(SOCRATES, ADEIMANTUS.)
SUCH, then, I said, are our principles of theology — some tales are to be told, and others are not to be told to our disciples1 from their youth upward, if we mean them to honor the gods and their parents, and to value friendship with one another.
Yes; and I think that our principles are right, he said.
But if they are to be courageous2, must they not learn other lessons beside these, and lessons of such a kind as will take away the fear of death? Can any man be courageous who has the fear of death in him?
Certainly not, he said.
And can he be fearless of death, or will he choose death in battle rather than defeat and slavery, who believes the world below to be real and terrible?
Impossible.
Then we must assume a control over the narrators of this class of tales as well as over the others, and beg them not simply to revile3, but rather to commend the world below, intimating to them that their descriptions are untrue, and will do harm to our future warriors4.
That will be our duty, he said.
Then, I said, we shall have to obliterate6 many obnoxious7 passages, beginning with the verses
"I would rather be a serf on the land of a poor and portionless man than rule over all the dead who have come to naught9."
We must also expunge10 the verse which tells us how Pluto11 feared
"Lest the mansions13 grim and squalid which the gods abhor14 should be seen both of mortals and immortals15."
And again:
"O heavens! verily in the house of Hades there is soul and ghostly form but no mind at all!"
Again of Tiresias:
"[To him even after death did Persephone grant mind,] that he alone should be wise; but the other souls are flitting shades."
Again:
"The soul flying from the limbs had gone to Hades, lamentng her fate, leaving manhood and youth."
Again:
"And the soul, with shrilling17 cry, passed like smoke beneath the earth."
And,
"As bats in hollow of mystic cavern18, whenever any of them has dropped out of the string and falls from the rock, fly shrilling and cling to one another, so did they with shrilling cry hold together as they moved."
And we must beg Homer and the other poets not to be angry if we strike out these and similar passages, not because they are unpoetical, or unattractive to the popular ear, but because the greater the poetical19 charm of them, the less are they meet for the ears of boys and men who are meant to be free, and who should fear slavery more than death.
Undoubtedly20.
Also we shall have to reject all the terrible and appalling21 names which describe the world below — Cocytus and Styx, ghosts under the earth, and sapless shades, and any similar words of which the very mention causes a shudder22 to pass through the inmost soul of him who hears them. I do not say that these horrible stories may not have a use of some kind; but there is a danger that the nerves of our guardians23 may be rendered too excitable and effeminate by them.
There is a real danger, he said.
Then we must have no more of them.
True.
Another and a nobler strain must be composed and sung by us.
Clearly.
And shall we proceed to get rid of the weepings and wailings of famous men?
They will go with the rest.
But shall we be right in getting rid of them? Reflect: our principle is that the good man will not consider death terrible to any other good man who is his comrade.
Yes; that is our principle.
And therefore he will not sorrow for his departed friend as though he had suffered anything terrible?
He will not.
Such an one, as we further maintain, is sufficient for himself and his own happiness, and therefore is least in need of other men.
True, he said.
And for this reason the loss of a son or brother, or the deprivation26 of fortune, is to him of all men least terrible.
Assuredly.
And therefore he will be least likely to lament16, and will bear with the greatest equanimity27 any misfortune of this sort which may befall him.
Yes, he will feel such a misfortune far less than another.
Then we shall be right in getting rid of the lamentations of famous men, and making them over to women (and not even to women who are good for anything), or to men of a baser sort, that those who are being educated by us to be the defenders29 of their country may scorn to do the like.
That will be very right.
Then we will once more entreat30 Homer and the other poets not to depict31 Achilles, who is the son of a goddess, first lying on his side, then on his back, and then on his face; then starting up and sailing in a frenzy33 along the shores of the barren sea; now taking the sooty ashes in both his hands and pouring them over his head, or weeping and wailing25 in the various modes which Homer has delineated. Nor should he describe Priam, the kinsman34 of the gods, as praying and beseeching35,
"Rolling in the dirt, calling each man loudly by his name."
Still more earnestly will we beg of him at all events not to introduce the gods lamenting36 and saying,
"Alas37! my misery38! Alas! that I bore the bravest to my sorrow."
But if he must introduce the gods, at any rate let him not dare so completely to misrepresent the greatest of the gods, as to make him say —
"O heavens! with my eyes verily I behold39 a dear friend of mine chased round and round the city, and my heart is sorrowful."
Or again:
"Woe40 is me that I am fated to have Sarpedon, dearest of men to me, subdued41 at the hands of Patroclus the son of Menoetius."
For if, my sweet Adeimantus, our youth seriously listen to such unworthy representations of the gods, instead of laughing at them as they ought, hardly will any of them deem that he himself, being but a man, can be dishonored by similar actions; neither will he rebuke42 any inclination43 which may arise in his mind to say and do the like. And instead of having any shame or self-control, he will be always whining44 and lamenting on slight occasions.
Yes, he said, that is most true.
Yes, I replied; but that surely is what ought not to be, as the argument has just proved to us; and by that proof we must abide45 until it is disproved by a better.
It ought not to be.
Neither ought our guardians to be given to laughter. For a fit of laughter which has been indulged to excess almost always produces a violent reaction.
So I believe.
Then persons of worth, even if only mortal men, must not be represented as overcome by laughter, and still less must such a representation of the gods be allowed.
Still less of the gods, as you say, he replied.
Then we shall not suffer such an expression to be used about the gods as that of Homer when he describes how
"Inextinguishable laughter arose among the blessed gods, when they saw Hephaestus bustling46 about the mansion12."
On your views, we must not admit them.
On my views, if you like to father them on me; that we must not admit them is certain.
Again, truth should be highly valued; if, as we were saying, a lie is useless to the gods, and useful only as a medicine to men, then the use of such medicines should be restricted to physicians; private individuals have no business with them.
Clearly not, he said.
Then if anyone at all is to have the privilege of lying, the rulers of the State should be the persons; and they, in their dealings either with enemies or with their own citizens, may be allowed to lie for the public good. But nobody else should meddle48 with anything of the kind; and although the rulers have this privilege, for a private man to lie to them in return is to be deemed a more heinous49 fault than for the patient or the pupil of a gymnasium not to speak the truth about his own bodily illnesses to the physician or to the trainer, or for a sailor not to tell the captain what is happening about the ship and the rest of the crew, and how things are going with himself or his fellow-sailors.
Most true, he said.
If, then, the ruler catches anybody beside himself lying in the State,
"Any of the craftsmen50, whether he be priest or physician or carpenter,"
he will punish him for introducing a practice which is equally subversive51 and destructive of ship or State.
Most certainly, he said, if our idea of the State is ever carried out.
In the next place our youth must be temperate52?
Certainly.
Are not the chief elements of temperance, speaking generally, obedience53 to commanders and self-control in sensual pleasures?
True.
Then we shall approve such language as that of Diomede in Homer,
"Friend sit still and obey my word,"
and the verses which follow,
"The Greeks marched breathing prowess,"
" . . . in silent awe54 of their leaders."
and other sentiments of the same kind.
We shall.
What of this line,
"O heavy with wine, who hast the eyes of a dog and the heart of a stag,"
and of the words which follow? Would you say that these, or any similar impertinences which private individuals are supposed to address to their rulers, whether in verse or prose, are well or ill spoken?
They are ill spoken.
They may very possibly afford some amusement, but they do not conduce to temperance. And therefore they are likely to do harm to our young men — you would agree with me there?
Yes.
And then, again, to make the wisest of men say that nothing in his opinion is more glorious than
"When the tables are full of bread and meat, and the cup-bearer carries round wine which he draws from the bowl and pours into the cups;"
is it fit or conducive56 to temperance for a young man to hear such words? or the verse
"The saddest of fates is to die and meet destiny from hunger"?
What would you say again to the tale of Zeus, who, while other gods and men were asleep and he the only person awake, lay devising plans, but forgot them all in a moment through his lust57, and was so completely overcome at the sight of Here that he would not even go into the hut, but wanted to lie with her on the ground, declaring that he had never been in such a state of rapture58 before, even when they first met one another,
"Without the knowledge of their parents"
or that other tale of how Hephaestus, because of similar goings on, cast a chain around Ares and Aphrodite?
Indeed, he said, I am strongly of opinion that they ought not to hear that sort of thing.
But any deeds of endurance which are done or told by famous men, these they ought to see and hear; as, for example, what is said in the verses,
"He smote59 his breast, and thus reproached his heart, Endure, my heart; far worse hast thou endured!"
Certainly, he said.
In the next place, we must not let them be receivers of gifts or lovers of money.
Certainly not.
Neither must we sing to them of
"Gifts persuading gods, and persuading reverend kings."
