Adequately to exhibit the relation of Greek philosophy to modern thought would require a volume. The object of the present discussion is merely to show in what ways that relation has been most clearly manifested, and what assistance it may afford us in solving some important problems connected with the development of metaphysical and moral speculation2.
Historians often speak as if philosophy took an entirely3 fresh start at different epochs of its existence. One such break is variously associated with Descartes, or Bacon, or some one of their Italian predecessors6. In like manner, the introduction of Christianity, coupled with the closing of the Athenian schools by Justinian, is considered, as once was the suppression of the West-Roman Caesarate by Odoacer, to mark the beginning of a new régime. But there can be no more a real break in the continuity of intellectual than in the continuity of political history, beyond what sleep or inactivity may simulate in the life of the organic aggregate8 no less than in the life of the organic individual. In each instance, the thread is taken up where it was dropped. If the rest of the world has been advancing meanwhile, new tendencies will come into play, but only by first attaching themselves to older lines of movement. Sometimes, again, what seems to be a revolution is, in truth, the revival10 or liberation of an earlier movement, through the decay or destruction of beliefs364 which have hitherto checked its growth. Thus the systems of Plato and Aristotle, after carrying all before them for a brief period, were found unsuitable, from their vast comprehension and high spirituality, to the undeveloped consciousness of their age, and were replaced by popularised versions of the sceptical or naturalistic philosophies which they had endeavoured to suppress. And when these were at length left behind by the forward movement of the human mind, speculative12 reformers spontaneously reverted13 to the two great Socratic thinkers for a better solution of the problems in debate. After many abortive14 efforts, a teacher appeared possessing sufficient genius to fuse their principles into a seemingly coherent and comprehensive whole. By combining the Platonic15 and Aristotelian spiritualism with a dynamic element borrowed from Stoicism, Plotinus did for an age of intellectual decadence17 what his models had done in vain for an age of intellectual growth. The relation in which he stood to Stoicism, Epicureanism, and Scepticism, reproduced the relation in which they stood to the various physical and sophistic schools of their time; but the silent experience of six centuries won for him a much more enduring success.
Neo-Platonism was the form under which Greek philosophy passed into Christian7 teaching; and the transition was effected with less difficulty because Christianity had already absorbed some of its most essential elements from the original system of Plato himself. Meanwhile the revival of spiritualism had given an immense impulse to the study of the classic writings whence it was drawn19; and the more they were studied the more prominently did their antagonism20 on certain important questions come into view. Hence, no sooner did the two systems between which Plotinus had established a provisional compromise come out victorious21 from their struggle with materialism22, than they began to separate and draw off into opposing camps. The principal subject of dispute was the form under which ideas exist. The conflicting theories of365 Realism and Nominalism are already set forth23 with perfect clearness by Porphyry in his introduction to the Organon; and his statement of the case, as Victor Cousin has pointed24 out, gave the signal for a controversy25 forming the central interest of Scholasticism during the entire period of its duration.
Now, it is a remarkable27 fact, and one as yet not sufficiently28 attended to, that a metaphysical issue first raised between the Platonists and Aristotle, and regarded, at least by the latter, as of supreme29 importance for philosophy, should have been totally neglected at a time when abundant documents on both sides were open to consultation30, and taken up with passionate31 eagerness at a time when not more than one or two dialogues of Plato and two or three tracts32 of Aristotle continued to be read in the western world. Various explanations of this singular anomaly may be offered. It may be said, for instance, that after every moral and religious question on which the schools of Athens were divided had been closed by the authoritative33 ruling of Catholicism, nothing remained to quarrel over but points too remote or too obscure for the Church to interfere34 in their decision; and that these were accordingly seized upon as the only field where human intelligence could exercise itself with any approach to freedom. The truth, however, seems to be that to take any interest in the controversy between Realism and Nominalism, it was first necessary that European thought as a whole should rise to a level with the common standpoint of their first supporters. This revolution was effected by the general adoption35 of a monotheistic faith.
Moreover, the Platonic ideas were something more than figments of an imaginative dialectic. They were now beginning to appear in their true light, and as what Plato had always understood them to be—no mere1 abstractions from experience, but spiritual forces by which sensuous36 reality was to be reconstituted and reformed. The Church herself seemed366 something more than a collection of individuals holding common convictions and obeying a common discipline; she was, like Plato’s own Republic, the visible embodiment of an archetype laid up in Heaven.533 And the Church’s teaching seemed also to assume the independent reality of abstract ideas. Does not the Trinity involve belief in a God distinct from any of the Divine Persons taken alone? Do not the Fall, the Incarnation, and the Atonement become more intelligible37 if we imagine an ideal humanity sinning with the first Adam and purified by becoming united with the second Adam? Such, at least, seems to have been the dimly conceived metaphysics of St. Paul, whatever may now be the official doctrine38 of Rome. It was, therefore, in order that, during the first half of the Middle Ages, from Charlemagne to the Crusades, Realism should have been the prevailing39 doctrine; the more so because Plato’s Timaeus, which was studied in the schools through that entire period, furnishes its readers with a complete theory of the universe; while only the formal side of Aristotle’s philosophy is represented by such of his logical treatises42 as were then known to western Christendom.
