In the last chapter we considered the philosophy of Plato chiefly under its critical and negative aspects. We saw how it was exclusively from that side that he at first apprehended1 and enlarged the dialectic of Socrates, how deeply his scepticism was coloured by the religious reaction of the age, and how he attempted, out of his master’s mouth, to overturn the positive teaching of the master himself. We saw how, in the Protagoras, he sketched3 a theory of ethics4, which was no sooner completed than it became the starting-point of a still more extended and arduous5 enquiry. We followed the widening horizon of his speculations6 until they embraced the whole contemporary life of Hellas, and involved it in a common condemnation8 as either hopelessly corrupt9, or containing within itself the seeds of corruption10. We then saw how, by a farther generalisation, he was led to look for the sources of error in the laws of man’s sensuous11 nature and of the phenomenal world with which it holds communion; how, moreover, under the guidance of suggestions coming both from within and from without, he reverted13 to the earlier schools of Greek thought, and brought their results into parallelism with the main lines of Socratic dialectic. And finally, we watched him planting a firm foothold on the basis of mathematical demonstration14; seeking in the very constitution of the soul itself for a derivation of the truths which sensuous experience could not impart, and winning back from215 a more profoundly reasoned religion the hope, the self-confidence, the assurance of perfect knowledge, which had been formerly15 surrendered in deference16 to the demands of a merely external and traditional faith. That God alone is wise, and by consequence alone good, might still remain a fixed18 principle with Plato; but it ceased to operate as a restraint on human aspiration19 when he had come to recognise an essential unity20 among all forms of conscious life, which, though it might be clouded and forgotten, could never be entirely21 effaced22. And when Plato tells us, at the close of his career, that God, far more than any individual man, is the measure of all things,133 who can doubt that he had already learned to identify the human and divine essences in the common notion of a universal soul?
The germ of this new dogmatism was present in Plato’s mind from the very beginning, and was partly an inheritance from older forms of thought. The Apologia had reproduced one important feature in the positive teaching of Socrates—the distinction between soul and body, and the necessity of attending to the former rather than to the latter: and this had now acquired such significance as to leave no standing-room for the agnosticism with which it had been incompatible23 from the first. The same irresistible24 force of expansion which had brought the human soul into communion with absolute truth, was to be equally verified in a different direction. Plato was too much interested in practical questions to be diverted from them long by any theoretical philosophy; or, perhaps, we should rather say that this interest had accompanied and inspired him throughout. It is from the essential relativity of mind, the profound craving26 for intellectual sympathy with other minds, that all mystical imaginations and super-subtle abstractions take rise; so that, when the strain of transcendent absorption and ecstasy27 is relaxed under the chilling but beneficent contact of earthly experience, they become216 condensed into ideas for the reconstitution of life and society on a basis of reciprocity, of self-restraint, and of self-devotion to a commonwealth28 greater and more enduring than any individual, while, at the same time, presenting to each in objective form the principle by virtue29 of which only, instead of being divided, he can become reconciled with himself. Here we have the creed30 of all philosophy, whether theological, metaphysical, or positive, that there is, or that there should be, this threefold unity of feeling, of action, and of thought, of the soul, of society, and of universal existence, to win which is everlasting32 life, while to be without it is everlasting death. This creed must be re-stated and re-interpreted at every revolution of thought. We have to see how it was, for the first time, stated and interpreted by Plato.
The principal object of Plato’s negative criticism had been to emphasise33 the distinction between reality and appearance in the world without, between sense, or imagination, and reason in the human soul. True to the mediatorial spirit of Greek thought, his object now was to bridge over the seemingly impassable gulf35. We must not be understood to say that these two distinct, and to some extent contrasted, tendencies correspond to two definitely divided periods of his life. It is evident that the tasks of dissection36 and reconstruction37 were often carried on conjointly, and represented two aspects of an indivisible process. But on the whole there is good reason to believe that Plato, like other men, was more inclined to pull to pieces in his youth and to build up in his later days. We are, therefore, disposed to agree with those critics who assign both the Phaedrus and the Symposium39 to a comparatively advanced stage of Platonic40 speculation7. It is less easy to decide which of the two was composed first, for there seems to be a greater maturity41 of thought in the one and of style in the other. For our purposes it will be most convenient to consider them together.
We have seen how Plato came to look on mathematics as217 an introduction to absolute knowledge. He now discovered a parallel method of approach towards perfect wisdom in an order of experience which to most persons might seem as far as possible removed from exact science—in those passionate42 feelings which were excited in the Greek imagination by the spectacle of youthful beauty, without distinction of sex. There was, at least among the Athenians, a strong intellectual element in the attachments43 arising out of such feelings; and the strange anomaly might often be seen of a man devoting himself to the education of a youth whom he was, in other respects, doing his utmost to corrupt. Again, the beauty by which a Greek felt most fascinated came nearer to a visible embodiment of mind than any that has ever been known, and as such could be associated with the purest philosophical45 aspirations46. And, finally, the passion of love in its normal manifestations47 is an essentially48 generic49 instinct, being that which carries an individual most entirely out of himself, making him instrumental to the preservation51 of the race in forms of ever-increasing comeliness52 and vigour53; so that, given a wise training and a wide experience, the maintenance of a noble breed may safely be entrusted54 to its infallible selection.134 All these points of view have been developed by Plato with such copiousness55 of illustration and splendour of language that his name is still associated in popular fancy with an ideal of exalted56 and purified desire.
So far, however, we only stand on the threshold of Platonic love. The earthly passion, being itself a kind of generalisation, is our first step in the ascent57 to that highest stage of existence where wisdom and virtue and happiness are one—the good to which all other goods are related as means to an end. But love is not only an introduction to philosophy, it is a type of philosophy itself. Both are conditions intermediate between vacuity58 and fulfilment; desire being by its very nature dis218satisfied, and vanishing at the instant that its object is attained60. The philosopher is a lover of wisdom, and therefore not wise; and yet not wholly ignorant, for he knows that he knows nothing. Thus we seem to be thrown back on the standpoint of Plato’s earliest agnosticism. Nevertheless, if the Symposium agrees nominally61 with the Apologia, in reality it marks a much more advanced point of speculation. The idea of what knowledge is has begun to assume a much clearer expression. We gather from various hints and suggestions that it is the perception of likeness62; the very process of ascending63 generalisation typified by intellectual love.
It is worthy64 of remark that in the Platonic Er?s we have the germ—or something more than the germ—of Aristotle’s whole metaphysical system.135 According to the usual law of speculative65 evolution, what was subjective66 in the one becomes objective in the other. With Plato the passion for knowledge had been merely the guiding principle of a few chosen spirits. With Aristotle it is the living soul of Nature, the secret spring of movement, from the revolution of the outermost67 starry68 sphere to the decomposition69 and recomposition of our mutable terrestrial elements; and from these again through the whole scale of organic life, up to the moral culture of man and the search for an ideally-constituted state. What enables all these myriad70 movements to continue through eternity71, returning ever in an unbroken circle on themselves, is the yearning72 of unformed matter—that is to say, of unrealised power—towards the absolute unchanging actuality, the self-thinking thought, unmoved, but moving every other form of existence by the desire to participate in its ineffable73 perfection. Born of the Hellenic enthusiasm for beauty, this wonderful conception subsequently became incorporated with the official teaching of Catholic theology. What had once been a theme219 for ribald merriment or for rhetorical ostentation75 among the golden youth of Athens, furnished the motive76 for his most transcendent meditations77 to the Angel of the Schools; but the fire which lurked78 under the dusty abstractions of Aquinas needed the touch of a poet and a lover before it could be rekindled79 into flame. The eyes of Beatrice completed what the dialectic of Plato had begun; and the hundred cantos of her adorer found their fitting close in the love that moves the sun and the other stars.
We must, however, observe that, underlying80 all these poetical81 imaginations, there is a deeper and wider law of human nature to which they unconsciously bear witness—the intimate connexion of religious mysticism with the passion of love. By this we do not mean the constant interference of the one with the other, whether for the purpose of stimulation83, as with the naturalistic religions, or for the purpose of restraint, as with the ethical84 religions; but we mean that they seem to divide between them a common fund of nervous energy, so that sometimes their manifestations are inextricably confounded, as in certain debased forms of modern Christianity; sometimes they utterly86 exclude one another; and sometimes, which is the most frequent case of any, the one is transformed into the other, their substantial identity and continuity being indicated very frankly88 by their use of the same language, the same ritual, and the same aesthetic89 decoration. And this will show how the decay of religious belief may be accompanied by an outbreak of moral licence, without our being obliged to draw the inference that passion can only be held in check by irrational90 beliefs, or by organisations whose supremacy92 is fatal to industrial, political, and intellectual progress. For, if our view of the case be correct, the passion was not really restrained, but only turned in a different direction, and frequently nourished into hysterical94 excess; so that, with the inevitable95 decay of theology, it returns to its old haunts, bringing with it seven devils worse than the first. After the220 Crusades came the Courts of Love; after the Dominican and Franciscan movements, the Renaissance96; after Puritanism, the Restoration; after Jesuitism, the Regency. Nor is this all. The passion of which we are speaking, when abnormally developed and unbalanced by severe intellectual exercise, is habitually97 accompanied by delirious98 jealousy99, by cruelty, and by deceit. On taking the form of religion, the influence of its evil associates immediately becomes manifest in the suppression of alien creeds101, in the tortures inflicted102 on their adherents103, and in the maxim104 that no faith need be kept with a heretic. Persecution105 has been excused on the ground that any means were justifiable106 for the purpose of saving souls from eternal torment107. But how came it to be believed that such a consequence was involved in a mere17 error of judgment108? The faith did not create the intolerance, but the intolerance created the faith, and so gave an idealised expression to the jealous fury accompanying a passion which no spiritual alchemy can purify from its original affinities109. It is not by turning this most terrible instinct towards a supernatural object that we should combat it, but by developing the active and masculine in preference to the emotional and feminine side of our nervous organisation91.136
In addition to its other great lessons, the Symposium has afforded Plato an opportunity for contrasting his own method of philosophising with pre-Socratic modes of thought. For it consists of a series of discourses111 in praise of love, so arranged as to typify the manner in which Greek speculation, after beginning with mythology112, subsequently advanced to physical theories of phenomena12, then passed from the historical to the contemporary method, asking, not whence did things come, but what are they in themselves; and finally arrived at the logical standpoint of analysis, classification, and induction113.
221
The nature of dialectic is still further elucidated114 in the Phaedrus, where it is also contrasted with the method, or rather the no-method, of popular rhetoric74. Here, again, discussions about love are chosen as an illustration. A discourse110 on the subject by no less a writer than Lysias is quoted and shown to be deficient116 in the most elementary requisites117 of logical exposition. The different arguments are strung together without any principle of arrangement, and ambiguous terms are used without being defined. In insisting on the necessity of definition, Plato followed Socrates; but he defines according to a totally different method. Socrates had arrived at his general notions partly by a comparison of particular instances with a view to eliciting118 the points where they agreed, partly by amending119 the conceptions already in circulation. We have seen that the earliest Dialogues attributed to Plato are one long exposure of the difficulties attending such a procedure; and his subsequent investigations120 all went to prove that nothing solid could be built on such shifting foundations as sense and opinion. Meanwhile increasing familiarity with the great ontological systems had taught him to begin with the most general notions, and to work down from them to the most particular. The consequence was that dialectic came to mean nothing but classification or logical division. Definition was absorbed into this process, and reasoning by syllogism121 was not yet differentiated122 from it. To tell what a thing was, meant to fix its place in the universal order of existence, and its individual existence was sufficiently123 accounted for by the same determination. If we imagine first a series of concentric circles, then a series of contrasts symmetrically disposed on either side of a central dividing line, and finally a series of transitions descending124 from the most absolute unity to the most irregular diversity—we shall, by combining the three schemes, arrive at some understanding of the Platonic dialectic. To assign anything its place in these various sequences was at once to define it and to demonstrate the necessity of222 its existence. The arrangement is also equivalent to a theory of final causes; for everything has a function to perform, marked out by its position, and bringing it into relation with the universal order. Such a system would inevitably125 lead to the denial of evil, were not evil itself interpreted as the necessary correlative of good, or as a necessary link in the descending manifestations of reality. Moreover, by virtue of his identifying principle, Plato saw in the lowest forms a shadow or reflection of the highest. Hence the many surprises, concessions126, and returns to abandoned positions which we find in his later writings. The three moments of Greek thought, circumscription128, antithesis129, and mediation130, work in such close union, or with such bewildering rapidity of alternation, through all his dialectic, that we are never sure whither he is leading us, and not always sure that he knows it himself.
In the opening chapter of this work we endeavoured to explain how the Pythagorean philosophy arose out of the intoxicated131 delight inspired by a first acquaintance with the manifold properties of number and figure. If we would enter into the spirit of Platonism, we must similarly throw ourselves back into the time when the idea of a universal classification first dawned on men’s minds. We must remember how it gratified the Greek love of order combined with individuality; what unbounded opportunities for asking and answering questions it supplied; and what promises of practical regeneration it held out. Not without a shade of sadness for so many baffled efforts and so many blighted132 hopes, yet also with a grateful recollection of all that reason has accomplished133, and with something of his own high intellectual enthusiasm, shall we listen to Plato’s prophetic words—words of deeper import than their own author knew—‘If I find any man who is able to see a One and Many in Nature, him I follow and walk in his steps as if he were a god.’137
223
It is interesting to see how the most comprehensive systems of the present century, even when most opposed to the metaphysical spirit, are still constructed on the plan long ago sketched by Plato. Alike in his classification of the sciences, in his historical deductions134, and in his plans for the reorganisation of society, Auguste Comte adopts a scheme of ascending or descending generality. The conception of differentiation135 and integration136 employed both by Hegel and by Mr. Herbert Spencer is also of Platonic origin; only, what with the ancient thinker was a statical law of order has become with his modern successors a dynamic law of progress; while, again, there is this distinction between the German and the English philosopher, that the former construes137 as successive moments of the Idea what the latter regards as simultaneous and interdependent processes of evolution.
II.
