162. We lie in the lap of immense intelligence, which makes us receivers of its truth and organs of its activity. When we discern justice, when we discern truth, we do nothing of ourselves, but allow a passage to its beams. If we ask whence this comes, if we seek to pry163 into the soul that causes, all philosophy is at fault. Its presence or its absence is all we can affirm. Every man discriminates164 between the voluntary acts of his mind, and his involuntary perceptions, and knows that to his involuntary perceptions a perfect faith is due. He may err104 in the expression of them, but he knows that these things are so, like day and night, not to be disputed. My wilful98 actions and acquisitions are but roving; — the idlest reverie, the faintest native emotion, command my curiosity and respect. Thoughtless people contradict as readily the statement of perceptions as of opinions, or rather much more readily; for, they do not distinguish between perception and notion. They fancy that I choose to see this or that thing. But perception is not whimsical, but fatal. If I see a trait, my children will see it after me, and in course of time, all mankind, — although it may chance that no one has seen it before me. For my perception of it is as much a fact as the sun.
The relations of the soul to the divine spirit are so pure, that it is profane165 to seek to interpose helps. It must be that when God speaketh he should communicate, not one thing, but all things; should fill the world with his voice; should scatter84 forth166 light, nature, time, souls, from the centre of the present thought; and new date and new create the whole. Whenever a mind is simple, and receives a divine wisdom, old things pass away, — means, teachers, texts, temples fall; it lives now, and absorbs past and future into the present hour. All things are made sacred by relation to it, — one as much as another. All things are dissolved to their centre by their cause, and, in the universal miracle, petty and particular miracles disappear. If, therefore, a man claims to know and speak of God, and carries you backward to the phraseology of some old mouldered167 nation in another country, in another world, believe him not. Is the acorn168 better than the oak which is its fulness and completion? Is the parent better than the child into whom he has cast his ripened169 being? Whence, then, this worship of the past? The centuries are conspirators170 against the sanity171 and authority of the soul. Time and space are but physiological172 colors which the eye makes, but the soul is light; where it is, is day; where it was, is night; and history is an impertinence and an injury, if it be any thing more than a cheerful apologue or parable173 of my being and becoming.
Man is timid and apologetic; he is no longer upright; he dares not say ‘I think,’ ‘I am,’ but quotes some saint or sage11. He is ashamed before the blade of grass or the blowing rose. These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God to-day. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence. Before a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the full-blown flower there is no more; in the leafless root there is no less. Its nature is satisfied, and it satisfies nature, in all moments alike. But man postpones174 or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted176 eye laments177 the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time.
This should be plain enough. Yet see what strong intellects dare not yet hear God himself, unless he speak the phraseology of I know not what David, or Jeremiah, or Paul. We shall not always set so great a price on a few texts, on a few lives. We are like children who repeat by rote27 the sentences of grandames and tutors, and, as they grow older, of the men of talents and character they chance to see, — painfully recollecting178 the exact words they spoke; afterwards, when they come into the point of view which those had who uttered these sayings, they understand them, and are willing to let the words go; for, at any time, they can use words as good when occasion comes. If we live truly, we shall see truly. It is as easy for the strong man to be strong, as it is for the weak to be weak. When we have new perception, we shall gladly disburden the memory of its hoarded179 treasures as old rubbish. When a man lives with God, his voice shall be as sweet as the murmur180 of the brook and the rustle181 of the corn.
And now at last the highest truth on this subject remains182 unsaid; probably cannot be said; for all that we say is the far-off remembering of the intuition. That thought, by what I can now nearest approach to say it, is this. When good is near you, when you have life in yourself, it is not by any known or accustomed way; you shall not discern the foot-prints of any other; you shall not see the face of man; you shall not hear any name;—— the way, the thought, the good, shall be wholly strange and new. It shall exclude example and experience. You take the way from man, not to man. All persons that ever existed are its forgotten ministers. Fear and hope are alike beneath it. There is somewhat low even in hope. In the hour of vision, there is nothing that can be called gratitude183, nor properly joy. The soul raised over passion beholds184 identity and eternal causation, perceives the self-existence of Truth and Right, and calms itself with knowing that all things go well. Vast spaces of nature, the Atlantic Ocean, the South Sea, — long intervals185 of time, years, centuries, — are of no account. This which I think and feel underlay186 every former state of life and circumstances, as it does underlie187 my present, and what is called life, and what is called death.
Life only avails, not the having lived. Power ceases in the instant of repose188; it resides in the moment of transition from a past to a new state, in the shooting of the gulf189, in the darting190 to an aim. This one fact the world hates, that the soul becomes; for that for ever degrades the past, turns all riches to poverty, all reputation to a shame, confounds the saint with the rogue192, shoves Jesus and Judas equally aside. Why, then, do we prate193 of self-reliance? Inasmuch as the soul is present, there will be power not confident but agent. To talk of reliance is a poor external way of speaking. Speak rather of that which relies, because it works and is. Who has more obedience194 than I masters me, though he should not raise his finger. Round him I must revolve195 by the gravitation of spirits. We fancy it rhetoric196, when we speak of eminent virtue. We do not yet see that virtue is Height, and that a man or a company of men, plastic and permeable to principles, by the law of nature must overpower and ride all cities, nations, kings, rich men, poets, who are not.