Yet Realism concealed43 a danger to orthodoxy which was not long in making itself felt. Just as the substantiality of individuals disappeared in that of their containing species, so also did every subordinate species tend to vanish in the summum genus of absolute Being. Now such a conclusion was nothing less than full-blown pantheism; and pantheism was, in fact, the system of the first great Schoolman, John Scotus Erigena; while other Realists were only prevented from reaching the same goal by the restraint either of Christian faith or of ecclesiastical authority. But if they failed to draw the logical consequences of their premises45, it was drawn for them by others; and Abélard did not fail to twit his opponents with the formidable heresy46 implied in their realistic prin367ciples.534 As yet, however, the weight of authority inclined towards Plato’s side; and the persecution47 suffered by Abélard himself, as compared with the very mild treatment accorded to his contemporary, Gilbert de la Porrée, when each was arraigned48 on a charge of heresy, shows that while the Nominalism of the one was an aggravation49, the Realism of the other was an extenuation50 of his offence.535
So matters stood when the introduction of Aristotle’s entire system into western Europe brought about a revolution comparable to that effected two centuries later by the complete recovery of ancient literature. It was through Latin translations from the Arabic, accompanied by Arabic commentaries, that the Peripatetic51 philosophy was first revealed in its entirety; and even Albertus Magnus, living in the thirteenth century, seems to have derived53 his knowledge of the subject from these exclusively. But a few years after the capture of Constantinople by the Crusaders in 1204, the Greek manuscripts of Aristotle were brought to Paris; and, towards the middle of the century, a new Latin version was made from these under the supervision54 of St. Thomas Aquinas.536 The triumph of Aristotle was now, at least for a time, secured. For, while in the first period of the Middle Ages we find only a single great name, that of Abélard, among the Nominalists, against a strong array of Realists, in the second period the proportions are reversed, and Realism has only a single worthy55 champion, Duns Scotus, to pit against Albertus, Aquinas, and William of Ockham, each of them representing one of the principal European nations.537 The human intellect, hitherto confined within the narrow bounds of logic40, now ranged over physics, metaphysics, psychology56, and ethics57; and although all these subjects were368 studied only at second-hand58, and with very limited opportunities for criticism, still the benefit received must have been immense. The priceless service of the later Schoolmen is to have appropriated and successfully upheld, against Platonism on the one hand and theological mysticism on the other, a philosophy which, however superficial, took in the whole range of natural phenomena60, derived all knowledge from external observation, and set an example of admirable precision in the systematic61 exposition of its results. If no positive addition was made to that vast storehouse of facts and ideas, the blame does not lie with Aristotle’s method, but with the forcible suppression of free mental activity by the Church, or its diversion to more profitable fields by the study of Roman jurisprudence. Even as it was, Aristotle contributed largely to the downfall of ecclesiastical authority in two ways: directly by accustoming62 men to use their reason, and indirectly63 by throwing back mysticism on its proper office—the restoration of a purely64 personal religion.
But before the dissolving action of Nominalism had become fully59 manifest, its ascendency was once more challenged; and this time, also, the philosophical66 impulse came from Constantinople. Greek scholars, seeking help in the West, brought with them to Florence the complete works of Plato; and these were shortly made accessible to a wider public through the Latin translation of Ficino. Their influence seems at first to have told in favour of mysticism, for this was the contemporary tendency to which they could be most readily affiliated67; and, besides, in swinging back from Aristotle’s philosophy to the rival form of spiritualism, men’s minds naturally reverted, in the first instance, to what had once linked them together—the system of Plotinus. Thus Platonism was studied through an Alexandrian medium, and as the Alexandrians had looked at it, that is to say, chiefly under its theological and metaphysical aspects. As such, it became the accepted philosophy of the Renaissance68;369 and much of what we most admire in the literature—at least the English literature—of that period, is directly traceable to Platonic influence. That the Utopia of Sir Thomas More was inspired by the Republic and the Critias is, of course, obvious; and the great part played by the ideal theory in Spenser’s Faery Queen, though less evident, is still sufficiently clear. As Mr. Green observes in his History of the English People (II., p. 413), ‘Spenser borrows, in fact, the delicate and refined forms of the Platonic philosophy to express his own moral enthusiasm.... Justice, Temperance, Truth are no mere names to him, but real existences to which his whole nature clings with a rapturous affection.’ Now it deserves observation, as illustrating69 a great revolution in European thought, that the relation of Plato to the epic18 of the English Renaissance is precisely70 paralleled by the relation of Aristotle to the epic of mediaeval Italy. Dante borrows more than his cosmography from the Stagirite. The successive circles of Hell, the spirals of Purgatory71, and the spheres of Paradise, are a framework in which the characters of the poem are exhibited, not as individual actors whom we trace through a life’s history, but as types of a class and representatives of a single mental quality, whether vicious or virtuous72. In other words, the historical arrangement of all previous poems is abandoned in favour of a logical arrangement. For the order of contiguity73 in time is substituted the order of resemblance and difference in idea. How thoroughly74 Aristotelian, indeed, were the lines within which mediaeval imagination moved is proved by the possibility of tracing them in a work utterly75 different from Dante’s—the Decameron of Boccaccio. The tales constituting this collection are so arranged that each day illustrates77 some one special class of adventures; only, to make good Aristotle’s principle that earthly affairs are not subject to invariable rules, a single departure from the prescribed subject is allowed in each decade; while370 during one entire day the story-tellers are left free to choose a subject at their own discretion78.
Now what distinguishes Spenser from Dante is that, while he also disposes his inventions according to an extremely artificial and abstract schematism, with him, as with Plato, abstractions acquire a separate individual existence, being, in fact, embodied79 as so many persons; while Dante, following Aristotle, never separates his from the concrete data of experience. And it may be noted80 that, in this respect at least, English literature has not deserted81 the philosophy which presided over its second birth. It has ever since been more prone82 to realise abstractions than any other literature, whether under the form of allegories, parables83, or mere casual illustrations drawn from material objects. Even at this day, English writers crowd their pages with dazzling metaphors84, which to Continental85 readers must have sometimes a rather barbaric effect.
