In the preceding chapter we traced the rise and progress of physical philosophy among the ancient Greeks. We showed how a few great thinkers, borne on by an unparalleled development of intellectual activity, worked out ideas respecting the order of nature and the constitution of matter which, after more than two thousand years, still remain as fresh and fruitful as ever; and we found that, in achieving these results, Greek thought was itself determined1 by ascertainable2 laws. Whether controlling artistic3 imagination or penetrating4 to the objective truth of things, it remained always essentially5 homogeneous, and worked under the same forms of circumscription6, analysis, and opposition7. It began with external nature, and with a far distant past; nor could it begin otherwise, for only so could the subjects of its later meditations8 be reached. Only after less sacred beliefs have been shaken can ethical9 dogmas be questioned. Only when discrepancies10 of opinion obtrude11 themselves on man’s notice is the need of an organising logic12 experienced. And the mind’s eye, originally focussed for distant objects alone, has to be gradually restricted in its range by the pressure of accumulated experience before it can turn from past to present, from successive to contemporaneous phenomena13. We have now to undertake the not less interesting task of showing how the new culture, the new conceptions, the new power to think obtained through those earliest54 speculations15, reacted on the life from which they sprang, transforming the moral, religious, and political creeds16 of Hellas, and preparing, as nothing else could prepare, the vaster revolution which has given a new dignity to existence, and substituted, in however imperfect a form, for the adoration18 of animalisms which lie below man, the adoration of an ideal which rises above him, but only personifies the best elements of his own nature, and therefore is possible for a perfected humanity to realise.
While most educated persons will admit that the Greeks are our masters in science and literature, in politics and art, some even among those who are free from theological prejudices will not be prepared to grant that the principles which claim to guide our conduct are only a wider extension or a more specific application of Greek ethical teaching. Hebraism has been opposed to Hellenism as the educating power whence our love of righteousness is derived20, and which alone prevents the foul21 orgies of a primitive22 nature-worship from being still celebrated23 in the midst of our modern civilisation24. And many look on old Roman religion as embodying25 a sense of duty higher than any bequeathed to us by Greece. The Greeks have, indeed, suffered seriously from their own sincerity26. Their literature is a perfect image of their life, reflecting every blot27 and every flaw, unveiled, uncoloured, undisguised. It was, most fortunately, never subjected to the revision of a jealous priesthood, bent28 on removing every symptom inconsistent with the hypothesis of a domination exercised by themselves through all the past. Nor yet has their history been systematically30 falsified to prove that they never wrongfully attacked a neighbour, and were invariably obliged to conquer in self-defence. Still, even taking the records as they stand, it is to Greek rather than to Hebrew or Roman annals that we must look for examples of true virtue33; and in Greek literature, earlier than in any other, occur precepts34 like those which are now held to be most distinctively36 character55istic of Christian37 ethics38. Let us never forget that only by Stoical teaching was the narrow and cruel formalism of ancient Roman law elevated into the ‘written reason’ of the imperial jurists; only after receiving successive infiltrations of Greek thought was the ethnic40 monotheism of Judaea expanded into a cosmopolitan41 religion. Our popular theologians are ready enough to admit that Hellenism was providentially the means of giving Christianity a world-wide diffusion42; they ignore the fact that it gave the new faith not only wings to fly, but also eyes to see and a soul to love. From very early times there was an intuition of humanity in Hellas which only needed dialectical development to become an all-sufficient law of life. Homer sympathises ardently43 with his own countrymen, but he never vilifies44 their enemies. He did not, nor did any Greek, invent impure45 legends to account for the origin of hostile tribes whose kinship could not be disowned; unlike Samuel, he regards the sacrifice of prisoners with unmixed abhorrence46. What would he, whose Odysseus will not allow a shout of triumph to be raised over the fallen, have said to Deborah’s exultation48 at the murder of a suppliant49 fugitive50? Courage was, indeed, with him the highest virtue, and Greek literature abounds51 in martial52 spirit-stirring tones, but it is nearly always by the necessities of self-defence that this enthusiasm is invoked53; with Pindar and Simonides, with Aeschylus and Sophocles, it is resistance to an invader54 that we find so proudly commemorated55; and the victories which make Greek history so glorious were won in fighting to repel56 an unjust aggression57 perpetrated either by the barbarians58 or by a tyrant59 state among the Greeks themselves. There was, as will be shown hereafter, an unhappy period when right was either denied, or, what comes to the same thing, identified with might; but this offensive paradox60 only served to waken true morality into a more vivid self-consciousness, and into the felt need of discovering for itself a stronger foundation than usage and tradition, a loftier56 sanction than mere62 worldly success could afford. The most universal principle of justice, to treat others as we should wish to be treated ourselves, seems before the Rabbi Hillel’s time to have become almost a common-place of Greek ethics;43 difficulties left unsolved by the Book of Job were raised to a higher level by Greek philosophy; and long before St. Paul, a Plato reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment63 to come.
No one will deny that the life of the Greeks was stained with foul vices64, and that their theory sometimes fell to the level of their practice. No one who believes that moral truth, like all truth, has been gradually discovered, will wonder at this phenomenon. If moral conduct is a function of social life, then, like other functions, it will be subject, not only to growth, but also to disease and decay. An intense and rapid intellectual development may have for its condition a totally abnormal state of society, where certain vices, unknown to ruder ages, spring up and flourish with rank luxuriance. When men have to take women along with them on every new path of enquiry, progress will be considerably66 retarded67, although its benefits will ultimately be shared among a greater number, and will be better insured against the danger of a violent reaction. But the work that Hellas was commissioned to perform could not wait; it had to be accomplished68 in a few generations, or not at all. The barbarians were forcing their way in on every side, not merely with the weight of invading armies, but with the deadlier pressure of a benumbing superstition69, with the brute70-worship of Egypt and the devil-worship of Phoenicia, with57 their delirious71 orgies, their mutilations, their crucifixions, and their gladiatorial contests. Already in the later dramas of Euripides and in the Rhodian school of sculpture, we see the awful shadow coming nearer, and feel the poisonous breath of Asia on our faces. Reason, the reason by which these terrors have been for ever exorcised, could only arrive at maturity72 under the influence of free and uninterrupted discussion carried on by men among themselves in the gymnasium, the agora, the ecclêsia, and the dicastery. The resulting and inevitable73 separation of the sexes bred frightful74 disorders75, which through all changes of creed17 have clung like a moral pestilence76 to the shores of the Aegean, and have helped to complicate77 political problems by joining to religious hatred78 the fiercer animosity of physical disgust. But whatever were the corruptions81 of Greek sentiment, Greek philosophy had the power to purge82 them away. ‘Follow nature’ became the watchword of one school after another; and a precept35 which at first may have meant only that man should not fall below the brutes83, was finally so interpreted as to imply an absolute control of sense by reason. No loftier standard of sexual purity has ever been inculcated than that fixed85 by Plato in his latest work, the Laws. Isocrates bids husbands set an example of conjugal86 fidelity87 to their wives. Socrates had already declared that virtue was the same for both sexes. Xenophon interests himself in the education of women. Plato would give them the same training, and everywhere associate them in the same functions with men. Equally decisive evidence of a theoretical opposition to slavery is not forthcoming, and we know that it was unfortunately sanctioned by Plato and Aristotle, in this respect no better inspired than the early Christians89; nevertheless, the germ of such an opposition existed, and will hereafter be pointed90 out.
It has been said that the Greeks only worshipped beauty; that they cultivated morality from the aesthetic91 side; that58 virtue was with them a question, not of duty, but of taste. Some very strong texts might be quoted in support of this judgment. For example, we find Isocrates saying, in his encomium92 on Helen, that ‘Beauty is the first of all things in majesty93, and honour, and divineness. It is easy to see its power: there are many things which have no share of courage, or wisdom, or justice, which yet will be found honoured above things which have each of these, but nothing which is devoid94 of beauty is prized; all things are scorned which have not been given their part of that attribute; the admiration95 for virtue itself comes to this, that of all manifestations96 of life virtue is the most beautiful.’44 And Aristotle distinguishes the highest courage as willingness to die for the καλ?ν. So also Plato describes philosophy as a love ‘that leads one from fair forms to fair practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, until from fair notions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows what the essence of beauty is. And this is that life beyond all others which man should live in the contemplation of beauty absolute.’45 Now, first of all, we must observe that, while loveliness has been worshipped by many others, none have conceived it under a form so worthy97 of worship as the Greeks. Beauty with them was neither little, nor fragile, nor voluptuous98; the soul’s energies were not relaxed but exalted99 by its contemplation; there was in it an element of austere101 and commanding dignity. The Argive Hêrê, though revealed to us only through a softened102 Italian copy, has more divinity in her countenance103 than any Madonna of them all; and the Melian Aphroditê is distinguished104 by majesty of form not less than by purity and sweetness of expression. This beauty was the unreserved information of matter by mind, the visible rendering105 of absolute power, wisdom, and goodness. Therefore, what a Greek wor59shipped was the perpetual and ever-present energising of mind; but he forgot that beauty can only exist as a combination of spirit with sense; and, after detaching the higher element, he continued to call it by names and clothe it in attributes proper to its earthly manifestations alone. Yet such an extension of the aesthetic sentiment involved no weakening of the moral fibre. A service comprehending all idealisms in one demanded the self-effacement of a laborious106 preparation and the self-restraint of a gradual achievement. They who pitched the goal of their aspiration107 so high, knew that the paths leading up to it were rough, and steep, and long; they felt that perfect workmanship and perfect taste, being supremely109 precious, must be supremely difficult as well; χαλεπ? τ? καλ? they said, the beautiful is hard—hard to judge, hard to win, and hard to keep. He who has passed through that stern discipline need tremble at no other task; nor has duty anything to fear from a companionship whose ultimate requirements are coincident with her own, and the abandonment of which for a joyless asceticism110 can only lead to the reappearance as an invading army of forces that should have been cherished as indispensable allies.
It may be urged that beauty, however difficult of attainment111 or severe in form, is, after all, essentially superficial; and that a morality elaborated on the same principles will be equally superficial—will, in fact, be little more than the art of keeping up appearances, of displaying fine sentiments, of avoiding those actions the consequences of which are immediately felt to be disagreeable, and, above all, of not needlessly wounding anyone’s sensibilities. Such an imitation of morality—which it would be a mistake to call hypocrisy—has no doubt been common enough among all civilised nations; but there is no reason to believe that it was in any way favoured by the circumstances of Greek life. There is even evidence of a contrary tendency, as, indeed, might be expected among a people whose most important states were saved from the corrupt60ing influences of a court. Where the sympathetic admiration of shallow and excitable spectators is the effect chiefly sought after, the showy virtues113 will be preferred to the solid, and the appearance to the reality of all virtue; while brilliant and popular qualities will be allowed to atone114 for the most atrocious crimes. But, among the Greeks of the best period, courage and generosity115 rank distinctly lower than temperance and justice; their poets and moralists alike inculcate the preference of substance to show; and in no single instance, so far as we can judge, did they, as modern nations often do, for the sake of great achievements condone116 great wrongs. It was said of a Greek and by a Greek that he did not wish to seem but to be just.46 We follow the judgment of the Greeks themselves in preferring Leonidas to Pausanias, Aristeides to Themistocles, and Socrates to Alcibiades. And we need only compare Epameinondas with David or Pericles with Solomon as national heroes, to perceive at once how much nearer the two Greeks come to our own standard of perfection, and how futile118 are the charges sometimes brought against those from whose traditions we have inherited their august and stainless119 fame.
Moreover, we have not here to consider what was the average level of sentiment and practice among the Greeks; we have to study what alone was of importance for the races which came under their tuition, and that is the highest moral judgment to which they rose. Now, the deliberate verdict of their philosophy on the relation between beauty and virtue is contained in the following passage from Plato’s Laws:—
‘When anyone prefers beauty to virtue, what is this but the real and utter dishonour121 of the soul? For such a preference implies that the body is more honourable122 than the soul; and this is false, for there is nothing of earthly birth which is more honourable than the heavenly, and he who thinks otherwise of the soul has no idea how greatly he undervalues this wonderful possession.’47
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II.
Thus much for the current prejudices which seemed likely to interfere123 with a favourable124 consideration of our subject. We have next to study the conditions by which the form of Greek ethical philosophy was originally determined. Foremost among these must be placed the moral conceptions already current long before systematic29 reflection could begin. What they were may be partly gathered from some wise saws attributed by the Greeks themselves to their Seven Sages125, but probably current at a much earlier period. The pith of these maxims126, taken collectively, is to recommend the qualities attributed by our own philosophic127 poet to his perfect woman:—
‘The reason firm, the temperate128 will,
Endurance, foresight129, strength, and skill.’
We may say almost as briefly130 that they inculcate complete independence both of our own passions and of external circumstances, with a corresponding respect for the independence of others, to be shown by using persuasion131 instead of force. Their tone will perhaps be best understood by contrast with that collection of Hebrew proverbs which has come down to us under the name of Solomon, but which Biblical critics now attribute to a later period and a divided authorship. While these regularly put forward material prosperity as the chief motive132 to good conduct, Hellenic wisdom teaches indifference133 to the variations of fortune. To a Greek, ‘the power that makes for righteousness,’ so far from being, ‘not ourselves,’ was our own truest self, the far-seeing reason which should guard us from elation120 and from depression, from passion and from surprise. Instead of being offered old age as a reward, we are told to be equally prepared for a long and for a short life.