Neither is Phoenix60, the tutor of Achilles, to be approved or deemed to have given his pupil good counsel when he told him that he should take the gifts of the Greeks and assist them; but that without a gift he should not lay aside his anger. Neither will we believe or acknowledge Achilles himself to have been such a lover of money that he took Agamemnon's gifts, or that when he had received payment he restored the dead body of Hector, but that without payment he was unwilling61 to do so.
Undoubtedly, he said, these are not sentiments which can be approved.
Loving Homer as I do, I hardly like to say that in attributing these feelings to Achilles, or in believing that they are truly attributed to him, he is guilty of downright impiety62. As little can I believe the narrative63 of his insolence64 to Apollo, where he says,
"Thou hast wronged me, O Far-darter, most abominable65 of deities66. Verily I would be even with thee, if I had only the power;"
or his insubordination to the river-god, on whose divinity he is ready to lay hands; or his offerings to the dead Patroclus of his own hair, which had been previously67 dedicated68 to the other river-god Spercheius, and that he actually performed this vow69; or that he dragged Hector round the tomb of Patroclus, and slaughtered70 the captives at the pyre; of all this I cannot believe that he was guilty, any more than I can allow our citizens to believe that he, the wise Cheiron's pupil, the son of a goddess and of Peleus who was the gentlest of men and third in descent from Zeus, was so disordered in his wits as to be at one time the slave of two seemingly inconsistent passions, meanness, not untainted by avarice71, combined with overweening contempt of gods and men.
You are quite right, he replied.
And let us equally refuse to believe, or allow to be repeated, the tale of Theseus, son of Poseidon, or of Peirithous, son of Zeus, going forth73 as they did to perpetrate a horrid74 rape75; or of any other hero or son of a god daring to do such impious and dreadful things as they falsely ascribe to them in our day: and let us further compel the poets to declare either that these acts were done by them, or that they were not the sons of God; both in the same breath they shall not be permitted to affirm. We will not have them trying to persuade our youth that the gods are the authors of evil, and that heroes are no better than men — sentiments which, as we were saying, are neither pious76 nor true, for we have already proved that evil cannot come from the gods.
Assuredly not. And, further, they are likely to have a bad effect on those who hear them; for everybody will begin to excuse his own vices77 when he is convinced that similar wickednesses are always being perpetrated by
"The kindred of the gods, the relatives of Zeus, whose ancestral altar, the altar of Zeus, is aloft in air on the peak of Ida,"
and who have
"the blood of deities yet flowing in their veins79."
And therefore let us put an end to such tales, lest they engender80 laxity of morals among the young.
By all means, he replied.
But now that we are determining what classes of subjects are or are not to be spoken of, let us see whether any have been omitted by us. The manner in which gods and demigods and heroes and the world below should be treated has been already laid down.
Very true.
And what shall we say about men? That is clearly the remaining portion of our subject.
Clearly so.
But we are not in a condition to answer this question at present, my friend.
Why not?
Because, if I am not mistaken, we shall have to say that about men; poets and story-tellers are guilty of making the gravest misstatements when they tell us that wicked men are often happy, and the good miserable81; and that injustice82 is profitable when undetected, but that justice is a man's own loss and another's gain — these things we shall forbid them to utter, and command them to sing and say the opposite.
To be sure we shall, he replied.
But if you admit that I am right in this, then I shall maintain that you have implied the principle for which we have been all along contending.
I grant the truth of your inference.
That such things are or are not to be said about men is a question which we cannot determine until we have discovered what justice is, and how naturally advantageous83 to the possessor, whether he seem to be just or not.
Most true, he said.
Enough of the subjects of poetry: let us now speak of the style; and when this has been considered, both matter and manner will have been completely treated.
I do not understand what you mean, said Adeimantus.
Then I must make you understand; and perhaps I may be more intelligible84 if I put the matter in this way. You are aware, I suppose, that all mythology85 and poetry are a narration86 of events, either past, present, or to come?
Certainly, he replied.
And narration may be either simple narration or imitation, or a union of the two? That, again, he said, I do not quite understand.
I fear that I must be a ridiculous teacher when I have so much difficulty in making myself apprehended88. Like a bad speaker, therefore, I will not take the whole of the subject, but will break a piece off in illustration of my meaning. You know the first lines of the "Iliad," in which the poet says that Chryses prayed Agamemnon to release his daughter, and that Agamemnon flew into a passion with him; whereupon Chryses, failing of his object, invoked89 the anger of the god against the Achaeans. Now as far as these lines,
"And he prayed all the Greeks, but especially the two sons of Atreus, the chiefs of the people,"
the poet is speaking in his own person; he never leads us to suppose that he is anyone else. But in what follows he takes the person of Chryses, and then he does all that he can to make us believe that the speaker is not Homer, but the aged91 priest himself. And in this double form he has cast the entire narrative of the events which occurred at Troy and in Ithaca and throughout the "Odyssey92."
Yes.
And a narrative it remains93 both in the speeches which the poet recites from time to time and in the intermediate passages?
Quite true.
But when the poet speaks in the person of another, may we not say that he assimilates his style to that of the person who, as he informs you, is going to speak?
Certainly.
And this assimilation of himself to another, either by the use of voice or gesture, is the imitation of the person whose character he assumes?
Of course.
Then in this case the narrative of the poet may be said to proceed by way of imitation?
Very true.
Or, if the poet everywhere appears and never conceals94 himself, then again the imitation is dropped, and his poetry becomes simple narration. However, in order that I may make my meaning quite clear, and that you may no more say, "I don't understand," I will show how the change might be effected. If Homer had said, "The priest came, having his daughter's ransom95 in his hands, supplicating96 the Achaeans, and above all the kings;" and then if, instead of speaking in the person of Chryses, he had continued in his own person, the words would have been, not imitation, but simple narration. The passage would have run as follows (I am no poet, and therefore I drop the metre): "The priest came and prayed the gods on behalf of the Greeks that they might capture Troy and return safely home, but begged that they would give him back his daughter, and take the ransom which he brought, and respect the god. Thus he spoke55, and the other Greeks revered97 the priest and assented98. But Agamemnon was wroth, and bade him depart and not come again, lest the staff and chaplets of the god should be of no avail to him — the daughter of Chryses should not be released, he said — she should grow old with him in Argos. And then he told him to go away and not to provoke him, if he intended to get home unscathed. And the old man went away in fear and silence, and, when he had left the camp, he called upon Apollo by his many names, reminding him of everything which he had done pleasing to him, whether in building his temples, or in offering sacrifice, and praying that his good deeds might be returned to him, and that the Achaeans might expiate99 his tears by the arrows of the god"— and so on. In this way the whole becomes simple narrative.
I understand, he said.
Or you may suppose the opposite case — that the intermediate passages are omitted, and the dialogue only left.
That also, he said, I understand; you mean, for example, as in tragedy.
You have conceived my meaning perfectly100; and if I mistake not, what you failed to apprehend87 before is now made clear to you, that poetry and mythology are, in some cases, wholly imitative — instances of this are supplied by tragedy and comedy; there is likewise the opposite style, in which the poet is the only speaker — of this the dithyramb affords the best example; and the combination of both is found in epic32 and in several other styles of poetry. Do I take you with me?
Yes, he said; I see now what you meant.
I will ask you to remember also what I began by saying, that we had done with the subject and might proceed to the style.
Yes, I remember.
In saying this, I intended to imply that we must come to an understanding about the mimetic art — whether the poets, in narrating101 their stories, are to be allowed by us to imitate, and if so, whether in whole or in part, and if the latter, in what parts; or should all imitation be prohibited?
You mean, I suspect, to ask whether tragedy and comedy shall be admitted into our State?
Yes, I said; but there may be more than this in question: I really do not know as yet, but whither the argument may blow, thither102 we go.
And go we will, he said.
Then, Adeimantus, let me ask you whether our guardians ought to be imitators; or rather, has not this question been decided103 by the rule already laid down that one man can only do one thing well, and not many; and that if he attempt many, he will altogether fail of gaining much reputation in any?
Certainly.
And this is equally true of imitation; no one man can imitate many things as well as he would imitate a single one?
He cannot.
Then the same person will hardly be able to play a serious part in life, and at the same time to be an imitator and imitate many other parts as well; for even when two species of imitation are nearly allied104, the same persons cannot succeed in both, as, for example, the writers of tragedy and comedy — did you not just now call them imitations?
Yes, I did; and you are right in thinking that the same persons cannot succeed in both.
Any more than they can be rhapsodists and actors at once?
True.
Neither are comic and tragic105 actors the same; yet all these things are but imitations.
They are so.
And human nature, Adeimantus, appears to have been coined into yet smaller pieces, and to be as incapable106 of imitating many things well, as of performing well the actions of which the imitations are copies.