Another and profounder characteristic of Plato, as distinguished87 from Aristotle, is his thorough-going opposition88 of reality to appearance; his distrust of sensuous perception, imagination, and opinion; his continual appeal to a hidden world of absolute truth and justice. We find this profounder principle also grasped and applied89 to poetical91 purposes in our Elizabethan literature, not only by Spenser, but by a still greater master—Shakespeare. It is by no means unlikely that Shakespeare may have looked into a translation of the Dialogues; at any rate, the intellectual atmosphere he breathed was so saturated92 with their spirit that he could easily absorb enough of it to inspire him with the theory of existence which alone gives consistency93 to his dramatic work from first to last. For the essence of his comedies is that they represent the ordinary world of sensible experience as a scene of bewilderment and delusion94, where there is nothing fixed95, nothing satisfying, nothing true; as something which, because of its very unreality, is best represented by the drama,371 but a drama that is not without mysterious intimations of a reality behind the veil. In them we have the
Fallings from us, vanishings,
Blank misgivings96 of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realised;
while in his tragedies we have the realisation of those worlds—the workings of an eternal justice which alone remains97 faithful to one purpose through the infinite flux98 of passion and of sense.
Besides the revival of Platonism, three causes had conspired99 to overthrow100 the supremacy101 of Aristotle. The literary Renaissance with its adoration102 for beauty of form was alienated103 by the barbarous dialect of Scholasticism; the mystical theology of Luther saw in it an ally both of ecclesiastical authority and of human reason; and the new spirit of passionate revolt against all tradition attacked the accepted philosophy in common with every other branch of the official university curriculum. Before long, however, a reaction set in. The innovators discredited104 themselves by an extravagance, an ignorance, a credulity, and an intolerance worse than anything in the teaching which they decried105. No sooner was the Reformation organised as a positive doctrine than it fell back for support on the only model of systematic thinking at that time to be found. The Humanists were conciliated by having the original text of Aristotle placed before them; and they readily believed, what was not true, that it contained a wisdom which had eluded106 mediaeval research. But the great scientific movement of the sixteenth century contributed, more than any other impulse, to bring about an Aristotelian reaction. After winning immortal107 triumphs in every branch of art and literature, the Italian intellect threw itself with equal vigour108 into the investigation109 of physical phenomena. Here Plato could give little help, whereas Aristotle supplied a methodised description of the whole field to be explored, and contributions of extraordinary value towards the under372standing of some, at least, among its infinite details. And we may measure the renewed popularity of his system not only by the fact that Cesalpino, the greatest naturalist11 of the age, professed110 himself its adherent111, but also by the bitterness of the criticisms directed against it, and the involuntary homage112 offered by rival systems which were little more than meagre excerpts113 from the Peripatetic ontology and logic.
II.
Of all testimonies114 to the restored supremacy of Aristotelianism, there is none so remarkable as that afforded by the thinker who, more than any other, has enjoyed the credit of its overthrow. To call Francis Bacon an Aristotelian will seem to most readers a paradox115. Such an appellation116 would, however, be much nearer the truth than were the titles formerly117 bestowed118 on the author of the Novum Organum. The notion, indeed, that he was in any sense the father of modern science is rapidly disappearing from the creed119 of educated persons. Its long continuance was due to a coalition120 of literary men who knew nothing about physics and of physicists122 who knew nothing about philosophy or its history. It is certain that the great discoveries made both before and during Bacon’s lifetime were the starting-point of all future progress in the same direction. It is equally certain that Bacon himself had either not heard of those discoveries or that he persistently124 rejected them. But it might still be contended that he divined and formulated125 the only method by which these and all other great additions to human knowledge have been made, had not the delusion been dispelled126 by recent investigations127, more especially those of his own editors, Messrs. Ellis and Spedding. Mr. Spedding has shown that Bacon’s method never was applied to physical science at all. Mr. Ellis has shown that it was incapable128 of application, being founded on a complete misconception of the problem to be solved. The facts could in truth, hardly have been other373 than what they are. Had Bacon succeeded in laying down the lines of future investigation, it would have been a telling argument against his own implied belief that all knowledge is derived from experience. For, granting the validity of that belief, a true theory of discovery can only be reached by an induction129 from the observed facts of scientific practice, and such facts did not, at that time, exist in sufficient numbers to warrant an induction. It would have been still more extraordinary had he furnished a clue to the labyrinth130 of Nature without ever having explored its mazes131 on his own account. Even as it is, from Bacon’s own point of view the contradiction remains. If ever any system was constructed à priori the Instauratio Magna was. But there is really no such thing as à priori speculation. Apart from observation, the keenest and boldest intellect can do no more than rearrange the materials supplied by tradition, or give a higher generalisation to the principles of other philosophers. This was precisely what Bacon did. The wealth of aphoristic132 wisdom and ingenious illustration scattered133 through his writings belongs entirely to himself; but his dream of using science as an instrument for acquiring unlimited134 power over Nature is inherited from the astrologers, alchemists, and magicians of the Middle Ages; and his philosophical system, with which alone we are here concerned, is partly a modification135, partly an extension, of Aristotle’s. An examination of its leading features will at once make this clear.
Bacon begins by demanding that throughout the whole range of experience new facts should be collected on the largest scale, in order to supply materials for scientific generalisation. There can be no doubt that he is here guided by the example of Aristotle, and of Aristotle alone. Such a storehouse of materials is still extant in the History of Animals, which evidently suggested the use of the word ‘History’ in this sense to Bacon, and which, by the way, is immensely superior to anything that he ever attempted in374 the same line. The facts on which Aristotle’s Politics is based were contained in another vast descriptive work of the same kind, now unhappily lost. Even the Stagirite’s more systematic treatises comprise a multitude of observations, catalogued according to a certain order, but not reduced to scientific principles. What Bacon did was to carry out, or to bid others carry out, the plan so suggested in every department of enquiry. But if we ask by what method he was guided in his survey of the whole field to be explored, how he came by a complete enumeration136 of the sciences, arranged according to their logical order,—the answer is still that he borrowed it from the Peripatetic encyclopaedia137.