Two precepts stand out before all others, which, trivial as they may seem, are uttered from the very soul of Greek62 experience, ‘Be moderate,’ and, ‘Know thyself.’ Their joint134 observance constitutes the characteristic virtue of S?phrosynê, which means all that we understand by temperance, and a great deal more besides; so much, in fact, that very clever Greeks were hard set to define it, and very wise Greeks could pray for it as the fairest gift of the gods.48 Let us suppose that each individual has a sphere of activity marked out for him by his own nature and his special environment; then to discern clearly the limits of that sphere and to keep within them would be S?phrosynê, while the discernment, taken alone, would be wisdom. The same self-restraint operating as a check on interference with other spheres would be justice; while the expansive force by which a man fills up his entire sphere and guards it against aggressions may be called courage. Thus we are enabled to comprehend the many-sided significance of S?phrosynê, to see how it could stand both for a particular virtue and for all virtuousness135 whatever. We need only glance at Homer’s poems, and in particular at the Iliad—a much deeper as well as a more brilliant work than the Odyssey137—to perceive how very early this demand for moderation combined with self-knowledge had embodied138 itself in Greek thought. Agamemnon violates the rights of Achilles under the influence of immoderate passion, and through ignorance of how little we can accomplish without the hero’s assistance. Achilles, again, carries his vindictiveness139 too far, and suffers in consequence. But his self-knowledge is absolutely perfect; conscious that he is first in the field while others are better in council, he never undertakes a task to which his powers are not fully31 adequate; nor does he enter on his final work of vengeance140 without a clear consciousness of the speedy death which its completion will entail141 on himself. Hector, too, notwithstanding ominous143 forebodings, knows his duty and does it, but with much less just an estimate of his own powers, leading him to pursue his success too far, and then, when the63 tide has turned, not permitting him to make a timely retreat within the walls of Troy. So with the secondary characters. Patroclus also oversteps the limits of moderation, and pays the penalty with his life. Diomed silently bears the unmerited rebuke144 of Agamemnon, but afterwards recalls it at a most effective moment, when rising to oppose the craven counsels of the great king. This the Greeks called observing opportunity, and opportunism was with them, as with French politicians, a form of moderation.49 Down at the very bottom of the scale Thersites and Dolon are signal examples of men who do not know their sphere and suffer for their folly145. In the Odyssey, Odysseus is a nearly perfect type of wisdom joined with self-control, erring117, if we remember rightly, only once, when he insults Polyphemus before the ship is out of danger; while his comrades perish from want of these same gifts.
So far, virtue was with the Greeks what it must inevitably146 be with all men at first, chiefly self-regarding, a refined form of prudence147. Moreover, other-regarding virtues gave less scope for reflection, being originally comprehended under obedience148 to the law. But there were two circumstances which could not long escape their notice; first, that fraud and violence are often, at least apparently149, profitable to those who perpetrate them, a fact bitterly remarked by Hesiod;50 and secondly150, that society cannot hold together without justice. It was long before Governments grew up willing and able to protect their subjects from mutual151 aggressions, nor does positive law create morality, but implies it, and could not be worked without it. Nor could international obligations be enforced by a superior tribunal; hence they have remained down to the present day a fertile theme for ethical discussion. It is at this point that morality forms a junction152 with religion, the history of which is highly interesting, but which can here be64 only briefly traced. The Olympian divinities, as placed before us by Homer, are anything but moral. Their conduct towards each other is that of a dissolute nobility; towards men it is that of unscrupulous partisans154 and patrons. A loyal adherence156 to friends and gratitude157 for sacrificial offerings are their most respectable characteristics, raising them already a little above the nature-powers whence they were derived. Now, mark how they first become moralised. It is by being made witnesses to an oath. Any one who is called in to testify to a promise feels aggrieved158 if it is broken, looking on the breach159 as an insult to his own dignity. As the Third Commandment well puts it, his name has been taken in vain. Thus it happened that the same gods who left every other crime unpunished, visited perjury160 with severe and speedy retribution, continued even after the offender’s death.51 Respect for a contract is the primary form of moral obligation, and still seems to possess a peculiar161 hold over uneducated minds. We see every day how many persons will abstain162 from actions which they know to be immoral163 because they have given their word to that effect, not because the actions themselves are wrong. And for that reason law courts would be more willing to enforce contracts than to redress164 injuries. If, then, one person inflicted165 damage on another, he might afterwards, in order to escape retaliation166 from the injured party, or from his family, engage to give satisfaction, and the court would compel him to redeem167 his promise.52 Thus contract, by procuring168 redress for every species of wrong, would gradually extend its own obligatory169 character to abstinence from injury in general, and the divine sanctions primarily invoked on behalf of oaths would be extended, with them, over the whole domain170 of moral conduct.
Nor was this all. Laws and justice once established would65 require to have their origin accounted for, and, according to the usual genealogical method of the early Greeks, would be described as children of the gods, who would thus be interested in their welfare, and would avenge171 their violation—a stage of reflection already reached in the Works and Days of Hesiod.
Again, when oracles173 like that at Delphi had obtained wide-spread renown174 and authority, they would be consulted, not only on ceremonial questions and matters of policy, but also on debateable points of morality. The divine responses, being unbiassed by personal interest, would necessarily be given in accordance with received rules of rectitude, and would be backed by all the terrors of a supernatural sanction. It might even be dangerous to assume that the god could possibly give his support to wrong-doing. A story told by Herodotus proves that such actually was the case.E There lived once at Sparta a certain man named Glaucus, who had acquired so great a reputation for probity175 that, during the troublous times of the Persian conquest, a wealthy Milesian thought it advisable to deposit a large sum of money with him for safe keeping. After a considerable time the money was claimed by his children, but the honesty of Glaucus was not proof against temptation. He pretended to have forgotten the whole affair, and required a delay of three months before making up his mind with regard to the validity of their demand. During that interval177 he consulted the Delphic oracle172 to know whether he might possess himself of the money by a false oath. The answer was that it would be for his immediate112 advantage to do so; all must die, the faithful and the perjured178 alike; but Horcus (oath) had a nameless son swift to pursue without feet, strong to grasp without hands, who would destroy the whole race of the sinner. Glaucus craved179 forgiveness, but was informed that to tempt176 the god was equivalent to committing the crime. He went home and restored the deposit, but his whole family perished utterly180 from the land before three generations had passed by.
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Yet another step remained to take. Punishment must be transferred from a man’s innocent children to the man himself in a future life. But the Olympian theology was, originally at least, powerless to effect this revolution. Its gods, being personifications of celestial181 phenomena, had nothing to do with the dark underworld whither men descended182 after death. There existed, however, side by side with the brilliant religion of courts and camps which Greek poetry has made so familiar to us, another religion more popular with simple country-folk,53 to whom war meant ruin, courts of justice a means invented by kings for exacting183 bribes185, sea-voyages a senseless imprudence, chariot-racing a sinful waste of money, and beautiful women drones in the human hive, demons186 of extravagance invented by Zeus for the purpose of venting187 his spite against mankind. What interest could these poor people take in the resplendent guardians188 of their hereditary189 oppressors, in Hêrê and Athênê, Apollo and Poseid?n, Artemis and Aphroditê? But they had other gods peculiar to themselves, whose worship was wrapped in mystery, partly that its objects need not be lured190 away by the attraction of richer offerings elsewhere, partly because the activity of these Chthonian deities191, as they were called, was naturally associated with darkness and secresy. Presiding over birth and death, over seed-time and harvest and vintage, they personified the frost-bound sleep of vegetation in winter and its return from a dark underworld in spring. Out of their worship grew stories which told how Persephonê, the fair daughter of Dêmêtêr, or Mother Earth, was carried away by Pluto192 to reign193 with him over the shades below, but after long searching was restored to her mother for eight months in every year; and how Dionysus, the wine-god, was twice born, first from67 the earth burned up and fainting under the intolerable fire of a summer sky, respectively personified as Semelê and her lover Zeus, then from the protecting mist wrapped round him by his divine father, of whom it formed a part. Dionysus, too, was subject to alternations of depression and triumph, from the recital194 of which Attic195 drama was developed, and gained a footing in the infernal regions, whither we accompany him in the Frogs of Aristophanes. Another country god was Hermês, who seems to have been associated with planting and possession as well as with the demarcation and exchange of property, and who was also a conductor of souls to Hades. Finally, there were the Erinyes, children of night and dwellers196 in subterranean197 darkness; they could breed pestilence and discord198, but could also avert199 them; they could blast the produce of the soil or increase its luxuriance and fertility; when blood was spilt on the ground, they made it blossom up again in a harvest of retributive hatred; they pursued the guilty during life, and did not relax their grasp after death; all law, whether physical or moral, was under their protection; the same Erinyes who, in the Odyssey, avenge on Oedipus the suicide of his mother, in the Iliad will not allow the miraculous200 speaking of a horse to continue; and we have seen in the last chapter how, according to Heracleitus, it is they who also prevent the sun from transgressing201 his appointed limits.54 Dêmêtêr and Persephonê, too, seem to have been law-giving goddesses, as their great festival, celebrated by women alone, was called the Thesmophoria, while eternal happiness was promised to those who had been initiated202 into their mysteries at Eleusis; and we also find that moral maxims were graven on the marble busts203 of Hermês placed along every thoroughfare in Athens. We can thus understand why the mutilation of these Hermae caused such68 rage and terror, accompanied, as it was rumoured204 to be, by a profanation205 of the Eleusinian mysteries; for any attack on the deities in question would seem to prefigure an attack on the settled order of things, the popular rights which they both symbolised and protected.
Here, then, we find, chiefly among the rustic206 population, a religion intimately associated with morality, and including the doctrine207 of retribution after death. But this simple faith, though well adapted to the few wants of its original votaries208, could not be raised to the utmost expansion and purity of which it was susceptible209 without being brought into vivifying contact with that other Olympian religion which, as we have seen, belonged more peculiarly to the ruling aristocracy. The poor may be more moral than the rich, and the country than the town; nevertheless it is from dwellers in cities, and from the higher classes, including as they do a large percentage of educated, open-minded individuals, that the impulses to moral progress always proceed. If the narrowness and hardness of primitive social arrangements were overcome; if justice was disengaged from the ties of blood-relationship, and tempered with consideration for inevitable error; if deadly feuds210 were terminated by a habitual211 appeal to arbitration212; if the worship of one supreme108 ideal was substituted for a blind sympathy with the ebb213 and flow of life on earth; if the numerical strength of states was increased by giving shelter to fugitives214; if a Hellenic nation was created and held together by a common literature and a common civilisation, by oracles accessible to all, and by periodical games in which every free-born Greek could take part; and, lastly, if a brighter abode215 than the slumberous216 garden of Persephonê was assigned after death to the godlike heroes who had come forth88 from a thrice repeated ordeal217 with souls unstained by sin;55—all this was due to the military rather than to the industrial classes, to the spirit that breathes through Homer69 rather than to the tamer inspiration of Hesiod’s muse218. But if justice was raised to an Olympian throne; if righteous providence219, no less than creative power, became an inalienable attribute of Zeus; if lyric220 poetry, from Archilochus to Simonides and Pindar, is one long hymn221 of prayer and praise ever turned upward in adoring love to the Divine; we must remember that Themis was a synonyme for Earth, and that Prometheus, the original friend of humanity, for whose benefit he invented every useful art, augury222 included, was her son. The seeds of immortal223 hope were first planted in the fructifying224 bosom225 of Dêmêtêr, and life, a forsaken226 Ariadnê, took refuge in the mystical embraces of Dionysus from the memory of a promise that had allured227 her to betray. Thus, we may conjecture228 that between hall and farm-house, between the Olympian and the Chthonian religions, there was a constant reaction going on, during which ethical ideas were continually expanding, and extricating229 themselves from the superstitious230 elements associated with their earliest theological expression.
III.
This process was conceived by Aeschylus as a conflict between two generations of gods, ending with their complete reconciliation231. In the Prometheus Bound we have the commencement of the conflict, in the Eumenides its close. Our sympathies are apparently at first intended to be enlisted232 on behalf of the older divinities, but at last are claimed exclusively by the younger. As opposed to Prometheus, Zeus is evidently in the wrong, and seeks to make up for his deficiencies by arbitrary violence. In the Oresteia he is the champion of justice against iniquity233, and through his interpreter, Apollo, he enforces a revised moral code against the antiquated234 claims of the Erinyes; these latter, however, ultimately consenting to become guardians of the new social70 order. The Aeschylean drama shows us Greek religion at the highest level it could reach, unaided by philosophical235 reflection. With Sophocles a perceptible decline has already begun. We are loth to say anything that may sound like disparagement236 of so noble a poet. We yield to none in admiration for one who has combined the two highest qualities of art—sweetness and strength—more completely than any other singer, Homer alone excepted, and who has given the primordial237 affections their definitive238 expression for all time. But we cannot help perceiving an element of superstition in his dramas, which, so far, distinguishes them unfavourably from those of his Titanic239 predecessor240. With Sophocles, when the gods interfere, it is to punish disrespect towards themselves, not to enforce justice between man and man. Ajax perishes by his own hand because he has neglected to ask for divine assistance in battle. Laius and Jocastê come to a tragic241 end through disobedience to a perfectly242 arbitrary oracle; and as a part of the same divine purpose Oedipus encounters the most frightful calamities243 by no fault of his own. The gods are, moreover, exclusively objects of fear; their sole business is to enforce the fulfilment of enigmatic prophecies; they give no assistance to the pious244 and virtuous136 characters. Antigonê is allowed to perish for having performed the last duties to her brother’s corpse245. Neoptolemus receives no aid in that struggle between ambition on the one hand with truthfulness246 and pity on the other which makes his character one of the most interesting in all imaginative literature. When Athênê bids Odysseus exult47 over the degradation247 of Ajax, the generous Ithacan refuses to her face, and falls back on the consciousness of a common humanity uniting him in sympathy with his prostrate248 foe249.