The study of psychology138 with Plato stands in a fourfold relation to his general theory of the world. The dialectic method, without which Nature would remain unintelligible139, is a function of the soul, and constitutes its most essential activity; then soul, as distinguished141 from body, represents the higher, supersensual element of existence; thirdly, the objective dualism of reality and appearance is reproduced in the subjective dualism of reason and sense; and lastly, soul, as the original spring of movement, mediates142 between the eternal entities143 which are unmoved and the material phenomena which are subject to a continual flux144. It is very characteristic of Plato that he first strains an antithesis to the utmost and then endeavours to reconcile its extremes by the interposition of one or more intermediate links. So, while assigning this office to soul as a part of the universe, he224 classifies the psychic145 functions themselves according to a similar principle. On the intellectual side he places true opinion, or what we should now call empirical knowledge, midway between demonstration and sense-perception. Such at least seems to be the result reached in the Theaetêtus and the Meno. In the Republic a further analysis leads to a somewhat different arrangement. Opinion is placed between knowledge and ignorance; while the possible objects to which it corresponds form a transition from being to not-being. Subsequently mathematical reasoning is distinguished from the higher science which takes cognisance of first principles, and thus serves to connect it with simple opinion; while this again, dealing146 as it does with material objects, is related to the knowledge of their shadows as the most perfect science is related to mathematics.138
Turning from dialectic to ethics, Plato in like manner feels the need of interposing a mediator34 between reason and appetite. The quality chosen for this purpose he calls θυμ??, a term which does not, as has been erroneously supposed, correspond to our word Will, but rather to pride, or the feeling of personal honour. It is both the seat of military courage and the natural auxiliary147 of reason, with which it co-operates in restraining the animal desires. It is a characteristic difference between Socrates and Plato that the former should have habitually reinforced his arguments for virtue by appeals to self-interest; while the latter, with his aristocratic way of looking at things, prefers to enlist148 the aid of a haughtier149 feeling on their behalf. Aristotle followed in the same track when he taught that to be overcome by anger is less discreditable than to be overcome by desire. In reality none of the instincts tending to self-preservation is more praiseworthy than another, or more amenable151 to the control of reason. Plato’s tripartite division of mind cannot be made225 to fit into the classifications of modern psychology, which are adapted not only to a more advanced state of knowledge but also to more complex conditions of life. But the characters of women, by their greater simplicity152 and uniformity, show to some extent what those of men may once have been; and it will, perhaps, confirm the analysis of the Phaedrus to recall the fact that personal pride is still associated with moral principle in the guardianship153 of female virtue.
If the soul served to connect the eternal realities with the fleeting154 appearances by which they were at once darkened, relieved, and shadowed forth155, it was also a bond of union between the speculative and the practical philosophy of Plato; and in discussing his psychology we have already passed from the one to the other. The transition will become still easier if we remember that the question, ‘What is knowledge?’ was, according to our view, originally suggested by a theory reducing ethical science to a hedonistic calculus156, and that along with it would arise another question, ‘What is pleasure?’ This latter enquiry, though incidentally touched on elsewhere, is not fully157 dealt with in any Dialogue except the Philêbus, which we agree with Prof. Jowett in referring to a very late period of Platonic authorship. But the line of argument which it pursues had probably been long familiar to our philosopher. At any rate, the Phaedo, the Republic, and perhaps the Gorgias, assume, as already proved, that pleasure is not the highest good. The question is one on which thinkers are still divided. It seems, indeed, to lie outside the range of reason, and the disputants are accordingly obliged to invoke158 the authority either of individual consciousness or of common consent on behalf of their respective opinions. We have, however, got so far beyond the ancients that the doctrine159 of egoistic hedonism has been abandoned by almost everybody. The substitution of another’s pleasure for our own as the object of pursuit was not a conception which presented itself to any Greek moralist,226 although the principle of self-sacrifice was maintained by some of them, and especially by Plato, to its fullest extent. Pleasure-seeking being inseparably associated with selfishness, the latter was best attacked through the former, and if Plato’s logic31 does not commend itself to our understanding, we must admit that it was employed in defence of a noble cause.
The style of polemics161 adopted on this occasion, whatever else may be its value, will serve excellently to illustrate162 the general dialectic method of attack. When Plato particularly disliked a class of persons, or an institution, or an art, or a theory, or a state of consciousness, he tried to prove that it was confused, unstable163, and self-contradictory; besides taking full advantage of any discredit150 popularly attached to it. All these objections are brought to bear with full force against pleasure. Some pleasures are delusive164, since the reality of them falls far short of the anticipation165; all pleasure is essentially transitory, a perpetual becoming, never a fixed state, and therefore not an end of action; pleasures which ensue on the satisfaction of desires are necessarily accompanied by pains and disappear simultaneously166 with them; the most intense, and for that reason the most typical, pleasures, are associated with feelings of shame, and their enjoyment168 is carefully hidden out of sight.
Such arguments have almost the air of an afterthought, and Plato was perhaps more powerfully swayed by other considerations, which we shall now proceed to analyse. When pleasure was assumed to be the highest good, knowledge was agreed to be the indispensable means for its attainment169; and, as so often happens, the means gradually substituted itself for the end. Nor was this all; for knowledge (or reason) being not only the means but the supreme170 arbiter171, when called on to adjudicate between conflicting claims, would naturally pronounce in its own favour. Naturally, also, a moralist who made science the chief interest of his own life would come to believe that it was the proper object of all227 life, whether attended or not by any pleasurable emotion. And so, in direct opposition172 to the utilitarian173 theory, Plato declares at last that to brave a lesser174 pain in order to escape from a greater, or to renounce175 a lesser pleasure in order to secure a greater, is cowardice176 and intemperance177 in disguise; and that wisdom, which he had formerly regarded as a means to other ends, is the one end for which everything else should be exchanged.139 Perhaps it may have strengthened him in this attitude to observe that the many, whose opinion he so thoroughly178 despised, made pleasure their aim in life, while the fastidious few preferred knowledge. Yet, after a time, even the latter alternative failed to satisfy his restless spirit. For the conception of knowledge resolved itself into the deeper conceptions of a knowing subject and a known object, the soul and the universe, each of which became in turn the supreme ideal. What interpretation179 should be given to virtue depended on the choice between them. According to the one view it was a purification of the higher principle within us from material wants and passions. Sensual gratifications should be avoided, because they tend to degrade and pollute the soul. Death should be fearlessly encountered, because it will release her from the restrictions180 of bodily existence. But Plato had too strong a grasp on the realities of life to remain satisfied with a purely182 ascetic183 morality. Knowledge, on the objective side, brought him into relation with an organised universe where each individual existed, not for his own sake but for the sake of the whole, to fulfil a definite function in the system of which he formed a part. And if from one point of view the soul herself was an absolutely simple indivisible substance, from another point of view she reflected the external order, and only fulfilled the law of her being when each separate faculty184 was exercised within its appropriate sphere.
There still remained one last problem to solve, one point228 where the converging185 streams of ethical and metaphysical speculation met and mixed. Granted that knowledge is the soul’s highest energy, what is the object of this beatific186 vision? Granted that all particular energies co-operate for a common purpose, what is the end to which they are subordinated? Granted that dialectic leads us up through ascending gradations to one all-comprehensive idea, how is that idea to be defined? Plato only attempts to answer this last question by re-stating it under the form of an illustration. As the sun at once gives life to all Nature, and light to the eye by which Nature is perceived, so also the idea of Good is the cause of existence and of knowledge alike, but transcends187 them both as an absolute unity, of which we cannot even say that it is, for the distinction of subject and predicate would bring back relativity and plurality again. Here we seem to have the Socratic paradox188 reversed. Socrates identified virtue with knowledge, but, at the same time, entirely emptied the latter of its speculative content. Plato, inheriting the idea of knowledge in its artificially restricted significance, was irresistibly189 drawn190 back to the older philosophy whence it had been originally borrowed; then, just as his master had given an ethical application to science, so did he, travelling over the same ground in an opposite direction, extend the theory of ethics far beyond its legitimate191 range, until a principle which seemed to have no meaning, except in reference to human conduct, became the abstract bond of union between all reality and all thought.
Whether Plato ever succeeded in making the idea of Good quite clear to others, or even to himself, is more than we can tell. In the Republic he declines giving further explanations on the ground that his pupils have not passed through the necessary mathematical initiation192. Whether quantitative193 reasoning was to furnish the form or the matter of transcendent dialectic is left undetermined. We are told that on one occasion a large audience assembled to hear Plato lecture on229 the Good, but that, much to their disappointment, the discourse was entirely filled with geometrical and astronomical195 investigations. Bearing in mind, however, that mathematical science deals chiefly with equations, and that astronomy, according to Plato, had for its object to prove the absolute uniformity of the celestial196 motions, we may perhaps conclude that the idea of Good meant no more than the abstract notion of identity or indistinguishable likeness. The more complex idea of law as a uniformity of relations, whether coexistent or successive, had not then dawned, but it has since been similarly employed to bring physics into harmony with ethics and logic.
III.
So far we have followed the evolution of Plato’s philosophy as it may have been effected under the impulse of purely theoretical motives197. We have now to consider what form was imposed on it by the more imperious exigencies198 of practical experience. Here, again, we find Plato taking up and continuing the work of Socrates, but on a vastly greater scale. There was, indeed, a kind of pre-established harmony between the expression of thought on the one hand and the increasing need for its application to life on the other. For the spread of public corruption had gone on pari passu with the development of philosophy. The teaching of Socrates was addressed to individuals, and dealt chiefly with private morality. On other points he was content to accept the law of the land and the established political constitution as sufficiently safe guides. He was not accustomed to see them defied or perverted199 into instruments of selfish aggrandisement; nor, apparently201, had the possibility of such a contingency202 occurred to him. Still less did he imagine that all social institutions then existing were radically203 wrong. Hence the personal virtues205 held a more important place in his system than the social virtues. His attacks were directed230 against slothfulness and self-indulgence, against the ignorant temerity206 which hurried some young men into politics before their education was finished, and the timidity or fastidiousness which prevented others from discharging the highest duties of citizenship207. Nor, in accepting the popular religion of his time, had he any suspicion that its sanctions might be invoked208 on behalf of successful violence and fraud. We have already shown how differently Plato felt towards his age, and how much deeper as well as more shameless was the demoralisation with which he set himself to contend. It must also be remembered how judicial209 proceedings211 had come to overshadow every other public interest; and how the highest culture of the time had, at least in his eyes, become identified with the systematic212 perversion213 of truth and right. These considerations will explain why Greek philosophy, while moving on a higher plane, passed through the same orbit which had been previously214 described by Greek poetry. Precisely215 as the lessons of moderation in Homer had been followed by the lessons of justice in Aeschylus, precisely as the religion which was a selfish traffic between gods and men, and had little to tell of a life beyond the grave, was replaced by the nobler faith in a divine guardianship of morality and a retributive judgment after death—so also did the Socratic ethics and the Socratic theology lead to a system which made justice the essence of morality and religion its everlasting consecration216.
Temperance and justice are very clearly distinguished in our minds. The one is mainly a self-regarding, the other mainly a social virtue. But it would be a mistake to suppose that the distinction was equally clear to Plato. He had learned from Socrates that all virtue is one. He found himself confronted by men who pointedly217 opposed interest to honour and expediency219 to fair-dealing, without making any secret of their preference for the former. Here, as elsewhere, he laboured to dissolve away the vulgar antithesis and to231 substitute for it a deeper one—the antithesis between real and apparent goods. He was quite ready to imagine the case of a man who might have to incur220 all sorts of suffering in the practice of justice even to the extent of infamy221, torture, and death; but without denying that these were evils, he held that to practise injustice222 with the accompaniment of worldly prosperity was a greater evil still. And this conviction is quite unconnected with his belief in a future life. He would not have agreed with St. Paul that virtue is a bad calculation without the hope of a reward for it hereafter. His morality is absolutely independent of any extrinsic223 considerations. Nevertheless, he holds that in our own interest we should do what is right; and it never seems to have entered his thoughts that there could be any other motive for doing it. We have to explain how such a paradox was possible.
Plato seems to have felt very strongly that all virtuous224 action tends towards a good exceeding in value any temporary sacrifice which it may involve; and the accepted connotation of ethical terms went entirely along with this belief. But he could not see that a particular action might be good for the community at large and bad for the individual who performed it, not in a different sense but in the very same sense, as involving a diminution225 of his happiness. For from Plato’s abstract and generalising point of view all good was homogeneous, and the welfare of the individual was absolutely identified with the welfare of the whole to which he belonged. As against those who made right dependent on might and erected226 self-indulgence into the law of life Plato occupied an impregnable position. He showed that such principles made society impossible, and that without honour even a gang of thieves cannot hold together.140 He also saw that it is reason which brings each individual into relation with the whole and enables him to understand his obligations towards it; but at the same time he gave this232 reason a personal character which does not properly belong to it; or, what comes to the same thing, he treated human beings as pure entia rationis, thus unwittingly removing the necessity for having any morality at all. On his assumption it would be absurd to break the law; but neither would there be any temptation to break it, nor would any unpleasant consequences follow on its violation227. Plato speaks of injustice as an injury to the soul’s health, and therefore as the greatest evil that can befall a human being, without observing that the inference involves a confusion of terms. For his argument requires that soul should mean both the whole of conscious life and the system of abstract notions through which we communicate and co-operate with our fellow-creatures. All crime is a serious disturbance228 to the latter, for it cannot without absurdity229 be made the foundation of a general rule; but, apart from penal230 consequences, it does not impair231, and may benefit the former.
While Plato identified the individual with the community by slurring232 over the possible divergence233 of their interests, he still further contributed to their logical confusion by resolving the ego160 into a multitude of conflicting faculties234 and impulses supposed to represent the different classes of which a State is made up. His opponents held that justice and law emanate235 from the ruling power in the body politic93; and they were brought to admit that supreme power is properly vested in the wisest and best citizens. Transferring these principles to the inner forum236, he maintained that a psychological aristocracy could only be established by giving reason a similar control over the animal passions.141 At first sight, this seemed to imply no more than a return to the standpoint of Socrates, or of Plato himself in the Protagoras. The man who indulges his desires within the limits prescribed by a regard for their safe satisfaction through his whole life, may be called temperate237 and reasonable, but he is not necessarily just. If, how233ever, we identify the paramount238 authority within with the paramount authority without, we shall have to admit that there is a faculty of justice in the individual soul corresponding to the objective justice of political law; and since the supreme virtue is agreed on all hands to be reason, we must go a step further and admit that justice is reason, or that it is reasonable to be just; and that by consequence the height of injustice is the height of folly239. Moreover, this fallacious substitution of justice for temperance was facilitated by the circumstance that although the former virtue is not involved in the latter, the latter is to a very great extent involved in the former. Self-control by no means carries with it a respect for the rights of others; but where such respect exists it necessitates241 a considerable amount of self-control.