One need only compare the catalogue of particular histories subjoined to the Parasceve,538 with a table of Aristotle’s works, to understand how closely Bacon follows in the footsteps of his predecessor5. We do, indeed, find sundry138 subjects enumerated139 on which the elder student had not touched; but they are only such as would naturally suggest themselves to a man of comprehensive intelligence, coming nearly two thousand years after his original; while they are mostly of no philosophical value whatever. Bacon’s merit was to bring the distinction between the descriptive sciences and the theoretical sciences into clearer consciousness, and to give a view of the former corresponding in completeness to that already obtained of the latter.
The methodical distinction between the materials for generalisation and generalisation itself, is derived from the metaphysical distinction between Matter and Form in Nature.539 This distinction is the next great feature of Bacon’s philosophy, and it is taken, still more obviously than the first, from Aristotle, the most manifest blots140 of the original being faithfully reproduced in the copy. The Forms375 of simple substances were, according to the Stagirite, their sensible qualities. The Forms of aggregates141 were the whole complex of their differential characteristics. And although the formal cause or idea of a thing was carefully discriminated142 from its efficient and final causes, it was found impossible, in practice, to keep the three from running into one. Again, the distinction between single concepts and the judgments143 created by putting two concepts together, although clearly conveyed by the logical distinction between terms and propositions, was no sooner perceived than lost sight of, thanks to the unfortunate theory of essential predication. For it was thought that the import of universal propositions consisted either in stating the total concept to which a given mark belonged, or in annexing144 a new mark to a given concept. Hence, in Aristotle’s system, the study of natural law means nothing but the definition and classification of natural types; and, in harmony with this idea, the whole universe is conceived as an arrangement of concentric spheres, each receiving its impulse from that immediately above it. Precisely the same confusion of Form, Cause, and Law reigns148 throughout Bacon’s theory of Nature. We do, indeed, find mention made of axiomata or general propositions to a greater extent than in the Organon, but they are never clearly distinguished from Forms, nor Forms from functions.540 And although efficient and material causes are assigned to physics, while formal and final causes are reserved for metaphysics—an apparent recognition of the wide difference between the forces which bring a thing into existence and the actual conditions of its stability,—this arrangement is a departure from the letter rather than from the spirit of Aristotle’s philosophy. For the efficient causes of the De376 Augmentis answer roughly to the various kinds of motion discussed in the Physics and in the treatise41 On Generation and Corruption149; while its Forms are, as we have seen, identified with natural causes or laws in the most general sense.
According to Bacon, the object of science is to analyse the complex of Forms making up an individual aggregate into its separate constituents150; the object of art, to superinduce one or more such Forms on a given material. Hence his manner of regarding them differs in one important respect from Aristotle’s. The Greek naturalist was, before all things, a biologist. His interest lay with the distinguishing characteristics of animal species. These are easily discovered by the unassisted eye; but while they are comparatively superficial, they are also comparatively unalterable. The English experimenter, being primarily concerned with inorganic151 bodies, whose properties he desired to utilise for industrial purposes, was led to consider the attributes of an object as at once penetrating152 its inmost texture153, and yet capable of being separated from it, like heat and colour for instance. But, like every other thinker of the age, if he escapes from the control of Aristotle it is only to fall under the dominion154 of another Greek master—in this instance, Democritus. Bacon had a great admiration155 for the Atomists, and although his inveterate156 Peripatetic proclivities157 prevented him from embracing their theory as a whole, he went along with it so far as to admit the dependence158 of the secondary on the primary qualities of matter; and on the strength of this he concluded that the way to alter the properties of an object was to alter the arrangement of its component159 particles.
The next step was to create a method for determining the particular configuration161 on which any given property of matter depends. If such a problem could be solved at all, it would be by some new system of practical analysis. Bacon did not see this because he was a Schoolman, emancipated162, indeed,377 from ecclesiastical authority, but retaining a blind faith in the power of logic. Aristotle’s Organon had been the great storehouse of aids to verbal disputation; it should now be turned into an instrument for the more successful prosecution163 of physical researches. What definitions were to the one, that Forms should be to the other; and both were to be determined164 by much the same process. Now Aristotle himself had emphatically declared that the concepts out of which propositions are constructed were discoverable by induction and by induction alone. With him, induction meant comparing a number of instances, and abstracting the one circumstance, if any, in which they agreed. When the object is to establish a proposition inductively, he has recourse to a method of elimination166, and bids us search for instances which, differing in everything else, agree in the association of two particular marks.541 In the Topics he goes still further and supplies us with a variety of tests for ascertaining168 the relation between a given predicate and a given subject. Among these, Mill’s Methods of Difference, Residues169, and Concomitant Variations are very clearly stated.542 But he does not call such modes of reasoning Induction. So far as he has any general name for them at all, it is Dialectic, that is, Syllogism170 of which the premises are not absolutely certain; and, as a matter of nomenclature, he seems to be right. There is, undoubtedly171, a process by which we arrive at general conclusions from the comparison of particular instances; but this process in its purity is nothing more nor less than induction by simple enumeration. All other reasoning requires the aid of universal propositions, and is therefore, to that extent, deductive. The methods of elimination or, as they are now called, of experiment, involve at every step the assumption of378 general principles duly specified172 in the chapter of Mill’s Logic where they are analysed. And wherever we can rise immediately from, a single instance to a general law, it is because the examination of that single instance has been preceded by a chain of deductive reasoning.
The confusion of Induction, properly so called, and Elimination under a single name, is largely due to the bad example set by Bacon. He found it stated in the Analytics that all concepts and general propositions are established either by syllogism or by induction; and he found some very useful rules laid down in the Topics, not answering to what he understood by the former method; he therefore summarily dubbed173 them with the name of Induction, which they have kept ever since, to the incalculable confusion of thought.