Quite true, he replied.
If then we adhere to our original notion and bear in mind that our guardians, setting aside every other business, are to dedicate themselves wholly to the maintenance of freedom in the State, making this their craft, and engaging in no work which does not bear on this end, they ought not to practise or imitate anything else; if they imitate at all, they should imitate from youth upward only those characters which are suitable to their profession — the courageous, temperate, holy, free, and the like; but they should not depict or be skilful108 at imitating any kind of illiberality109 or baseness, lest from imitation they should come to be what they imitate. Did you never observe how imitations, beginning in early youth and continuing far into life, at length grow into habits and become a second nature, affecting body, voice, and mind?
Yes, certainly, he said.
Then, I said, we will not allow those for whom we profess107 a care and of whom we say that they ought to be good men, to imitate a woman, whether young or old, quarrelling with her husband, or striving and vaunting against the gods in conceit110 of her happiness, or when she is in affliction, or sorrow, or weeping; and certainly not one who is in sickness, love, or labor111.
Very right, he said.
Neither must they represent slaves, male or female, performing the offices of slaves?
They must not.
And surely not bad men, whether cowards or any others, who do the reverse of what we have just been prescribing, who scold or mock or revile one another in drink or out of drink, or who in any other manner sin against themselves and their neighbors in word or deed, as the manner of such is. Neither should they be trained to imitate the action or speech of men or women who are mad or bad; for madness, like vice78, is to be known but not to be practised or imitated.
Very true, he replied.
Neither may they imitate smiths or other artificers, or oarsmen, or boatswains, or the like?
How can they, he said, when they are not allowed to apply their minds to the callings of any of these?
Nor may they imitate the neighing of horses, the bellowing112 of bulls, the murmur113 of rivers and roll of the ocean, thunder, and all that sort of thing?
Nay114, he said, if madness be forbidden, neither may they copy the behavior of madmen.
You mean, I said, if I understand you aright, that there is one sort of narrative style which may be employed by a truly good man when he has anything to say, and that another sort will be used by a man of an opposite character and education.
And which are these two sorts? he asked.
Suppose, I answered, that a just and good man in the course of a narration comes on some saying or action of another good man — I should imagine that he will like to personate him, and will not be ashamed of this sort of imitation: he will be most ready to play the part of the good man when he is acting115 firmly and wisely; in a less degree when he is overtaken by illness or love or drink, or has met with any other disaster. But when he comes to a character which is unworthy of him, he will not make a study of that; he will disdain116 such a person, and will assume his likeness117, if at all, for a moment only when he is performing some good action; at other times he will be ashamed to play a part which he has never practised, nor will he like to fashion and frame himself after the baser models; he feels the employment of such an art, unless in jest, to be beneath him, and his mind revolts at it.
So I should expect, he replied.
Then he will adopt a mode of narration such as we have illustrated118 out of Homer, that is to say, his style will be both imitative and narrative; but there will be very little of the former, and a great deal of the latter. Do you agree?
Certainly, he said; that is the model which such a speaker must necessarily take.
But there is another sort of character who will narrate119 anything, and, the worse he is, the more unscrupulous he will be; nothing will be too bad for him: and he will be ready to imitate anything, not as a joke, but in right good earnest, and before a large company. As I was just now saying, he will attempt to represent the roll of thunder, the noise of wind and hail, or the creaking of wheels, and pulleys, and the various sounds of flutes120, pipes, trumpets122, and all sorts of instruments: he will bark like a dog, bleat123 like a sheep, or crow like a cock; his entire art will consist in imitation of voice and gesture, and there will be very little narration.
That, he said, will be his mode of speaking.
These, then, are the two kinds of style?
Yes.
And you would agree with me in saying that one of them is simple and has but slight changes; and if the harmony and rhythm are also chosen for their simplicity124, the result is that the speaker, if he speaks correctly, is always pretty much the same in style, and he will keep within the limits of a single harmony (for the changes are not great), and in like manner he will make use of nearly the same rhythm?
That is quite true, he said.
Whereas the other requires all sorts of harmonies and all sorts of rhythms, if the music and the style are to correspond, because the style has all sorts of changes.
That is also perfectly true, he replied.
And do not the two styles, or the mixture of the two, comprehend all poetry, and every form of expression in words? No one can say anything except in one or other of them or in both together.
They include all, he said.
And shall we receive into our State all the three styles, or one only of the two unmixed styles? or would you include the mixed?
I should prefer only to admit the pure imitator of virtue125.
Yes, I said, Adeimantus; but the mixed style is also very charming: and indeed the pantomimic, which is the opposite of the one chosen by you, is the most popular style with children and their attendants, and with the world in general.
I do not deny it.
But I suppose you would argue that such a style is unsuitable to our State, in which human nature is not twofold or manifold, for one man plays one part only?
Yes; quite unsuitable.
And this is the reason why in our State, and in our State only, we shall find a shoemaker to be a shoemaker and not a pilot also, and a husbandman to be a husbandman and not a dicast also, and a soldier a soldier and not a trader also, and the same throughout?
True, he said.
And therefore when any one of these pantomimic gentlemen, who are so clever that they can imitate anything, comes to us, and makes a proposal to exhibit himself and his poetry, we will fall down and worship him as a sweet and holy and wonderful being; but we must also inform him that in our State such as he are not permitted to exist; the law will not allow them. And so when we have anointed him with myrrh, and set a garland of wool upon his head, we shall send him away to another city. For we mean to employ for our souls' health the rougher and severer poet or story-teller, who will imitate the style of the virtuous126 only, and will follow those models which we prescribed at first when we began the education of our soldiers.
We certainly will, he said, if we have the power.
Then now, my friend, I said, that part of music or literary education which relates to the story or myth may be considered to be finished; for the matter and manner have both been discussed.
I think so too, he said.
Next in order will follow melody and song.
That is obvious. Everyone can see already what we ought to say about them, if we are to be consistent with ourselves.
I fear, said Glaucon, laughing, that the word "everyone" hardly includes me, for I cannot at the moment say what they should be; though I may guess.
At any rate you can tell that a song or ode has three parts — the words, the melody, and the rhythm; that degree of knowledge I may presuppose?
Yes, he said; so much as that you may.
And as for the words, there will surely be no difference between words which are and which are not set to music; both will conform to the same laws, and these have been already determined127 by us?
Yes.
And the melody and rhythm will depend upon the words?
Certainly.
We were saying, when we spoke of the subject-matter, that we had no need of lamentation28 and strains of sorrow?
True.
And which are the harmonies expressive128 of sorrow? You are musical, and can tell me.
The harmonies which you mean are the mixed or tenor129 Lydian, and the full-toned or bass130 Lydian, and such like.
These then, I said, must be banished131; they are of no use, even to women who have a character to maintain, and much less to men. Certainly.
In the next place, drunkenness and softness and indolence are utterly132 unbecoming the character of our guardians.
Utterly unbecoming.
And which are the soft or drinking harmonies?
The Ionian, he replied, and the Lydian; they are termed "relaxed."
Well, and are these of any military use?
Quite the reverse, he replied; and if so, the Dorian and the Phrygian are the only ones which you have left.
I answered: Of the harmonies I know nothing, but I want to have one warlike, to sound the note or accent which a brave man utters in the hour of danger and stern resolve, or when his cause is failing, and he is going to wounds or death or is overtaken by some other evil, and at every such crisis meets the blows of fortune with firm step and a determination to endure; and another to be used by him in times of peace and freedom of action, when there is no pressure of necessity, and he is seeking to persuade God by prayer, or man by instruction and admonition, or on the other hand, when he is expressing his willingness to yield to persuasion133 or entreaty134 or admonition, and which represents him when by prudent135 conduct he has attained136 his end, not carried away by his success, but acting moderately and wisely under the circumstances, and acquiescing137 in the event. These two harmonies I ask you to leave; the strain of necessity and the strain of freedom, the strain of the unfortunate and the strain of the fortunate, the strain of courage, and the strain of temperance; these, I say, leave.
And these, he replied, are the Dorian and Phrygian harmonies of which I was just now speaking.
Then, I said, if these and these only are to be used in our songs and melodies, we shall not want multiplicity of notes or a panharmonic scale?
I suppose not.
Then we shall not maintain the artificers of lyres with three corners and complex scales, or the makers138 of any other manystringed, curiously139 harmonized instruments?
Certainly not.
But what do you say to flute121-makers and flute-players? Would you admit them into our State when you reflect that in this composite use of harmony the flute is worse than all the stringed instruments put together; even the panharmonic music is only an imitation of the flute?
Clearly not.
There remain then only the lyre and the harp140 for use in the city, and the shepherds may have a pipe in the country.
That is surely the conclusion to be drawn141 from the argument.