We trust that the steps of a difficult argument have been made clear by the foregoing analysis; and that the whole process has been shown to hinge on the ambiguous use of such notions as the individual and the community, of which the one is paradoxically construed242 as a plurality and the other as a unity; justice, which is alternately taken in the sense of control exercised by the worthiest243, control of passion in the general interest, control of our passions in the interest of others, and control of the same passions in our own interest; and wisdom or reason, which sometimes means any kind of excellence244, sometimes the excellence of a harmonious245 society, and sometimes the excellence of a well-balanced mind. Thus, out of self-regarding virtue social virtue is elicited246, the whole process being ultimately conditioned by that identifying power which was at once the strength and the weakness of Plato’s genius.
Plato knew perfectly247 well that although rhetoricians and men of the world might be silenced, they could not be converted nor even convinced by such arguments as these. So far from thinking it possible to reason men into virtue, he has observed of those who are slaves to their senses that you must improve them before you can teach them the truth.L And he234 felt that if the complete assimilation of the individual and the community was to become more than a mere logical formula, it must be effected by a radical204 reform in the training of the one and in the institutions of the other. Accordingly, he set himself to elaborate a scheme for the purpose, our knowledge of which is chiefly derived248 from his greatest work, the Republic. We have already made large use of the negative criticism scattered249 through that Dialogue; we have now to examine the positive teaching by which it was supplemented.
IV.
Plato, like Socrates, makes religious instruction the basis of education. But where the master had been content to set old beliefs on a new basis of demonstration, the disciple250 aimed at nothing less than their complete purification from irrational and immoral251 ingredients. He lays down two great principles, that God is good, and that He is true.142 Every story which is inconsistent with such a character must be rejected; so also must everything in the poets which redounds252 to the discredit of the national heroes, together with everything tending in the remotest degree to make vice253 attractive or virtue repellent. It is evident that Plato, like Xenophanes, repudiated254 not only the scandalous details of popular mythology, but also the anthropomorphic conceptions which lay at its foundation; although he did not think it advisable to state his unbelief with equal frankness. His own theology was a sort of star-worship, and he proved the divinity of the heavenly bodies by an appeal to the uniformity of their movements.143 He further taught that the world was created by an absolutely good Being; but we cannot be sure that this was more than a popular version of the theory which placed the abstract idea of Good at the summit of the dialectic series. The truth is that there are two distinct types of religion, the one chiefly235 interested in the existence and attributes of God, the other chiefly interested in the destiny of the human soul. The former is best represented by Judaism, the latter by Buddhism255. Plato belongs to the psychic rather than to the theistic type. The doctrine of immortality256 appears again and again in his Dialogues, and one of the most beautiful among them is entirely devoted258 to proving it. He seems throughout to be conscious that he is arguing in favour of a paradox. Here, at least, there are no appeals to popular prejudice such as figure so largely in similar discussions among ourselves. The belief in immortality had long been stirring; but it had not taken deep root among the Ionian Greeks. We cannot even be sure that it was embraced as a consoling hope by any but the highest minds anywhere in Hellas, or by them for more than a brief period. It would be easy to maintain that this arose from some natural incongeniality to the Greek imagination in thoughts which drew it away from the world of sense and the delights of earthly life. But the explanation breaks down immediately when we attempt to verify it by a wider experience. No modern nation enjoys life so keenly as the French. Yet, quite apart from traditional dogmas, there is no nation that counts so many earnest supporters of the belief in a spiritual existence beyond the grave. And, to take an individual example, it is just the keen relish259 which Mr. Browning’s Cleon has for every sort of enjoyment which makes him shrink back with horror from the thought of annihilation, and grasp at any promise of a happiness to be prolonged through eternity. A closer examination is needed to show us by what causes the current of Greek thought was swayed.
The great religious movement of the sixth and fifth centuries—chiefly represented for us by the names of Pythagoras, Aeschylus, and Pindar—would in all probability have entirely won over the educated classes, and given definiteness to the half-articulate utterances260 of popular tradition, had it not been arrested prematurely261 by the development of physical236 speculation. We showed in the first chapter that Greek philosophy in its earliest stages was entirely materialistic262. It differed, indeed, from modern materialism263 in holding that the soul, or seat of conscious life, is an entity87 distinct from the body; but the distinction was one between a grosser and a finer matter, or else between a simpler and a more complex arrangement of the same matter, not between an extended and an indivisible substance. Whatever theories, then, were entertained with respect to the one would inevitably come to be entertained also with respect to the other. Now, with the exception of the Eleates, who denied the reality of change and separation altogether, every school agreed in teaching that all particular bodies are formed either by differentiation or by decomposition and recomposition out of the same primordial264 elements. From this it followed, as a natural consequence, that, although the whole mass of matter was eternal, each particular aggregate265 of matter must perish in order to release the elements required for the formation of new aggregates266. It is obvious that, assuming the soul to be material, its immortality was irreconcilable267 with such a doctrine as this. A combination of four elements and two conflicting forces, such as Empedocles supposed the human mind to be, could not possibly outlast268 the organism in which it was enclosed; and if Empedocles himself, by an inconsistency not uncommon270 with men of genius, refused to draw the only legitimate conclusion from his own principles, the discrepancy271 could not fail to force itself on his successors. Still more fatal to the belief in a continuance of personal identity after death was the theory put forward by Diogenes of Apollonia, that there is really no personal identity even in life—that consciousness is only maintained by a perpetual inhalation of the vital air in which all reason resides. The soul very literally272 left the body with the last breath, and had a poor chance of holding together afterwards, especially, as the wits observed, if a high wind happened to be blowing at the time.
237
It would appear that even in the Pythagorean school there had been a reaction against a doctrine which its founder273 had been the first to popularise in Hellas. The Pythagoreans had always attributed great importance to the conceptions of harmony and numerical proportion; and they soon came to think of the soul as a ratio which the different elements of the animal body bore to one another; or as a musical concord274 resulting from the joint38 action of its various members, which might be compared to the strings275 of a lute25. But
‘When the lute is broken
Sweet tones are remembered not.’
And so, with the dissolution of our bodily organism, the music of consciousness would pass away for ever. Perhaps no form of psychology taught in the Greek schools has approached nearer to modern thought than this. It was professed276 at Thebes by two Pythagoreans, Cebes and Simmias, in the time of Plato. He rightly regarded them as formidable opponents, for they were ready to grant whatever he claimed for the soul in the way of immateriality and superiority to the body, while denying the possibility of its separate existence. We may so far anticipate the course of our exposition as to mention that the direct argument by which he met them was a reference to the moving power of mind, and to the constraint277 exercised by reason over passionate impulse; characteristics which the analogy with a musical harmony failed to explain. But his chief reliance was on an order of considerations, the historical genesis of which we shall now proceed to trace.
It was by that somewhat slow and circuitous278 process, the negation279 of a negation, that spiritualism was finally established. The shadows of doubt gathered still more thickly around futurity before another attempt could be made to remove them. For the scepticism of the Humanists and the ethical dialectic of Socrates, if they tended to weaken the dogmatic materialism of physical philosophy, were at first238 not more favourable280 to the new faith which that philosophy had suddenly eclipsed. For the one rejected every kind of supernaturalism; and the other did not attempt to go behind what had been directly revealed by the gods, or was discoverable from an examination of their handiwork. Nevertheless, the new enquiries, with their exclusively subjective direction, paved the way for a return to the religious development previously in progress. By leading men to think of mind as, above all, a principle of knowledge and deliberate action, they altogether freed it from those material associations which brought it under the laws of external Nature, where every finite existence was destined281, sooner or later, to be reabsorbed and to disappear. The position was completely reversed when Nature was, as it were, brought up before the bar of Mind to have her constitution determined194 or her very existence denied by that supreme tribunal. If the subjective idealism of Protagoras and Gorgias made for spiritualism, so also did the teleological282 religion of Socrates. It was impossible to assert the priority and superiority of mind to matter more strongly than by teaching that a designing intelligence had created the whole visible universe for the exclusive enjoyment of man. The infinite without was in its turn absorbed by the infinite within. Finally, the logical method of Socrates contained in itself the germs of a still subtler spiritualism which Plato now proceeded to work out.
The dialectic theory, considered in its relation to physics, tended to substitute the study of uniformity for the study of mechanical causation. But the general conceptions established by science were a kind of soul in Nature; they were immaterial, they could not be perceived by sense, and yet, remaining as they did unchanged in a world of change, they were far truer, far more real, than the phenomena to which they gave unity and definition. Now these self-existent ideas, being subjective in their origin, readily reacted on239 mind, and communicated to it those attributes of fixedness283 and eternal duration which had in truth been borrowed by them from Nature, not by Nature from them. Plato argued that the soul was in possession of ideas too pure to have been derived from the suggestions of sense, and therefore traceable to the reminiscences of an ante-natal experience. But we can see that the reminiscence was all on the side of the ideas; it was they that betrayed their human origin by the birthmark of abstraction and finality—betokening the limitation of man’s faculties and the interest of his desires—which still clung to them when from a temporary law of thought they were erected into an everlasting law of things. As Comte would say, Plato was taking out of his conceptions what he had first put into them himself. And, if this consideration applies to all his reasonings on the subject of immortality, it applies especially to what he regards as the most convincing demonstration of any. There is one idea, he tells us, with which the soul is inseparably and essentially associated—namely, the idea of life. Without this, soul can no more be conceived than snow without cold or fire without heat; nor can death approach it without involving a logical contradiction. To assume that the soul is separable from the body, and that life is inseparable from the soul, was certainly an expeditious284 method of proof. To a modern, it would have the further disadvantage of proving too much. For, by parity285 of reasoning, every living thing must have an immortal257 soul, and every soul must have existed from all eternity. Plato frankly accepted both conclusions, and even incorporated them with his ethical system. He looked on the lower animals as so many stages in a progressive degradation286 to which human beings had descended287 through their own violence or sensuality, but from which it was possible for them to return after a certain period of penitence288 and probation289. At other times he describes a hell, a purgatory290, and a heaven, not unlike what we read of in240 Dante, without apparently being conscious of any inconsistency between the two representations. It was, indeed, an inconsistency such as we find in the highest order of intellects, the inconsistency of one who mediated291 between two worlds, between naturalistic metempsychosis on the one side, and ethical individualism on the other.
It was not merely the immortality, it was the eternity of the soul that Plato taught. For him the expectation of a life beyond the grave was identified with the memory of an ante-natal existence, and the two must stand or fall together. When Shelley’s shipwrecked mother exclaims to her child:—
‘Alas! what is life, what is death, what are we,
That when the ship sinks we no longer may be!
What! to see thee no more, and to feel thee no more,
To be after life what we have been before!’
Her despair is but the inverted292 image of Plato’s hope, the return to a purer state of being where knowledge will no longer be obscured by passing through the perturbing293 medium of sight and touch. Again, modern apologists for the injustice and misery294 of the present system144 argue that its inequalities will be redressed295 in a future state. Plato conversely regarded the sufferings of good men as a retribution for former sin, or as the result of a forgotten choice. The authority of Pindar and of ancient tradition generally may have influenced his belief, but it had a deeper ground in the logic of a spiritualistic philosophy. The dualism of soul and body is only one form of his fundamental antithesis between the changeless essence and the transitory manifestations of existence. A pantheism like Spinoza’s was the natural outcome of such a system; but his practical genius or his ardent298 imagination kept Plato from carrying it so far. Nor in the interests of progress was the result to be regretted; for theology had to pass through one more phase before the term of its beneficent activity could be reached. Ethical conceptions gained a new241 significance in the blended light of mythology and metaphysics; those who made it their trade to pervert200 justice at its fountain-head might still tremble before the terrors of a supernatural tribunal; or if Plato could not regenerate299 the life of his own people he could foretell300 what was to be the common faith of Europe in another thousand years; and memory, if not hope, is the richer for those magnificent visions where he has projected the eternal conflict between good and evil into the silence and darkness by which our lives are shut in on every side.
V.
Plato had begun by condemning301 poetry only in so far as it was inconsistent with true religion and morality. At last, with his usual propensity302 to generalise, he condemned303 it and, by implication, every imitative art qua art, as a delusion304 and a sham167, twice removed from the truth of things, because a copy of the phenomena which are themselves unreal representations of an archetypal idea. His iconoclasm may remind us of other ethical theologians both before and after, whether Hebrew, Moslem305, or Puritan. If he does not share their fanatical hatred306 for plastic and pictorial307 representations, it is only because works of that class, besides being of a chaster character, exercised far less power over the Greek imagination than epic308 and dramatic poetry. Moreover, the tales of the poets were, according to Plato, the worst lies of any, since they were believed to be true; whereas statues and pictures differed too obviously from their originals for any such illusion to be produced in their case. Like the Puritans, again, Plato sanctioned the use of religious hymns309, with the accompaniment of music in its simplest and most elevated forms. Like them, also, he would have approved of literary fiction when it was employed for edifying310 purposes. Works like the Faery Queen, Paradise Lost, and the Pilgrim’s Progress, would have been his favourites in English literature; and he might have242 extended the same indulgence to fictions of the Edgeworthian type, where the virtuous characters always come off best in the end.
The reformed system of education was to be not only moral and religious but also severely311 scientific. The place given to mathematics as the foundation of a right intellectual training is most remarkable312, and shows how truly Plato apprehended the conditions under which knowledge is acquired and enlarged. Here, as in other respects, he is, more even than Aristotle, the precursor313 of Auguste Comte. He arranges the mathematical sciences, so far as they then existed, in their logical order; and his remarks on the most general ideas suggested by astronomy read like a divination314 of rational mechanics. That a recommendation of such studies should be put into the mouth of Socrates is a striking incongruity315. The older Plato grew the farther he seems to have advanced from the humanist to the naturalistic point of view; and, had he been willing to confess it, Hippias and Prodicus were the teachers with whom he finally found himself most in sympathy.