In working out his theory of logic, the point on which Bacon lays most stress is the use of negative instances. He seems to think that their application to reasoning is an original discovery of his own. But, on examination, no more seems to be meant by it than that, before accepting any particular theory, we should consider what other explanations of the same fact might conceivably be offered. In other words, we should follow the example already set by Aristotle and nearly every other Greek philosopher after Socrates. But this is not induction; it is reasoning down from a disjunctive proposition, generally assumed without any close scrutiny174, with the help of sundry conditional175 propositions, until we reach our conclusion by a sort of exhaustive process. Either this, that, or the other is the explanation of something. But if it were either that or the other, so and so would follow, which is impossible; therefore it must be this. No other logic is possible in the infancy176 of enquiry; but one great advantage of experiment and mathematical analysis is to relieve us from the necessity of employing it.
The value of experimentation177 as such had, however, scarcely dawned on Bacon. His famous Prerogative178 In379stances are, in the main, a guide to simple observation, supplemented rather than replaced by direct interference with the phenomena under examination, comparable to that moderate use of the rack which he would have countenanced179 in criminal procedure. There was, perhaps, a deeper meaning in Harvey’s remark that Bacon wrote about Nature like a Lord Chancellor180 than the great physiologist181 himself suspected. To Bacon the statesman, science was something to be largely endowed out of the public treasury182 in the sure hope that it would far more than repay the expenditure183 incurred184, by inventions of priceless advantage to human life. To Bacon the lawyer, Nature was a person in possession of important secrets to be wrested185 from her by employing every artifice186 of the spy, the detective, the cross-examiner, and the inquisitorial judge; to Bacon the courtier, she was a sovereign whose policy might be discovered, and, if need be, controlled, by paying judicious187 attention to her humours and caprices. And, for this very reason, he would feel drawn by a secret affinity188 to the Aristotelian dialectic, derived as it was through Socrates and Plato from the practice of the Athenian law-courts and the debates of the Athenian assembly. No doubt the Topics was intended primarily for a manual of debate rather than of scientific enquiry; and the English Chancellor showed true philosophic65 genius in his attempt to utilise it for the latter purpose. Nevertheless the adaptation proved a mistake. It was not without good grounds that the Socratic dialectic had been reserved exclusively by its great founder86, and almost exclusively by his successors, for those human interests from the discussion of which it was first derived. And the discoverers, who in Bacon’s own lifetime were laying the foundations of physical science, employed a method totally different from his, because they started with a totally different conception of the universe. To them it was not a living whole, a Form of Forms, but a sum of forces to be analysed, isolated189, and recombined, in fact or in idea, with a sublime191 disregard380 for the conditions under which they were presented to ordinary experience. That very extension of human power anticipated by Bacon came in a manner of which he had never dreamed. It was gained by studying, not the Forms to which he attached so much importance, but the modes of motion which he had relegated192 to a subordinate place in his classification of natural causes.543
It has been said that, whatever may be the value of his logic, Bacon recalled men from the construction of baseless theories to the study of facts. But, here also, he merely echoes Aristotle, who said the same thing long before him, with much greater terseness193, and with the superior authority of one who teaches by example as well as by precept194; while the381 merit of reviving Aristotle’s advice when it had fallen into oblivion belongs to another Bacon, the author of the Opus Majus; the merit of acting165 on it, to the savants of the Renaissance, to such men as Vesalius, Cesalpino, and Tycho Brahe.
But, towards the close of the sixteenth century, the time for amassing195 observations was past, no further progress being possible until the observations already recorded were interpreted aright. The just instinct of science perceived this; and for nearly a century after Cesalpino no addition of any magnitude was made to what Bacon called ‘History,’ while men’s conceptions of natural law were undergoing a radical196 transformation197.544 To choose such a time for developing the Aristotelian philosophy was peculiarly unfortunate; for that philosophy had become, both on its good and on its bad side, an obstacle to progress, by encouraging studies which were not wanted, and by fostering a spirit of opposition to the Copernican astronomy.
The mere fact that Aristotle himself had pronounced in favour of the geocentric system did not count for much. The misfortune was that he had constructed an entire physical philosophy in harmony with it; that he had linked this to his metaphysics; and that the sensible experience on whose authority he laid so much stress, seemed to testify in its behalf. The consequence was that those thinkers who, without being professed Aristotelian partisans199, still remained profoundly affected200 by the Peripatetic spirit, could not see their way to accepting a theory with which all the hopes of intellectual progress were bound up. These considerations will enable us to understand the attitude of Bacon towards the new astronomy; while, conversely, his position in this respect will serve to confirm the view of his character set forth in382 the preceding pages. The theory, shared by him with Aristotle, that Nature is throughout composed of Form and Matter reached its climax201 in the supposition that the great elementary bodies are massed together in a series of concentric spheres disposed according to some principle of graduation, symmetry, or contrast; and this seemed incompatible202 with any but a geocentric arrangement. It is true that Bacon quarrelled with the particular system maintained by Aristotle, and, under the guidance of Telesio, fell back on a much cruder form of cosmography; but his mind still remained dominated by the fancied necessity of conceiving the universe under the form of a stratified sphere; and those who persist in looking on him as the apostle of experience will be surprised to find that he treated the subject entirely from an à priori point of view. The truth is that Bacon exemplified, in his own intellectual character, every one of the fundamental fallacies which he has so picturesquely203 described. The unwillingness204 to analyse sensible appearances into their ideal elements was his Idol205 of the Tribe; the thirst for material utilities was his Idol of the Den9: the uncritical acceptance of Aristotle’s metaphysics, his Idol of the Theatre; and the undefined notions associated with induction, his Idol of the Market.
III.