This is the ultimate fact which we so quickly reach on this, as on every topic, the resolution of all into the ever-blessed ONE. Self-existence is the attribute of the Supreme197 Cause, and it constitutes the measure of good by the degree in which it enters into all lower forms. All things real are so by so much virtue as they contain. Commerce, husbandry, hunting, whaling, war, eloquence198, personal weight, are somewhat, and engage my respect as examples of its presence and impure action. I see the same law working in nature for conservation and growth. Power is in nature the essential measure of right. Nature suffers nothing to remain in her kingdoms which cannot help itself. The genesis and maturation of a planet, its poise199 and orbit, the bended tree recovering itself from the strong wind, the vital resources of every animal and vegetable, are demonstrations200 of the self-sufficing, and therefore self-relying soul.
Thus all concentrates: let us not rove; let us sit at home with the cause. Let us stun201 and astonish the intruding202 rabble203 of men and books and institutions, by a simple declaration of the divine fact. Bid the invaders204 take the shoes from off their feet, for God is here within. Let our simplicity205 judge them, and our docility206 to our own law demonstrate the poverty of nature and fortune beside our native riches.
But now we are a mob. Man does not stand in awe207 of man, nor is his genius admonished208 to stay at home, to put itself in communication with the internal ocean, but it goes abroad to beg a cup of water of the urns191 of other men. We must go alone. I like the silent church before the service begins, better than any preaching. How far off, how cool, how chaste209 the persons look, begirt each one with a precinct or sanctuary210! So let us always sit. Why should we assume the faults of our friend, or wife, or father, or child, because they sit around our hearth211, or are said to have the same blood? All men have my blood, and I have all men’s. Not for that will I adopt their petulance212 or folly213, even to the extent of being ashamed of it. But your isolation214 must not be mechanical, but spiritual, that is, must be elevation215. At times the whole world seems to be in conspiracy to importune you with emphatic trifles. Friend, client, child, sickness, fear, want, charity, all knock at once at thy closet door, and say, — ‘Come out unto us.’ But keep thy state; come not into their confusion. The power men possess to annoy me, I give them by a weak curiosity. No man can come near me but through my act. “What we love that we have, but by desire we bereave216 ourselves of the love.”
If we cannot at once rise to the sanctities of obedience and faith, let us at least resist our temptations; let us enter into the state of war, and wake Thor and Woden, courage and constancy, in our Saxon breasts. This is to be done in our smooth times by speaking the truth. Check this lying hospitality and lying affection. Live no longer to the expectation of these deceived and deceiving people with whom we converse217. Say to them, O father, O mother, O wife, O brother, O friend, I have lived with you after appearances hitherto. Henceforward I am the truth’s. Be it known unto you that henceforward I obey no law less than the eternal law. I will have no covenants218 but proximities. I shall endeavour to nourish my parents, to support my family, to be the chaste husband of one wife, — but these relations I must fill after a new and unprecedented219 way. I appeal from your customs. I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or you. If you can love me for what I am, we shall be the happier. If you cannot, I will still seek to deserve that you should. I will not hide my tastes or aversions. I will so trust that what is deep is holy, that I will do strongly before the sun and moon whatever inly rejoices me, and the heart appoints. If you are noble, I will love you; if you are not, I will not hurt you and myself by hypocritical attentions. If you are true, but not in the same truth with me, cleave to your companions; I will seek my own. I do this not selfishly, but humbly220 and truly. It is alike your interest, and mine, and all men’s, however long we have dwelt in lies, to live in truth. Does this sound harsh to-day? You will soon love what is dictated221 by your nature as well as mine, and, if we follow the truth, it will bring us out safe at last. — But so you may give these friends pain. Yes, but I cannot sell my liberty and my power, to save their sensibility. Besides, all persons have their moments of reason, when they look out into the region of absolute truth; then will they justify me, and do the same thing.
The populace think that your rejection222 of popular standards is a rejection of all standard, and mere223 antinomianism; and the bold sensualist will use the name of philosophy to gild224 his crimes. But the law of consciousness abides225. There are two confessionals, in one or the other of which we must be shriven. You may fulfil your round of duties by clearing yourself in the direct, or in the reflex way. Consider whether you have satisfied your relations to father, mother, cousin, neighbour, town, cat, and dog; whether any of these can upbraid226 you. But I may also neglect this reflex standard, and absolve me to myself. I have my own stern claims and perfect circle. It denies the name of duty to many offices that are called duties. But if I can discharge its debts, it enables me to dispense227 with the popular code. If any one imagines that this law is lax, let him keep its commandment one day.