Macaulay has spoken as if the Platonic philosophy was totally unrelated to the material wants of men. This, however, is a mistake. It is true that, in the Republic, science is not regarded as an instrument for heaping up fresh luxuries, or for curing the diseases which luxury breeds; but only because its purpose is held to be the discovery of those conditions under which a healthy, happy, and virtuous race can best be reared. The art of the true statesman is to weave the web of life with perfect skill, to bring together those couples from whose union the noblest progeny316 shall issue; and it is only by mastering the laws of the physical universe that this art can be acquired. Plato knew no natural laws but those of mathematics and astronomy; consequently, he set far too much store on the times and seasons at which bride and bridegroom were to meet, and on the numerical ratios by which they were supposed to be determined. He even tells243 us about a mysterious formula for discovering the nuptial317 number, by which the ingenuity318 of commentators319 has been considerably320 exercised. The true laws by which marriage should be regulated among a civilised people have remained wrapped in still more impenetrable darkness. Whatever may be the best solution, it can hardly fail to differ in many respects from our present customs. It cannot be right that the most important act in the life of a human being should be determined by social ambition, by avarice321, by vanity, by pique322, or by accident—in a word, by the most contemptible323 impulses of which human nature is susceptible324; nor is it to be expected that sexual selection will always necessitate240 the employment of insincerity, adulation, and bribery325 by one of the parties concerned, while fostering in the other credulity, egoism, jealousy, capriciousness, and petty tyranny—the very qualities which a wise training would have for its object to root out.145
It seems difficult to reconcile views about marriage involving a recognition of the fact that mental and moral qualities are hereditarily326 transmitted, with the belief in metempsychosis elsewhere professed by Plato. But perhaps his adhesion to the latter doctrine is not to be taken very seriously. In imitation of the objective world, whose essential truth is half hidden and half disclosed by its phenomenal manifestations, he loves to present his speculative teaching under a mythical327 disguise; and so he may have chosen the old doctrine of transmigration as an apt expression for the unity and continuity of life. And, at worst, he would not be guilty of any greater inconsistency than is chargeable to those modern philosophers who, while they admit that mental qualities are inherited, hold each individual soul to be a separate and independent creation.
The rules for breeding and education set forth in the Republic are not intended for the whole community, but only244 for the ruling minority. It was by the corruption of the higher classes that Plato was most distressed329, and the salvation330 of the State depended, according to him, on their reformation. This leads us on to his scheme for the reconstitution of society. It is intimately connected with his method of logical definition and classification. He shows with great force that the collective action of human beings is conditioned by the division of labour; and argues from this that every individual ought, in the interest of the whole, to be restricted to a single occupation. Therefore, the industrial classes, who form the bulk of the population, are to be excluded both from military service and from political power. The Peloponnesian War had led to a general substitution of professional soldiers for the old levies331 of untrained citizens in Greek warfare332. Plato was deeply impressed by the dangers, as well as by the advantages, of this revolution. That each profession should be exercised only by persons trained for it, suited his notions alike as a logician333, a teacher, and a practical reformer. But he saw that mercenary fighters might use their power to oppress and plunder334 the defenceless citizens, or to establish a military despotism. And, holding that government should, like strategy, be exercised only by functionaries335 naturally fitted and expressly trained for the work, he saw equally that a privileged class would be tempted2 to abuse their position in order to fill their pockets and to gratify their passions. He proposed to provide against these dangers, first by the new system of education already described, and secondly336 by pushing the division of labour to its logical conclusion. That they might the better attend to their specific duties, the defenders337 and the rulers of the State were not to practise the art of money-making; in other words, they were not to possess any property of their own, but were to be supported by the labour of the industrial classes. Furthermore, that they need not quarrel among themselves, he proposed that every private interest should be eliminated245 from their lives, and that they should, as a class, be united by the closest bonds of family affection. This purpose was to be effected by the abolition339 of marriage and of domesticity. The couples chosen for breeding were to be separated when the object of their union had been attained; children were to be taken from their mothers immediately after birth and brought up at the expense and under the supervision340 of the State. Sickly and deformed341 infants were to be destroyed. Those who fell short of the aristocratic standard were to be degraded, and their places filled up by the exceptionally gifted offspring of low-class parents. Members of the military and governing caste were to address each other according to the kinship which might possibly exist between them. In the absence of home-employments, women were to be, so far as possible, assimilated to men; to pass through the same bodily and mental training; to be enrolled342 in the army; and, if they showed the necessary capacity, to discharge the highest political functions. In this practical dialectic the identifying no less than the differentiating343 power of logic is displayed, and displayed also in defiance344 of common ideas, as in the modern classifications of zoology345 and botany. Plato introduces distinctions where they did not before exist, and annuls346 those which were already recognised. The sexes were to be assimilated, political life was to be identified with family life, and the whole community was to present an exact parallel with the individual soul. The ruling committee corresponded to reason, the army to passionate spirit, and the industrial classes to the animal desires; and each, in its perfect constitution, represented one of the cardinal347 virtues as reinterpreted by Plato. Wisdom belonged to the ruling part, courage to the intermediate executive power, and temperance or obedience348 to the organs of material existence; while justice meant the general harmony resulting from the fulfilment of their appropriate functions by all. We may add that the whole State reproduced the Greek family in a much246 deeper sense than Plato himself was aware of. For his aristocracy represents the man, whose virtue, in the words of Gorgias, was to ‘administer the State;’ and his industrial class takes the place of the woman, whose duty was ‘to order her house, and keep what is indoors, and obey her husband.’146
Such was the celebrated349 scheme by which Plato proposed to regenerate mankind. We have already taken occasion to show how it was connected with his ethical and dialectical philosophy. We have now to consider in what relation it stands to the political experience of his own and other times, as well as to the revolutionary proposals of other speculative reformers.
VI.
According to Hegel,147 the Platonic polity, so far from being an impracticable dream, had already found its realisation in Greek life, and did but give a purer expression to the constitutive principle of every ancient commonwealth. There are, he tells us, three stages in the moral development of mankind. The first is purely objective. It represents a régime where rules of conduct are entirely imposed from without; they are, as it were, embodied350 in the framework of society; they rest, not on reason and conscience, but on authority and tradition; they will not suffer themselves to be questioned, for, being unproved, a doubt would be fatal to their very existence. Here the individual is completely sacrificed to the State; but in the second or subjective stage he breaks loose, asserting the right of his private judgment and will as against the established order of things. This revolution was, still according to Hegel, begun by the Sophists and Socrates. It proved altogether incompatible with the spirit of Greek civilisation351, which it ended by shattering to pieces. The subjective principle found an247 appropriate expression in Christianity, which attributes an infinite importance to the individual soul; and it appears also in the political philosophy of Rousseau. We may observe that it corresponds very nearly to what Auguste Comte meant by the metaphysical period. The modern State reconciles both principles, allowing the individual his full development, and at the same time incorporating him with a larger whole, where, for the first time, he finds his own reason fully realised. Now, Hegel looks on the Platonic republic as a reaction against the subjective individualism, the right of private judgment, the self-seeking impulse, or whatever else it is to be called, which was fast eating into the heart of Greek civilisation. To counteract352 this fatal tendency, Plato goes back to the constitutive principle of Greek society—that is to say, the omnipotence353, or, in Benthamite parlance354, omnicompetence, of the State; exhibiting it, in ideal perfection, as the suppression of individual liberty under every form, more especially the fundamental forms of property, marriage, and domestic life.
It seems to us that Hegel, in his anxiety to crush every historical process into the narrow symmetry of a favourite metaphysical formula, has confounded several entirely distinct conceptions under the common name of subjectivity355. First, there is the right of private judgment, the claim of each individual to have a voice in the affairs of the State, and to have the free management of his own personal concerns. But this, so far from being modern, is one of the oldest customs of the Aryan race; and perhaps, could we look back to the oldest history of other races now despotically governed, we should find it prevailing356 among them also. It was no new nor unheard-of privilege that Rousseau vindicated357 for the peoples of his own time, but their ancient birthright, taken from them by the growth of a centralised military system, just as it had been formerly taken from the city communities of the Graeco-Roman world. In this respect, Plato goes against the whole248 spirit of his country, and no period of its development, not even the age of Homer, would have satisfied him.
We have next the disposition358 of individuals, no longer to interfere82 in making the law, but to override359 it, or to bend it into an instrument for their own purposes. Doubtless there existed such a tendency in Plato’s time, and his polity was very largely designed to hold it in check. But such unprincipled ambition was nothing new in Greece, however the mode of its manifestations might vary. What had formerly been seized by armed violence was now sought after with the more subtle weapons of rhetorical skill; just as at the present moment, among these same Greeks, it is the prize of parliamentary intrigue360. The Cretan and Spartan361 institutions may very possibly have been designed with a view to checking this spirit of selfish lawlessness, by reducing private interests to a minimum; and Plato most certainly had them in his mind when he pushed the same method still further; but those institutions were not types of Hellenism as a whole, they only represented one, and that a very abnormal, side of it. Plato borrowed some elements from this quarter, but, as we shall presently show, he incorporated them with others of a widely different character. Sparta was, indeed, on any high theory of government, not a State at all, but a robber-clan established among a plundered362 population whom they never tried or cared to conciliate. How little weight her rulers attributed to the interests of the State as such, was well exhibited during the Peloponnesian War, when political advantages of the utmost importance were surrendered in deference to the noble families whose kinsmen363 had been captured at Sphactêria, and whose sole object was to rescue them from the fate with which they were threatened by the Athenians as a means of extorting364 concessions;—conduct with which the refusal of Rome to ransom365 the soldiers who had surrendered at Cannae may be instructively contrasted.
We have, thirdly, to consider a form of individualism249 directly opposed in character to those already specified366. It is the complete withdrawal367 from public affairs for the sake of attending exclusively to one’s private duties or pleasures. Such individualism is the characteristic weakness of conservatives, who are, by their very nature, the party of timidity and quiescence368. To them was addressed the exhortation369 of Cato, capessenda est respublica. The two other forms of which we have spoken are, on the contrary, diseases of liberalism. We see them exemplified when the leaders of a party are harassed370 by the perpetual criticism of their professed supporters; or, again, when an election is lost because the votes of the Liberal electors are divided among several candidates. But when a party—generally the Conservative party—loses an election because its voters will not go to the poll, that is owing to the lazy individualism which shuns371 political contests altogether. It was of this disease that the public life of Athens really perished; and, so far, Hegel is on the right track; but although its action was more obviously and immediately fatal in antiquity372, we are by no means safe from a repetition of the same experience in modern society. Nor can it be said that Plato reacted against an evil which, in his eyes, was an evil only when it deprived a very few properly-qualified373 persons of political supremacy. With regard to all others he proposed to sanction and systematise what was already becoming a common custom—namely, entire withdrawal from the administration of affairs in peace and war. Hegel seems to forget that it is only a single class, and that the smallest, in Plato’s republic which is not allowed to have any private interests; while the industrial classes, necessarily forming a large majority of the whole population, are not only suffered to retain their property and their families, but are altogether thrown back for mental occupation on the interests arising out of these. The resulting state of things would have found its best parallel, not in old Greek city life, but in modern Europe, as it was between the Reformation and the French Revolution.
250
The three forms of individualism already enumerated374 do not exhaust the general conception of subjectivity. According to Hegel, if we understand him aright, the most important aspect of the principle in question would be the philosophical side, the return of thought on itself, already latent in physical speculation, proclaimed by the Sophists as an all-dissolving scepticism, and worked up into a theory of life by Socrates. That there was such a movement is, of course, certain; but that it contributed perceptibly to the decay of old Greek morality, or that it was essentially opposed to the old Greek spirit, cannot, we think, be truly asserted. What has been already observed of political liberty and of political unscrupulousness may be repeated of intellectual inquisitiveness375, rationalism, scepticism, or by whatever name the tendency in question is to be called—it always was, and still is, essentially characteristic of the Greek race. It may very possibly have been a source of political disintegration376 at all times, but that it became so to a greater extent after assuming the form of systematic speculation has never been proved. If the study of science, or the passion for intellectual gymnastics, drew men away from the duties of public life, it was simply as one more private interest among many, just like feasting, or lovemaking, or travelling, or poetry, or any other of the occupations in which a wealthy Greek delighted; not from any intrinsic incompatibility377 with the duties of a statesman or a soldier. So far, indeed, was this from being true, that liberal studies, even of the abstrusest order, were pursued with every advantage to their patriotic378 energy by such citizens as Zeno, Melissus, Empedocles, and, above all, by Pericles and Epameinondas. If Socrates stood aloof379 from public business it was that he might have more leisure to train others for its proper performance; and he himself, when called upon to serve the State, proved fully equal to the emergency. As for the Sophists, it is well known that their profession was to give young men the sort of education which would enable251 them to fill the highest political offices with honour and advantage. It is true that such a special preparation would end by throwing increased difficulties in the way of a career which it was originally intended to facilitate, by raising the standard of technical proficiency380 in statesmanship; and that many possible aspirants381 would, in consequence, be driven back on less arduous pursuits. But Plato was so far from opposing this specialisation that he wished to carry it much farther, and to make government the exclusive business of a small class who were to be physiologically382 selected and to receive an education far more elaborate than any that the Sophists could give. If, however, we consider Plato not as the constructor of a new constitution but in relation to the politics of his own time, we must admit that his whole influence was used to set public affairs in a hateful and contemptible light. So far, therefore, as philosophy was represented by him, it must count for a disintegrating383 force. But in just the same degree we are precluded384 from assimilating his idea of a State to the old Hellenic model. We must rather say, what he himself would have said, that it never was realised anywhere; although, as we shall presently see, a certain approach to it was made in the Middle Ages.