The preferring of Apollo and his instruments to Marsyas and his instruments is not at all strange, I said.
Not at all, he replied.
And so, by the dog of Egypt, we have been unconsciously purging142 the State, which not long ago we termed luxurious143.
And we have done wisely, he replied.
Then let us now finish the purgation, I said. Next in order to harmonies, rhythms will naturally follow, and they should be subject to the same rules, for we ought not to seek out complex systems of metre, or metres of every kind, but rather to discover what rhythms are the expressions of a courageous and harmonious144 life; and when we have found them, we shall adapt the foot and the melody to words having a like spirit, not the words to the foot and melody. To say what these rhythms are will be your duty — you must teach me them, as you have already taught me the harmonies.
But, indeed, he replied, I cannot tell you. I only know that there are some three principles of rhythm out of which metrical systems are framed, just as in sounds there are four notes out of which all the harmonies are composed; that is an observation which I have made. But of what sort of lives they are severally the imitations I am unable to say.
Then, I said, we must take Damon into our counsels; and he will tell us what rhythms are expressive of meanness, or insolence, or fury, or other unworthiness, and what are to be reserved for the expression of opposite feelings. And I think that I have an indistinct recollection of his mentioning a complex Cretic rhythm; also a dactylic or heroic, and he arranged them in some manner which I do not quite understand, making the rhythms equal in the rise and fall of the foot, long and short alternating; and, unless I am mistaken, he spoke of an iambic as well as of a trochaic rhythm, and assigned to them short and long quantities. Also in some cases he appeared to praise or censure145 the movement of the foot quite as much as the rhythm; or perhaps a combination of the two; for I am not certain what he meant. These matters, however, as I was saying, had better be referred to Damon himself, for the analysis of the subject would be difficult, you know?
Rather so, I should say.
But there is no difficulty in seeing that grace or the absence of grace is an effect of good or bad rhythm.
None at all.
And also that good and bad rhythm naturally assimilate to a good and bad style; and that harmony and discord146 in like manner follow style; for our principle is that rhythm and harmony are regulated by the words, and not the words by them.
Just so, he said, they should follow the words.
And will not the words and the character of the style depend on the temper of the soul?
Yes.
And everything else on the style?
Yes.
Then beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend on simplicity — I mean the true simplicity of a rightly and nobly ordered mind and character, not that other simplicity which is only an euphemism147 for folly148?
Very true, he replied.
And if our youth are to do their work in life, must they not make these graces and harmonies their perpetual aim?
They must.
And surely the art of the painter and every other creative and constructive149 art are full of them — weaving, embroidery150, architecture, and every kind of manufacture; also nature, animal and vegetable — in all of them there is grace or the absence of grace. And ugliness and discord and inharmonious motion are nearly allied to ill-words and ill-nature, as grace and harmony are the twin sisters of goodness and virtue and bear their likeness.
That is quite true, he said.
But shall our superintendence go no further, and are the poets only to be required by us to express the image of the good in their works, on pain, if they do anything else, of expulsion from our State? Or is the same control to be extended to other artists, and are they also to be prohibited from exhibiting the opposite forms of vice and intemperance151 and meanness and indecency in sculpture and building and the other creative arts; and is he who cannot conform to this rule of ours to be prevented from practising his art in our State, lest the taste of our citizens be corrupted152 by him? We would not have our guardians grow up amid images of moral deformity, as in some noxious8 pasture, and there browse154 and feed upon many a baneful155 herb and flower day by day, little by little, until they silently gather a festering mass of corruption156 in their own soul. Let our artists rather be those who are gifted to discern the true nature of the beautiful and graceful157; then will our youth dwell in a land of health, amid fair sights and sounds, and receive the good in everything; and beauty, the effluence of fair works, shall flow into the eye and ear, like a health-giving breeze from a purer region, and insensibly draw the soul from earliest years into likeness and sympathy with the beauty of reason.
There can be no nobler training than that, he replied.
And therefore, I said, Glaucon, musical training is a more potent158 instrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their way into the inward places of the soul, on which they mightily159 fasten, imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly educated graceful, or of him who is ill-educated ungraceful; and also because he who has received this true education of the inner being will most shrewdly perceive omissions161 or faults in art and nature, and with a true taste, while he praises and rejoices over and receives into his soul the good, and becomes noble and good, he will justly blame and hate the bad, now in the days of his youth, even before he is able to know the reason why; and when reason comes he will recognize and salute162 the friend with whom his education has made him long familiar.
Yes, he said, I quite agree with you in thinking that our youth should be trained in music and on the grounds which you mention.
Just as in learning to read, I said, we were satisfied when we knew the letters of the alphabet, which are very few, in all their recurring163 sizes and combinations; not slighting them as unimportant whether they occupy a space large or small, but everywhere eager to make them out; and not thinking ourselves perfect in the art of reading until we recognize them wherever they are found: True —
Or, as we recognize the reflection of letters in the water, or in a mirror, only when we know the letters themselves; the same art and study giving us the knowledge of both: Exactly —
Even so, as I maintain, neither we nor our guardians, whom we have to educate, can ever become musical until we and they know the essential forms of temperance, courage, liberality, magnificence, and their kindred, as well as the contrary forms, in all their combinations, and can recognize them and their images wherever they are found, not slighting them either in small things or great, but believing them all to be within the sphere of one art and study.
Most assuredly.
And when a beautiful soul harmonizes with a beautiful form, and the two are cast in one mould, that will be the fairest of sights to him who has an eye to see it?
The fairest indeed.
And the fairest is also the loveliest?
That may be assumed.
And the man who has the spirit of harmony will be most in love with the loveliest; but he will not love him who is of an inharmonious soul?
That is true, he replied, if the deficiency be in his soul; but if there be any merely bodily defect in another he will be patient of it, and will love all the same.
I perceive, I said, that you have or have had experiences of this sort, and I agree. But let me ask you another question: Has excess of pleasure any affinity165 to temperance?
How can that be? he replied; pleasure deprives a man of the use of his faculties166 quite as much as pain.
Or any affinity to virtue in general?
None whatever.
Any affinity to wantonness and intemperance?
Yes, the greatest.
And is there any greater or keener pleasure than that of sensual love?
No, nor a madder.
Whereas true love is a love of beauty and order — temperate and harmonious?
Quite true, he said.
Then no intemperance or madness should be allowed to approach true love?
Certainly not.
Then mad or intemperate167 pleasure must never be allowed to come near the lover and his beloved; neither of them can have any part in it if their love is of the right sort?
No, indeed, Socrates, it must never come near them.
Then I suppose that in the city which we are founding you would make a law to the effect that a friend should use no other familiarity to his love than a father would use to his son, and then only for a noble purpose, and he must first have the other's consent; and this rule is to limit him in all his intercourse168, and he is never to be seen going further, or, if he exceeds, he is to be deemed guilty of coarseness and bad taste.
I quite agree, he said.
Thus much of music, which makes a fair ending; for what should be the end of music if not the love of beauty?
I agree, he said.
After music comes gymnastics, in which our youth are next to be trained.
Certainly. Gymnastics as well as music should begin in early years; the training in it should be careful and should continue through life. Now my belief is — and this is a matter upon which I should like to have your opinion in confirmation169 of my own, but my own belief is — not that the good body by any bodily excellence170 improves the soul, but, on the contrary, that the good soul, by her own excellence, improves the body as far as this may be possible. What do you say?
Yes, I agree.
Then, to the mind when adequately trained, we shall be right in handing over the more particular care of the body; and in order to avoid prolixity171 we will now only give the general outlines of the subject.
Very good.
That they must abstain172 from intoxication173 has been already remarked by us; for of all persons a guardian24 should be the last to get drunk and not know where in the world he is.
Yes, he said; that a guardian should require another guardian to take care of him is ridiculous indeed.
But next, what shall we say of their food; for the men are in training for the great contest of all — are they not?
Yes, he said.
And will the habit of body of our ordinary athletes be suited to them?
Why not?
I am afraid, I said, that a habit of body such as they have is but a sleepy sort of thing, and rather perilous174 to health. Do you not observe that these athletes sleep away their lives, and are liable to most dangerous illnesses if they depart, in ever so slight a degree, from their customary regimen?
Yes, I do.
Then, I said, a finer sort of training will be required for our warrior5 athletes, who are to be like wakeful dogs, and to see and hear with the utmost keenness; amid the many changes of water and also of food, of summer heat and winter cold, which they will have to endure when on a campaign, they must not be liable to break down in health.
That is my view.
The really excellent gymnastics is twin sister of that simple music which we were just now describing.
How so?
Why, I conceive that there is a gymnastics which, like our music, is simple and good; and especially the military gymnastics.
What do you mean?