And truly it demands something godlike in him who has cast off the common motives228 of humanity, and has ventured to trust himself for a taskmaster. High be his heart, faithful his will, clear his sight, that he may in good earnest be doctrine, society, law, to himself, that a simple purpose may be to him as strong as iron necessity is to others!
If any man consider the present aspects of what is called by distinction society, he will see the need of these ethics229. The sinew and heart of man seem to be drawn88 out, and we are become timorous230, desponding whimperers. We are afraid of truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other. Our age yields no great and perfect persons. We want men and women who shall renovate231 life and our social state, but we see that most natures are insolvent232, cannot satisfy their own wants, have an ambition out of all proportion to their practical force, and do lean and beg day and night continually. Our housekeeping is mendicant, our arts, our occupations, our marriages, our religion, we have not chosen, but society has chosen for us. We are parlour soldiers. We shun the rugged233 battle of fate, where strength is born.
If our young men miscarry in their first enterprises, they lose all heart. If the young merchant fails, men say he is ruined. If the finest genius studies at one of our colleges, and is not installed in an office within one year afterwards in the cities or suburbs of Boston or New York, it seems to his friends and to himself that he is right in being disheartened, and in complaining the rest of his life. A sturdy lad from New Hampshire or Vermont, who in turn tries all the professions, who teams it, farms it, peddles234, keeps a school, preaches, edits a newspaper, goes to Congress, buys a township, and so forth, in successive years, and always, like a cat, falls on his feet, is worth a hundred of these city dolls. He walks abreast235 with his days, and feels no shame in not ‘studying a profession,’ for he does not postpone175 his life, but lives already. He has not one chance, but a hundred chances. Let a Stoic236 open the resources of man, and tell men they are not leaning willows237, but can and must detach themselves; that with the exercise of self-trust, new powers shall appear; that a man is the word made flesh, born to shed healing to the nations, that he should be ashamed of our compassion238, and that the moment he acts from himself, tossing the laws, the books, idolatries, and customs out of the window, we pity him no more, but thank and revere106 him, — and that teacher shall restore the life of man to splendor239, and make his name dear to all history.
It is easy to see that a greater self-reliance must work a revolution in all the offices and relations of men; in their religion; in their education; in their pursuits; their modes of living; their association; in their property; in their speculative240 views.
1. In what prayers do men allow themselves! That which they call a holy office is not so much as brave and manly241. Prayer looks abroad and asks for some foreign addition to come through some foreign virtue, and loses itself in endless mazes242 of natural and supernatural, and mediatorial and miraculous243. Prayer that craves244 a particular commodity, — any thing less than all good, — is vicious. Prayer is the contemplation of the facts of life from the highest point of view. It is the soliloquy of a beholding245 and jubilant soul. It is the spirit of God pronouncing his works good. But prayer as a means to effect a private end is meanness and theft. It supposes dualism and not unity246 in nature and consciousness. As soon as the man is at one with God, he will not beg. He will then see prayer in all action. The prayer of the farmer kneeling in his field to weed it, the prayer of the rower kneeling with the stroke of his oar77, are true prayers heard throughout nature, though for cheap ends. Caratach, in Fletcher’s Bonduca, when admonished to inquire the mind of the god Audate, replies, —
“His hidden meaning lies in our endeavours;
Our valors are our best gods.”
Another sort of false prayers are our regrets. Discontent is the want of self-reliance: it is infirmity of will. Regret calamities248, if you can thereby249 help the sufferer; if not, attend your own work, and already the evil begins to be repaired. Our sympathy is just as base. We come to them who weep foolishly, and sit down and cry for company, instead of imparting to them truth and health in rough electric shocks, putting them once more in communication with their own reason. The secret of fortune is joy in our hands. Welcome evermore to gods and men is the self-helping man. For him all doors are flung wide: him all tongues greet, all honors crown, all eyes follow with desire. Our love goes out to him and embraces him, because he did not need it. We solicitously250 and apologetically caress251 and celebrate him, because he held on his way and scorned our disapprobation. The gods love him because men hated him. “To the persevering252 mortal,” said Zoroaster, “the blessed Immortals253 are swift.”