Once more, looking at the whole current of Greek philosophy, and especially the philosophy of mind, are we entitled to say that it encouraged, if it did not create, those other forms of individualism already defined as mutinous385 criticism on the part of the people, and selfish ambition on the part of its chiefs? Some historians have maintained that there was such a connexion, operating, if not directly, at least through a chain of intermediate causes. Free thought destroyed religion, with religion fell morality, and with morality whatever restraints had hitherto kept anarchic tendencies of every description within bounds. These are interesting reflections; but they do not concern us here, for the issue raised by Hegel is entirely different. It matters nothing to him that Socrates was a staunch252 defender338 of supernaturalism and of the received morality. The essential antithesis is between the Socratic introspection and the Socratic dialectics on the one side, and the unquestioned authority of ancient institutions on the other. If this be what Hegel means, we must once more record our dissent386. We cannot admit that the philosophy of subjectivity, so interpreted, was a decomposing387 ferment388; nor that the spirit of Plato’s republic was, in any case, a protest against it. The Delphic precept389, ‘Know thyself,’ meant in the mouth of Socrates: Let every man find out what work he is best fitted for, and stick to that, without meddling390 in matters for which he is not qualified. The Socratic dialectic meant: Let the whole field of knowledge be similarly studied; let our ideas on all subjects be so systematised that we shall be able to discover at a moment’s notice the bearing of any one of them on any of the others, or on any new question brought up for decision. Surely nothing could well be less individualistic, in a bad sense, less anti-social, less anarchic than this. Nor does Plato oppose, he generalises his master’s principles; he works out the psychology and dialectic of the whole state; and if the members of his governing class are not permitted to have any separate interests in their individual capacity, each individual soul is exalted to the highest dignity by having the community reorganised on the model of its own internal economy. There are no violent peripeteias in this great drama of thought, but everywhere harmony, continuity, and gradual development.
We have entered at some length into Hegel’s theory of the Republic, because it seems to embody391 a misleading conception not only of Greek politics but also of the most important attempt at a social reformation ever made by one man in the history of philosophy. Thought would be much less worth studying if it only reproduced the abstract form of a very limited experience, instead of analysing and recombining the elements of which that experience is composed. And our253 faith in the power of conscious efforts towards improvement will very much depend on which side of the alternative we accept.
Zeller, while taking a much wider view than Hegel, still assumes that Plato’s reforms, so far as they were suggested by experience, were simply an adaptation of Dorian practices.148 He certainly succeeds in showing that private property, marriage, education, individual liberty, and personal morality were subjected, at least in Sparta, to many restrictions resembling those imposed in the Platonic state. And Plato himself, by treating the Spartan system as the first form of degeneration from his own ideal, seems to indicate that this of all existing polities made the nearest approach to it. The declarations of the Timaeus149 are, however, much more distinct; and according to them it was in the caste-divisions of Egypt that he found the nearest parallel to his own scheme of social reorganisation. There, too, the priests, or wise men came first, and after them the warriors392, while the different branches of industry were separated from one another by rigid394 demarcations. He may also have been struck by that free admission of women to employments elsewhere filled exclusively by men, which so surprised Herodotus, from his inability to discern its real cause—the more advanced differentiation of Egyptian as compared with Greek society.150
VII.
But a profounder analysis of experience is necessary before we can come to the real roots of Plato’s scheme. It must be remembered that our philosopher was a revolutionist of the most thorough-going description, that he objected not to this or that constitution of his time, but to all existing consti254tutions whatever. Now, every great revolutionary movement, if in some respects an advance and an evolution, is in other respects a retrogression and a dissolution. When the most complex forms of political association are broken up, the older or subordinate forms suddenly acquire new life and meaning. What is true of practice is true also of speculation. Having broken away from the most advanced civilisation, Plato was thrown back on the spontaneous organisation of industry, on the army, the school, the family, the savage395 tribe, and even the herd396 of cattle, for types of social union. It was by taking some hints from each of these minor328 aggregates that he succeeded in building up his ideal polity, which, notwithstanding its supposed simplicity and consistency269, is one of the most heterogeneous397 ever framed. The principles on which it rests are not really carried out to their logical consequences; they interfere with and supplement one another. The restriction181 of political power to a single class is avowedly398 based on the necessity for a division of labour. One man, we are told, can only do one thing well. But Plato should have seen that the producer is not for that reason to be made a monopolist; and that, to borrow his own favourite example, shoes are properly manufactured because the shoemaker is kept in order by the competition of his rivals and by the freedom of the consumer to purchase wherever he pleases. Athenian democracy, so far from contradicting the lessons of political economy, was, in truth, their logical application to government. The people did not really govern themselves, nor do they in any modern democracy, but they listened to different proposals, just as they might choose among different articles in a shop or different tenders for building a house, accepted the most suitable, and then left it to be carried out by their trusted agents.
Again, Plato is false to his own rule when he selects his philosophic44 governors out of the military caste. If the same individual can be a warrior393 in his youth and an administrator255 in his riper years, one man can do two things well, though not at the same time. If the same person can be born with the qualifications both of a soldier and of a politician, and can be fitted by education for each calling in succession, surely a much greater number can combine the functions of a manual labourer with those of an elector. What prevented Plato from perceiving this obvious parallel was the tradition of the paterfamilias who had always been a warrior in his youth; and a commendable399 anxiety to keep the army closely connected with the civil power. The analogies of domestic life have also a great deal to do with his proposed community of women and children. Instead of undervaluing the family affections, he immensely overvalued them; as is shown by his supposition that the bonds of consanguinity400 would prevent dissensions from arising among his warriors. He should have known that many a home is the scene of constant wrangling401, and that quarrels between kinsfolk are the bitterest of any. Then, looking on the State as a great school, Plato imagined that the obedience, docility402, and credulity of young scholars could be kept up through a lifetime; that full-grown citizens would swallow the absurdest inventions; and that middle-aged403 officers could be sent into retirement404 for several years to study dialectic. To suppose that statesmen must necessarily be formed by the discipline in question is another scholastic405 trait. The professional teacher attributes far more practical importance to his abstruser lessons than they really possess. He is not content to wait for the indirect influence which they may exert at some remote period and in combination with forces of perhaps a widely different character. He looks for immediate100 and telling results. He imagines that the highest truth must have a mysterious power of transforming all things into its own likeness, or at least of making its learners more capable than other men of doing the world’s work. Here also Plato, instead of being too logical, was not logical256 enough. By following out the laws of economy, as applied406 to mental labour, he might have arrived at the separation of the spiritual and temporal powers, and thus anticipated the best established social doctrine of our time.
With regard to the propagation of the race, Plato’s methods are avowedly borrowed from those practised by bird-fanciers, horse-trainers, and cattle-breeders. It had long been a Greek custom to compare the people to a flock of sheep and their ruler to a shepherd, phrases which still survive in ecclesiastical parlance. Socrates habitually employed the same simile407 in his political discussions; and the rhetoricians used it as a justification408 of the governors who enriched themselves at the expense of those committed to their charge. Plato twisted the argument out of their hands and showed that the shepherd, as such, studies nothing but the good of his sheep. He failed to perceive that the parallel could not be carried out in every detail, and that, quite apart from more elevated considerations, the system which secures a healthy progeny in the one case cannot be transferred to creatures possessing a vastly more complex and delicate organisation. The destruction of sickly and deformed children could only be justified409 on the hypothesis that none but physical qualities were of any value to the community. Our philosopher forgets his own distinction between soul and body just when he most needed to remember it.
The position assigned to women by Plato may perhaps have seemed to his contemporaries the most paradoxical of all his projects, and it has been observed that here he is in advance even of our own age. But a true conclusion may be deduced from false premises410; and Plato’s conclusion is not even identical with that reached on other grounds by the modern advocates of women’s rights, or rather of their equitable411 claims. The author of the Republic detested412 democracy; and the enfranchisement413 of women is now demanded as a part of257 the general democratic programme. It is an axiom, at least with liberals, that no class will have its interests properly attended to which is left without a voice in the election of parliamentary representatives; and the interests of the sexes are not more obviously identical than those of producers and consumers, or of capitalists and labourers. Another democratic principle is that individuals are, as a rule, the best judges of what occupation they are fit for; and as a consequence of this it is further demanded that women should be admitted to every employment on equal terms with men; leaving competition to decide in each instance whether they are suited for it or not. Their continued exclusion414 from the military profession would be an exception more apparent than real; because, like the majority of the male sex, they are physically415 disqualified for it. Now, the profession of arms is the very one for which Plato proposes to destine the daughters of his aristocratic caste, without the least intention of consulting their wishes on the subject. He is perfectly aware that his own principle of differentiation will be quoted against him, but he turns the difficulty in a very dexterous416 manner. He contends that the difference of the sexes, so far as strength and intelligence are concerned, is one not of kind but of degree; for women are not distinguished from men by the possession of any special aptitude417, none of them being able to do anything that some men cannot do better. Granting the truth of this rather unflattering assumption, the inference drawn from it will still remain economically unsound. The division of labour requires that each task should be performed, not by those who are absolutely, but by those who are relatively418, best fitted for it. In many cases we must be content with work falling short of the highest attainable419 standard, that the time and abilities of the best workmen may be exclusively devoted to functions for which they alone are competent. Even if women could be trained to fight, it does not follow that their energies might not be more advantageously258 expended420 in another direction. Here, again, Plato improperly421 reasons from low to high forms of association. He appeals to the doubtful example of nomadic422 tribes, whose women took part in the defence of the camps, and to the fighting power possessed423 by the females of predatory animals. In truth, the elimination424 of home life left his women without any employment peculiar425 to themselves; and so, not to leave them completely idle, they were drafted into the army, more with the hope of imposing426 on the enemy by an increase of its apparent strength than for the sake of any real service which they were expected to perform.151 When Plato proposes that women of proved ability should be admitted to the highest political offices, he is far more in sympathy with modern reformers; and his freedom from prejudice is all the more remarkable when we consider that no Greek lady (except, perhaps, Artemisia) is known to have ever displayed a talent for government, although feminine interference in politics was common enough at Sparta; and that personally his feeling towards women was unsympathetic if not contemptuous.152 Still we must not exaggerate the importance of his concession127. The Platonic polity was, after all, a family rather than a true State; and that women should be allowed a share in the regulation of marriage and in the nurture427 of children, was only giving them back with one hand what had been taken away with the other. Already, among ourselves, women have a voice in educational matters; and were marriage brought under State control, few would doubt the propriety428 of making them eligible429 to the new Boards which would be charged with its supervision.
The foregoing analysis will enable us to appreciate the true significance of the resemblance pointed218 out by Zeller153259 between the Platonic republic and the organisation of mediaeval society. The importance given to religious and moral training; the predominance of the priesthood; the sharp distinction drawn between the military caste and the industrial population; the exclusion of the latter from political power; the partial abolition of marriage and property; and, it might be added, the high position enjoyed by women as regents, chatelaines, abbesses, and sometimes even as warriors or professors,—are all innovations more in the spirit of Plato than in the spirit of Pericles. Three converging influences united to bring about this extraordinary verification of a philosophical deal. The profound spiritual revolution effected by Greek thought was taken up and continued by Catholicism, and unconsciously guided to the same practical conclusions the teaching which it had in great part originally inspired. Social differentiation went on at the same time, and led to the political consequences logically deduced from it by Plato. And the barbarian430 conquest of Rome brought in its train some of those more primitive431 habits on which his breach432 with civilisation had equally thrown him back. Thus the coincidence between Plato’s Republic and mediaeval polity is due in one direction to causal agency, in another to speculative insight, and in a third to parallelism of effects, independent of each other but arising out of analogous433 conditions.
If, now, we proceed to compare the Republic with more recent schemes having also for their object the identification of public with private interests, nothing, at first sight, seems to resemble it so closely as the theories of modern Communism; especially those which advocate the abolition not only of private property but also of marriage. The similarity, however, is merely superficial, and covers a radical divergence, For, to begin with, the Platonic polity is not a system of Communism at all, in our sense of the word. It is not that the members of the ruling caste are to throw their property into a common fund; neither as individuals nor as a class do260 they possess any property whatever. Their wants are provided for by the industrial classes, who apparently continue to live under the old system of particularism. What Plato had in view was not to increase the sum of individual enjoyments434 by enforcing an equal division of their material means, but to eliminate individualism altogether, and thus give human feeling the absolute generality which he so much admired in abstract ideas. On the other hand, unless we are mistaken, modern Communism has no objection to private property as such, could it remain divided either with absolute equality or in strict proportion to the wants of its holders435; but only as the inevitable cause of inequalities which advancing civilisation seems to aggravate436 rather than to redress296. So also with marriage; the modern assailants of that institution object to it as a restraint on the freedom of individual passion, which, according to them, would secure the maximum of pleasure by perpetually varying its objects. Plato would have looked on such reasonings as a parody437 and perversion of his own doctrine; as in very truth, what some of them have professed to be, pleas for the rehabilitation438 of the flesh in its original supremacy over the spirit, and therefore the direct opposite of a system which sought to spiritualise by generalising the interests of life. And so, when in the Laws he gives his Communistic principles their complete logical development by extending them to the whole population, he is careful to preserve their philosophical character as the absorption of individual in social existence.154
The parentage of the two ideas will further elucidate115 their essentially heterogeneous character. For modern Communism is an outgrowth of the democratic tendencies which Plato detested; and as such had its counterpart in ancient Athens, if we may trust the Ecclêsiazusae of Aristophanes, where also it is associated with unbridled licentiousness439.155 Plato, on the261 contrary, seems to have received the first suggestion of his Communism from the Pythagorean and aristocratic confraternities of Southern Italy, where the principle that friends have all things in common was an accepted maxim.
If Plato stands at the very antipodes of Fourier and St. Simon, he is connected by a real relationship with those thinkers who, like Auguste Comte and Mr. Herbert Spencer, have based their social systems on a wide survey of physical science and human history. It is even probable that his ideas have exercised a decided440 though not a direct influence on the two writers whom we have named. For Comte avowedly took many of his proposed reforms from the organisation of mediaeval Catholicism, which was a translation of philosophy into dogma and discipline, just as Positivism is a re-translation of theology into the human thought from which it sprang. And Mr. Spencer’s system, while it seems to be the direct antithesis of Plato’s, might claim kindred with it through the principle of differentiation and integration, which, after passing from Greek thought into political economy and physiology441, has been restored by our illustrious countryman to something more than its original generality. It has also to be observed that the application of very abstract truths to political science needs to be most jealously guarded, since their elasticity442 increases in direct proportion to their width. When one thinker argues from the law of increasing specialisation to a vast extension of governmental interference with personal liberty, and another thinker to its restriction within the narrowest possible limits, it seems time to consider whether experience and expediency are not, after all, the safest guides to trust.