The rift250 within the lute84 went on widening till all its music was turned to jarring discord. With the third great Attic dramatist we arrive at a period of complete dissolution.71 Morality is not only separated from mythological251 tradition, but is openly at war with it. Religious belief, after becoming almost monotheistic, has relapsed into polytheism. With Euripides the gods do not, as with his predecessors253, form a common council. They lead an independent existence, not interfering254 with each other, and pursuing private ends of their own—often very disreputable ones. Aphrodite inspires Phaedra with an incestuous passion for her stepson. Artemis is propitiated255 by human sacrifices. Hêrê causes Heraclês to kill his children in a fit of delirium256. Zeus and Poseid?n are charged with breaking their own laws, and setting a bad example to mortals. Apollo, once so venerated257, fares the worst of any. He outrages258 a noble maiden259, and succeeds in palming off her child on the man whom she subsequently marries. He instigates260 the murder of a repentant261 enemy who has come to seek forgiveness at his shrine262. He fails to protect Orestes from the consequences of matricide, committed at his own unwise suggestion. Political animosity may have had something to do with these attacks on a god who was believed to side with the Dorian confederacy against Athens. Doubtless, also, Euripides disbelieved many of the scandalous stories which he selected as appropriate materials for dramatic representation. But a satire263 on immoral beliefs would have been unnecessary had they not been generally accepted. Nor was the poet himself altogether a freethinker. One of his latest and most splendid works, the Bacchae, is a formal submission264 to the orthodox creed. Under the stimulus265 of an insane delusion267, Pentheus is torn to pieces by his mother Agavê and her attendant Maenads, for having presumed to oppose the introduction of Dionysus-worship into Thebes. The antecedents of the new divinity are questionable268, and the nature of his influence on the female population extremely suspicious. Yet much stress is laid on the impiety269 of Pentheus, and we are clearly intended to consider his fate as well-deserved.
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Euripides is not a true thinker, and for that very reason fitly typifies a period when religion had been shaken to its very foundation, but still retained a strong hold on men’s minds, and might at any time reassert its ancient authority with unexpected vigour271. We gather, also, from his writings, that ethical sentiment had undergone a parallel transformation272. He introduces characters and actions which the elder dramatists would have rejected as unworthy of tragedy, and not only introduces them, but composes elaborate speeches in their defence. Side by side with examples of devoted273 heroism274 we find such observations as that everyone loves himself best, and that those are most prosperous who attend most exclusively to their own interests. It so happens that in one instance where Euripides has chosen a subject already handled by Aeschylus, the difference of treatment shows how great a moral revolution had occurred in the interim275. The conflict waged between Eteoclês and Polyneicês for their father’s throne is the theme both of the Seven against Thebes and of the Phoenician Women. In both, Polyneicês bases his claim on grounds of right. It had been agreed that he and his brother should alternately hold sway over Thebes. His turn has arrived, and Eteoclês refuses to give way. Polyneicês endeavours to enforce his pretensions276 by bringing a foreign army against Thebes. Aeschylus makes him appear before the walls with an allegorical figure of Justice on his shield, promising277 to restore him to his father’s seat. On hearing this, Eteoclês exclaims:—
‘Aye, if Jove’s virgin278 daughter Justice shared
In deed or thought of his, then it might be.
But neither when he left the darkling womb,
Nor in his childhood, nor in youth, nor when
The clustering hair first gathered round his chin,
Hath Justice turned approving eyes on him;
Nor deem I that she comes as his ally,
Now that he wastes his native land with war,
Or Justice most unjustly were she called
If ruthless hearts could claim her fellowship.’56
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Euripides, with greater dramatic skill, brings the two brothers together in presence of their mother, Jocastê. When Polyneicês has spoken, Eteoclês replies:—
‘Honour and wisdom are but empty names
That mortals use, each with a different meaning,
Agreeing in the sound, not in the sense.
Hear, mother, undisguised my whole resolve!
Were Sovereignty, chief goddess among gods,
Far set as is the rising of a star,
Or buried deep in subterranean gloom,
There I would seek and win her for mine own.
Come fire, come sword, yoke280 horses to the car,
And fill the plain with armed men, for I
Will not give up my royalty281 to him!
Let all my life be guiltless save in this:
I dare do any wrong for sovereign power—
The splendid guerdon of a splendid sin.’57
The contrast is not only direct, but designed, for Euripides had the work of his predecessor before him, and no doubt imagined that he was improving on it.
We perceive a precisely282 similar change of tone on comparing the two great historians who have respectively recorded the struggle of Greece against Persia, and the struggle of imperial Athens against Sparta and her allies. Though born within fifteen years of one another, Herodotus and Thucydides are virtually separated by an interval of two generations, for while the latter represents the most advanced thought of his time, the former lived among traditions inherited from the age preceding his own. Now, Herodotus is not more remarkable283 for the earnest piety270 than for the clear sense of justice which runs through his entire work. He draws no distinction between public and private morality. Whoever makes war on his neighbours without provocation284, or rules without the consent of the governed, is, according to him, in the wrong, although he is well aware that such wrongs are constantly committed. Thucydides knows nothing74 of supernatural interference in human affairs. After relating the tragical285 end of Nicias, he observes, not without a sceptical tendency, that of all the Greeks then living, this unfortunate general least deserved such a fate, so far as piety and respectability of character went. If there are gods they hold their position by superior strength. That the strong should enslave the weak is a universal and necessary law of Nature. The Spartans286, who among themselves are most scrupulous153 in observing traditional obligations, in their dealings with others most openly identify gain with honour, and expediency288 with right. Even if the historian himself did not share these opinions, it is evident that they were widely entertained by his contemporaries, and he expressly informs us that Greek political morality had deteriorated289 to a frightful extent in consequence of the civil discords290 fomented291 by the conflict between Athens and Sparta; while, in Athens at least, a similar corruption79 of private morality had begun with the great plague of 430, its chief symptom being a mad desire to extract the utmost possible enjoyment292 from life, for which purpose every means was considered legitimate293. On this point Thucydides is confirmed and supplemented by the evidence of another contemporary authority. According to Aristophanes, the ancient discipline had in his time become very much relaxed. The rich were idle and extravagant294; the poor mutinous295; young men were growing more and more insolent296 to their elders; religion was derided297; all classes were animated298 by a common desire to make money and to spend it on sensual enjoyment. Only, instead of tracing back this profound demoralisation to a change in the social environment, Aristophanes attributes it to demagogues, harassing299 informers, and popular poets, but above all to the new culture then coming into vogue300. Physical science had brought in atheism301; dialectic training had destroyed the sanctity of ethical restraints. When, however, the religious and virtuous Socrates is put forward as a type of both tend75encies, our confidence in the comic poet’s accuracy, if not in his good faith, becomes seriously shaken; and his whole tone so vividly302 recalls the analogous303 invectives now hurled305 from press and pulpit against every philosophic theory, every scientific discovery, every social reform at variance306 with traditional beliefs or threatening the sinister307 interests which have gathered round iniquitous308 institutions, that at first we feel tempted309 to follow Grote in rejecting his testimony310 altogether. So far, however, as the actual phenomena themselves are concerned, and apart from their generating antecedents, Aristophanes does but bring into more picturesque311 prominence312 what graver observers are content to indicate, and what Plato, writing a generation later, treats as an unquestionable reality. Nor is the fact of a lowered moral tone going along with accelerated mental activity either incredible or unparalleled. Modern history knows of at least two periods remarkable for such a conjunction, the Renaissance313 and the eighteenth century, the former stained with every imaginable crime, the latter impure throughout, and lapsing314 into blood-thirsty violence at its close. Moral progress, like every other mode of motion, has its appropriate rhythm—its epochs of severe restraint followed by epochs of rebellious315 license316. And when, as an aggravation317 of the reaction from which they periodically suffer, ethical principles have become associated with a mythology318 whose decay, at first retarded, is finally hastened by their activity, it is still easier to understand how they may share in its discredit319, and only regain320 their ascendency by allying themselves with a purified form of the old religion, until they can be disentangled from the compromising support of all unverified theories whatever. We have every reason to believe that Greek life and thought did pass through such a crisis during the second half of the fifth century B.C., and we have now to deal with the speculative321 aspects of that crisis, so far as they are represented by the Sophists.
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IV.
The word Sophist in modern languages means one who purposely uses fallacious arguments. Our definition was probably derived from that given by Aristotle in his Topics, but does not entirely322 reproduce it. What we call sophistry323 was with him eristic, or the art of unfair disputation; and by Sophist he means one who practises the eristic art for gain. He also defines sophistry as the appearance without the reality of wisdom. A very similar account of the Sophists and their art is given by Plato in what seems to be one of his later dialogues; and another dialogue, probably composed some time previously324, shows us how eristic was actually practised by two Sophists, Euthydêmus and Dionysod?rus, who had learned the art, which is represented as a very easy accomplishment325, when already old men. Their performance is not edifying326; and one only wonders how any Greek could have been induced to pay for the privilege of witnessing such an exhibition. But the word Sophist, in its original signification, was an entirely honourable name. It meant a sage61, a wise and learned man, like Solon, or, for that matter, like Plato and Aristotle themselves. The interval between these widely-different connotations is filled up and explained by a number of individuals as to whom our information is principally, though by no means entirely, derived from Plato. All of them were professional teachers, receiving payment for their services; all made a particular study of language, some aiming more particularly at accuracy, others at beauty of expression. While no common doctrine can be attributed to them as a class, as individuals they are connected by a series of graduated transitions, the final outcome of which will enable us to understand how, from a title of respect, their name could be turned into a byword of reproach. The Sophists, concerning whom some details have been trans77mitted to us, are Protagoras, Gorgias, Prodicus, Hippias, P?lus, Thrasymachus, and the Eristics already mentioned. We have placed them, so far as their ages can be determined, in chronological327 order, but their logical order is somewhat different. The first two on the list were born about 480 B.C., and the second pair possibly twenty years later. But neither Protagoras nor Gorgias seems to have published his most characteristic theories until a rather advanced time of life, for they are nowhere alluded328 to by the Xenophontic Socrates, who, on the other hand, is well acquainted with both Prodicus and Hippias, while, conversely, Plato is most interested in the former pair. We shall also presently see that the scepticism of the elder Sophists can best be explained by reference to the more dogmatic theories of their younger contemporaries, which again easily fit on to the physical speculations of earlier thinkers.
Prodicus was born in Ceos, a little island belonging to the Athenian confederacy, and seems to have habitually329 resided at Athens. His health was delicate, and he wrapped up a good deal, as we learn from the ridicule330 of Plato, always pitiless to a valetudinarian331.F Judging from two allusions332 in Aristophanes, he taught natural science in such a manner as to conciliate even that unsparing enemy of the new learning.58 He also gave moral instruction grounded on the traditional ideas of his country, a pleasing specimen333 of which has been preserved. It is conveyed under the form of an apologue, entitled the Choice of Heraclês, and was taken down in its present form by Xenophon from the lips of Socrates, who quoted it, with full approval, for the benefit of his own disciples335. Prodicus also lectured on the use of words, laying especial emphasis on the distinction of synonyms336. We hear, not without sympathy, that he tried to check the78 indiscriminate employment of ‘awful’ (δειν??), which was even more rife337 at Athens than among ourselves.G Finally, we are told that, like many moderns, he considered the popular divinities to be personifications of natural phenomena. Hippias, who was a native of Elis, seems to have taught on very much the same system. It would appear that he lectured principally on astronomy and physics, but did not neglect language, and is said to have invented an art of memory. His restless inquisitiveness338 was also exercised on ancient history, and his erudition in that subject was taxed to the utmost during a visit to Sparta, where the unlettered people still delighted in old stories, which among the more enlightened Greeks had been superseded339 by topics of livelier and fresher interest. At Sparta, too, he recited, with great applause, an ethical discourse340 under the form of advice given by Nestor to Neoptolemus after the capture of Troy. We know, on good authority, that Hippias habitually distinguished between natural and customary law, the former being, according to him, everywhere the same, while the latter varied341 from state to state, and in the same state at different times. Natural law he held to be alone binding342 and alone salutary. On this subject the following expressions, evidently intended to be characteristic, are put into his mouth by Plato:—‘All of you who are here present I reckon to be kinsmen343 and friends and fellow-citizens, by nature and not by law; for by nature like is akin32 to like, whereas law is the tyrant of mankind, and often compels us to do many things which are against Nature.’59 Here two distinct ideas are implied, the idea that Nature is a moral guide, and, further, the idea that she is opposed to convention. The habit of looking for examples and lessons to some simpler life than their own prevailed among the Greeks from a very early period, and is, indeed, very common in primitive societies. Homer’s similes344 are a case in point; while all that we are told79 about the innocence345 and felicity of the Aethiopians and Hyperboreans seems to indicate a deep-rooted belief in the moral superiority of savage346 to civilised nations; and Hesiod’s fiction of the Four Ages, beginning with a golden age, arises from a kindred notion that intellectual progress is accompanied by moral corruption. Simonides of Amorgus illustrates348 the various types of womankind by examples from the animal world; and Aesop’s fables349, dating from the first half of the sixth century, give ethical instruction under the same disguise. We have already pointed out how Greek rural religion established a thorough-going connexion between physical and moral phenomena, and how Heracleitus followed in the same track. Now, one great result of early Greek thought, as described in our first chapter, was to combine all these scattered350 fugitive incoherent ideas under a single conception, thus enabling them to elucidate351 and support one another. This was the conception of Nature as a universal all-creative eternal power, first superior to the gods, then altogether superseding352 them. When Homer called Zeus the father of gods and men; when Pindar said that both races, the divine and the human, are sprung from one mother (Earth);60 when, again, he spoke279 of law as an absolute king; or when Aeschylus set destiny above Zeus himself;61 they were but foreshadowing a more despotic authority, whose dominion353 is even now not extinct, is perhaps being renewed under the title of Evolution. The word Nature was used by most philosophers, and the thing was implied by all. They did not, indeed, commit the mistake of personifying a convenient abstraction; but a conception which they substituted for the gods would soon inherit every attribute of divine agency. Moreover, the Nature of philosophy had three fundamental attributes admitting of ready application as ethical standards. She was everywhere the same; fire burned in Greece and Persia alike. She tended towards an80 orderly system where every agent or element is limited to its appropriate sphere. And she proceeded on a principle of universal compensation, all gains in one direction being paid for by losses in another, and every disturbance354 being eventually rectified355 by a restoration of equilibrium356. It was, indeed, by no means surprising that truths which were generalised from the experience of Greek social life should now return to confirm the orderliness of that life with the sanction of an all-pervading law.