As men’s prayers are a disease of the will, so are their creeds254 a disease of the intellect. They say with those foolish Israelites, ‘Let not God speak to us, lest we die. Speak thou, speak any man with us, and we will obey.’ Everywhere I am hindered of meeting God in my brother, because he has shut his own temple doors, and recites fables255 merely of his brother’s, or his brother’s brother’s God. Every new mind is a new classification. If it prove a mind of uncommon256 activity and power, a Locke, a Lavoisier, a Hutton, a Bentham, a Fourier, it imposes its classification on other men, and lo! a new system. In proportion to the depth of the thought, and so to the number of the objects it touches and brings within reach of the pupil, is his complacency. But chiefly is this apparent in creeds and churches, which are also classifications of some powerful mind acting257 on the elemental thought of duty, and man’s relation to the Highest. Such is Calvinism, Quakerism, Swedenborgism. The pupil takes the same delight in subordinating every thing to the new terminology258, as a girl who has just learned botany in seeing a new earth and new seasons thereby. It will happen for a time, that the pupil will find his intellectual power has grown by the study of his master’s mind. But in all unbalanced minds, the classification is idolized, passes for the end, and not for a speedily exhaustible means, so that the walls of the system blend to their eye in the remote horizon with the walls of the universe; the luminaries259 of heaven seem to them hung on the arch their master built. They cannot imagine how you aliens have any right to see, — how you can see; ‘It must be somehow that you stole the light from us.’ They do not yet perceive, that light, unsystematic, indomitable, will break into any cabin, even into theirs. Let them chirp260 awhile and call it their own. If they are honest and do well, presently their neat new pinfold will be too strait and low, will crack, will lean, will rot and vanish, and the immortal light, all young and joyful, million-orbed, million-colored, will beam over the universe as on the first morning.
2. It is for want of self-culture that the superstition261 of Travelling, whose idols262 are Italy, England, Egypt, retains its fascination263 for all educated Americans. They who made England, Italy, or Greece venerable in the imagination did so by sticking fast where they were, like an axis264 of the earth. In manly hours, we feel that duty is our place. The soul is no traveller; the wise man stays at home, and when his necessities, his duties, on any occasion call him from his house, or into foreign lands, he is at home still, and shall make men sensible by the expression of his countenance, that he goes the missionary265 of wisdom and virtue, and visits cities and men like a sovereign, and not like an interloper or a valet.
I have no churlish objection to the circumnavigation of the globe, for the purposes of art, of study, and benevolence266, so that the man is first domesticated267, or does not go abroad with the hope of finding somewhat greater than he knows. He who travels to be amused, or to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels away from himself, and grows old even in youth among old things. In Thebes, in Palmyra, his will and mind have become old and dilapidated as they. He carries ruins to ruins.
Travelling is a fool’s paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference268 of places. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated269 with beauty, and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark270 on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican, and the palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go.
3. But the rage of travelling is a symptom of a deeper unsoundness affecting the whole intellectual action. The intellect is vagabond, and our system of education fosters restlessness. Our minds travel when our bodies are forced to stay at home. We imitate; and what is imitation but the travelling of the mind? Our houses are built with foreign taste; our shelves are garnished271 with foreign ornaments272; our opinions, our tastes, our faculties, lean, and follow the Past and the Distant. The soul created the arts wherever they have flourished. It was in his own mind that the artist sought his model. It was an application of his own thought to the thing to be done and the conditions to be observed. And why need we copy the Doric or the Gothic model? Beauty, convenience, grandeur273 of thought, and quaint274 expression are as near to us as to any, and if the American artist will study with hope and love the precise thing to be done by him, considering the climate, the soil, the length of the day, the wants of the people, the habit and form of the government, he will create a house in which all these will find themselves fitted, and taste and sentiment will be satisfied also.
Insist on yourself; never imitate. Your own gift you can present every moment with the cumulative force of a whole life’s cultivation275; but of the adopted talent of another, you have only an extemporaneous276, half possession. That which each can do best, none but his Maker277 can teach him. No man yet knows what it is, nor can, till that person has exhibited it. Where is the master who could have taught Shakspeare? Where is the master who could have instructed Franklin, or Washington, or Bacon, or Newton? Every great man is a unique. The Scipionism of Scipio is precisely that part he could not borrow. Shakspeare will never be made by the study of Shakspeare. Do that which is assigned you, and you cannot hope too much or dare too much. There is at this moment for you an utterance278 brave and grand as that of the colossal chisel279 of Phidias, or trowel of the Egyptians, or the pen of Moses, or Dante, but different from all these. Not possibly will the soul all rich, all eloquent, with thousand-cloven tongue, deign280 to repeat itself; but if you can hear what these patriarchs say, surely you can reply to them in the same pitch of voice; for the ear and the tongue are two organs of one nature. Abide in the simple and noble regions of thy life, obey thy heart, and thou shalt reproduce the Foreworld again.
4. As our Religion, our Education, our Art look abroad, so does our spirit of society. All men plume281 themselves on the improvement of society, and no man improves.
Society never advances. It recedes282 as fast on one side as it gains on the other. It undergoes continual changes; it is barbarous, it is civilized283, it is christianized, it is rich, it is scientific; but this change is not amelioration. For every thing that is given, something is taken. Society acquires new arts, and loses old instincts. What a contrast between the well-clad, reading, writing, thinking American, with a watch, a pencil, and a bill of exchange in his pocket, and the naked New Zealander, whose property is a club, a spear, a mat, and an undivided twentieth of a shed to sleep under! But compare the health of the two men, and you shall see that the white man has lost his aboriginal strength. If the traveller tell us truly, strike the savage285 with a broad axe286, and in a day or two the flesh shall unite and heal as if you struck the blow into soft pitch, and the same blow shall send the white to his grave.