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VIII.
The social studies through which we have accompanied Plato seem to have reacted on his more abstract speculations, and to have largely modified the extreme opposition in which these had formerly stood to current notions, whether of a popular or a philosophical character. The change first becomes perceptible in his theory of Ideas. This is a subject on which, for the sake of greater clearness, we have hitherto refrained from entering; and that we should have succeeded in avoiding it so long would seem to prove that the doctrine in question forms a much less important part of his philosophy than is commonly imagined. Perhaps, as some think, it was not an original invention of his own, but was borrowed from the Megarian school; and the mythical connexion in which it frequently figures makes us doubtful how far he ever thoroughly accepted it. The theory is, that to every abstract name or conception of the mind there corresponds an objective entity possessing a separate existence quite distinct from that of the scattered particulars by which it is exemplified to our senses or to our imagination. Just as the Heracleitean flux represented the confusion of which Socrates convicted his interlocutors, so also did these Ideas represent the definitions by which he sought to bring method and certainty into their opinions. It may be that, as Grote suggests, Plato adopted this hypothesis in order to escape from the difficulty of defining common notions in a satisfactory manner. It is certain that his earliest Dialogues seem to place true definitions beyond the reach of human knowledge. And at the beginning of Plato’s constructive443 period we find the recognition of abstract conceptions, whether mathematical or moral, traced to the remembrance of an ante-natal state, where the soul held direct converse297 with the transcendent realities to which those conceptions correspond. Justice, temperance, beauty, and goodness, are especially mentioned as examples263 of Ideas revealed in this manner. Subsequent investigations must, however, have led Plato to believe that the highest truths are to be found by analysing not the loose contents but the fixed forms of consciousness; and that, if each virtue expressed a particular relation between the various parts of the soul, no external experience was needed to make her acquainted with its meaning; still less could conceptions arising out of her connexion with the material world be explained by reference to a sphere of purely spiritual existence. At the same time, innate444 ideas would no longer be required to prove her incorporeality445, when the authority of reason over sense furnished so much more satisfactory a ground for believing the two to be of different origin. To all who have studied the evolution of modern thought, the substitution of Kantian forms for Cartesian ideas will at once elucidate and confirm our hypothesis of a similar reformation in Plato’s metaphysics.
Again, the new position occupied by Mind as an intermediary between the world of reality and the world of appearance, tended more and more to obliterate446 or confuse the demarcations by which they had hitherto been separated. The most general headings under which it was usual to contrast them were, the One and the Many, Being and Nothing, the Same and the Different, Rest and Motion. Parmenides employed the one set of terms to describe his Absolute, and the other to describe the objects of vulgar belief. They also served respectively to designate the wise and the ignorant, the dialectician and the sophist, the knowledge of gods and the opinions of men; besides offering points of contact with the antithetical couples of Pythagoreanism. But Plato gradually found that the nature of Mind could not be understood without taking both points of view into account. Unity and plurality, sameness and difference, equally entered into its composition; although undoubtedly447 belonging to the sphere of reality, it was self264-moved and the cause of all motion in other things. The dialectic or classificatory method, with its progressive series of differentiations and assimilations, also involved a continual use of categories which were held to be mutually exclusive. And on proceeding210 to an examination of the summa genera, the highest and most abstract ideas which it had been sought to distinguish by their absolute purity and simplicity from the shifting chaos449 of sensible phenomena, Plato discovered that even these were reduced to a maze450 of confusion and contradiction by a sincere application of the cross-examining elenchus. For example, to predicate being of the One was to mix it up with a heterogeneous idea and let in the very plurality which it denied. To distinguish them was to predicate difference of both, and thus open the door to fresh embarrassments451.
Finally, while the attempt to attain59 extreme accuracy of definition was leading to the destruction of all thought and all reality within the Socratic school, the dialectic method had been taken up and parodied452 in a very coarse style by a class of persons called Eristics. These men had, to some extent, usurped453 the place of the elder Sophists as paid instructors454 of youth; but their only accomplishment455 was to upset every possible assertion by a series of verbal juggles456. One of their favourite paradoxes457 was to deny the reality of falsehood on the Parmenidean principle that ‘nothing cannot exist.’ Plato satirises their method in the Euthydêmus, and makes a much more serious attempt to meet it in the Sophist; two Dialogues which seem to have been composed not far from one another.156 The Sophist effects a considerable simplification in the ideal theory by resolving negation into difference, and altogether omitting the notions of unity and plurality,—perhaps as a result of the investiga265tions contained in the Parmenides, another dialogue belonging to the same group, where the couple referred to are analysed with great minuteness, and are shown to be infected with numerous self-contradictions. The remaining five ideas of Existence, Sameness, Difference, Rest, and Motion, are allowed to stand; but the fact of their inseparable connexion is brought out with great force and clearness. The enquiry is one of considerable interest, including, as it does, the earliest known analysis of predication, and forming an indispensable link in the transition from Platonic to Aristotelian logic—that is to say, from the theory of definition and classification to the theory of syllogism.
Once the Ideas had been brought into mutual448 relation and shown to be compounded with one another, the task of connecting them with the external world became considerably easier; and the same intermediary which before had linked them to it as a participant in the nature of both, was now raised to a higher position and became the efficient cause of their intimate union. Such is the standpoint of the Philêbus, where all existence is divided into four classes, the limit, the unlimited458, the union of both, and the cause of their union. Mind belongs to the last and matter to the second class. There can hardly be a doubt that the first class is either identical with the Ideas or fills the place once occupied by them. The third class is the world of experience, the Cosmos459 of early Greek thought, which Plato had now come to look on as a worthy object of study. In the Timaeus, also a very late Dialogue, he goes further, and gives us a complete cosmogony, the general conception of which is clear enough, although the details are avowedly conjectural460 and figurative; nor do they seem to have exercised any influence or subsequent speculation until the time of Descartes. We are told that the world was created by God, who is absolutely good, and, being without jealousy, wished that all things should be like himself. He makes it to consist266 of a soul and a body, the former constructed in imitation of the eternal archetypal ideas which now seem to be reduced to three—Existence, Sameness, and Difference.157 The soul of the world is formed by mixing these three elements together, and the body is an image of the soul. Sameness is represented by the starry sphere rotating on its own axis461; Difference by the inclination462 of the ecliptic to the equator; Existence, perhaps, by the everlasting duration of the heavens. The same analogy extends to the human figure, of which the head is the most essential part, all the rest of the body being merely designed for its support. Plato seems to regard the material world as a sort of machinery463 designed to meet the necessities of sight and touch, by which the human soul arrives at a knowledge of the eternal order without;—a direct reversal of his earlier theories, according to which matter and sense were mere encumbrances464 impeding465 the soul in her efforts after truth.
What remains466 of the visible world after deducting467 its ideal elements is pure space. This, which to some seems the clearest of all conceptions, was to Plato one of the obscurest. He can only describe it as the formless substance out of which the four elements, fire, air, water, and earth, are differentiated. It closes the scale of existence and even lies half outside it, just as the Idea of Good in the Republic transcends the same scale at the other end. We may conjecture468 that the two principles are opposed as absolute self-identity and absolute self-separation; the whole intermediate series of forms serving to bridge over the interval469 between them. It will then be easy to understand how, as Aristotle tells us, Plato finally came to adopt the Pythagorean nomenclature and designated his two generating principles as the monad and the indefinite dyad. Number was formed by their combination, and all other things were made out of number. Aristotle267 complains that the Platonists had turned philosophy into mathematics; and perhaps in the interests of science it was fortunate that the transformation470 occurred. To suppose that matter could be built up out of geometrical triangles, as Plato teaches in the Timaeus, was, no doubt, a highly reprehensible471 confusion; but that the systematic study of science should be based on mathematics was an equally new and important aper?u. The impulse given to knowledge followed unforeseen directions; and at a later period Plato’s true spirit was better represented by Archimedes and Hipparchus than by Arcesilaus and Carneades.
It is remarkable that the spontaneous development of Greek thought should have led to a form of Theism not unlike that which some persons still imagine was supernaturally revealed to the Hebrew race; for the absence of any connexion between the two is now almost universally admitted. Modern science has taken up the attitude of Laplace towards the hypothesis in question; and those critics who, like Lange, are most imbued472 with the scientific spirit, feel inclined to regard its adoption473 by Plato as a retrograde movement. We may to a certain extent agree with them, without admitting that philosophy, as a whole, was injured by departing from the principles of Democritus. An intellectual like an animal organism may sometimes have to choose between retrograde metamorphosis and total extinction474. The course of events drove speculation to Athens, where it could only exist on the condition of assuming a theological form. Moreover, action and reaction were equal and contrary. Mythology gained as much as philosophy lost. It was purified from immoral ingredients, and raised to the highest level which supernaturalism is capable of attaining475. If the Republic was the forerunner476 of the Catholic Church, the Timaeus was the forerunner of the Catholic faith.
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IX.
The old age of Plato seems to have been marked by restless activity in more directions than one. He began various works which were never finished, and projected others which were never begun. He became possessed by a devouring477 zeal478 for social reform. It seemed to him that nothing was wanting but an enlightened despot to make his ideal State a reality. According to one story, he fancied that such an instrument might be found in the younger Dionysius. If so, his expectations were speedily disappointed. As Hegel acutely observes, only a man of half measures will allow himself to be guided by another; and such a man would lack the energy needed to carry out Plato’s scheme.158 However this may be, the philosopher does not seem to have given up his idea that absolute monarchy479 was, after all, the government from which most good might be expected. A process of substitution which runs through his whole intellectual evolution was here exemplified for the last time. Just as in his ethical system knowledge, after having been regarded solely480 as the means for procuring481 an ulterior end, pleasure, subsequently became an end in itself; just as the interest in knowledge was superseded482 by a more absorbing interest in the dialectical machinery which was to facilitate its acquisition, and this again by the social re-organisation which was to make education a department of the State; so also the beneficent despotism originally invoked for the purpose of establishing an aristocracy on the new model, came at last to be regarded by Plato as itself the best form of government. Such, at least, seems to be the drift of a remarkable Dialogue called the Statesman, which we agree with Prof. Jowett in placing immediately before the Laws. Some have denied its authenticity483, and others have placed it very early in the entire series of Platonic compositions. But it contains passages of269 such blended wit and eloquence484 that no other man could have written them; and passages so destitute485 of life that they could only have been written when his system had stiffened486 into mathematical pedantry487 and scholastic routine. Moreover, it seems distinctly to anticipate the scheme of detailed488 legislation which Plato spent his last years in elaborating. After covering with ridicule489 the notion that a truly competent ruler should ever be hampered490 by written enactments491, the principal spokesman acknowledges that, in the absence of such a ruler, a definite and unalterable code offers the best guarantees for political stability.
This code Plato set himself to construct in his last and longest work, the Laws. Less than half of that Dialogue, however, is occupied with the details of legislation. The remaining portions deal with the familiar topics of morality, religion, science, and education. The first book propounds492 a very curious theory of asceticism493, which has not, we believe, been taken up by any subsequent moralist. On the principle of in vino veritas Plato proposes that drunkenness should be systematically494 employed for the purpose of testing self-control. True temperance is not abstinence, but the power of resisting temptation; and we can best discover to what extent any man possesses that power by surprising him when off his guard. If he should be proof against seductive influences even when in his cups, we shall be doubly sure of his constancy at other times. Prof. Jowett rather maliciously495 suggests that a personal proclivity496 may have suggested this extraordinary apology for hard drinking. Were it so, we should be reminded of the successive revelations by which indulgences of another kind were permitted to Mohammed, and of the one case in which divorce was sanctioned by Auguste Comte. We should also remember that the Christian85 Puritanism to which Plato approached so near has always been singularly lenient497 to this disgraceful vice. But perhaps a somewhat higher order of considerations will help us to a better under270standing of the paradox. Plato was averse499 from rejecting any tendency of his age that could possibly be turned to account in his philosophy. Hence, as we have seen, the use which he makes of love, even under its most unlawful forms, in the Symposium and the Phaedrus. Now, it would appear, from our scanty500 sources of information, that social festivities, always very popular at Athens, had become the chief interest in life about the time when Plato was composing his Laws. According to one graceful498 legend, the philosopher himself breathed his last at a marriage-feast. It may, therefore, have occurred to him that the prevalent tendency could, like the amorous501 passions of a former generation, be utilised for moral training and made subservient502 to the very cause with which, at first sight, it seemed to conflict.