Euripides gives us an interesting example of the style in which this ethical application of physical science could be practised. We have seen how Eteoclês expresses his determination to do and dare all for the sake of sovereign power. His mother, Jocastê, gently rebukes357 him as follows:—
‘Honour Equality who binds358 together
Both friends and cities and confederates,
For equity359 is law, law equity;
The lesser360 is the greater’s enemy,
And disadvantaged aye begins the strife361.
From her our measures, weights, and numbers come,
Defined and ordered by Equality;
So do the night’s blind eye and sun’s bright orb362
Walk equal courses in their yearly round,
And neither is embittered363 by defeat;
And while both light and darkness serve mankind
Wilt364 thou not bear an equal in thy house?’62
On examining the apologue of Prodicus, we find it characterised by a somewhat similar style of reasoning. There is, it is true, no reference to physical phenomena, but Virtue dwells strongly on the truth that nothing can be had for nothing, and that pleasure must either be purchased by toil365 or atoned366 for by languor367, satiety368, and premature369 decay.81 We know also that the Cynical370 school, as represented by Antisthenês, rejected all pleasure on the ground that it was always paid for by an equal amount of pain; and Heraclês, the Prodicean type of a youth who follows virtue in preference to vice65 disguised as happiness, was also the favourite hero of the Cynics. Again, Plato alludes371, in the Philêbus, to certain thinkers, reputed to be ‘great on the subject of physics,’ who deny the very existence of pleasure. Critics have been at a loss to identify these persons, and rather reluctantly put up with the explanation that Antisthenês and his school are referred to. Antisthenês was a friend of Prodicus, and may at one time have shared in his scientific studies, thus giving occasion to the association touched on by Plato. But is it not equally possible that Prodicus left behind disciples who, like him, combined moral with physical teaching; and, going a little further, may we not conjecture that their opposition to Hedonism was inherited from the master himself, who, like the Stoics372 afterwards, may have based it on an application of physical reasoning to ethics?
Still more important was the antithesis373 between Nature and convention, which, so far as we know, originated exclusively with Hippias. We have already observed that universality and necessity were, with the Greeks, standing142 marks of naturalness. The customs of different countries were, on the other hand, distinguished by extreme variety, amounting sometimes to diametrical opposition. Herodotus was fond of calling attention to such contrasts; only, he drew from them the conclusion that law, to be so arbitrary, must needs possess supreme and sacred authority. According to the more plausible374 interpretation375 of Hippias, the variety, and at least in Greek democracies, the changeability of law proved that it was neither sacred nor binding. He also looked on artificial social institutions as the sole cause of division and discord among mankind. Here we already see the dawn of a cosmopolitanism376 afterwards preached by Cynic and82 Stoic39 philosophers. Furthermore, to discover the natural rule of right, he compared the laws of different nations, and selected those which were held by all in common as the basis of an ethical system.63 Now, this is precisely what was done by the Roman jurists long afterwards under the inspiration of Stoical teaching. We have it on the high authority of Sir Henry Maine that they identified the Jus Gentium, that is, the laws supposed to be observed by all nations alike, with the Jus Naturale, that is, the code by which men were governed in their primitive condition of innocence. It was by a gradual application of this ideal standard that the numerous inequalities between different classes of persons, enforced by ancient Roman law, were removed, and that contract was substituted for status. Above all, the abolition377 of slavery was, if not directly caused, at any rate powerfully aided, by the belief that it was against Nature. At the beginning of the fourteenth century we find Louis Hutin, King of France, assigning as a reason for the enfranchisement378 of his serfs, that, ‘according to natural law, everybody ought to be born free,’ and although Sir H. Maine holds this to have been a mistaken interpretation of the juridical axiom ‘omnes homines natura aequales sunt,’ which means not an ideal to be attained379, but a primitive condition from which we have departed: nevertheless it very faithfully reproduces the theory of those Greek philosophers from whom the idea of a natural law was derived. That, in Aristotle’s time at least, a party existed who were opposed to slavery on theoretical grounds of right is perfectly evident from the language of the Politics. ‘Some persons,’ says Aristotle, ‘think that slave-holding is against nature, for that one man is a slave and another free by law, while by nature there is no difference between them, for which reason it is unjust as being the result of force.’64 And he proceeds to prove the contrary at length. The same doctrine of natural equality led to important political consequences, having, again according to Sir83 H. Maine, contributed both to the American Declaration of Independence and to the French Revolution.
There is one more aspect deserving our attention, under which the theory of Nature has been presented both in ancient and modern times. A dialogue which, whether rightly or wrongly attributed to Plato, may be taken as good evidence on the subject it relates to,65 exhibits Hippias in the character of a universal genius, who can not only teach every science and practise every kind of literary composition, but has also manufactured all the clothes and other articles about his person. Here we have precisely the sort of versatility380 which characterises uncivilised society, and which believers in a state of nature love to encourage at all times. The division of labour, while it carries us ever farther from barbarism, makes us more dependent on each other. An Odysseus is master of many arts, a Themistocles of two, a Demosthenes of only one. A Norwegian peasant can do more for himself than an English countryman, and therefore makes a better colonist381. If we must return to Nature, our first step should be to learn a number of trades, and so be better able to shift for ourselves. Such was the ideal of Hippias, and it was also the ideal of the eighteenth century. Its literature begins with Robinson Crusoe, the story of a man who is accidentally compelled to provide himself, during many years, with all the necessaries of life. Its educational manuals are, in France, Rousseau’s émile; in England, Day’s Sandford and Merton, both teaching that the young should be thrown as much as possible on their own resources. One of its types is Diderot, who learns handicrafts that he may describe them in the Encyclopédie. Its two great spokesmen are Voltaire and Goethe, who, after cultivating every department of literature, take in statesmanship as well. And its last word is Schiller’s Letters on Aesthetic Culture, holding up totality of existence as the supreme ideal to be sought after.
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There is no reason to believe that Hippias used his distinction between Nature and convention as an argument for despotism. It would rather appear that, if anything, he and his school desired to establish a more complete equality among men. Others, however, both rhetoricians and practical statesmen, were not slow to draw an opposite conclusion. They saw that where no law was recognised, as between different nations, nothing but violence and the right of the stronger prevailed. It was once believed that aggressions which human law could not reach found no favour with the gods, and dread383 of the divine displeasure may have done something towards restraining them. But religion had partly been destroyed by the new culture, partly perverted384 into a sanction for wrong-doing. By what right, it was asked, did Zeus himself reign? Had he not unlawfully dethroned his father, Cronos, and did he not now hold power simply by virtue of superior strength? Similar reasonings were soon applied385 to the internal government of each state. It was alleged386 that the ablest citizens could lay claim to uncontrolled supremacy387 by a title older than any social fiction. Rules of right meant nothing but a permanent conspiracy388 of the weak to withdraw themselves from the legitimate dominion of their born master, and to bamboozle390 him into a voluntary surrender of his natural privileges. Sentiments bearing a superficial resemblance to these have occasionally found utterance391 among ourselves. Nevertheless, it would be most unjust to compare Carlyle and Mr. Froude with Critias and Calliclês. We believe that their preference of despotism to representative government is an entire mistake. But we know that with them as with us the good of the governed is the sole end desired. The gentlemen of Athens sought after supreme power only as a means for gratifying their worst passions without let or hindrance392; and for that purpose they were ready to ally themselves with every foreign enemy in turn, or to flatter the caprices of the Dêmos, if that policy85 promised to answer equally well. The antisocial theories of these ‘young lions,’ as they were called by their enemies and sometimes by themselves also, do not seem to have been supported by any public teacher. If we are to believe Plato, P?lus, a Sicilian rhetor, did indeed regard Archelaus, the abler Louis Napoleon of his time, with sympathy and envious393 admiration, but without attempting to justify394 the crimes of his hero by an appeal to natural law. The corruption of theoretical morality among the paid teachers took a more subtle form. Instead of opposing one principle to another, they held that all law had the same source, being an emanation from the will of the stronger, and exclusively designed to promote his interest. Justice, according to Thrasymachus in the Republic, is another’s good, which is true enough, and to practise it except under compulsion is foolish, which, whatever Grote may say, is a grossly immoral doctrine.
V.
We have seen how the idea of Nature, first evolved by physical philosophy, was taken by some, at least, among the Sophists as a basis for their ethical teaching; then how an interpretation utterly opposed to theirs was put on it by practical men, and how this second interpretation was so generalised by the younger rhetoricians as to involve the denial of all morality whatever. Meanwhile, another equally important conception, destined395 to come into speedy and prolonged antagonism396 with the idea of Nature, and like it to exercise a powerful influence on ethical reflection, had almost contemporaneously been elaborated out of the materials which earlier speculation14 supplied. From Parmenides and Heracleitus down, every philosopher who had propounded397 a theory of the world, had also more or less peremptorily398 insisted on the fact that his theory differed widely from common belief. Those who held that change is86 impossible, and those who taught that everything is incessantly399 changing; those who asserted the indestructibility of matter, and those who denied its continuity; those who took away objective reality from every quality except extension and resistance, and those who affirmed that the smallest molecules400 partook more or less of every attribute that is revealed to sense—all these, however much they might disagree among themselves, agreed in declaring that the received opinions of mankind were an utter delusion. Thus, a sharp distinction came to be drawn401 between the misleading sense-impressions and the objective reality to which thought alone could penetrate402. It was by combining these two elements, sensation and thought, that the idea of mind was originally constituted. And mind when so understood could not well be accounted for by any of the materialistic403 hypotheses at first proposed. The senses must differ profoundly from that of which they give such an unfaithful report; while reason, which Anaxagoras had so carefully differentiated404 from every other form of existence, carried back its distinction to the subjective405 sphere, and became clothed with a new spirituality when reintegrated in the consciousness of man.
The first result of this separation between man and the world was a complete breach with the old physical philosophy, shown, on the one hand, by an abandonment of speculative studies, on the other, by a substitution of convention for Nature as the recognised standard of right. Both consequences were drawn by Protagoras, the most eminent406 of the Sophists. We have now to consider more particularly what was his part in the great drama of which we are attempting to give an intelligible407 account.
Protagoras was born about 480 B.C. He was a fellow-townsman of Democritus, and has been represented, though not on good authority, as a disciple334 of that illustrious thinker. It was rather by a study of Heracleitus that his87 philosophical opinions, so far as they were borrowed from others, seem to have been most decisively determined. In any case, practice, not theory, was the principal occupation of his life. He gave instruction for payment in the higher branches of a liberal education, and adopted the name of Sophist, which before had simply meant a wise man, as an honourable title for his new calling. Protagoras was a very popular teacher. The news of his arrival in a strange city excited immense enthusiasm, and he was followed from place to place by a band of eager disciples. At Athens he was honoured by the friendship of such men as Pericles and Euripides. It was at the house of the great tragic poet that he read out a work beginning with the ominous declaration, ‘I cannot tell whether the gods exist or not; life is too short for such difficult investigations409.’66 Athenian bigotry410 took alarm directly. The book containing this frank confession411 of agnosticism was publicly burned, all purchasers being compelled to give up the copies in their possession. The author himself was either banished412 or took flight, and perished by shipwreck413 on the way to Sicily before completing his seventieth year.