The civilized man has built a coach, but has lost the use of his feet. He is supported on crutches287, but lacks so much support of muscle. He has a fine Geneva watch, but he fails of the skill to tell the hour by the sun. A Greenwich nautical288 almanac he has, and so being sure of the information when he wants it, the man in the street does not know a star in the sky. The solstice he does not observe; the equinox he knows as little; and the whole bright calendar of the year is without a dial in his mind. His note-books impair289 his memory; his libraries overload290 his wit; the insurance-office increases the number of accidents; and it may be a question whether machinery291 does not encumber292; whether we have not lost by refinement293 some energy, by a Christianity entrenched294 in establishments and forms, some vigor295 of wild virtue. For every Stoic was a Stoic; but in Christendom where is the Christian284?
There is no more deviation296 in the moral standard than in the standard of height or bulk. No greater men are now than ever were. A singular equality may be observed between the great men of the first and of the last ages; nor can all the science, art, religion, and philosophy of the nineteenth century avail to educate greater men than Plutarch’s heroes, three or four and twenty centuries ago. Not in time is the race progressive. Phocion, Socrates, Anaxagoras, Diogenes, are great men, but they leave no class. He who is really of their class will not be called by their name, but will be his own man, and, in his turn, the founder297 of a sect. The arts and inventions of each period are only its costume, and do not invigorate men. The harm of the improved machinery may compensate298 its good. Hudson and Behring accomplished299 so much in their fishing-boats, as to astonish Parry and Franklin, whose equipment exhausted300 the resources of science and art. Galileo, with an opera-glass, discovered a more splendid series of celestial301 phenomena302 than any one since. Columbus found the New World in an undecked boat. It is curious to see the periodical disuse and perishing of means and machinery, which were introduced with loud laudation a few years or centuries before. The great genius returns to essential man. We reckoned the improvements of the art of war among the triumphs of science, and yet Napoleon conquered Europe by the bivouac, which consisted of falling back on naked valor247, and disencumbering it of all aids. The Emperor held it impossible to make a perfect army, says Las Casas, “without abolishing our arms, magazines, commissaries, and carriages, until, in imitation of the Roman custom, the soldier should receive his supply of corn, grind it in his hand-mill, and bake his bread himself.”
Society is a wave. The wave moves onward303, but the water of which it is composed does not. The same particle does not rise from the valley to the ridge304. Its unity is only phenomenal. The persons who make up a nation to-day, next year die, and their experience with them.
And so the reliance on Property, including the reliance on governments which protect it, is the want of self-reliance. Men have looked away from themselves and at things so long, that they have come to esteem305 the religious, learned, and civil institutions as guards of property, and they deprecate assaults on these, because they feel them to be assaults on property. They measure their esteem of each other by what each has, and not by what each is. But a cultivated man becomes ashamed of his property, out of new respect for his nature. Especially he hates what he has, if he see that it is accidental, — came to him by inheritance, or gift, or crime; then he feels that it is not having; it does not belong to him, has no root in him, and merely lies there, because no revolution or no robber takes it away. But that which a man is does always by necessity acquire, and what the man acquires is living property, which does not wait the beck of rulers, or mobs, or revolutions, or fire, or storm, or bankruptcies306, but perpetually renews itself wherever the man breathes. “Thy lot or portion of life,” said the Caliph Ali, “is seeking after thee; therefore be at rest from seeking after it.” Our dependence82 on these foreign goods leads us to our slavish respect for numbers. The political parties meet in numerous conventions; the greater the concourse, and with each new uproar307 of announcement, The delegation308 from Essex! The Democrats309 from New Hampshire! The Whigs of Maine! the young patriot310 feels himself stronger than before by a new thousand of eyes and arms. In like manner the reformers summon conventions, and vote and resolve in multitude. Not so, O friends! will the God deign to enter and inhabit you, but by a method precisely the reverse. It is only as a man puts off all foreign support, and stands alone, that I see him to be strong and to prevail. He is weaker by every recruit to his banner. Is not a man better than a town? Ask nothing of men, and in the endless mutation311, thou only firm column must presently appear the upholder of all that surrounds thee. He who knows that power is inborn312, that he is weak because he has looked for good out of him and elsewhere, and so perceiving, throws himself unhesitatingly on his thought, instantly rights himself, stands in the erect313 position, commands his limbs, works miracles; just as a man who stands on his feet is stronger than a man who stands on his head.