My meaning may be learned from Homer; he, you know, feeds his heroes at their feasts, when they are campaigning, on soldiers' fare; they have no fish, although they are on the shores of the Hellespont, and they are not allowed boiled meats, but only roast, which is the food most convenient for soldiers, requiring only that they should light a fire, and not involving the trouble of carrying about pots and pans.
True.
And I can hardly be mistaken in saying that sweet sauces are nowhere mentioned in Homer. In proscribing175 them, however, he is not singular; all professional athletes are well aware that a man who is to be in good condition should take nothing of the kind.
Yes, he said; and knowing this, they are quite right in not taking them.
Then you would not approve of Syracusan dinners, and the refinements176 of Sicilian cookery?
I think not.
Nor, if a man is to be in condition, would you allow him to have a Corinthian girl as his fair friend?
Certainly not.
Neither would you approve of the delicacies177, as they are thought, of Athenian confectionery?
Certainly not.
All such feeding and living may be rightly compared by us to melody and song composed in the panharmonic style, and in all the rhythms. Exactly.
There complexity178 engendered179 license180, and here disease; whereas simplicity in music was the parent of temperance in the soul; and simplicity in gymnastics of health in the body.
Most true, he said.
But when intemperance and diseases multiply in a State, halls of justice and medicine are always being opened; and the arts of the doctor and the lawyer give themselves airs, finding how keen is the interest which not only the slaves but the freemen of a city take about them.
Of course.
And yet what greater proof can there be of a bad and disgraceful state of education than this, that not only artisans and the meaner sort of people need the skill of first-rate physicians and judges, but also those who would profess to have had a liberal education? Is it not disgraceful, and a great sign of the want of good-breeding, that a man should have to go abroad for his law and physic because he has none of his own at home, and must therefore surrender himself into the hands of other men whom he makes lords and judges over him?
Of all things, he said, the most disgraceful.
Would you say "most," I replied, when you consider that there is a further stage of the evil in which a man is not only a life-long litigant181, passing all his days in the courts, either as plaintiff or defendant182, but is actually led by his bad taste to pride himself on his litigiousness; he imagines that he is a master in dishonesty; able to take every crooked183 turn, and wriggle184 into and out of every hole, bending like a withy and getting out of the way of justice: and all for what? — in order to gain small points not worth mentioning, he not knowing that so to order his life as to be able to do without a napping judge is a far higher and nobler sort of thing. Is not that still more disgraceful?
Yes, he said, that is still more disgraceful.
Well, I said, and to require the help of medicine, not when a wound has to be cured, or on occasion of an epidemic185, but just because, by indolence and a habit of life such as we have been describing, men fill themselves with waters and winds, as if their bodies were a marsh186, compelling the ingenious sons of Asclepius to find more names for diseases, such as flatulence and catarrh; is not this, too, a disgrace?
Yes, he said, they do certainly give very strange and newfangled names to diseases.
Yes, I said, and I do not believe that there were any such diseases in the days of Asclepius; and this I infer from the circumstance that the hero Eurypylus, after he has been wounded in Homer, drinks a posset of Pramnian wine well besprinkled with barley-meal and grated cheese, which are certainly inflammatory, and yet the sons of Asclepius who were at the Trojan war do not blame the damsel who gives him the drink, or rebuke Patroclus, who is treating his case.
Well, he said, that was surely an extraordinary drink to be given to a person in his condition.
Not so extraordinary, I replied, if you bear in mind that in former days, as is commonly said, before the time of Herodicus, the guild187 of Asclepius did not practise our present system of medicine, which may be said to educate diseases. But Herodicus, being a trainer, and himself of a sickly constitution, by a combination of training and doctoring found out a way of torturing first and chiefly himself, and secondly188 the rest of the world.
How was that? he said.
By the invention of lingering death; for he had a mortal disease which he perpetually tended, and as recovery was out of the question, he passed his entire life as a valetudinarian189; he could do nothing but attend upon himself, and he was in constant torment190 whenever he departed in anything from his usual regimen, and so dying hard, by the help of science he struggled on to old age.
A rare reward of his skill!
Yes, I said; a reward which a man might fairly expect who never understood that, if Asclepius did not instruct his descendants in valetudinarian arts, the omission160 arose, not from ignorance or inexperience of such a branch of medicine, but because he knew that in all well-ordered States every individual has an occupation to which he must attend, and has therefore no leisure to spend in continually being ill. This we remark in the case of the artisan, but, ludicrously enough, do not apply the same rule to people of the richer sort.
How do you mean? he said.
I mean this: When a carpenter is ill he asks the physician for a rough and ready cure; an emetic192 or a purge193 or a cautery or the knife — these are his remedies. And if someone prescribes for him a course of dietetics194, and tells him that he must swathe and swaddle his head, and all that sort of thing, he replies at once that he has no time to be ill, and that he sees no good in a life which is spent in nursing his disease to the neglect of his customary employment; and therefore bidding good-by to this sort of physician, he resumes his ordinary habits, and either gets well and lives and does his business, or, if his constitution fails, he dies and has no more trouble.
Yes, he said, and a man in his condition of life ought to use the art of medicine thus far only.
Has he not, I said, an occupation; and what profit would there be in his life if he were deprived of his occupation?
Quite true, he said.
But with the rich man this is otherwise; of him we do not say that he has any specially90 appointed work which he must perform, if he would live.
He is generally supposed to have nothing to do.
Then you never heard of the saying of Phocylides, that as soon as a man has a livelihood195 he should practise virtue?
Nay, he said, I think that he had better begin somewhat sooner.
Let us not have a dispute with him about this, I said; but rather ask ourselves: Is the practise of virtue obligatory196 on the rich man, or can he live without it? And if obligatory on him, then let us raise a further question, whether this dieting of disorders197, which is an impediment to the application of the mind in carpentering and the mechanical arts, does not equally stand in the way of the sentiment of Phocylides?
Of that, he replied, there can be no doubt; such excessive care of the body, when carried beyond the rules of gymnastics, is most inimical to the practice of virtue.
Yes, indeed, I replied, and equally incompatible198 with the management of a house, an army, or an office of state; and, what is most Important of all, irreconcileable with any kind of study or thought or self-reflection — there is a constant suspicion that headache and giddiness are to be ascribed to philosophy, and hence all practising or making trial of virtue in the higher sense is absolutely stopped; for a man is always fancying that he is being made ill, and is in constant anxiety about the state of his body.
Yes, likely enough.
And therefore our politic199 Asclepius may be supposed to have exhibited the power of his art only to persons who, being generally of healthy constitution and habits of life, had a definite ailment200; such as these he cured by purges201 and operations, and bade them live as usual, herein consulting the interests of the State; but bodies which disease had penetrated202 through and through he would not have attempted to cure by gradual processes of evacuation and infusion203: he did not want to lengthen204 out good-for-nothing lives, or to have weak fathers begetting205 weaker sons; — if a man was not able to live in the ordinary way he had no business to cure him; for such a cure would have been of no use either to himself, or to the State.
Then, he said, you regard Asclepius as a statesman.
Clearly; and his character is further illustrated by his sons. Note that they were heroes in the days of old and practised the medicines of which I am speaking at the siege of Troy: You will remember how, when Pandarus wounded Menelaus, they
"Sucked the blood out of the wound, and sprinkled soothing206 remedies,"
but they never prescribed what the patient was afterward207 to eat or drink in the case of Menelaus, any more than in the case of Eurypylus; the remedies, as they conceived, were enough to heal any man who before he was wounded was healthy and regular in his habits; and even though he did happen to drink a posset of Pramnian wine, he might get well all the same. But they would have nothing to do with unhealthy and intemperate subjects, whose lives were of no use either to themselves or others; the art of medicine was not designed for their good, and though they were as rich as Midas, the sons of Asclepius would have declined to attend them.
They were very acute persons, those sons of Asclepius.
Naturally so, I replied. Nevertheless, the tragedians and Pindar disobeying our behests, although they acknowledge that Asclepius was the son of Apollo, say also that he was bribed208 into healing a rich man who was at the point of death, and for this reason he was struck by lightning. But we, in accordance with the principle already affirmed by us, will not believe them when they tell us both; if he was the son of a god, we maintain that he was not avaricious209; or, if he was avaricious, he was not the son of a god.
All that, Socrates, is excellent; but I should like to put a question to you: Ought there not to be good physicians in a State, and are not the best those who have treated the greatest number of constitutions, good and bad? and are not the best judges in like manner those who are acquainted with all sorts of moral natures?
Yes, I said, I too would have good judges and good physicians. But do you know whom I think good?
Will you tell me?
I will, if I can. Let me, however, note that in the same question you join two things which are not the same.
How so? he asked.