The concessions to common sense and to contemporary schools of thought, already pointed out in those Dialogues which we suppose to have been written after the Republic, are still more conspicuous503 in the Laws. We do not mean merely the project of a political constitution avowedly offered as the best possible in existing circumstances, though not the best absolutely; but we mean that there is throughout a desire to present philosophy from its most intelligible140, practical, and popular side. The extremely rigorous standard of sexual morality (p. 838) seems, indeed, more akin50 to modern than to ancient notions, but it was in all probability borrowed from the naturalistic school of ethics, the forerunner of Stoicism; for not only is there a direct appeal to Nature’s teaching in that connexion; but throughout the entire work the terms ‘nature’ and ‘naturally’ occur with greater frequency, we believe, than in all the rest of Plato’s writings put together. When, on the other hand, it is asserted that men can be governed by no other motive than pleasure (p. 663, B), we seem to see in this declaration a concession to the Cyrenaic school, as well as a return to the forsaken504 standpoint of the Protagoras. The increasing influence of Pythagoreanism is shown by271 the exaggerated importance attributed to exact numerical determinations. The theory of ideas is, as Prof. Jowett observes, entirely absent, its place being taken by the distinction between mind and matter.159
The political constitution and code of laws recommended by Plato to his new city are adapted to a great extent from the older legislation of Athens. As such they have supplied the historians of ancient jurisprudence with some valuable indications. But from a philosophic point of view the general impression produced is wearisome and even offensive. A universal system of espionage505 is established, and the odious506 trade of informer receives ample encouragement. Worst of all, it is proposed, in the true spirit of Athenian intolerance, to uphold religious orthodoxy by persecuting507 laws. Plato had actually come to think that disagreement with the vulgar theology was a folly and a crime. One passage may be quoted as a warning to those who would set early associations to do the work of reason; and who would overbear new truths by a method which at one time might have been used with fatal effect against their own opinions:—
Who can be calm when he is called upon to prove the existence of the gods? Who can avoid hating and abhorring508 the men who are and have been the cause of this argument? I speak of those who will not believe the words which they have heard as babes and sucklings from their mothers and nurses, repeated by them both in jest and earnest like charms; who have also heard and seen their parents offering up sacrifices and prayers—sights and sounds delightful509 to children—sacrificing, I say, in the most earnest manner on behalf of them and of themselves, and with eager interest talking to the gods and beseeching510 them as though they were firmly convinced of their existence; who likewise see and hear the genuflexions and prostrations which are made by Hellenes and barbarians511 to the rising and setting sun and moon, in all the various turns of good and evil for272tune, not as if they thought that there were no gods, but as if there could be no doubt of their existence, and no suspicion of their non-existence; when men, knowing all these things, despise them on no real grounds, as would be admitted by all who have any particle of intelligence, and when they force us to say what we are now saying, how can any one in gentle terms remonstrate512 with the like of them, when he has to begin by proving to them the very existence of the gods?160
Let it be remembered that the gods of whom Plato is speaking are the sun, moon, and stars; that the atheists whom he denounces only taught what we have long known to be true, which is that those luminaries513 are no more divine, no more animated514, no more capable of accepting our sacrifices or responding to our cries than is the earth on which we tread; and that he attempts to prove the contrary by arguments which, even if they were not inconsistent with all that we know about mechanics, would still be utterly inadequate515 to the purpose for which they are employed.
Turning back once more from the melancholy516 decline of a great genius to the splendour of its meridian517 prime, we will endeavour briefly518 to recapitulate519 the achievements which entitle Plato to rank among the five or six greatest Greeks, and among the four or five greatest thinkers of all time. He extended the philosophy of mind until it embraced not only ethics and dialectics but also the study of politics, of religion, of social science, of fine art, of economy, of language, and of education. In other words, he showed how ideas could be applied to life on the most comprehensive scale. Further, he saw that the study of Mind, to be complete, necessitates a knowledge of physical phenomena and of the realities which underlie520 them; accordingly, he made a return on the objective speculations which had been temporarily abandoned, thus mediating521 between Socrates and early Greek thought; while on the other hand by his theory of classification he mediated between Socrates and Aristotle. He based physical science273 on mathematics, thus establishing a method of research and of education which has continued in operation ever since. He sketched the outlines of a new religion in which morality was to be substituted for ritualism, and intelligent imitation of God for blind obedience to his will; a religion of monotheism, of humanity, of purity, and of immortal life. And he embodied all these lessons in a series of compositions distinguished by such beauty of form that their literary excellence alone would entitle them to rank among the greatest masterpieces that the world has ever seen. He took the recently-created instrument of prose style and at once raised it to the highest pitch of excellence that it has ever attained. Finding the new art already distorted by false taste and overlaid with meretricious522 ornament523, he cleansed524 and regenerated525 it in that primal526 fount of intellectual life, that richest, deepest, purest source of joy, the conversation of enquiring527 spirits with one another, when they have awakened528 to the desire for truth and have not learned to despair of its attainment. Thus it was that the philosopher’s mastery of expression gave added emphasis to his protest against those who made style a substitute for knowledge, or, by a worse corruption, perverted it into an instrument of profitable wrong. They moved along the surface in a confused world of words, of sensations, and of animal desires; he penetrated529 through all those dumb images and blind instincts, to the central verity530 and supreme end which alone can inform them with meaning, consistency, permanence, and value. To conclude: Plato belonged to that nobly practical school of idealists who master all the details of reality before attempting its reformation, and accomplish their great designs by enlisting531 and reorganising whatever spontaneous forces are already working in the same direction; but the fertility of whose own suggestions it needs more than one millennium532 to exhaust. There is nothing in heaven or earth that was not dreamt of in his philosophy:274 some of his dreams have already come true; others still await their fulfilment; and even those which are irreconcilable with the demands of experience will continue to be studied with the interest attaching to every generous and daring adventure, in the spiritual no less than in the secular533 order of existence.
点击收听单词发音
1 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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2 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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3 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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4 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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5 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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6 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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7 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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8 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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9 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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10 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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11 sensuous | |
adj.激发美感的;感官的,感觉上的 | |
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12 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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13 reverted | |
恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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14 demonstration | |
n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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15 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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16 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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17 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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18 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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19 aspiration | |
n.志向,志趣抱负;渴望;(语)送气音;吸出 | |
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20 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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21 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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22 effaced | |
v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;超越;使黯然失色 | |
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23 incompatible | |
adj.不相容的,不协调的,不相配的 | |
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24 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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25 lute | |
n.琵琶,鲁特琴 | |
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26 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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27 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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28 commonwealth | |
n.共和国,联邦,共同体 | |
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29 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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30 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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31 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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32 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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33 emphasise | |
vt.加强...的语气,强调,着重 | |
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34 mediator | |
n.调解人,中介人 | |
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35 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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36 dissection | |
n.分析;解剖 | |
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37 reconstruction | |
n.重建,再现,复原 | |
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38 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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39 symposium | |
n.讨论会,专题报告会;专题论文集 | |
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40 platonic | |
adj.精神的;柏拉图(哲学)的 | |
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41 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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42 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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43 attachments | |
n.(用电子邮件发送的)附件( attachment的名词复数 );附着;连接;附属物 | |
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44 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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45 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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46 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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47 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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48 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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49 generic | |
adj.一般的,普通的,共有的 | |
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50 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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51 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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52 comeliness | |
n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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53 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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54 entrusted | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55 copiousness | |
n.丰裕,旺盛 | |
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56 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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57 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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58 vacuity | |
n.(想象力等)贫乏,无聊,空白 | |
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59 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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60 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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61 nominally | |
在名义上,表面地; 应名儿 | |
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62 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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63 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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64 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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65 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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66 subjective | |
a.主观(上)的,个人的 | |
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67 outermost | |
adj.最外面的,远离中心的 | |
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68 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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69 decomposition | |
n. 分解, 腐烂, 崩溃 | |
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70 myriad | |
adj.无数的;n.无数,极大数量 | |
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71 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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72 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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73 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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74 rhetoric | |
n.修辞学,浮夸之言语 | |
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75 ostentation | |
n.夸耀,卖弄 | |
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76 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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77 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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78 lurked | |
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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79 rekindled | |
v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80 underlying | |
adj.在下面的,含蓄的,潜在的 | |
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81 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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82 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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83 stimulation | |
n.刺激,激励,鼓舞 | |
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84 ethical | |
adj.伦理的,道德的,合乎道德的 | |
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85 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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86 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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87 entity | |
n.实体,独立存在体,实际存在物 | |
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88 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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89 aesthetic | |
adj.美学的,审美的,有美感 | |
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90 irrational | |
adj.无理性的,失去理性的 | |
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91 organisation | |
n.组织,安排,团体,有机休 | |
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92 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
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93 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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94 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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95 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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96 renaissance | |
n.复活,复兴,文艺复兴 | |
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97 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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98 delirious | |
adj.不省人事的,神智昏迷的 | |
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99 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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100 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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101 creeds | |
(尤指宗教)信条,教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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102 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103 adherents | |
n.支持者,拥护者( adherent的名词复数 );党羽;徒子徒孙 | |
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104 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
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105 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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106 justifiable | |
adj.有理由的,无可非议的 | |
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107 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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108 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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109 affinities | |
n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 );亲近;(生性)喜爱;类同 | |
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110 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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111 discourses | |
论文( discourse的名词复数 ); 演说; 讲道; 话语 | |
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112 mythology | |
n.神话,神话学,神话集 | |
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113 induction | |
n.感应,感应现象 | |
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114 elucidated | |
v.阐明,解释( elucidate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115 elucidate | |
v.阐明,说明 | |
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116 deficient | |
adj.不足的,不充份的,有缺陷的 | |
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117 requisites | |
n.必要的事物( requisite的名词复数 ) | |
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118 eliciting | |
n. 诱发, 引出 动词elicit的现在分词形式 | |
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119 amending | |
改良,修改,修订( amend的现在分词 ); 改良,修改,修订( amend的第三人称单数 )( amends的现在分词 ) | |
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120 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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121 syllogism | |
n.演绎法,三段论法 | |
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122 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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123 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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124 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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125 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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126 concessions | |
n.(尤指由政府或雇主给予的)特许权( concession的名词复数 );承认;减价;(在某地的)特许经营权 | |
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127 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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128 circumscription | |
n.界限;限界 | |
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129 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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130 mediation | |
n.调解 | |
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131 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
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132 blighted | |
adj.枯萎的,摧毁的 | |
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133 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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134 deductions | |
扣除( deduction的名词复数 ); 结论; 扣除的量; 推演 | |
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135 differentiation | |
n.区别,区分 | |
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136 integration | |
n.一体化,联合,结合 | |
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137 construes | |
v.解释(陈述、行为等)( construe的第三人称单数 );翻译,作句法分析 | |
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138 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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139 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
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140 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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141 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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142 mediates | |
调停,调解,斡旋( mediate的第三人称单数 ); 居间促成; 影响…的发生; 使…可能发生 | |
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143 entities | |
实体对像; 实体,独立存在体,实际存在物( entity的名词复数 ) | |
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144 flux | |
n.流动;不断的改变 | |
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145 psychic | |
n.对超自然力敏感的人;adj.有超自然力的 | |
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146 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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147 auxiliary | |
adj.辅助的,备用的 | |
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148 enlist | |
vt.谋取(支持等),赢得;征募;vi.入伍 | |
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149 haughtier | |
haughty(傲慢的,骄傲的)的比较级形式 | |
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150 discredit | |
vt.使不可置信;n.丧失信义;不信,怀疑 | |
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151 amenable | |
adj.经得起检验的;顺从的;对负有义务的 | |
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152 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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153 guardianship | |
n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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154 fleeting | |
adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
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155 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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156 calculus | |
n.微积分;结石 | |
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157 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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158 invoke | |
v.求助于(神、法律);恳求,乞求 | |
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159 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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160 ego | |
n.自我,自己,自尊 | |
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161 polemics | |
n.辩论术,辩论法;争论( polemic的名词复数 );辩论;辩论术;辩论法 | |
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162 illustrate | |
v.举例说明,阐明;图解,加插图 | |
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163 unstable | |
adj.不稳定的,易变的 | |
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164 delusive | |
adj.欺骗的,妄想的 | |
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165 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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166 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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167 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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168 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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169 attainment | |
n.达到,到达;[常pl.]成就,造诣 | |
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170 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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171 arbiter | |
n.仲裁人,公断人 | |
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172 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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173 utilitarian | |
adj.实用的,功利的 | |
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174 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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175 renounce | |
v.放弃;拒绝承认,宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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176 cowardice | |
n.胆小,怯懦 | |
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177 intemperance | |
n.放纵 | |
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178 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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179 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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180 restrictions | |
约束( restriction的名词复数 ); 管制; 制约因素; 带限制性的条件(或规则) | |
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181 restriction | |
n.限制,约束 | |
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182 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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183 ascetic | |
adj.禁欲的;严肃的 | |
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184 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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185 converging | |
adj.收敛[缩]的,会聚的,趋同的v.(线条、运动的物体等)会于一点( converge的现在分词 );(趋于)相似或相同;人或车辆汇集;聚集 | |
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186 beatific | |
adj.快乐的,有福的 | |
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187 transcends | |
超出或超越(经验、信念、描写能力等)的范围( transcend的第三人称单数 ); 优于或胜过… | |
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188 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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189 irresistibly | |
adv.无法抵抗地,不能自持地;极为诱惑人地 | |
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190 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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191 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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192 initiation | |
n.开始 | |
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193 quantitative | |
adj.数量的,定量的 | |
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194 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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195 astronomical | |
adj.天文学的,(数字)极大的 | |
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196 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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197 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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198 exigencies | |
n.急切需要 | |
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199 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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200 pervert | |
n.堕落者,反常者;vt.误用,滥用;使人堕落,使入邪路 | |
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201 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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202 contingency | |
n.意外事件,可能性 | |
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203 radically | |
ad.根本地,本质地 | |
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204 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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205 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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206 temerity | |
n.鲁莽,冒失 | |
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207 citizenship | |
n.市民权,公民权,国民的义务(身份) | |
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208 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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209 judicial | |
adj.司法的,法庭的,审判的,明断的,公正的 | |
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210 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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211 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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212 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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213 perversion | |
n.曲解;堕落;反常 | |
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214 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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215 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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216 consecration | |
n.供献,奉献,献祭仪式 | |
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217 pointedly | |
adv.尖地,明显地 | |
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218 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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219 expediency | |
n.适宜;方便;合算;利己 | |
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220 incur | |
vt.招致,蒙受,遭遇 | |
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221 infamy | |
n.声名狼藉,出丑,恶行 | |
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222 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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223 extrinsic | |
adj.外部的;不紧要的 | |
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224 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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225 diminution | |
n.减少;变小 | |
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226 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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227 violation | |
n.违反(行为),违背(行为),侵犯 | |
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228 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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229 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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230 penal | |
adj.刑罚的;刑法上的 | |
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231 impair | |
v.损害,损伤;削弱,减少 | |
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232 slurring | |
含糊地说出( slur的现在分词 ); 含糊地发…的声; 侮辱; 连唱 | |
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233 divergence | |
n.分歧,岔开 | |