We may consider it a fortunate circumstance that the philosophy of Form,—that is to say, of description, definition, classification, and sensuous perception, as distinguished from mathematical analysis and deductive reasoning,—was associated with a demonstrably false cosmology, as it thus became much more thoroughly discredited than would otherwise have been possible. At this juncture206, the first to perceive and point out how profoundly an acceptance of the Copernican theory must affect men’s beliefs about Nature and the whole universe, was Giordano Bruno; and this alone would entitle him to a great place in the history of philosophy. The383 conception of a single finite world surrounded by a series of eternal and unchangeable crystal spheres must, he said, be exchanged for the conception of infinite worlds dispersed207 through illimitable space. Once grant that the earth has a double movement round its own axis208 and round the sun, and Aristotle’s whole system of finite existence collapses209 at once, leaving the ground clear for an entirely different order of ideas.545 But, in this respect, whatever was established by the new science had already been divined by a still older philosophy than Aristotle’s, as Bruno himself gladly acknowledged,546 and the immediate145 effect of his reasoning was to revive the Atomic theory. The assumption of infinite space, formerly considered an insuperable objection to that theory, now became one of its chief recommendations; the arguments of Lucretius regained211 their full force, while his fallacies were let drop; Atomism seemed not only possible but necessary; and the materialism once associated with it was equally revived. But Aristotelianism, as we have seen, was not alone in the field, and on the first symptoms of a successful revolt, its old rival stood in readiness to seize the vacant throne. The question was how far its claim would be supported, and how far disputed by the new invaders212. It might be supposed that the older forms of Greek philosophy, thus restored to light after an eclipse of more than a thousand years, would be no less hostile to the poetic90 Platonism than to the scientific Aristotelianism of the Renaissance. Such, however, was not the case; and we have to show how an alliance was established between these apparently213 opposite lines of thought, eventually giving birth to the highest speculation of the following century.
Bruno himself acted as a mediator214 between the two philo384sophies. His sympathies with Platonism were strongly pronounced, he looked with admiration on its mediaeval supporters, especially David of Dinan; and regretted the time when Oxford215 was a focus of realistic teaching, instead of being what he found her, devoted216 to the pedantic217 humanism of the Renaissance.547 He fully accepted the pantheistic conclusions towards which Platonism always tended; but in proclaiming an absolute principle whence all specific differences are evolved, he is careful to show that, while it is neither Form nor Matter in the ordinary sense, it may be called Matter in the more refined signification attached to that term by Plotinus and, indeed, by Aristotle himself. There is a common substance underlying218 all abstract essences, just as there is a common substance left behind when the sensible qualities of different bodies are stripped off; and both are, at bottom, the same. Thus monism became the banner round which the older forms of Greek speculation rallied in their assault on Aristotle’s philosophy, though what monism implied was as yet very imperfectly understood.
Meanwhile a new and powerful agency was about to interpose with decisive effect in the doubtful struggle. This was the study of mathematics. Revived by the Arabians and never wholly neglected during the Middle Ages, it had profited by the general movement of the Renaissance, and was finally applied to the cosmical problem by Galileo. In this connexion, two points of profound philosophical interest must be noted. The first is that, even in its fall, the Aristotelian influence survived, to some extent, both for good and for evil. To Aristotle belongs the merit of having been the first to base astronomy on physics. He maintains the earth’s immobility on experimental no less than on speculative grounds. A stone thrown straight up in the air returns to its starting-point instead of falling to the west of it; and the absence of stellar385 parallax seems to show that there is no change in our position relatively220 to the heavenly bodies. After satisfying himself, on empirical considerations, that the popular astronomy is true, he proceeds to show that it must be true, by considerations on the nature of matter and motion, which, although mistaken, are conceived in a genuinely scientific spirit. Now Galileo saw that, to establish the Copernican system, he must first grapple with the Peripatetic physics, and replace it by a new dynamical theory. This, which he could hardly have effected by the ordinary mathematical methods, he did by borrowing the analytical221 method of Atomism and applying it to the measurement of motion. The law of falling bodies was ascertained222 by resolving their descent into a series of moments, and determining its rate of velocity223 at successive intervals224; and curvilinear motions were similarly resolved into the combination of an impulsive225 with an accelerating force, a method diametrically opposed to that of Bacon, who would not even accept the rough analysis of the apparent celestial226 motions proposed by Greek astronomers228.
It seems strange that Galileo, having gone so far, did not go a step further, and perceive that the planetary orbits, being curvilinear, must result from the combination of a centripetal229 with a tangential230 force. But the truth is that he never seems to have grasped his own law of inertia231 in its full generality. He understood that the planets could not have been set in motion without a rectilinear impulse; but his idea was that this impulse continued only so long as was necessary in order to give them their present velocity, instead of acting on them for ever as a tangential force. The explanation of this strange inconsequence must be sought in a survival of Aristotelian conceptions, in the persistent123 belief that rectilinear motion was necessarily limited and temporary, while circular motion was natural, perfect, and eternal.548 Now such conceptions as386 Nature, perfection, and eternity232 always rebel against an analysis of the phenomena wherein they are supposed to reside. The same prejudice will explain why Galileo should have so persistently ignored Kepler’s Laws, for we can hardly imagine that they were not brought under his notice.