The scepticism of Protagoras went beyond theology and extended to all science whatever. Such, at least, seems to have been the force of his celebrated declaration that ‘man is the measure of all things, both as regards their existence and their non-existence.’67 According to Plato, this doctrine followed from the identification of knowledge with sensible perception, which in its turn was based on a modified form of the Heracleitean theory of a perpetual flux414. The series of external changes which constitutes Nature, acting184 on the series of internal changes which constitutes each man’s personality, produces particular sensations, and these alone are the true reality. They vary with every variation in the88 factors, and therefore are not the same for separate individuals. Each man’s perceptions are true for himself, but for himself alone. Plato easily shows that such a theory of truth is at variance with ordinary opinion, and that if all opinions are true, it must necessarily stand self-condemned415. We may also observe that if nothing can be known but sensation, nothing can be known of its conditions. It would, however, be unfair to convict Protagoras of talking nonsense on the unsupported authority of the Theaetêtus. Plato himself suggests that a better case might have been made out for the incriminated doctrine could its author have been heard in self-defence. We may conjecture that Protagoras did not distinguish very accurately416 between existence, knowledge, and applicability to practice. If we assume, what there seems good reason to believe, that in the great controversy417 of Nature versus418 Law, Protagoras sided with the latter, his position will at once become clear. When the champions of Nature credited her with a stability and an authority greater than could be claimed for merely human arrangements, it was a judicious419 step to carry the war into their territory, and ask, on what foundation then does Nature herself stand? Is not she, too, perpetually changing, and do we not become acquainted with her entirely through our own feelings? Ought not those feelings to be taken as the ultimate standard in all questions of right and wrong? Individual opinion is a fact which must be reckoned with, but which can be changed by persuasion, not by appeals to something that we none of us know anything about. Man is the measure of all things, not the will of gods whose very existence is uncertain, nor yet a purely420 hypothetical state of Nature. Human interests must take precedence of every other consideration. Hector meant nothing else when he preferred the obvious dictates421 of patriotism422 to inferences drawn from the flight of birds.
We now understand why Protagoras, in the Platonic423 dialogue bearing his name, should glance scornfully at the89 method of instruction pursued by Hippias, with his lectures on astronomy, and why he prefers to discuss obscure passages in the poets. The quarrel between a classical and a scientific education was just then beginning, and Protagoras, as a Humanist, sided with the classics. Again, he does not think much of the ‘great and sane266 and noble race of brutes.’ He would not, like the Cynics, take them as examples of conduct. Man, he says, is naturally worse provided for than any animal; even the divine gift of wisdom would not save him from extinction424 without the priceless social virtues of justice and reverence425, that is, the regard for public opinion which Mr. Darwin, too, has represented as the strongest moralising power in primitive society. And, as the possession of these qualities constituted the fundamental distinction between men and brutes, so also did the advantage of civilisation over barbarism rest on their superior development, a development due to the ethical instruction received by every citizen from his earliest infancy426, reinforced through after-life by the sterner correction of legal punishments, and completed by the elimination427 of all individuals demonstrably unfitted for the social state. Protagoras had no sympathy with those who affect to prefer the simplicity428 of savages429 to the fancied corruption of civilisation. Hear how he answers the Rousseaus and Diderots of his time:—
‘I would have you consider that he who appears to you to be the worst of those who have been brought up in laws and humanities would appear to be a just man and a master of justice if he were to be compared with men who had no education, or courts of justice, or laws, or any restraints upon them which compelled them to practise virtue—with the savages, for example, whom the poet Pherecrates exhibited on the stage at the last year’s Lenaean festival. If you were living among men such as the man-haters in his chorus, you would be only too glad to meet with Eurybates and Phrynondas, and you would sorrowfully long to revisit the rascality430 of this part of the world.’68
90
We find the same theory reproduced and enforced with weighty illustrations by the great historian of that age. It is not known whether Thucydides owed any part of his culture to Protagoras, but the introduction to his history breathes the same spirit as the observations which we have just transcribed431. He, too, characterises antiquity432 as a scene of barbarism, isolation433, and lawless violence, particularly remarking that piracy389 was not then counted a dishonourable profession. He points to the tribes outside Greece, together with the most backward among the Greeks themselves, as representing the low condition from which Athens and her sister states had only emerged within a comparatively recent period. And in the funeral oration19 which he puts into the mouth of Pericles, the legendary434 glories of Athens are passed over without the slightest allusion,69 while exclusive prominence is given to her proud position as the intellectual centre of Greece. Evidently a radical435 change had taken place in men’s conceptions since Herodotus wrote. They were learning to despise the mythical436 glories of their ancestors, to exalt100 the present at the expense of the past, to fix their attention exclusively on immediate human interests, and, possibly, to anticipate the coming of a loftier civilisation than had as yet been seen.
The evolution of Greek tragic poetry bears witness to the same transformation of taste. On comparing Sophocles with Aeschylus, we are struck by a change of tone analogous to that which distinguishes Thucydides from Herodotus. It has been shown in our first chapter how the elder dramatist delights in tracing events and institutions back to their first origin, and in following derivations through the steps of a genealogical sequence. Sophocles, on the other hand, limits himself to a close analysis of the action immediately represented, the motives437 by which his characters are in91fluenced, and the arguments by which their conduct is justified438 or condemned. We have already touched on the very different attitude assumed towards religion by these two great poets. Here we have only to add that while Aeschylus fills his dramas with supernatural beings, and frequently restricts his mortal actors to the interpretation or execution of a divine mandate439, Sophocles, representing the spirit of Greek Humanism, only once brings a god on the stage, and dwells exclusively on the emotions of pride, ambition, revenge, terror, pity, and affection, by which men and women of a lofty type are actuated. Again (and this is one of his poetic440 superiorities), Aeschylus has an open sense for the external world; his imagination ranges far and wide from land to land; his pages are filled with the fire and light, the music and movement of Nature in a Southern country. He leads before us in splendid procession the starry-kirtled night; the bright rulers that bring round winter and summer; the dazzling sunshine; the forked flashes of lightning; the roaring thunder; the white-winged snow-flakes; the rain descending441 on thirsty flowers; the sea now rippling442 with infinite laughter, now moaning on the shingle443, growing hoary444 under rough blasts, with its eastern waves dashing against the new-risen sun, or, again, lulled445 to waveless, windless, noonday sleep; the volcano with its volleys of fire-breathing spray and fierce jaws446 of devouring447 lava448; the eddying449 whorls of dust; the resistless mountain-torrent; the meadow-dews; the flowers of spring and fruits of summer; the evergreen450 olive, and trees that give leafy shelter from dogstar heat. For all this world of wonder and beauty Sophocles offers only a few meagre allusions to the phenomena presented by sunshine and storm. No poet has ever so entirely concentrated his attention on human deeds and human passions. Only the grove451 of Col?nus, interwoven with his own earliest recollections, had power to draw from him, in extreme old age, a song such as the nightingale might have warbled amid those92 inviolable recesses452 where the ivy453 and laurel, the vine and olive gave a never-failing shelter against sun and wind alike. Yet even this leafy covert454 is but an image of the poet’s own imagination, undisturbed by outward influences, self-involved, self-protected, and self-sustained. Of course, we are only restating in different language what has long been known, that the epic455 element of poetry, before so prominent, was with Sophocles entirely displaced by the dramatic; but if Sophocles became the greatest dramatist of antiquity, it was precisely because no other writer could, like him, work out a catastrophe456 solely457 through the action of mind on mind, without any intervention458 of physical force; and if he possessed459 this faculty460, it was because Greek thought as a whole had been turned inward; because he shared in the devotion to psychological studies equally exemplified by his younger contemporaries, Protagoras, Thucydides, and Socrates, all of whom might have taken for their motto the noble lines—
‘On earth there is nothing great but man,
In man there is nothing great but mind.’
We have said that Protagoras was a partisan155 of Nomos, or convention, against Nature. That was the conservative side of his character. Still, Nomos was not with him what it had been with the older Greeks, an immutable461 tradition indistinguishable from physical law. It was a human creation, and represented the outcome of inherited experience, admitting always of change for the better. Hence the vast importance which he attributed to education. This, no doubt, was magnifying his own office, for the training of youth was his profession. But, unquestionably, the feelings of his more liberal contemporaries went with him. A generation before, Pindar had spoken scornfully of intellectual culture as a vain attempt to make up for the absence of genius which the gods alone could give. Yet Pindar himself was always careful to dwell on the services rendered by professional trainers to the93 victorious462 athletes whose praises he sang, and there was really no reason why genius and culture should be permanently463 dissociated. A Themistocles might decide offhand464 on the questions brought before him; a Pericles, dealing287 with much more complex interests, already needed a more careful preparation.
On the other hand, conservatives like Aristophanes continued to oppose the spread of education with acrimonious465 zeal466. Some of their arguments have a curiously467 familiar ring. Intellectual pursuits, they said, were bad for the health, led to irreligion and immorality468, made young people quite unlike their grandfathers, and were somehow or other connected with loose company and a fast life. This last insinuation was in one respect the very reverse of true. So far as personal morality went, nothing could be better for it than the change introduced by Protagoras from amateur to paid teaching. Before this time, a Greek youth who wished for something better than the very elementary instruction given at school, could only attach himself to some older and wiser friend, whose conversation might be very improving, but who was pretty sure to introduce a sentimental469 element into their relationship equally discreditable to both.70 A similar danger has always existed with regard to highly intelligent women, although it may have threatened a smaller number of individuals; and the efforts now being made to provide them with a systematic education under official superintendence will incidentally have the effect of saving our future Héloises and Julies from the tuition of an Abélard or a Saint-Preux.
It was their habit of teaching rhetoric382 as an art which raised the fiercest storm of indignation against Protagoras and his colleagues. The endeavour to discover rules for addressing a tribunal or a popular assembly in the manner best cal94culated to win their assent470 had originated quite independently of any philosophical theory. On the re-establishment of order, that is to say of popular government, in Sicily, many lawsuits471 arose out of events which had happened years before; and, owing to the lapse252 of time, demonstrative evidence was not available. Accordingly, recourse was had on both sides to arguments possessing a greater or less degree of probability. The art of putting such probable inferences so as to produce persuasion demanded great technical skill; and two Sicilians, Corax and Tisias by name, composed treatises472 on the subject. It would appear that the new-born art was taken up by Protagoras and developed in the direction of increased dialectical subtlety473. We are informed that he undertook to make the worse appear the better reason; and this very soon came to be popularly considered as an accomplishment taught by all philosophers, Socrates among the rest. But if Protagoras merely meant that he would teach the art of reasoning, one hardly sees how he could have expressed himself otherwise, consistently with the antithetical style of his age. We should say more simply that a case is strengthened by the ability to argue it properly. It has not been shown that the Protagorean dialectic offered exceptional facilities for maintaining unjust pretensions. Taken, however, in connexion with the humanistic teaching, it had an unsettling and sceptical tendency. All belief and all practice rested on law, and law was the result of a convention made among men and ultimately produced by individual conviction. What one man had done another could undo474. Religious tradition and natural right, the sole external standards, had already disappeared. There remained the test of self-consistency, and against this all the subtlety of the new dialectic was turned. The triumph of Eristic was to show that a speaker had contradicted himself, no matter how his statements might be worded. Moreover, now that reference to an objective reality was disallowed475, words were put in the place95 of things and treated like concrete realities. The next step was to tear them out of the grammatical construction, where alone they possessed any truth or meaning, each being simultaneously476 credited with all the uses which at any time it might be made to fulfil. For example, if a man knew one thing he knew all, for he had knowledge, and knowledge is of everything knowable. Much that seems to us tedious or superfluous477 in Aristotle’s expositions was intended as a safeguard against this endless cavilling478. Finally, negation479 itself was eliminated along with the possibility of falsehood and contradiction. For it was argued that ‘nothing’ had no existence and could not be an object of thought.71
VI.
From utter confusion to extreme nihilism there was but a single step. This step was taken by Gorgias, the Sicilian rhetorician, who held the same relation towards western Hellas and the Eleatic school as that which Protagoras held towards eastern Hellas and the philosophy of Heracleitus. He, like his eminent contemporary, was opposed to the thinkers whom, borrowing a useful term from the nomenclature of the last century, we may call the Greek physiocrats. To confute them, he wrote a book with the significant title, On Nature or Nothing: maintaining, first, that nothing exists; secondly, that if anything exists, we cannot know it; thirdly, that if we know it, there is no possibility of communicating our knowledge to others. The first thesis was established by pushing the Eleatic arguments against movement and change a little further; the second by showing that thought and existence are different, or else everything that is thought of would exist; the third by establishing a similar incommensurability between words and sensations. Grote96 has attempted to show that Gorgias was only arguing against the existence of a noumenon underlying480 phenomena, such as all idealists deny. Zeller has, however, convincingly proved that Gorgias, in common with every other thinker before Plato, was ignorant of this distinction;72 and we may add that it would leave the second and third theses absolutely unimpaired. We must take the whole together as constituting a declaration of war against science, an assertion, in still stronger language, of the agnosticism taught by Protagoras. The truth is, that a Greek controversialist generally overproved his case, and in order to overwhelm an adversary481 pulled down the whole house, even at the risk of being buried among the ruins himself. A modern reasoner, taking his cue from Gorgias, without pushing the matter to such an extreme, might carry on his attack on lines running parallel with those laid down by the Sicilian Sophist. He would begin by denying the existence of a ‘state of Nature’; for such a state must be either variable or constant. If it is constant, how could civilisation ever have arisen? If it is variable, what becomes of the fixed standard appealed to? Then, again, supposing such a state ever to have existed, how could authentic482 information about it have come down to us through the ages of corruption which are supposed to have intervened? And, lastly, granting that a state of Nature accessible to enquiry has ever existed, how can we reorganise society on the basis of such discordant483 data as are presented to us by the physiocrats, no two of whom agree with regard to the first principles of natural order; one saying that it is equality, another aristocracy, and a third despotism? We do not say that these arguments are conclusive484, we only mean that in relation to modern thought they very fairly represent the dialectic artillery485 brought to bear by Greek humanism against its naturalistic opponents.