So use all that is called Fortune. Most men gamble with her, and gain all, and lose all, as her wheel rolls. But do thou leave as unlawful these winnings, and deal with Cause and Effect, the chancellors314 of God. In the Will work and acquire, and thou hast chained the wheel of Chance, and shalt sit hereafter out of fear from her rotations315. A political victory, a rise of rents, the recovery of your sick, or the return of your absent friend, or some other favorable event, raises your spirits, and you think good days are preparing for you. Do not believe it. Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles.
1 hawk | |
n.鹰,骗子;鹰派成员 | |
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2 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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3 instil | |
v.逐渐灌输 | |
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4 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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5 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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6 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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7 spoke | |
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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8 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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9 firmament | |
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10 bards | |
n.诗人( bard的名词复数 ) | |
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11 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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12 sages | |
n.圣人( sage的名词复数 );智者;哲人;鼠尾草(可用作调料) | |
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13 alienated | |
adj.感到孤独的,不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 );使不友好;转让;让渡(财产等) | |
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14 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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15 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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16 inflexibility | |
n.不屈性,顽固,不变性;不可弯曲;非挠性;刚性 | |
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17 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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18 kernel | |
n.(果实的)核,仁;(问题)的中心,核心 | |
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19 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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20 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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22 muse | |
n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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23 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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24 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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25 minors | |
n.未成年人( minor的名词复数 );副修科目;小公司;[逻辑学]小前提v.[主美国英语]副修,选修,兼修( minor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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26 invalids | |
病人,残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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27 rote | |
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28 benefactors | |
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29 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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30 chaos | |
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31 oracles | |
神示所( oracle的名词复数 ); 神谕; 圣贤; 哲人 | |
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32 brute | |
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兽( brute的名词复数 ); 畜生; 残酷无情的人; 兽性 | |
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adj.[医]计算的,使用计算机的v.计算,估算( compute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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36 prattle | |
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37 piquancy | |
n.辛辣,辣味,痛快 | |
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38 sufficiently | |
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39 emphatic | |
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40 nonchalance | |
n.冷淡,漠不关心 | |
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41 disdain | |
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42 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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43 eclat | |
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44 hatred | |
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45 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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46 darts | |
n.掷飞镖游戏;飞镖( dart的名词复数 );急驰,飞奔v.投掷,投射( dart的第三人称单数 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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47 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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48 conspiracy | |
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49 shareholder | |
n.股东,股票持有人 | |
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50 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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51 conformity | |
n.一致,遵从,顺从 | |
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52 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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53 absolve | |
v.赦免,解除(责任等) | |
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54 suffrage | |
n.投票,选举权,参政权 | |
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55 adviser | |
n.劝告者,顾问 | |
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56 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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57 importune | |
v.强求;不断请求 | |
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58 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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59 doctrines | |
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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60 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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61 titular | |
adj.名义上的,有名无实的;n.只有名义(或头衔)的人 | |
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62 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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63 abolition | |
n.废除,取消 | |
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64 varnish | |
n.清漆;v.上清漆;粉饰 | |
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65 counteraction | |
反对的行动,抵抗,反动 | |
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66 whines | |
n.悲嗥声( whine的名词复数 );哀鸣者v.哀号( whine的第三人称单数 );哀诉,诉怨 | |
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67 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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68 whim | |
n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
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69 grudge | |
n.不满,怨恨,妒嫉;vt.勉强给,不情愿做 | |
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70 dime | |
n.(指美国、加拿大的钱币)一角 | |
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71 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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72 succumb | |
v.屈服,屈从;死 | |
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73 withhold | |
v.拒绝,不给;使停止,阻挡 | |
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74 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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75 expiation | |
n.赎罪,补偿 | |
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76 extenuation | |
n.减轻罪孽的借口;酌情减轻;细 | |
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77 oar | |
n.桨,橹,划手;v.划行 | |
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78 penances | |
n.(赎罪的)苦行,苦修( penance的名词复数 ) | |
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79 expiate | |
v.抵补,赎罪 | |
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80 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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81 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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82 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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83 scatters | |
v.(使)散开, (使)分散,驱散( scatter的第三人称单数 );撒 | |
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84 scatter | |
vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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85 blurs | |
n.模糊( blur的名词复数 );模糊之物;(移动的)模糊形状;模糊的记忆v.(使)变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 );(使)难以区分 | |
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86 housekeepers | |
n.(女)管家( housekeeper的名词复数 ) | |
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87 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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88 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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89 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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90 expediency | |
n.适宜;方便;合算;利己 | |
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91 ostentation | |
n.夸耀,卖弄 | |
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92 chagrins | |
v.使懊恼,使懊丧,使悔恨( chagrin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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93 asinine | |
adj.愚蠢的 | |
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94 mortifying | |
adj.抑制的,苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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95 wreak | |
v.发泄;报复 | |
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96 usurping | |
篡夺,霸占( usurp的现在分词 ); 盗用; 篡夺,篡权 | |
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97 wilfulness | |
任性;倔强 | |
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98 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
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99 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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100 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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101 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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102 growl | |
v.(狗等)嗥叫,(炮等)轰鸣;n.嗥叫,轰鸣 | |
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103 mow | |
v.割(草、麦等),扫射,皱眉;n.草堆,谷物堆 | |
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104 err | |
vi.犯错误,出差错 | |
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105 consistency | |
n.一贯性,前后一致,稳定性;(液体的)浓度 | |
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106 revere | |
vt.尊崇,崇敬,敬畏 | |