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234 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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235 emanate | |
v.发自,来自,出自 | |
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236 forum | |
n.论坛,讨论会 | |
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237 temperate | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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238 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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239 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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240 necessitate | |
v.使成为必要,需要 | |
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241 necessitates | |
使…成为必要,需要( necessitate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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242 construed | |
v.解释(陈述、行为等)( construe的过去式和过去分词 );翻译,作句法分析 | |
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243 worthiest | |
应得某事物( worthy的最高级 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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244 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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245 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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246 elicited | |
引出,探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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247 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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248 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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249 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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250 disciple | |
n.信徒,门徒,追随者 | |
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251 immoral | |
adj.不道德的,淫荡的,荒淫的,有伤风化的 | |
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252 redounds | |
v.有助益( redound的第三人称单数 );及于;报偿;报应 | |
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253 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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254 repudiated | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
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255 Buddhism | |
n.佛教(教义) | |
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256 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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257 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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258 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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259 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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260 utterances | |
n.发声( utterance的名词复数 );说话方式;语调;言论 | |
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261 prematurely | |
adv.过早地,贸然地 | |
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262 materialistic | |
a.唯物主义的,物质享乐主义的 | |
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263 materialism | |
n.[哲]唯物主义,唯物论;物质至上 | |
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264 primordial | |
adj.原始的;最初的 | |
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265 aggregate | |
adj.总计的,集合的;n.总数;v.合计;集合 | |
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266 aggregates | |
数( aggregate的名词复数 ); 总计; 骨料; 集料(可成混凝土或修路等用的) | |
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267 irreconcilable | |
adj.(指人)难和解的,势不两立的 | |
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268 outlast | |
v.较…耐久 | |
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269 consistency | |
n.一贯性,前后一致,稳定性;(液体的)浓度 | |
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270 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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271 discrepancy | |
n.不同;不符;差异;矛盾 | |
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272 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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273 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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274 concord | |
n.和谐;协调 | |
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275 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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276 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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277 constraint | |
n.(on)约束,限制;限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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278 circuitous | |
adj.迂回的路的,迂曲的,绕行的 | |
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279 negation | |
n.否定;否认 | |
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280 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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281 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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282 teleological | |
adj.目的论的 | |
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283 fixedness | |
n.固定;稳定;稳固 | |
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284 expeditious | |
adj.迅速的,敏捷的 | |
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285 parity | |
n.平价,等价,比价,对等 | |
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286 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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287 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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288 penitence | |
n.忏悔,赎罪;悔过 | |
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289 probation | |
n.缓刑(期),(以观后效的)察看;试用(期) | |
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290 purgatory | |
n.炼狱;苦难;adj.净化的,清洗的 | |
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291 mediated | |
调停,调解,斡旋( mediate的过去式和过去分词 ); 居间促成; 影响…的发生; 使…可能发生 | |
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292 inverted | |
adj.反向的,倒转的v.使倒置,使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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293 perturbing | |
v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的现在分词 ) | |
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294 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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295 redressed | |
v.改正( redress的过去式和过去分词 );重加权衡;恢复平衡 | |
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296 redress | |
n.赔偿,救济,矫正;v.纠正,匡正,革除 | |
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297 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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298 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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299 regenerate | |
vt.使恢复,使新生;vi.恢复,再生;adj.恢复的 | |
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300 foretell | |
v.预言,预告,预示 | |
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301 condemning | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的现在分词 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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302 propensity | |
n.倾向;习性 | |
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303 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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304 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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305 Moslem | |
n.回教徒,穆罕默德信徒;adj.回教徒的,回教的 | |
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306 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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307 pictorial | |
adj.绘画的;图片的;n.画报 | |
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308 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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309 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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310 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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311 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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312 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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313 precursor | |
n.先驱者;前辈;前任;预兆;先兆 | |
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314 divination | |
n.占卜,预测 | |
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315 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
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316 progeny | |
n.后代,子孙;结果 | |
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317 nuptial | |
adj.婚姻的,婚礼的 | |
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318 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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319 commentators | |
n.评论员( commentator的名词复数 );时事评论员;注释者;实况广播员 | |
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320 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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321 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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322 pique | |
v.伤害…的自尊心,使生气 n.不满,生气 | |
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323 contemptible | |
adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
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324 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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325 bribery | |
n.贿络行为,行贿,受贿 | |
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326 hereditarily | |
世袭地,遗传地 | |
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327 mythical | |
adj.神话的;虚构的;想像的 | |
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328 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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329 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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330 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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331 levies | |
(部队)征兵( levy的名词复数 ); 募捐; 被征募的军队 | |
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332 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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333 logician | |
n.逻辑学家 | |
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334 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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335 functionaries | |
n.公职人员,官员( functionary的名词复数 ) | |
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336 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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337 defenders | |
n.防御者( defender的名词复数 );守卫者;保护者;辩护者 | |
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338 defender | |
n.保卫者,拥护者,辩护人 | |
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339 abolition | |
n.废除,取消 | |
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340 supervision | |
n.监督,管理 | |
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341 deformed | |
adj.畸形的;变形的;丑的,破相了的 | |
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342 enrolled | |
adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 );登记,招收,使入伍(或入会、入学等),参加,成为成员;记入名册;卷起,包起 | |
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343 differentiating | |
[计] 微分的 | |
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344 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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345 zoology | |
n.动物学,生态 | |
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346 annuls | |
v.宣告无效( annul的第三人称单数 );取消;使消失;抹去 | |
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347 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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348 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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349 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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350 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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351 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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352 counteract | |
vt.对…起反作用,对抗,抵消 | |
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353 omnipotence | |
n.全能,万能,无限威力 | |
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354 parlance | |
n.说法;语调 | |
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355 subjectivity | |
n.主观性(主观主义) | |
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356 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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357 vindicated | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
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358 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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359 override | |
vt.不顾,不理睬,否决;压倒,优先于 | |
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360 intrigue | |
vt.激起兴趣,迷住;vi.耍阴谋;n.阴谋,密谋 | |
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361 spartan | |
adj.简朴的,刻苦的;n.斯巴达;斯巴达式的人 | |
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362 plundered | |
掠夺,抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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363 kinsmen | |
n.家属,亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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364 extorting | |
v.敲诈( extort的现在分词 );曲解 | |
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365 ransom | |
n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救 | |
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366 specified | |
adj.特定的 | |
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367 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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368 quiescence | |
n.静止 | |
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369 exhortation | |
n.劝告,规劝 | |
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370 harassed | |
adj. 疲倦的,厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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371 shuns | |
v.避开,回避,避免( shun的第三人称单数 ) | |
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372 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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373 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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374 enumerated | |
v.列举,枚举,数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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375 inquisitiveness | |
好奇,求知欲 | |
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376 disintegration | |
n.分散,解体 | |
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377 incompatibility | |
n.不兼容 | |
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378 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
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379 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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380 proficiency | |
n.精通,熟练,精练 | |
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381 aspirants | |
n.有志向或渴望获得…的人( aspirant的名词复数 )v.渴望的,有抱负的,追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的第三人称单数 );有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
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382 physiologically | |
ad.生理上,在生理学上 | |
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383 disintegrating | |
v.(使)破裂[分裂,粉碎],(使)崩溃( disintegrate的现在分词 ) | |
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384 precluded | |
v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 );排除;妨碍;使…行不通 | |
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385 mutinous | |
adj.叛变的,反抗的;adv.反抗地,叛变地;n.反抗,叛变 | |
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386 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
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387 decomposing | |
腐烂( decompose的现在分词 ); (使)分解; 分解(某物质、光线等) | |
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388 ferment | |
vt.使发酵;n./vt.(使)激动,(使)动乱 | |
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389 precept | |
n.戒律;格言 | |
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390 meddling | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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391 embody | |
vt.具体表达,使具体化;包含,收录 | |
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392 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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393 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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394 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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395 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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396 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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397 heterogeneous | |
adj.庞杂的;异类的 | |
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398 avowedly | |
adv.公然地 | |
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399 commendable | |
adj.值得称赞的 | |
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400 consanguinity | |
n.血缘;亲族 | |
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401 wrangling | |
v.争吵,争论,口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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402 docility | |
n.容易教,易驾驶,驯服 | |
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403 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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404 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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405 scholastic | |
adj.学校的,学院的,学术上的 | |
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406 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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407 simile | |
n.直喻,明喻 | |
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408 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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409 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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410 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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411 equitable | |
adj.公平的;公正的 | |
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412 detested | |
v.憎恶,嫌恶,痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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413 enfranchisement | |
选举权 | |
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414 exclusion | |
n.拒绝,排除,排斥,远足,远途旅行 | |
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415 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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416 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
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417 aptitude | |
n.(学习方面的)才能,资质,天资 | |
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418 relatively | |
adv.比较...地,相对地 | |
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419 attainable | |
a.可达到的,可获得的 | |
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420 expended | |
v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 );使用(钱等)做某事;用光;耗尽 | |
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421 improperly | |
不正确地,不适当地 | |
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422 nomadic | |
adj.流浪的;游牧的 | |
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423 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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424 elimination | |
n.排除,消除,消灭 | |
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425 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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426 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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427 nurture | |
n.养育,照顾,教育;滋养,营养品;vt.养育,给与营养物,教养,扶持 | |
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428 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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429 eligible | |
adj.有条件被选中的;(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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430 barbarian | |
n.野蛮人;adj.野蛮(人)的;未开化的 | |
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431 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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432 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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433 analogous | |
adj.相似的;类似的 | |
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434 enjoyments | |
愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 ); 令人愉快的事物; 享有; 享受 | |
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435 holders | |
支持物( holder的名词复数 ); 持有者; (支票等)持有人; 支托(或握持)…之物 | |
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436 aggravate | |
vt.加重(剧),使恶化;激怒,使恼火 | |
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437 parody | |
n.打油诗文,诙谐的改编诗文,拙劣的模仿;v.拙劣模仿,作模仿诗文 | |
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438 rehabilitation | |
n.康复,悔过自新,修复,复兴,复职,复位 | |
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439 licentiousness | |
n.放肆,无法无天 | |
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440 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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441 physiology | |
n.生理学,生理机能 | |
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442 elasticity | |
n.弹性,伸缩力 | |
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443 constructive | |
adj.建设的,建设性的 | |
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444 innate | |
adj.天生的,固有的,天赋的 | |
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445 incorporeality | |
[法] 无形体,无形性 | |
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446 obliterate | |
v.擦去,涂抹,去掉...痕迹,消失,除去 | |
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447 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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448 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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449 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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450 maze | |
n.迷宫,八阵图,混乱,迷惑 | |
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451 embarrassments | |
n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 );难堪;局促不安;令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
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452 parodied | |
v.滑稽地模仿,拙劣地模仿( parody的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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453 usurped | |
篡夺,霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 ); 盗用; 篡夺,篡权 | |
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454 instructors | |
指导者,教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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455 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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456 juggles | |
v.歪曲( juggle的第三人称单数 );耍弄;有效地组织;尽力同时应付(两个或两个以上的重要工作或活动) | |
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457 paradoxes | |
n.似非而是的隽语,看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 );用于语言文学中的上述隽语;有矛盾特点的人[事物,情况] | |
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458 unlimited | |
adj.无限的,不受控制的,无条件的 | |
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459 cosmos | |
n.宇宙;秩序,和谐 | |
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460 conjectural | |
adj.推测的 | |
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461 axis | |
n.轴,轴线,中心线;坐标轴,基准线 | |
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462 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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463 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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464 encumbrances | |
n.负担( encumbrance的名词复数 );累赘;妨碍;阻碍 | |
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465 impeding | |
a.(尤指坏事)即将发生的,临近的 | |
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466 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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467 deducting | |
v.扣除,减去( deduct的现在分词 ) | |
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468 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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469 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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470 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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471 reprehensible | |
adj.该受责备的 | |
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472 imbued | |
v.使(某人/某事)充满或激起(感情等)( imbue的过去式和过去分词 );使充满;灌输;激发(强烈感情或品质等) | |
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473 adoption | |
n.采用,采纳,通过;收养 | |
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474 extinction | |
n.熄灭,消亡,消灭,灭绝,绝种 | |
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475 attaining | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的现在分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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476 forerunner | |
n.前身,先驱(者),预兆,祖先 | |
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477 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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478 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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479 monarchy | |
n.君主,最高统治者;君主政体,君主国 | |
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480 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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481 procuring | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的现在分词 );拉皮条 | |
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482 superseded | |
[医]被代替的,废弃的 | |
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483 authenticity | |
n.真实性 | |
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484 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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485 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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486 stiffened | |
加强的 | |
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487 pedantry | |
n.迂腐,卖弄学问 | |
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488 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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489 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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490 hampered | |
妨碍,束缚,限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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491 enactments | |
n.演出( enactment的名词复数 );展现;规定;通过 | |
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492 propounds | |
v.提出(问题、计划等)供考虑[讨论],提议( propound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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493 asceticism | |
n.禁欲主义 | |
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494 systematically | |
adv.有系统地 | |
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495 maliciously | |
adv.有敌意地 | |
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496 proclivity | |
n.倾向,癖性 | |
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497 lenient | |
adj.宽大的,仁慈的 | |
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498 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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499 averse | |
adj.厌恶的;反对的,不乐意的 | |
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500 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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501 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
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502 subservient | |
adj.卑屈的,阿谀的 | |
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503 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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504 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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505 espionage | |
n.间谍行为,谍报活动 | |
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506 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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507 persecuting | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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508 abhorring | |
v.憎恶( abhor的现在分词 );(厌恶地)回避;拒绝;淘汰 | |
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509 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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510 beseeching | |
adj.恳求似的v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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511 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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512 remonstrate | |
v.抗议,规劝 | |
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513 luminaries | |
n.杰出人物,名人(luminary的复数形式) | |
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514 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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515 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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516 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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517 meridian | |
adj.子午线的;全盛期的 | |
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518 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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519 recapitulate | |
v.节述要旨,择要说明 | |
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520 underlie | |
v.位于...之下,成为...的基础 | |
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521 mediating | |
调停,调解,斡旋( mediate的现在分词 ); 居间促成; 影响…的发生; 使…可能发生 | |
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522 meretricious | |
adj.华而不实的,俗艳的 | |
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523 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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524 cleansed | |
弄干净,清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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525 regenerated | |
v.新生,再生( regenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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526 primal | |
adj.原始的;最重要的 | |
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527 enquiring | |
a.爱打听的,显得好奇的 | |
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528 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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529 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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530 verity | |
n.真实性 | |
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531 enlisting | |
v.(使)入伍, (使)参军( enlist的现在分词 );获得(帮助或支持) | |
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532 millennium | |
n.一千年,千禧年;太平盛世 | |
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533 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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