We have seen how Prodicus and Hippias professed486 to97 teach all science, all literature, and all virtuous accomplishments487. We have seen how Protagoras rejected every kind of knowledge unconnected with social culture. We now find Gorgias going a step further. In his later years, at least, he professes488 to teach nothing but rhetoric or the art of persuasion. We say in his later years, for at one time he seems to have taught ethics and psychology489 as well.73 But the Gorgias of Plato’s famous dialogue limits himself to the power of producing persuasion by words on all possible subjects, even those of whose details he is ignorant. Wherever the rhetorician comes into competition with the professional he will beat him on his own ground, and will be preferred to him for every public office. The type is by no means extinct, and flourishes like a green bay-tree among ourselves. Like Pendennis, a writer of this kind will review any book from the height of superior knowledge acquired by two hours’ reading in the British Museum; or, if he is adroit490 enough, will dispense491 with even that slender amount of preparation. He need not even trouble himself to read the book which he criticises. A superficial acquaintance with magazine articles will qualify him to pass judgment on all life, all religion, and all philosophy. But it is in politics that the finest career lies before him. He rises to power by attacking the measures of real statesmen, and remains492 there by adopting them. He becomes Chancellor493 of the Exchequer494 by gross economical blundering, and Prime Minister by a happy mixture of epigram and adulation.
Rhetoric conferred even greater power in old Athens than in modern England. Not only did mastery of expression lead to public employment; but also, as every citizen was permitted by law to address his assembled fellow-countrymen and propose measures for their acceptance, it became a direct passport to supreme political authority. Nor was this all. At Athens the employment of professional advocates was not98 allowed, and it was easy to prosecute495 an enemy on the most frivolous496 pretexts497. If the defendant498 happened to be wealthy, and if condemnation499 involved a loss of property, there was a prejudice against him in the minds of the jury, confiscation500 being regarded as a convenient resource for replenishing the national exchequer. Thus the possession of rhetorical ability became a formidable weapon in the hands of unscrupulous citizens, who were enabled to extort501 large sums by the mere threat of putting rich men on their trial for some real or pretended offence. This systematic employment of rhetoric for purposes of self-aggrandisement bore much the same relation to the teaching of Protagoras and Gorgias as the open and violent seizure502 of supreme power on the plea of natural superiority bore to the theories of their rivals, being the way in which practical men applied the principle that truth is determined by persuasion. It was also attended by considerably less danger than a frank appeal to the right of the stronger, so far at least as the aristocratic party were concerned. For they had been taught a lesson not easily forgotten by the downfall of the oligarchies503 established in 411 and 404; and the second catastrophe especially proved that nothing but a popular government was possible in Athens. Accordingly, the nobles set themselves to study new methods for obtaining their ultimate end, which was always the possession of uncontrolled power over the lives and fortunes of their fellow-citizens. With wealth to purchase instruction from the Sophists, with leisure to practise oratory504, and with the ability often accompanying high birth, there was no reason why the successors of Charmides and Critias should not enjoy all the pleasures of tyranny unaccompanied by any of its drawbacks. Here, again, a parallel suggests itself between ancient Greece and modern Europe. On the Continent, where theories of natural law are far more prevalent than with us, it is by brute force that justice is trampled505 down: the one great object of every ambitious99 intriguer506 is to possess himself of the military machine, his one great terror, that a stronger man may succeed in wresting507 it from him; in England the political adventurer looks to rhetoric as his only resource, and at the pinnacle508 of power has to dread the hailstorm of epigrammatic invective304 directed against him by abler or younger rivals.74
Besides its influence on the formation and direction of political eloquence509, the doctrine professed by Protagoras had a far-reaching effect on the subsequent development of thought. Just as Cynicism was evolved from the theory of Hippias, so also did the teaching which denied Nature and concentrated all study on subjective phenomena, with a tendency towards individualistic isolation, lead on to the system of Aristippus. The founder510 of the Cyrenaic school is called a Sophist by Aristotle, nor can the justice of the appellation511 be doubted. He was, it is true, a friend and companion of Socrates, but intellectually he is more nearly related to Protagoras. Aristippus rejected physical studies, reduced all knowledge to the consciousness of our own sensations, and made immediate gratification the end of life. Protagoras would have objected to the last principle, but it was only an extension of his own views, for all history proves that Hedonism is constantly associated with sensationalism. The theory that knowledge is built up out of feelings has an elective affinity512 for the theory that action is, or ought to be, determined in the last resort by the most prominent feelings, which are pleasure and pain. Both theories have since been strengthened by the introduction of a new and more ideal element into each. We have come to see that knowledge is constituted not by sensations alone, but by sensations grouped according to certain laws which seem to be inseparable from the existence of any consciousness whatever. And, similarly,100 we have learned to take into account, not merely the momentary513 enjoyments514 of an individual, but his whole life’s happiness as well, and not his happiness only, but also that of the whole community to which he belongs. Nevertheless, in both cases it is rightly held that the element of feeling preponderates515, and the doctrines516 of such thinkers as J. S. Mill are legitimately517 traceable through Epicurus and Aristippus to Protagoras as their first originator.
Notwithstanding the importance of this impulse, it does not represent the whole effect produced by Protagoras on philosophy. His eristic method was taken up by the Megaric school, and at first combined with other elements borrowed from Parmenides and Socrates, but ultimately extricated518 from them and used as a critical solvent519 of all dogmatism by the later Sceptics. From their writings, after a long interval of enforced silence, it passed over to Montaigne, Bayle, Hume, and Kant, with what redoubtable520 consequences to received opinions need not here be specified521. Our object is simply to illustrate347 the continuity of thought, and the powerful influence exercised by ancient Greece on its subsequent development.
Every variety of opinion current among the Sophists reduces itself, in the last analysis, to their fundamental antithesis between Nature and Law, the latter being somewhat ambiguously conceived by its supporters as either human reason or human will, or more generally as both together, combining to assert their self-dependence and emancipation522 from external authority. This antithesis was prefigured in the distinction between Chthonian and Olympian divinities. Continuing afterwards to inspire the rivalry523 of opposing schools, Cynic against Cyrenaic, Stoic against Epicurean, Sceptic against Dogmatist, it was but partially524 overcome by the mediatorial schemes of Socrates and his successors. Then came Catholicism, equally adverse525 to the pretensions of either party, and held them down101 under its suffocating526 pressure for more than a thousand years.
‘Natur und Geist, so spricht man nicht zu Christen,
Darum verbrennt man Atheisten;
Natur ist Sünde, Geist ist Teufel.’
Both slowly struggled back into consciousness in the fitful dreams of mediaeval sleep. Nature was represented by astrology with its fatalistic predetermination of events; idealism by the alchemical lore527 which was to give its possessor eternal youth and inexhaustible wealth. With the complete revival528 of classic literature and the temporary neutralisation of theology by internal discord, both sprang up again in glorious life, and produced the great art of the sixteenth century, the great science and philosophy of the seventeenth. Later on, becoming self-conscious, they divide, and their partisans draw off into two opposing armies, Rousseau against Voltaire, Herder against Kant, Goethe against Schiller, Hume against himself. Together they bring about the Revolution; but after marching hand in hand to the destruction of all existing institutions they again part company, and, putting on the frippery of a dead faith, confront one another, each with its own ritual, its own acolytes529, its own intolerance, with feasts of Nature and goddesses of Reason, in mutual and murderous hostility530. When the storm subsided531, new lines of demarcation were laid down, and the cause of political liberty was dissociated from what seemed to be thoroughly532 discredited533 figments. Nevertheless, imaginative literature still preserves traces of the old conflict, and on examining the four greatest English novelists of the last fifty years we shall find that Dickens and Charlotte Bronté, though personally most unlike, agree in representing the arbitrary, subjective, ideal side of life, the subjugation534 of things to self, not of self to things; he transfiguring them in the light of humour, fancy, sentiment; she transforming them by the alchemy of inward passion; while102 Thackeray and George Eliot represent the triumph of natural forces over rebellious individualities; the one writer depicting535 an often crude reality at odds536 with convention and conceit537; while the other, possessing, if not an intrinsically greater genius, at least a higher philosophical culture, discloses to us the primordial necessities of existence, the pitiless conformations of circumstance, before which egoism, ignorance, illusion, and indecision must bow, or be crushed to pieces if they resist.
VII.
Our readers have now before them everything of importance that is known about the Sophists, and something more that is not known for certain, but may, we think, be reasonably conjectured538. Taking the whole class together, they represent a combination of three distinct tendencies, the endeavour to supply an encyclopaedic training for youth, the cultivation539 of political rhetoric as a special art, and the search after a scientific foundation for ethics derived from the results of previous philosophy. With regard to the last point, they agree in drawing a fundamental distinction between Nature and Law, but some take one and some the other for their guide. The partisans of Nature lean to the side of a more comprehensive education, while their opponents tend more and more to lay an exclusive stress on oratorical540 proficiency541. Both schools are at last infected by the moral corruption of the day, natural right becoming identified with the interest of the stronger, and humanism leading to the denial of objective reality, the substitution of illusion for knowledge, and the confusion of momentary gratification with moral good. The dialectical habit of considering every question under contradictory542 aspects degenerates543 into eristic prize-fighting and deliberate disregard of the conditions which alone make argument possible. Finally, the component544 elements of Sophisti103cism are dissociated from one another, and are either separately developed or pass over into new combinations. Rhetoric, apart from speculation, absorbs the whole time and talent of an Isocrates; general culture is imparted by a professorial class without originality545, but without reproach; naturalism and sensuous546 idealism are worked up into systematic completion for the sake of their philosophical interest alone; and the name of sophistry is unhappily fastened by Aristotle on paid exhibitions of verbal wrangling547 which the great Sophists would have regarded with indignation and disgust.