The philosophical affinities233 of the new science were not exhausted234 by the atomistic analysis of Democritus and the regulative method of Aristotle. Platonism could hardly fail to benefit by the great impulse given to mathematical studies in the latter half of the sixteenth century. The passionate love of its founder for geometry must have recommended him as much to the most advanced minds of the period as his religious mysticism had recommended him to the theologians of the earlier Renaissance. And the increasing ascendency of the heliocentric astronomy, with its splendid defiance235 of sense and opinion, was indirectly a triumph for the philosophy which, more than any other, had asserted the claims of pure reason against both. We see this distinctly in Galileo. In express adhesion to Platonism, he throws his teaching into a conversational236 form, endeavouring to extract the truth from his opponents rather than convey it into their minds from without; and the theory of reminiscence as the source of demonstrative knowledge seems to meet with his approval.549 He is always ready with proofs drawn from observation and experiment; but nothing can be more in Plato’s spirit, nothing more unlike Aristotle and Bacon, than his encomium237 on the sublime genius of Aristarchus and Copernicus for having maintained a rational hypothesis against what seemed to be the evidence of their senses.550 And he elsewhere observes how much less would have been the glory of Copernicus had he known the experimental verification of his theory.551
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The Platonic influence told even more efficaciously on Galileo’s still greater contemporary, Kepler. With him as with the author of the Republic, mysticism took the direction of seeking everywhere for evidence of mathematical proportions. With what brilliant success the search was attended, it is needless to relate. What interests us here is the fact, vouched238 for by Arago, that the German astronomer227 was guided by an idea of Plato’s, that the world must have been created on geometrical principles.552 Had Bacon known anything about the work on which his adventurous239 contemporary was engaged, we may be sure that it would have afforded him another illustration for his Id?la, the only difficulty being whether it should be referred to the illusions of the Tribe, the Den, or the Theatre.
Meanwhile Atomism continued to exercise a powerful influence on the method even more than on the doctrines240 of science. The analytical mode of treatment, applied by Galileo to dynamics241, was applied, with equal success, by other mathematicians243, to the study of discrete244 and continuous quantity. It is to the division of numbers and figures into infinitesimal parts—a direct contravention of Aristotle’s teaching—that we owe logarithms, algebraic geometry, and the differential calculus245. Thus was established a connexion between spiritualism and materialism, the philosophy of Plato and the philosophy of Democritus. Out of these elements, together with what still survived of Aristotelianism, was constructed the system of Descartes.
IV.
To understand Descartes aright, we must provisionally disregard the account given in his work on Method of the process by which he arrived at a new theory of the world; for, in truth, there was nothing new about it except the pro388portion in which fragments taken from older systems were selected and recombined. As we have already noticed, there is no such thing as spinning philosophies out of one’s own head; and, in the case of Descartes, even the belief that he was so doing came to him from Plato; for, along with Aristotle’s dogmatic errors, his sound teaching with regard to the derivation of knowledge had fallen into oblivion. The initial doubt of the Discourse246 on Method and the Meditations247 is also Platonic; only it is manifested under an individual and subjective248, instead of a universal and objective form. But to find the real starting-point of Descartes’ enquiries we must look for it in his mathematical studies. A geometrician naturally conceives the visible world under the aspect of figured extension; and if he thinks the figures away, nothing will remain but extension as the ultimate material out of which all determinate bodies are shaped. Such was the result reached by Plato in his Timaeus. He identified matter with space, viewing this as the receptacle for his eternal and self-existent Ideas, or rather the plastic medium on which their images are impressed. The simplest spatial249 elements are triangles; accordingly it is with these that he constructs his solid bodies. The theory of triangular250 elements was probably suggested by Atomism; it is, in fact, a compromise between the purely mathematical and the materialistic252 methods. Like all Plato’s fancies, this theory of matter was attacked with such convincing arguments by Aristotle that, so long as his physics remained in the ascendent, it did not find a single supporter; although, as we saw in the last chapter, Plotinus very nearly worked his way back to it from the Peripatetic definition. Even now, at the moment of Aristotle’s fall, it might have failed to attract attention, had not the conditions under which it first arose been almost exactly repeated. Geometrical demonstration253 had again become the type of all reasoning; there was again a sceptical spirit abroad, forcing men to fall back on the most elementary and universal con389ceptions; an atomistic materialism again threatened to claim at least the whole field of physical enquiry for its own. That Descartes followed the Timaeus in identifying matter with extension cannot be doubted; especially when we see that he adopts Plato’s analysis of body into elementary triangles; but the theory agreed so well with his intellectual predispositions that he may easily have imagined it to be a necessary deduction254 from his own à priori ideas. Moreover, after the first two steps, he parts company with Plato, and gives himself up, so far as his rejection255 of a vacuum will permit, to the mechanical physics of Democritus. Much praise has recently been bestowed on his attempt to interpret all physical phenomena in terms of matter and motion, and to deduce them from the unaided operation of natural causes; but this is no more than had been done by the early Greek thinkers, from whom, we may observe, his hypothesis of an initial vortex was also derived. His cosmogony is better than theirs, only in so far as it is adapted to scientific discoveries in astronomy and physiology256 not made by Descartes himself; for where his conjectures257 go beyond these they are entirely at fault.
Descartes’ theory of the universe included, however, something more than extension (or matter) and motion. This was Thought. If we ask whence came the notion of Thought, our philosopher will answer that it was obtained by looking into himself. It was, in reality, obtained by looking into Aristotle, or into some text-book reproducing his metaphysics. But the Platonic element in his system enabled Descartes to isolate190 Thought much more completely than it had been isolated by Aristotle. To understand this, we must turn once more to the Timaeus. Plato made up his universe from space and Ideas. But the Ideas were too vague or too unintelligible258 for scientific purposes. Even mediaeval Realists were content to replace them by Aristotle’s much clearer doctrine of Forms. On the other hand, Aristotle’s First Matter was anything but a satisfactory conception. It was a mere abstraction; the390 unknowable residuum left behind when bodies were stripped, in imagination, of all their sensible and cogitable qualities. In other words, there was no Matter actually existing without Form; whereas Form was never so truly itself, never so absolutely existent, as when completely separated from Matter: it then became simple self-consciousness, as in God, or in the reasonable part of the human soul. The revolution wrought259 by substituting space for Aristotle’s First Matter will now become apparent. Corporeal260 substance could at once be conceived as existing without the co-operation of Form; and at the same stroke, Form, liberated261 from its material bonds, sprang back into the subjective sphere, to live henceforward only as pure self-conscious thought.