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107 reverence | |
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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108 computing | |
n.计算 | |
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109 loath | |
adj.不愿意的;勉强的 | |
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110 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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111 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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112 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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113 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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114 gauge | |
v.精确计量;估计;n.标准度量;计量器 | |
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115 stanza | |
n.(诗)节,段 | |
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116 contrite | |
adj.悔悟了的,后悔的,痛悔的 | |
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117 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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118 retrospect | |
n.回顾,追溯;v.回顾,回想,追溯 | |
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119 resound | |
v.回响 | |
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120 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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121 overt | |
adj.公开的,明显的,公然的 | |
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122 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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123 zigzag | |
n.曲折,之字形;adj.曲折的,锯齿形的;adv.曲折地,成锯齿形地;vt.使曲折;vi.曲折前行 | |
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124 tacks | |
大头钉( tack的名词复数 ); 平头钉; 航向; 方法 | |
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125 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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126 cumulative | |
adj.累积的,渐增的 | |
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127 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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128 spartan | |
adj.简朴的,刻苦的;n.斯巴达;斯巴达式的人 | |
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129 affront | |
n./v.侮辱,触怒 | |
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130 hurl | |
vt.猛投,力掷,声叫骂 | |
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131 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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132 cleave | |
v.(clave;cleaved)粘着,粘住;坚持;依恋 | |
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133 lengthened | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134 hermit | |
n.隐士,修道者;隐居 | |
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136 skulk | |
v.藏匿;潜行 | |
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137 bastard | |
n.坏蛋,混蛋;私生子 | |
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138 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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139 petitioners | |
n.请求人,请愿人( petitioner的名词复数 );离婚案原告 | |
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140 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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141 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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142 obsequious | |
adj.谄媚的,奉承的,顺从的 | |
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143 symbolizes | |
v.象征,作为…的象征( symbolize的第三人称单数 ) | |
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144 mendicant | |
n.乞丐;adj.行乞的 | |
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145 sycophantic | |
adj.阿谀奉承的 | |
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146 gaudier | |
adj.花哨的,俗气的( gaudy的比较级 ) | |
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147 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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148 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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149 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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150 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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151 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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152 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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153 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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154 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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155 hieroglyphic | |
n.象形文字 | |
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156 comeliness | |
n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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157 magnetism | |
n.磁性,吸引力,磁学 | |
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158 aboriginal | |
adj.(指动植物)土生的,原产地的,土著的 | |
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159 impure | |
adj.不纯净的,不洁的;不道德的,下流的 | |
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160 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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161 impiety | |
n.不敬;不孝 | |
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162 atheism | |
n.无神论,不信神 | |
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163 pry | |
vi.窥(刺)探,打听;vt.撬动(开,起) | |
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164 discriminates | |
分别,辨别,区分( discriminate的第三人称单数 ); 歧视,有差别地对待 | |
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165 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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166 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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167 mouldered | |
v.腐朽( moulder的过去式和过去分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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168 acorn | |
n.橡实,橡子 | |
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169 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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170 conspirators | |
n.共谋者,阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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171 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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172 physiological | |
adj.生理学的,生理学上的 | |
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173 parable | |
n.寓言,比喻 | |
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174 postpones | |
v.延期,推迟( postpone的第三人称单数 ) | |
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175 postpone | |
v.延期,推迟 | |
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176 reverted | |
恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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177 laments | |
n.悲恸,哀歌,挽歌( lament的名词复数 )v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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178 recollecting | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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179 hoarded | |
v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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181 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
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182 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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183 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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184 beholds | |
v.看,注视( behold的第三人称单数 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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185 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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186 underlay | |
v.位于或存在于(某物)之下( underlie的过去式 );构成…的基础(或起因),引起n.衬垫物 | |
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187 underlie | |
v.位于...之下,成为...的基础 | |
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188 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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189 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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190 darting | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的现在分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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191 urns | |
n.壶( urn的名词复数 );瓮;缸;骨灰瓮 | |
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192 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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193 prate | |
v.瞎扯,胡说 | |
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194 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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195 revolve | |
vi.(使)旋转;循环出现 | |
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196 rhetoric | |
n.修辞学,浮夸之言语 | |
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197 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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198 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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199 poise | |
vt./vi. 平衡,保持平衡;n.泰然自若,自信 | |
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200 demonstrations | |
证明( demonstration的名词复数 ); 表明; 表达; 游行示威 | |
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201 stun | |
vt.打昏,使昏迷,使震惊,使惊叹 | |
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202 intruding | |
v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的现在分词);把…强加于 | |
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203 rabble | |
n.乌合之众,暴民;下等人 | |
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204 invaders | |
入侵者,侵略者,侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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205 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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206 docility | |
n.容易教,易驾驶,驯服 | |
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207 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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208 admonished | |
v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 );训诫;(温和地)责备;轻责 | |
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209 chaste | |
adj.贞洁的;有道德的;善良的;简朴的 | |
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210 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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211 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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212 petulance | |
n.发脾气,生气,易怒,暴躁,性急 | |