It remains for us to glance at the controversy which has long been carried on respecting the true position of the Sophists in Greek life and thought. We have already alluded to the by no means favourable judgment passed on them by some among their contemporaries. Socrates condemned them severely,H but only because they received payment for their lessons; and the sentiment was probably echoed by many who had neither his disinterestedness548 nor his frugality549. To make profit by intellectual work was not unusual in Greece. Pheidias sold his statues; Pindar spent his life writing for money; Simonides and Sophocles were charged with showing too great eagerness in the pursuit of gain.75 But a man’s conversation with his friends had always been gratuitous550, and the novel idea of charging a high fee for it excited considerable offence. Socrates called it prostitution—the sale of that which should be the free gift of love—without perhaps sufficiently551 considering that the same privilege had formerly552 been purchased with a more dishonourable price. He also considered that a freeman was degraded by placing himself at the beck and call of another, although it would appear that the Sophists chose their own time for lecturing, and were certainly not more slaves than a sculptor553 or poet who had received an order to execute. It was also argued that any one who really succeeded in improving the104 community benefited so much by the result that it was unfair on his part to demand any additional remuneration. Suppose a popular preacher were to come over from New York to England, star about among the principal cities, charging a high price for admission to his sermons, and finally return home in possession of a handsome fortune, we can well imagine that sarcasms554 at the expense of such profitable piety would not be wanting. This hypothetical case will help us to understand how many an honest Athenian must have felt towards the showy colonial strangers who were making such a lucrative555 business of teaching moderation and justice. Plato, speaking for his master but not from his master’s standpoint, raised an entirely different objection. He saw no reason why the Sophists should not sell their wisdom if they had any wisdom to sell. But this was precisely what he denied. He submitted their pretensions to a searching cross-examination, and, as he considered, convicted them of being worthless pretenders. There was a certain unfairness about this method, for neither his own positive teaching nor that of Socrates could have stood before a similar test, as Aristotle speedily demonstrated in the next generation. He was, in fact, only doing for Protagoras and Gorgias what they had done for early Greek speculation, and what every school habitually does for its predecessors. It had yet to be learned that this dissolving dialectic constitutes the very law of philosophical progress. The discovery was made by Hegel, and it is to him that the Sophists owe their rehabilitation556 in modern times. His lectures on the History of Philosophy contain much that was afterwards urged by Grote on the same side. Five years before the appearance of Grote’s famous sixty-seventh chapter, Lewes had also published a vindication557 of the Sophists, possibly suggested by Hegel’s work, which he had certainly consulted when preparing his own History. There is, however, this great difference, that while the two English critics endeavour to minimise the105 sceptical, innovating558 tendency of the Sophists, it is, contrariwise, brought into exaggerated prominence by the German philosopher. We have just remarked that the final dissolution of Sophisticism was brought about by the separate development given to each of the various tendencies which it temporarily combined. Now, each of our three apologists has taken up one of these tendencies, and treated it as constituting the whole movement under discussion. To Hegel, the Sophists are chiefly subjective idealists. To Lewes, they are rhetoricians like Isocrates. To Grote, they are, what in truth the Sophists of the Roman empire were, teachers representing the standard opinions of their age. Lewes and Grote are both particularly anxious to prove that the original Sophists did not corrupt80 Greek morality. Thus much has been conceded by contemporary German criticism, and is no more than was observed by Plato long ago. Grote further asserts that the implied corruption of morality is an illusion, and that at the end of the Peloponnesian war the Athenians were no worse than their forefathers559 who fought at Marathon. His opinion is shared by so accomplished a scholar as Prof. Jowett;76 but here he has the combined authority of Thucydides, Aristophanes, and Plato against him. We have, however, examined this question already, and need not return to it. Whether any of the Sophists themselves can be proved to have taught immoral doctrines is another moot560 point. Grote defends them all, Polus and Thrasymachus included. Here, also, we have expressed our dissent561 from the eminent historian, whom we can only suppose to have missed the whole point of Plato’s argument. Lewes takes different106 ground when he accuses Plato of misrepresenting his opponents. It is true that the Sophists cannot be heard in self-defence, but there is no internal improbability about the charges brought against them. The Greek rhetoricians are not accused of saying anything that has not been said again and again by their modern representatives. Whether the odium of such sentiments should attach itself to the whole class of Sophists is quite another question. Grote denies that they held any doctrine in common. The German critics, on the other hand, insist on treating them as a school with common principles and tendencies. Brandis calls them ‘a number of men, gifted indeed, but not seekers after knowledge for its own sake, who made a trade of giving instruction as a means for the attainment of external and selfish ends, and of substituting mere technical proficiency for real science.’77 If our account be the true one, this would apply to Gorgias and the younger rhetoricians alone. One does not precisely see what external or selfish ends were subserved by the physical philosophy which Prodicus and Hippias taught, nor why the comprehensive enquiries of Protagoras into the conditions of civilisation and the limits of human knowledge should be contemptuously flung aside because he made them the basis of an honourable profession. Zeller, in much the same strain, defines a Sophist as one who professes to be a teacher of wisdom, while his object is individual culture (die formelle und praktische Bildung des Subjekts) and not the scientific investigation408 of truth.78 We do not know whether Grote was content with an explanation which would only have required an unimportant modification562 of his own statements to agree precisely with them. It ought amply to have satisfied Lewes. For ourselves, we must confess to caring very little whether the Sophists investigated truth for its own sake or as a means to self-culture. We believe, and in the next chapter we hope107 to show, that Socrates, at any rate, did not treat knowledge apart from practice as an end in itself. But the history of philosophy is not concerned with such subtleties563 as these. Our contention564 is that the Stoic, Epicurean, and Sceptical schools may be traced back through Antisthenes and Aristippus to Hippias and Protagoras much more directly than to Socrates. If Zeller will grant this, then he can no longer treat Sophisticism as a mere solvent of the old physical philosophy. If he denies it, we can only appeal to his own history, which here, as well as in our discussions of early Greek thought, we have found more useful than any other work on the subject. Our obligations to Grote are of a more general character. We have learned from him to look at the Sophists without prejudice. But we think that he, too, underrates their far-reaching intellectual significance, while his defence of their moral orthodoxy seems, so far as certain members of the class are concerned, inconsistent with any belief in Plato’s historical fidelity. That the most eminent Sophists did nothing to corrupt Greek morality is now almost universally admitted. If we have succeeded in showing that they did not corrupt but fruitfully develop Greek philosophy, the purpose of this study will have been sufficiently fulfilled.
The title of this chapter may have seemed to promise more than a casual mention of the thinker in whom Greek Humanism attained its loftiest and purest expression. But in history, no less than in life, Socrates must ever stand apart from the Sophists. Beyond and above all specialities of teaching, the transcendent dignity of a character which personified philosophy itself demands a separate treatment. Readers who have followed us thus far may feel interested in an attempt to throw some new light on one who was a riddle565 to his contemporaries, and has remained a riddle to after-ages.
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1 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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2 ascertainable | |
adj.可确定(探知),可发现的 | |
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3 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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4 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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5 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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6 circumscription | |
n.界限;限界 | |
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7 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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8 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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9 ethical | |
adj.伦理的,道德的,合乎道德的 | |
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10 discrepancies | |
n.差异,不符合(之处),不一致(之处)( discrepancy的名词复数 ) | |
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11 obtrude | |
v.闯入;侵入;打扰 | |
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12 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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13 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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14 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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15 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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16 creeds | |
(尤指宗教)信条,教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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17 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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18 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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19 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
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20 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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21 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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22 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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23 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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24 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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25 embodying | |
v.表现( embody的现在分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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26 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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27 blot | |
vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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28 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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29 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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30 systematically | |
adv.有系统地 | |
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31 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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32 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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33 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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34 precepts | |
n.规诫,戒律,箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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35 precept | |
n.戒律;格言 | |
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36 distinctively | |
adv.特殊地,区别地 | |
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37 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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38 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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39 stoic | |
n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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40 ethnic | |
adj.人种的,种族的,异教徒的 | |
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41 cosmopolitan | |
adj.世界性的,全世界的,四海为家的,全球的 | |
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42 diffusion | |
n.流布;普及;散漫 | |
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43 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
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44 vilifies | |
n.中伤,诽谤( vilify的名词复数 )v.中伤,诽谤( vilify的第三人称单数 ) | |
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45 impure | |
adj.不纯净的,不洁的;不道德的,下流的 | |
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46 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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47 exult | |
v.狂喜,欢腾;欢欣鼓舞 | |
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48 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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49 suppliant | |
adj.哀恳的;n.恳求者,哀求者 | |
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50 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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51 abounds | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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53 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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54 invader | |
n.侵略者,侵犯者,入侵者 | |
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55 commemorated | |
v.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56 repel | |
v.击退,抵制,拒绝,排斥 | |
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57 aggression | |
n.进攻,侵略,侵犯,侵害 | |
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58 barbarians | |
n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 );外国人;粗野的人;无教养的人 | |
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59 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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60 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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61 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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62 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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63 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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64 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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65 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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66 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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67 retarded | |
a.智力迟钝的,智力发育迟缓的 | |
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68 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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69 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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70 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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71 delirious | |
adj.不省人事的,神智昏迷的 | |
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72 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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73 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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74 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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75 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
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76 pestilence | |
n.瘟疫 | |
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77 complicate | |
vt.使复杂化,使混乱,使难懂 | |
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78 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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79 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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80 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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81 corruptions | |
n.堕落( corruption的名词复数 );腐化;腐败;贿赂 | |
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82 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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83 brutes | |
兽( brute的名词复数 ); 畜生; 残酷无情的人; 兽性 | |
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84 lute | |
n.琵琶,鲁特琴 | |
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85 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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86 conjugal | |
adj.婚姻的,婚姻性的 | |
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87 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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88 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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89 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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90 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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91 aesthetic | |
adj.美学的,审美的,有美感 | |
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92 encomium | |
n.赞颂;颂词 | |
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93 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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94 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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95 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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96 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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97 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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98 voluptuous | |
adj.肉欲的,骄奢淫逸的 | |
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99 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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100 exalt | |
v.赞扬,歌颂,晋升,提升 | |
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101 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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102 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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103 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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104 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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105 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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106 laborious | |
adj.吃力的,努力的,不流畅 | |
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107 aspiration | |
n.志向,志趣抱负;渴望;(语)送气音;吸出 | |
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108 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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109 supremely | |
adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
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110 asceticism | |
n.禁欲主义 | |
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111 attainment | |
n.达到,到达;[常pl.]成就,造诣 | |
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112 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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113 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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114 atone | |
v.赎罪,补偿 | |
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115 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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116 condone | |
v.宽恕;原谅 | |
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117 erring | |
做错事的,错误的 | |
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118 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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119 stainless | |
adj.无瑕疵的,不锈的 | |
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120 elation | |
n.兴高采烈,洋洋得意 | |
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121 dishonour | |
n./vt.拒付(支票、汇票、票据等);vt.凌辱,使丢脸;n.不名誉,耻辱,不光彩 | |
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122 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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123 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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124 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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125 sages | |
n.圣人( sage的名词复数 );智者;哲人;鼠尾草(可用作调料) | |
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126 maxims | |
n.格言,座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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127 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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128 temperate | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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129 foresight | |
n.先见之明,深谋远虑 | |
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130 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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131 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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132 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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133 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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134 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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135 virtuousness | |
贞德,高洁 | |
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136 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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137 odyssey | |
n.长途冒险旅行;一连串的冒险 | |
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138 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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139 vindictiveness | |
恶毒;怀恨在心 | |
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140 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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141 entail | |
vt.使承担,使成为必要,需要 | |
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142 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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143 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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144 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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145 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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146 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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147 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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148 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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149 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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150 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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151 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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152 junction | |
n.连接,接合;交叉点,接合处,枢纽站 | |
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153 scrupulous | |
adj.审慎的,小心翼翼的,完全的,纯粹的 | |
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154 partisans | |
游击队员( partisan的名词复数 ); 党人; 党羽; 帮伙 | |
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155 partisan | |
adj.党派性的;游击队的;n.游击队员;党徒 | |
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156 adherence | |
n.信奉,依附,坚持,固着 | |
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157 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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158 aggrieved | |
adj.愤愤不平的,受委屈的;悲痛的;(在合法权利方面)受侵害的v.令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式);令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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159 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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160 perjury | |
n.伪证;伪证罪 | |
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161 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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162 abstain | |
v.自制,戒绝,弃权,避免 | |
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163 immoral | |
adj.不道德的,淫荡的,荒淫的,有伤风化的 | |
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164 redress | |
n.赔偿,救济,矫正;v.纠正,匡正,革除 | |
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165 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166 retaliation | |
n.报复,反击 | |
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167 redeem | |
v.买回,赎回,挽回,恢复,履行(诺言等) | |
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168 procuring | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的现在分词 );拉皮条 | |
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169 obligatory | |
adj.强制性的,义务的,必须的 | |
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170 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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171 avenge | |
v.为...复仇,为...报仇 | |
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172 oracle | |
n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
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173 oracles | |
神示所( oracle的名词复数 ); 神谕; 圣贤; 哲人 | |
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174 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
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175 probity | |
n.刚直;廉洁,正直 | |
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176 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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177 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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178 perjured | |
adj.伪证的,犯伪证罪的v.发假誓,作伪证( perjure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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179 craved | |
渴望,热望( crave的过去式 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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180 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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181 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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182 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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183 exacting | |
adj.苛求的,要求严格的 | |
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184 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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185 bribes | |
n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
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186 demons | |
n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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187 venting | |
消除; 泄去; 排去; 通风 | |
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188 guardians | |
监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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189 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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190 lured | |
吸引,引诱(lure的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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191 deities | |
n.神,女神( deity的名词复数 );神祗;神灵;神明 | |
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192 Pluto | |
n.冥王星 | |
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193 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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194 recital | |
n.朗诵,独奏会,独唱会 | |
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195 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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196 dwellers | |
n.居民,居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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197 subterranean | |
adj.地下的,地表下的 | |
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198 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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199 avert | |
v.防止,避免;转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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200 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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201 transgressing | |
v.超越( transgress的现在分词 );越过;违反;违背 | |
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202 initiated | |
n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始,创始,启蒙,介绍加入 | |
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203 busts | |
半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 ); 妇女的胸部; 胸围; 突击搜捕 | |
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204 rumoured | |
adj.谣传的;传说的;风 | |
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205 profanation | |
n.亵渎 | |
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206 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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207 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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208 votaries | |
n.信徒( votary的名词复数 );追随者;(天主教)修士;修女 | |
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209 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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210 feuds | |
n.长期不和,世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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211 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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212 arbitration | |
n.调停,仲裁 | |
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213 ebb | |
vi.衰退,减退;n.处于低潮,处于衰退状态 | |
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214 fugitives | |
n.亡命者,逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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215 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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216 slumberous | |
a.昏昏欲睡的 | |
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217 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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218 muse | |
n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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219 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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220 lyric | |
n.抒情诗,歌词;adj.抒情的 | |
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221 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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222 augury | |
n.预言,征兆,占卦 | |
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223 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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224 fructifying | |
v.结果实( fructify的现在分词 );使结果实,使多产,使土地肥沃 | |
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225 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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226 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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227 allured | |
诱引,吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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228 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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229 extricating | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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230 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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231 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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232 enlisted | |
adj.应募入伍的v.(使)入伍, (使)参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 );获得(帮助或支持) | |
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233 iniquity | |
n.邪恶;不公正 | |
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234 antiquated | |
adj.陈旧的,过时的 | |
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235 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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236 disparagement | |
n.轻视,轻蔑 | |
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237 primordial | |
adj.原始的;最初的 | |
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238 definitive | |
adj.确切的,权威性的;最后的,决定性的 | |
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239 titanic | |
adj.巨人的,庞大的,强大的 | |