Why, I said, you join physicians and judges. Now the most skilful physicians are those who, from their youth upward, have combined with the knowledge of their art the greatest experience of disease; they had better not be robust210 in health, and should have had all manner of diseases in their own persons. For the body, as I conceive, is not the instrument with which they cure the body; in that case we could not allow them ever to be or to have been sickly; but they cure the body with the mind, and the mind which has become and is sick can cure nothing.
That is very true, he said.
But with the judge it is otherwise; since he governs mind by mind; he ought not therefore to have been trained among vicious minds, and to have associated with them from youth upward, and to have gone through the whole calendar of crime, only in order that he may quickly infer the crimes of others as he might their bodily diseases from his own self-consciousness; the honorable mind which is to form a healthy judgment211 should have had no experience or contamination of evil habits when young. And this is the reason why in youth good men often appear to be simple, and are easily practised upon by the dishonest, because they have no examples of what evil is in their own souls.
Yes, he said, they are far too apt to be deceived.
Therefore, I said, the judge should not be young; he should have learned to know evil, not from his own soul, but from late and long observation of the nature of evil in others: knowledge should be his guide, not personal experience.
Yes, he said, that is the ideal of a judge.
Yes, I replied, and he will be a good man (which is my answer to your question); for he is good who has a good soul. But the cunning and suspicious nature of which we spoke — he who has committed many crimes, and fancies himself to be a master in wickedness — when he is among his fellows, is wonderful in the precautions which he takes, because he judges of them by himself: but when he gets into the company of men of virtue, who have the experience of age, he appears to be a fool again, owing to his unseasonable suspicions; he cannot recognize an honest man, because he has no pattern of honesty in himself; at the same time, as the bad are more numerous than the good, and he meets with them oftener, he thinks himself, and is by others thought to be, rather wise than foolish.
Most true, he said.
Then the good and wise judge whom we are seeking is not this man, but the other; for vice cannot know virtue too, but a virtuous nature, educated by time, will acquire a knowledge both of virtue and vice: the virtuous, and not the vicious, man has wisdom — in my opinion.
And in mine also.
This is the sort of medicine, and this is the sort of law, which you will sanction in your State. They will minister to better natures, giving health both of soul and of body; but those who are diseased in their bodies they will leave to die, and the corrupt153 and incurable212 souls they will put an end to themselves.
That is clearly the best thing both for the patients and for the State.
And thus our youth, having been educated only in that simple music which, as we said, inspires temperance, will be reluctant to go to law.
Clearly.
And the musician, who, keeping to the same track, is content to practise the simple gymnastics, will have nothing to do with medicine unless in some extreme case.
That I quite believe.
The very exercises and toils213 which he undergoes are intended to stimulate214 the spirited element of his nature, and not to increase his strength; he will not, like common athletes, use exercise and regimen to develop his muscles.
Very right, he said.
Neither are the two arts of music and gymnastics really designed, as is often supposed, the one for the training of the soul, the other for the training of the body.
What then is the real object of them?
I believe, I said, that the teachers of both have in view chiefly the improvement of the soul.
How can that be? he asked.
Did you never observe, I said, the effect on the mind itself of exclusive devotion to gymnastics, or the opposite effect of an exclusive devotion to music?
In what way shown? he said.
The one producing a temper of hardness and ferocity, the other of softness and effeminacy, I replied.
Yes, he said, I am quite aware that the mere164 athlete becomes too much of a savage215, and that the mere musician IS melted and softened216 beyond what is good for him.
Yet surely, I said, this ferocity only comes from spirit, which, if rightly educated, would give courage, but, if too much intensified217, is liable to become hard and brutal218.
That I quite think.
On the other hand the philosopher will have the quality of gentleness. And this also, when too much indulged, will turn to softness, but, if educated rightly, will be gentle and moderate.
True.
And in our opinion the guardians ought to have both these qualities?
Assuredly.
And both should be in harmony?
Beyond question.
And the harmonious soul is both temperate and courageous?
Yes.
And the inharmonious is cowardly and boorish219?
Very true.
And, when a man allows music to play upon him and to pour into his soul through the funnel220 of his ears those sweet and soft and melancholy221 airs of which we were just now speaking, and his whole life is passed in warbling and the delights of song; in the first stage of the process the passion or spirit which is in him is tempered like iron, and made useful, instead of brittle222 and useless. But, if he carries on the softening223 and soothing process, in the next stage he begins to melt and waste, until he has wasted away his spirit and cut out the sinews of his soul; and he becomes a feeble warrior.
Very true.
If the element of spirit is naturally weak in him the change is speedily accomplished224, but if he have a good deal, then the power of music weakening the spirit renders him excitable; on the least provocation225 he flames up at once, and is speedily extinguished; instead of having spirit he grows irritable226 and passionate227 and is quite impractical228.
Exactly.
And so in gymnastics, if a man takes violent exercise and is a great feeder, and the reverse of a great student of music and philosophy, at first the high condition of his body fills him with pride and spirit, and he becomes twice the man that he was.
Certainly.
And what happens? if he do nothing else, and holds no converse229 with the muses230, does not even that intelligence which there may be in him, having no taste of any sort of learning or inquiry231 or thought or culture, grow feeble and dull and blind, his mind never waking up or receiving nourishment232, and his senses not being purged233 of their mists?
True, he said.
And he ends by becoming a hater of philosophy, uncivilized, never using the weapon of persuasion — he is like a wild beast, all violence and fierceness, and knows no other way of dealing47; and he lives in all ignorance and evil conditions, and has no sense of propriety235 and grace.
That is quite true, he said.
And as there are two principles of human nature, one the spirited and the other the philosophical236, some god, as I should say, has given mankind two arts answering to them (and only indirectly237 to the soul and body), in order that these two principles (like the strings238 of an instrument) may be relaxed or drawn tighter until they are duly harmonized.
That appears to be the intention.
And he who mingles240 music with gymnastics in the fairest proportions, and best attempers them to the soul, may be rightly called the true musician and harmonist in a far higher sense than the tuner of the strings.
You are quite right, Socrates.
And such a presiding genius will be always required in our State if the government is to last.
Yes, he will be absolutely necessary.
Such, then, are our principles of nurture241 and education: Where would be the use of going into further details about the dances of our citizens, or about their hunting and coursing, their gymnastic and equestrian242 contests? For these all follow the general principle, and having found that, we shall have no difficulty in discovering them.
I dare say that there will be no difficulty.
Very good, I said; then what is the next question? Must we not ask who are to be rulers and who subjects?
Certainly.
There can be no doubt that the elder must rule the younger.
Clearly.
And that the best of these must rule.
That is also clear.
Now, are not the best husbandmen those who are most devoted243 to husbandry?
Yes.
And as we are to have the best of guardians for our city, must they not be those who have most the character of guardians?
Yes.
And to this end they ought to be wise and efficient, and to have a special care of the State?
True.
And a man will be most likely to care about that which he loves?
To be sure.
And he will be most likely to love that which he regards as having the same interests with himself, and that of which the good or evil fortune is supposed by him at any time most to affect his own?
Very true, he replied.
Then there must be a selection. Let us note among the guardians those who in their whole life show the greatest eagerness to do what is for the good of their country, and the greatest repugnance244 to do what is against her interests.
Those are the right men.
And they will have to be watched at every age, in order that we may see whether they preserve their resolution, and never, under the influence either of force or enchantment246, forget or cast off their sense of duty to the State.
How cast off? he said.
I will explain to you, he replied. A resolution may go out of a man's mind either with his will or against his will; with his will when he gets rid of a falsehood and learns better, against his will whenever he is deprived of a truth.
I understand, he said, the willing loss of a resolution; the meaning of the unwilling I have yet to learn.
Why, I said, do you not see that men are unwillingly247 deprived of good, and willingly of evil? Is not to have lost the truth an evil, and to possess the truth a good? and you would agree that to conceive things as they are is to possess the truth?
Yes, he replied; I agree with you in thinking that mankind are deprived of truth against their will.
And is not this involuntary deprivation caused either by theft, or force, or enchantment?
Still, he replied, I do not understand you.
I fear that I must have been talking darkly, like the tragedians. I only mean that some men are changed by persuasion and that others forget; argument steals away the hearts of one class, and time of the other; and this I call theft. Now you understand me?
Yes.
Those again who are forced, are those whom the violence of some pain or grief compels to change their opinion.
I understand, he said, and you are quite right.
And you would also acknowledge that the enchanted248 are those who change their minds either under the softer influence of pleasure, or the sterner influence of fear?
Yes, he said; everything that deceives may be said to enchant245.
Therefore, as I was just now saying, we must inquire who are the best guardians of their own conviction that what they think the interest of the State is to be the rule of their lives. We must watch them from their youth upward, and make them perform actions in which they are most likely to forget or to be deceived, and he who remembers and is not deceived is to be selected, and he who fails in the trial is to be rejected. That will be the way?