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213 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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214 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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215 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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216 bereave | |
v.使痛失(亲人等),剥夺,使丧失 | |
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217 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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218 covenants | |
n.(有法律约束的)协议( covenant的名词复数 );盟约;公约;(向慈善事业、信托基金会等定期捐款的)契约书 | |
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219 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
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220 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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221 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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222 rejection | |
n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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223 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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224 gild | |
vt.给…镀金,把…漆成金色,使呈金色 | |
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225 abides | |
容忍( abide的第三人称单数 ); 等候; 逗留; 停留 | |
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226 upbraid | |
v.斥责,责骂,责备 | |
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227 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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228 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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229 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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230 timorous | |
adj.胆怯的,胆小的 | |
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231 renovate | |
vt.更新,革新,刷新 | |
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232 insolvent | |
adj.破产的,无偿还能力的 | |
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233 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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234 peddles | |
(沿街)叫卖( peddle的第三人称单数 ); 兜售; 宣传; 散播 | |
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235 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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236 stoic | |
n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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237 willows | |
n.柳树( willow的名词复数 );柳木 | |
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238 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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239 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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240 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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241 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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242 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
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243 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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244 craves | |
渴望,热望( crave的第三人称单数 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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245 beholding | |
v.看,注视( behold的现在分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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246 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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247 valor | |
n.勇气,英勇 | |
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248 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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249 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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250 solicitously | |
adv.热心地,热切地 | |
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251 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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252 persevering | |
a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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253 immortals | |
不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 ); 永生不朽者 | |
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254 creeds | |
(尤指宗教)信条,教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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255 fables | |
n.寓言( fable的名词复数 );神话,传说 | |
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256 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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257 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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258 terminology | |
n.术语;专有名词 | |
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259 luminaries | |
n.杰出人物,名人(luminary的复数形式) | |
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260 chirp | |
v.(尤指鸟)唧唧喳喳的叫 | |
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261 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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262 idols | |
偶像( idol的名词复数 ); 受崇拜的人或物; 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物; 神像 | |
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263 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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264 axis | |
n.轴,轴线,中心线;坐标轴,基准线 | |
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265 missionary | |
adj.教会的,传教(士)的;n.传教士 | |
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266 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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267 domesticated | |
adj.喜欢家庭生活的;(指动物)被驯养了的v.驯化( domesticate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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268 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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269 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
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270 embark | |
vi.乘船,着手,从事,上飞机 | |
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271 garnished | |
v.给(上餐桌的食物)加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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272 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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273 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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274 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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275 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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276 extemporaneous | |
adj.即席的,一时的 | |
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277 maker | |
n.制造者,制造商 | |
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278 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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279 chisel | |
n.凿子;v.用凿子刻,雕,凿 | |
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280 deign | |
v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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281 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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282 recedes | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的第三人称单数 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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283 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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284 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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285 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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286 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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287 crutches | |
n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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288 nautical | |
adj.海上的,航海的,船员的 | |
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289 impair | |
v.损害,损伤;削弱,减少 | |
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290 overload | |
vt.使超载;n.超载 | |
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291 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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292 encumber | |
v.阻碍行动,妨碍,堆满 | |
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293 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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294 entrenched | |
adj.确立的,不容易改的(风俗习惯) | |
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295 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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296 deviation | |
n.背离,偏离;偏差,偏向;离题 | |
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297 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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298 compensate | |
vt.补偿,赔偿;酬报 vi.弥补;补偿;抵消 | |
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299 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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300 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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301 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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302 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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303 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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304 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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305 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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306 bankruptcies | |
n.破产( bankruptcy的名词复数 );倒闭;彻底失败;(名誉等的)完全丧失 | |
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307 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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308 delegation | |
n.代表团;派遣 | |
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309 democrats | |
n.民主主义者,民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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310 patriot | |
n.爱国者,爱国主义者 | |
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311 mutation | |
n.变化,变异,转变 | |
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312 inborn | |
adj.天生的,生来的,先天的 | |
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313 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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314 chancellors | |
大臣( chancellor的名词复数 ); (某些美国大学的)校长; (德国或奥地利的)总理; (英国大学的)名誉校长 | |
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315 rotations | |
旋转( rotation的名词复数 ); 转动; 轮流; 轮换 | |
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