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240 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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241 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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242 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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243 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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244 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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245 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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246 truthfulness | |
n. 符合实际 | |
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247 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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248 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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249 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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250 rift | |
n.裂口,隙缝,切口;v.裂开,割开,渗入 | |
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251 mythological | |
adj.神话的 | |
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252 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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253 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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254 interfering | |
adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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255 propitiated | |
v.劝解,抚慰,使息怒( propitiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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256 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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257 venerated | |
敬重(某人或某事物),崇敬( venerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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258 outrages | |
引起…的义愤,激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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259 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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260 instigates | |
n.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的名词复数 )v.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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261 repentant | |
adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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262 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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263 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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264 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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265 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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266 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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267 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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268 questionable | |
adj.可疑的,有问题的 | |
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269 impiety | |
n.不敬;不孝 | |
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270 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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271 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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272 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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273 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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274 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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275 interim | |
adj.暂时的,临时的;n.间歇,过渡期间 | |
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276 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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277 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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278 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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279 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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280 yoke | |
n.轭;支配;v.给...上轭,连接,使成配偶 | |
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281 royalty | |
n.皇家,皇族 | |
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282 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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283 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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284 provocation | |
n.激怒,刺激,挑拨,挑衅的事物,激怒的原因 | |
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285 tragical | |
adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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286 spartans | |
n.斯巴达(spartan的复数形式) | |
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287 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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288 expediency | |
n.适宜;方便;合算;利己 | |
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289 deteriorated | |
恶化,变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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290 discords | |
不和(discord的复数形式) | |
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291 fomented | |
v.激起,煽动(麻烦等)( foment的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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292 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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293 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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294 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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295 mutinous | |
adj.叛变的,反抗的;adv.反抗地,叛变地;n.反抗,叛变 | |
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296 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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297 derided | |
v.取笑,嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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298 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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299 harassing | |
v.侵扰,骚扰( harass的现在分词 );不断攻击(敌人) | |
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300 Vogue | |
n.时髦,时尚;adj.流行的 | |
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301 atheism | |
n.无神论,不信神 | |
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302 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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303 analogous | |
adj.相似的;类似的 | |
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304 invective | |
n.痛骂,恶意抨击 | |
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305 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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306 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
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307 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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308 iniquitous | |
adj.不公正的;邪恶的;高得出奇的 | |
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309 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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310 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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311 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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312 prominence | |
n.突出;显著;杰出;重要 | |
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313 renaissance | |
n.复活,复兴,文艺复兴 | |
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314 lapsing | |
v.退步( lapse的现在分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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315 rebellious | |
adj.造反的,反抗的,难控制的 | |
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316 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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317 aggravation | |
n.烦恼,恼火 | |
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318 mythology | |
n.神话,神话学,神话集 | |
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319 discredit | |
vt.使不可置信;n.丧失信义;不信,怀疑 | |
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320 regain | |
vt.重新获得,收复,恢复 | |
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321 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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322 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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323 sophistry | |
n.诡辩 | |
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324 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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325 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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326 edifying | |
adj.有教训意味的,教训性的,有益的v.开导,启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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327 chronological | |
adj.按年月顺序排列的,年代学的 | |
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328 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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329 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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330 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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331 valetudinarian | |
n.病人;健康不佳者 | |
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332 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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333 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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334 disciple | |
n.信徒,门徒,追随者 | |
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335 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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336 synonyms | |
同义词( synonym的名词复数 ) | |
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337 rife | |
adj.(指坏事情)充斥的,流行的,普遍的 | |
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338 inquisitiveness | |
好奇,求知欲 | |
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339 superseded | |
[医]被代替的,废弃的 | |
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340 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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341 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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342 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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343 kinsmen | |
n.家属,亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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344 similes | |
(使用like或as等词语的)明喻( simile的名词复数 ) | |
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345 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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346 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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347 illustrate | |
v.举例说明,阐明;图解,加插图 | |
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348 illustrates | |
给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 ); 说明; 表明; (用示例、图画等)说明 | |
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349 fables | |
n.寓言( fable的名词复数 );神话,传说 | |
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350 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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351 elucidate | |
v.阐明,说明 | |
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352 superseding | |
取代,接替( supersede的现在分词 ) | |
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353 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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354 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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355 rectified | |
[医]矫正的,调整的 | |
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356 equilibrium | |
n.平衡,均衡,相称,均势,平静 | |
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357 rebukes | |
责难或指责( rebuke的第三人称单数 ) | |
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358 binds | |
v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 );装订;捆绑;(用长布条)缠绕 | |
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359 equity | |
n.公正,公平,(无固定利息的)股票 | |
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360 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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361 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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362 orb | |
n.太阳;星球;v.弄圆;成球形 | |
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363 embittered | |
v.使怨恨,激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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364 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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365 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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366 atoned | |
v.补偿,赎(罪)( atone的过去式和过去分词 );补偿,弥补,赎回 | |
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367 languor | |
n.无精力,倦怠 | |
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368 satiety | |
n.饱和;(市场的)充分供应 | |
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369 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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370 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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371 alludes | |
提及,暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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372 stoics | |
禁欲主义者,恬淡寡欲的人,不以苦乐为意的人( stoic的名词复数 ) | |
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373 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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374 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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375 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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376 cosmopolitanism | |
n. 世界性,世界主义 | |
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377 abolition | |
n.废除,取消 | |
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378 enfranchisement | |
选举权 | |
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379 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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380 versatility | |
n.多才多艺,多样性,多功能 | |
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381 colonist | |
n.殖民者,移民 | |
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382 rhetoric | |
n.修辞学,浮夸之言语 | |
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383 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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384 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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385 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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386 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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387 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
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388 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
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389 piracy | |
n.海盗行为,剽窃,著作权侵害 | |
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390 bamboozle | |
v.欺骗,隐瞒 | |
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391 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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392 hindrance | |
n.妨碍,障碍 | |
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393 envious | |
adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
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394 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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395 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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396 antagonism | |
n.对抗,敌对,对立 | |
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397 propounded | |
v.提出(问题、计划等)供考虑[讨论],提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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398 peremptorily | |
adv.紧急地,不容分说地,专横地 | |
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399 incessantly | |
ad.不停地 | |
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400 molecules | |
分子( molecule的名词复数 ) | |
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401 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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402 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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403 materialistic | |
a.唯物主义的,物质享乐主义的 | |
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404 differentiated | |
区分,区别,辨别( differentiate的过去式和过去分词 ); 区别对待; 表明…间的差别,构成…间差别的特征 | |
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405 subjective | |
a.主观(上)的,个人的 | |
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406 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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407 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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408 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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409 investigations | |
(正式的)调查( investigation的名词复数 ); 侦查; 科学研究; 学术研究 | |
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410 bigotry | |
n.偏见,偏执,持偏见的行为[态度]等 | |
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411 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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412 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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413 shipwreck | |
n.船舶失事,海难 | |
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414 flux | |
n.流动;不断的改变 | |
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415 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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416 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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417 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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418 versus | |
prep.以…为对手,对;与…相比之下 | |
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419 judicious | |
adj.明智的,明断的,能作出明智决定的 | |
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420 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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421 dictates | |
n.命令,规定,要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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422 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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423 platonic | |
adj.精神的;柏拉图(哲学)的 | |
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424 extinction | |
n.熄灭,消亡,消灭,灭绝,绝种 | |
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425 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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426 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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427 elimination | |
n.排除,消除,消灭 | |
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428 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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429 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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430 rascality | |
流氓性,流氓集团 | |
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431 transcribed | |
(用不同的录音手段)转录( transcribe的过去式和过去分词 ); 改编(乐曲)(以适应他种乐器或声部); 抄写; 用音标标出(声音) | |
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432 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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433 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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434 legendary | |
adj.传奇(中)的,闻名遐迩的;n.传奇(文学) | |
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435 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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436 mythical | |
adj.神话的;虚构的;想像的 | |
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437 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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438 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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439 mandate | |
n.托管地;命令,指示 | |
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440 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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441 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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442 rippling | |
起涟漪的,潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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443 shingle | |
n.木瓦板;小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌);v.用木瓦板盖(屋顶);把(女子头发)剪短 | |
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444 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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445 lulled | |
vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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446 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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447 devouring | |
吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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448 lava | |
n.熔岩,火山岩 | |
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449 eddying | |
涡流,涡流的形成 | |
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450 evergreen | |
n.常青树;adj.四季常青的 | |
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451 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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452 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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453 ivy | |
n.常青藤,常春藤 | |
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454 covert | |
adj.隐藏的;暗地里的 | |
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455 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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456 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
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457 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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458 intervention | |
n.介入,干涉,干预 | |
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459 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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460 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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461 immutable | |
adj.不可改变的,永恒的 | |
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462 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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463 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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464 offhand | |
adj.临时,无准备的;随便,马虎的 | |
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465 acrimonious | |
adj.严厉的,辛辣的,刻毒的 | |
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466 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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467 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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468 immorality | |
n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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469 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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470 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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471 lawsuits | |
n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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472 treatises | |
n.专题著作,专题论文,专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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473 subtlety | |
n.微妙,敏锐,精巧;微妙之处,细微的区别 | |
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474 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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475 disallowed | |
v.不承认(某事物)有效( disallow的过去式和过去分词 );不接受;不准;驳回 | |
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476 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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477 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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478 cavilling | |
n.(矿工的)工作地点抽签法v.挑剔,吹毛求疵( cavil的现在分词 ) | |
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479 negation | |
n.否定;否认 | |
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480 underlying | |
adj.在下面的,含蓄的,潜在的 | |
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481 adversary | |
adj.敌手,对手 | |
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482 authentic | |
a.真的,真正的;可靠的,可信的,有根据的 | |
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483 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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484 conclusive | |
adj.最后的,结论的;确凿的,消除怀疑的 | |
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485 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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486 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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487 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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488 professes | |
声称( profess的第三人称单数 ); 宣称; 公开表明; 信奉 | |
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489 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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490 adroit | |
adj.熟练的,灵巧的 | |
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491 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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492 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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493 chancellor | |
n.(英)大臣;法官;(德、奥)总理;大学校长 | |
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494 exchequer | |
n.财政部;国库 | |
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495 prosecute | |
vt.告发;进行;vi.告发,起诉,作检察官 | |
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496 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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497 pretexts | |
n.借口,托辞( pretext的名词复数 ) | |
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498 defendant | |
n.被告;adj.处于被告地位的 | |
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499 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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500 confiscation | |
n. 没收, 充公, 征收 | |
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501 extort | |
v.勒索,敲诈,强要 | |
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502 seizure | |
n.没收;占有;抵押 | |
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503 oligarchies | |
n.寡头统治的政府( oligarchy的名词复数 );寡头政治的执政集团;寡头统治的国家 | |
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504 oratory | |
n.演讲术;词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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505 trampled | |
踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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506 intriguer | |
密谋者 | |
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507 wresting | |
动词wrest的现在进行式 | |
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508 pinnacle | |
n.尖塔,尖顶,山峰;(喻)顶峰 | |
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509 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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510 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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511 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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512 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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513 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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514 enjoyments | |
愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 ); 令人愉快的事物; 享有; 享受 | |
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515 preponderates | |
v.超过,胜过( preponderate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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516 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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517 legitimately | |
ad.合法地;正当地,合理地 | |
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518 extricated | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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519 solvent | |
n.溶剂;adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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520 redoubtable | |
adj.可敬的;可怕的 | |
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521 specified | |
adj.特定的 | |
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522 emancipation | |
n.(从束缚、支配下)解放 | |
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523 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
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524 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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525 adverse | |
adj.不利的;有害的;敌对的,不友好的 | |
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526 suffocating | |
a.使人窒息的 | |
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527 lore | |
n.传说;学问,经验,知识 | |
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528 revival | |
n.复兴,复苏,(精力、活力等的)重振 | |
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529 acolytes | |
n.助手( acolyte的名词复数 );随从;新手;(天主教)侍祭 | |
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530 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
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531 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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532 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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533 discredited | |
不足信的,不名誉的 | |
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534 subjugation | |
n.镇压,平息,征服 | |
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535 depicting | |
描绘,描画( depict的现在分词 ); 描述 | |
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536 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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537 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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538 conjectured | |
推测,猜测,猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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539 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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540 oratorical | |
adj.演说的,雄辩的 | |
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541 proficiency | |
n.精通,熟练,精练 | |
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542 contradictory | |
adj.反驳的,反对的,抗辩的;n.正反对,矛盾对立 | |
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543 degenerates | |
衰退,堕落,退化( degenerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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544 component | |
n.组成部分,成分,元件;adj.组成的,合成的 | |
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545 originality | |
n.创造力,独创性;新颖 | |
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546 sensuous | |
adj.激发美感的;感官的,感觉上的 | |
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547 wrangling | |
v.争吵,争论,口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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548 disinterestedness | |
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549 frugality | |
n.节约,节俭 | |
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550 gratuitous | |
adj.无偿的,免费的;无缘无故的,不必要的 | |
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551 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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552 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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553 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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554 sarcasms | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,挖苦( sarcasm的名词复数 ) | |
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555 lucrative | |
adj.赚钱的,可获利的 | |
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556 rehabilitation | |
n.康复,悔过自新,修复,复兴,复职,复位 | |
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557 vindication | |
n.洗冤,证实 | |
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558 innovating | |
v.改革,创新( innovate的现在分词 );引入(新事物、思想或方法), | |
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559 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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560 moot | |
v.提出;adj.未决议的;n.大会;辩论会 | |
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561 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
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562 modification | |
n.修改,改进,缓和,减轻 | |
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563 subtleties | |
细微( subtlety的名词复数 ); 精细; 巧妙; 细微的差别等 | |
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564 contention | |
n.争论,争辩,论战;论点,主张 | |
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565 riddle | |
n.谜,谜语,粗筛;vt.解谜,给…出谜,筛,检查,鉴定,非难,充满于;vi.出谜 | |
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