Yes.
And there should also be toils and pains and conflicts prescribed for them, in which they will be made to give further proof of the same qualities.
Very right, he replied.
And then, I said, we must try them with enchantments249 — that is the third sort of test — and see what will be their behavior: like those who take colts amid noise and tumult250 to see if they are of a timid nature, so must we take our youth amid terrors of some kind, and again pass them into pleasures, and prove them more thoroughly251 than gold is proved in the furnace, that we may discover whether they are armed against all enchantments, and of a noble bearing always, good guardians of themselves and of the music which they have learned, and retaining under all circumstances a rhythmical252 and harmonious nature, such as will be most serviceable to the individual and to the State. And he who at every age, as boy and youth and in mature life, has come out of the trial victorious253 and pure, shall be appointed a ruler and guardian of the State; he shall be honored in life and death, and shall receive sepulture and other memorials of honor, the greatest that we have to give. But him who fails, we must reject. I am inclined to think that this is the sort of way in which our rulers and guardians should be chosen and appointed. I speak generally, and not with any pretension254 to exactness.
And, speaking generally, I agree with you, he said.
And perhaps the word "guardian" in the fullest sense ought to be applied255 to this higher class only who preserve us against foreign enemies and maintain peace among our citizens at home, that the one may not have the will, or the others the power, to harm us. The young men whom we before called guardians may be more properly designated auxiliaries256 and supporters of the principles of the rulers.
I agree with you, he said.
How then may we devise one of those needful falsehoods of which we lately spoke — just one royal lie which may deceive the rulers, if that be possible, and at any rate the rest of the city?
What sort of lie? he said.
Nothing new, I replied; only an old Phoenician tale of what has often occurred before now in other places (as the poets say, and have made the world believe), though not in our time, and I do not know whether such an event could ever happen again, or could now even be made probable, if it did.
How your words seem to hesitate on your lips!
You will not wonder, I replied, at my hesitation257 when you have heard.
Speak, he said, and fear not. Well, then, I will speak, although I really know not how to look you in the face, or in what words to utter the audacious fiction, which I propose to communicate gradually, first to the rulers, then to the soldiers, and lastly to the people. They are to be told that their youth was a dream, and the education and training which they received from us, an appearance only; in reality during all that time they were being formed and fed in the womb of the earth, where they themselves and their arms and appurtenances were manufactured; when they were completed, the earth, their mother, sent them up; and so, their country being their mother and also their nurse, they are bound to advise for her good, and to defend her against attacks, and her citizens they are to regard as children of the earth and their own brothers.
You had good reason, he said, to be ashamed of the lie which you were going to tell.
True, I replied, but there is more coming; I have only told you half. Citizens, we shall say to them in our tale, you are brothers, yet God has framed you differently. Some of you have the power of command, and in the composition of these he has mingled258 gold, wherefore also they have the greatest honor; others he has made of silver, to be auxiliaries; others again who are to be husbandmen and craftsmen he has composed of brass259 and iron; and the species will generally be preserved in the children. But as all are of the same original stock, a golden parent will sometimes have a silver son, or a silver parent a golden son. And God proclaims as a first principle to the rulers, and above all else, that there is nothing which they should so anxiously guard, or of which they are to be such good guardians, as of the purity of the race. They should observe what elements mingle239 in their offspring; for if the son of a golden or silver parent has an admixture of brass and iron, then nature orders a transposition of ranks, and the eye of the ruler must not be pitiful toward the child because he has to descend191 in the scale and become a husbandman or artisan, just as there may be sons of artisans who having an admixture of gold or silver in them are raised to honor, and become guardians or auxiliaries. For an oracle260 says that when a man of brass or iron guards the State, it will be destroyed. Such is the tale; is there any possibility of making our citizens believe in it?
Not in the present generation, he replied; there is no way of accomplishing this; but their sons may be made to believe in the tale, and their sons' sons, and posterity261 after them.
I see the difficulty, I replied; yet the fostering of such a belief will make them care more for the city and for one another. Enough, however, of the fiction, which may now fly abroad upon the wings of rumor262, while we arm our earth-born heroes, and lead them forth under the command of their rulers. Let them look round and select a spot whence they can best suppress insurrection, if any prove refractory263 within, and also defend themselves against enemies, who, like wolves, may come down on the fold from without; there let them encamp, and when they have encamped, let them sacrifice to the proper gods and prepare their dwellings264.
Just so, he said.
And their dwellings must be such as will shield them against the cold of winter and the heat of summer.
I suppose that you mean houses, he replied.
Yes, I said; but they must be the houses of soldiers, and not of shopkeepers.
What is the difference? he said.
That I will endeavor to explain, I replied. To keep watchdogs, who, from want of discipline or hunger, or some evil habit or other, would turn upon the sheep and worry them, and behave not like dogs, but wolves, would be a foul265 and monstrous266 thing in a shepherd?
Truly monstrous, he said.
And therefore every care must be taken that our auxiliaries, being stronger than our citizens, may not grow to be too much for them and become savage tyrants267 instead of friends and allies?
Yes, great care should be taken.
And would not a really good education furnish the best safeguard?
But they are well-educated already, he replied.
I cannot be so confident, my dear Glaucon, I said; I am much more certain that they ought to be, and that true education, whatever that may be, will have the greatest tendency to civilize234 and humanize them in their relations to one another, and to those who are under their protection.
Very true, he replied.
And not only their education, but their habitations, and all that belongs to them, should be such as will neither impair268 their virtue as guardians, nor tempt72 them to prey269 upon the other citizens. Any man of sense must acknowledge that.
He must.
Then now let us consider what will be their way of life, if they are to realize our idea of them. In the first place, none of them should have any property of his own beyond what is absolutely necessary; neither should they have a private house or store closed against anyone who has a mind to enter; their provisions should be only such as are required by trained warriors, who are men of temperance and courage; they should agree to receive from the citizens a fixed270 rate of pay, enough to meet the expenses of the year and no more; and they will go to mess and live together like soldiers in a camp. Gold and silver we will tell them that they have from God; the diviner metal is within them, and they have therefore no need of the dross271 which is current among men, and ought not to pollute the divine by any such earthly admixture; for that commoner metal has been the source of many unholy deeds, but their own is undefiled. And they alone of all the citizens may not touch or handle silver or gold, or be under the same roof with them, or wear them, or drink from them. And this will be their salvation272, and they will be the saviours273 of the State. But should they ever acquire homes or lands or moneys of their own, they will become good housekeepers274 and husbandmen instead of guardians, enemies and tyrants instead of allies of the other citizens; hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted against, they will pass their whole life in much greater terror of internal than of external enemies, and the hour of ruin, both to themselves and to the rest of the State, will be at hand. For all which reasons may we not say that thus shall our State be ordered, and that these shall be the regulations appointed by us for our guardians concerning their houses and all other matters?
Yes, said Glaucon.
点击收听单词发音
1 disciples | |
n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 );门徒;耶稣的信徒;(尤指)耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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2 courageous | |
adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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3 revile | |
v.辱骂,谩骂 | |
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4 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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5 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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6 obliterate | |
v.擦去,涂抹,去掉...痕迹,消失,除去 | |
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7 obnoxious | |
adj.极恼人的,讨人厌的,可憎的 | |
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8 noxious | |
adj.有害的,有毒的;使道德败坏的,讨厌的 | |
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9 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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10 expunge | |
v.除去,删掉 | |
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11 Pluto | |
n.冥王星 | |
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12 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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13 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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14 abhor | |
v.憎恶;痛恨 | |
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15 immortals | |
不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 ); 永生不朽者 | |
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16 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
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17 shrilling | |
(声音)尖锐的,刺耳的,高频率的( shrill的现在分词 ); 凄厉 | |
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18 cavern | |
n.洞穴,大山洞 | |
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19 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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20 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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21 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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22 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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23 guardians | |
监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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24 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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25 wailing | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的现在分词 );沱 | |
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26 deprivation | |
n.匮乏;丧失;夺去,贫困 | |
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27 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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28 lamentation | |
n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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29 defenders | |
n.防御者( defender的名词复数 );守卫者;保护者;辩护者 | |
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30 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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31 depict | |
vt.描画,描绘;描写,描述 | |
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32 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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33 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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34 kinsman | |
n.男亲属 | |
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35 beseeching | |
adj.恳求似的v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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36 lamenting | |
adj.悲伤的,悲哀的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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37 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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38 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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39 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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40 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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41 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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42 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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43 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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44 whining | |
n. 抱怨,牢骚 v. 哭诉,发牢骚 | |
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45 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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46 bustling | |
adj.喧闹的 | |
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47 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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48 meddle | |
v.干预,干涉,插手 | |
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49 heinous | |
adj.可憎的,十恶不赦的 | |
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50 craftsmen | |
n. 技工 | |
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51 subversive | |
adj.颠覆性的,破坏性的;n.破坏份子,危险份子 | |
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52 temperate | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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53 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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54 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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55 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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56 conducive | |
adj.有益的,有助的 | |
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57 lust | |
n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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58 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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59 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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60 phoenix | |
n.凤凰,长生(不死)鸟;引申为重生 | |
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61 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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62 impiety | |
n.不敬;不孝 | |
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63 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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64 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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65 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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66 deities | |
n.神,女神( deity的名词复数 );神祗;神灵;神明 | |
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67 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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68 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
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69 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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70 slaughtered | |
v.屠杀,杀戮,屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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72 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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73 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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74 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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75 rape | |
n.抢夺,掠夺,强奸;vt.掠夺,抢夺,强奸 | |
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76 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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77 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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78 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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79 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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80 engender | |
v.产生,引起 | |
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81 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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82 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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83 advantageous | |
adj.有利的;有帮助的 | |
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84 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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85 mythology | |
n.神话,神话学,神话集 | |
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86 narration | |
n.讲述,叙述;故事;记叙体 | |
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87 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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88 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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89 invoked | |
v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 );行使(权利等);祈求救助;恳求 | |
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90 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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91 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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92 odyssey | |
n.长途冒险旅行;一连串的冒险 | |
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93 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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94 conceals | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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95 ransom | |
n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救 | |
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96 supplicating | |
v.祈求,哀求,恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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97 revered | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99 expiate | |
v.抵补,赎罪 | |
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100 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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101 narrating | |
v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
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102 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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103 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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104 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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105 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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106 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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107 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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108 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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109 illiberality | |
n.吝啬,小气 | |
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110 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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111 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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112 bellowing | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的现在分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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113 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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114 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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115 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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116 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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117 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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118 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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119 narrate | |
v.讲,叙述 | |
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120 flutes | |
长笛( flute的名词复数 ); 细长香槟杯(形似长笛) | |
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121 flute | |
n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
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122 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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123 bleat | |
v.咩咩叫,(讲)废话,哭诉;n.咩咩叫,废话,哭诉 | |
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124 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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125 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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126 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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127 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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128 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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129 tenor | |
n.男高音(歌手),次中音(乐器),要旨,大意 | |
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130 bass | |
n.男低音(歌手);低音乐器;低音大提琴 | |
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131 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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133 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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134 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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135 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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136 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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137 acquiescing | |
v.默认,默许( acquiesce的现在分词 ) | |
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138 makers | |
n.制造者,制造商(maker的复数形式) | |
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139 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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140 harp | |
n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
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141 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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142 purging | |
清洗; 清除; 净化; 洗炉 | |
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143 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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144 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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145 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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146 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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147 euphemism | |
n.婉言,委婉的说法 | |
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148 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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149 constructive | |
adj.建设的,建设性的 | |
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150 embroidery | |
n.绣花,刺绣;绣制品 | |
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151 intemperance | |
n.放纵 | |
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152 corrupted | |
(使)败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)腐化; 引起(计算机文件等的)错误; 破坏 | |
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153 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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154 browse | |
vi.随意翻阅,浏览;(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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155 baneful | |
adj.有害的 | |
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156 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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157 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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158 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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159 mightily | |
ad.强烈地;非常地 | |
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160 omission | |
n.省略,删节;遗漏或省略的事物,冗长 | |
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161 omissions | |
n.省略( omission的名词复数 );删节;遗漏;略去或漏掉的事(或人) | |
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162 salute | |
vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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163 recurring | |
adj.往复的,再次发生的 | |
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164 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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165 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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166 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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167 intemperate | |
adj.无节制的,放纵的 | |
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168 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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169 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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170 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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171 prolixity | |
n.冗长,罗嗦 | |
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172 abstain | |
v.自制,戒绝,弃权,避免 | |
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173 intoxication | |
n.wild excitement;drunkenness;poisoning | |
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174 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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175 proscribing | |
v.正式宣布(某事物)有危险或被禁止( proscribe的现在分词 ) | |
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176 refinements | |
n.(生活)风雅;精炼( refinement的名词复数 );改良品;细微的改良;优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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177 delicacies | |
n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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178 complexity | |
n.复杂(性),复杂的事物 | |
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179 engendered | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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181 litigant | |
n.诉讼当事人;adj.进行诉讼的 | |
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182 defendant | |
n.被告;adj.处于被告地位的 | |
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183 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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184 wriggle | |
v./n.蠕动,扭动;蜿蜒 | |
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185 epidemic | |
n.流行病;盛行;adj.流行性的,流传极广的 | |
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186 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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187 guild | |
n.行会,同业公会,协会 | |
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188 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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189 valetudinarian | |
n.病人;健康不佳者 | |
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190 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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191 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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192 emetic | |
n.催吐剂;adj.催吐的 | |
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193 purge | |
n.整肃,清除,泻药,净化;vt.净化,清除,摆脱;vi.清除,通便,腹泻,变得清洁 | |
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194 dietetics | |
n.营养学 | |
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195 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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196 obligatory | |
adj.强制性的,义务的,必须的 | |
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197 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
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198 incompatible | |
adj.不相容的,不协调的,不相配的 | |
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199 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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200 ailment | |
n.疾病,小病 | |
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201 purges | |
清除异己( purge的名词复数 ); 整肃(行动); 清洗; 泻药 | |
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202 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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203 infusion | |
n.灌输 | |
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204 lengthen | |
vt.使伸长,延长 | |
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205 begetting | |
v.为…之生父( beget的现在分词 );产生,引起 | |
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206 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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207 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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208 bribed | |
v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
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209 avaricious | |
adj.贪婪的,贪心的 | |
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210 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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211 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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212 incurable | |
adj.不能医治的,不能矫正的,无救的;n.不治的病人,无救的人 | |
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213 toils | |
网 | |
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214 stimulate | |
vt.刺激,使兴奋;激励,使…振奋 | |
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215 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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216 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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217 intensified | |
v.(使)增强, (使)加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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218 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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219 boorish | |
adj.粗野的,乡巴佬的 | |
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220 funnel | |
n.漏斗;烟囱;v.汇集 | |
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221 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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222 brittle | |
adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
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223 softening | |
变软,软化 | |
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224 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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225 provocation | |
n.激怒,刺激,挑拨,挑衅的事物,激怒的原因 | |
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226 irritable | |
adj.急躁的;过敏的;易怒的 | |
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227 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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228 impractical | |
adj.不现实的,不实用的,不切实际的 | |
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229 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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230 muses | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的第三人称单数 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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231 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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232 nourishment | |
n.食物,营养品;营养情况 | |
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233 purged | |
清除(政敌等)( purge的过去式和过去分词 ); 涤除(罪恶等); 净化(心灵、风气等); 消除(错事等)的不良影响 | |
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234 civilize | |
vt.使文明,使开化 (=civilise) | |
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235 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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236 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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237 indirectly | |
adv.间接地,不直接了当地 | |
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238 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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239 mingle | |
vt.使混合,使相混;vi.混合起来;相交往 | |
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240 mingles | |
混合,混入( mingle的第三人称单数 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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241 nurture | |
n.养育,照顾,教育;滋养,营养品;vt.养育,给与营养物,教养,扶持 | |
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242 equestrian | |
adj.骑马的;n.马术 | |
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243 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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244 repugnance | |
n.嫌恶 | |
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245 enchant | |
vt.使陶醉,使入迷;使着魔,用妖术迷惑 | |
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246 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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247 unwillingly | |
adv.不情愿地 | |
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248 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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249 enchantments | |
n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 );迷人之处;施魔法;着魔 | |
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250 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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251 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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252 rhythmical | |
adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
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253 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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254 pretension | |
n.要求;自命,自称;自负 | |
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255 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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256 auxiliaries | |
n.助动词 ( auxiliary的名词复数 );辅助工,辅助人员 | |
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257 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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258 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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259 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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260 oracle | |
n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
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261 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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262 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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263 refractory | |
adj.倔强的,难驾驭的 | |
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264 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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265 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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266 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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267 tyrants | |
专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 ); 暴君似的人; (古希腊的)僭主; 严酷的事物 | |
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268 impair | |
v.损害,损伤;削弱,减少 | |
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269 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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270 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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271 dross | |
n.渣滓;无用之物 | |
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272 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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273 saviours | |
n.救助者( saviour的名词复数 );救星;救世主;耶稣基督 | |
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274 housekeepers | |
n.(女)管家( housekeeper的名词复数 ) | |
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