This absolute separation of Form and Matter, under their new names of Thought and Extension, once grasped, various principles of Cartesianism will follow from it by logical necessity. First comes the exclusion262 of final causes from philosophy, or rather from Nature. There was not, as with Epicurus, any anti-theological feeling concerned in their rejection. With Aristotle, against whom Descartes is always protesting, the final cause was not a mark of designing intelligence imposed on Matter from without; it was only a particular aspect of Form, the realisation of what Matter was always striving after by virtue263 of its inherent potentiality. When Form was conceived only as pure thought, there could be no question of such a process; the most highly organised bodies being only modes of figured extension. The revival of Atomism had, no doubt, a great deal to do with the preference for a mechanical interpretation265 of life. Aristotle had himself shown with masterly clearness the difference between his view of Nature and that taken by Democritus; thus indicating beforehand the direction in which an alternative to his own teaching might be sought; and Bacon had, in fact, already referred with approval to the example set by Democritus in dealing266 with teleological267 enquiries.
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Nevertheless Bacon’s own attitude towards final causes differs essentially268 from Descartes’. The French mathematician242, had he spoken his whole mind, would probably have denied their existence altogether. The English reformer fully admits their reality, as, with his Aristotelian theory of Forms, he could hardly avoid doing; and we find that he actually associates the study of final with that of formal causes, assigning both to metaphysics as its peculiar198 province. This being so, his comparative neglect of the former is most easily explained by the famous comparison of teleological enquiries to vestal virgins269, dedicated270 to the service of God and bearing no offspring; for Mr. Ellis has made it perfectly219 clear that the barrenness alluded271 to is not scientific but industrial. Our knowledge is extended when we trace the workings of a divine purpose in Nature; but this is not a kind of knowledge which bears fruit in useful mechanical inventions.553 Bacon probably felt that men would not be very forward to improve on Nature if they believed in the perfection of her works and in their beneficent adaptation to our wants. The teleological spirit was as strong with him as with Aristotle, but it took a different direction. Instead of studying the adaptation of means to ends where it already existed, he wished men to create it for themselves. But the utilitarian272 tendency, which predominated with Bacon, was quite exceptional with Descartes. Speaking generally, he desired knowledge for its own sake, not as an instrument for the gratification of other wants; and this intellectual disinterestedness274 was, perhaps, another aspect of the severance275 effected between thought and matter.
The celebrated276 Cartesian paradox, that animals are unconscious automata, is another consequence of the same principle. In Aristotle’s philosophy, the doctrine of potentiality developing itself into act through a series of ascending277 manifestations278, supplied a link connecting the highest rational392 with the lowest vegetal life. The identification of Form with pure thought put an end to the conception of any such intermediate gradations. Brutes280 must either have a mind like ours or none at all. The former alternative was not even taken into consideration; probably, among other reasons, because it was not easily reconcilable with Christianity; so that nothing remained but to deny sensibility where thought was believed not to exist.
Finally, in man himself, thought is not distinguished from feeling; it is, in fact, the essence of mind, just as extension is the essence of body; and all spiritual phenomena are modes of thought in the same sense that all physical phenomena are modes of space. It was, then, rather a happy chance than genuine physiological281 insight which led Descartes to make brain the organ of feeling no less than of intellection; a view, as Prof. Huxley has observed, much in advance of that held by Bichat a hundred and fifty years later. For whoever deduced all the mental manifestations from a common essence was bound in consistency to locate them in the same bodily organ; what the metaphysician had joined the physiologist could not possibly put asunder282.
We are now in a position to understand the full force of Descartes’ Cogito ergo sum. It expresses the substantiality of self-conscious Form, the equal claim of thought with extension to be recognised as an element of the universe. This recognition of self-consciousness as the surest reality was, indeed, far from being new. The Greek Sceptics had never gone to the length of doubting their own personal existence. On the contrary, they professed a sort of subjective idealism. Refusing to go beyond their own consciousness, they found in its undisturbed self-possession the only absolute satisfaction that life could afford. But knowledge and reality had become so intimately associated with something independent of mind, and mind itself with a mere reflection of reality, that the denial of an external world393 seemed to the vulgar a denial of existence itself. And although Aristotle had found the highest, if not the sole absolute actuality in self-thinking thought, he projected it to such a distance from human personality that its bearing on the sceptical controversy had passed unperceived. Descartes began his demonstration at the point where all the ancient systems had converged283, but failed to discover in what direction the conditions of the problem required that they should be prolonged. No mistake can be greater than to regard him as the precursor285 of German philosophy. The latter originated quite independently of his teaching, though not perhaps of his example, in the combination of a much profounder scepticism with a much wider knowledge of dogmatic metaphysics. His method is the very reverse of true idealism. The Cogito ergo sum is not a taking up of existence into thought, but rather a conversion287 of thought into one particular type of existence. Now, as we have seen, all other existence was conceived as extension, and however carefully thought might be distinguished from this as absolutely indivisible, it was speedily reduced to the same general pattern of inclusion, limitation, and expansion. Whereas Kant, Fichte, and Hegel afterwards dwelt on the form of thought, Descartes attended only to its content, or to that in which it was contained. In other words, he began by considering not how he thought but what he thought and whence it came—his ideas and their supposed derivation from a higher sphere. Take, for example, his two great methods for proving the existence of God. We have in our minds the idea of a perfect being—at least Descartes professed to have such an idea in his mind,—and we, as imperfect beings, could not have originated it for ourselves. It must, therefore, have been placed there by a perfect being acting on us from without. It is here taken for granted that the mechanical equivalence between material effects and their causes must obtain in a world where spatial relations, and therefore measurement, are presumably394 unknown. And, secondly288, existence, as a perfection, is involved in the idea of a perfect being; therefore such a being can only be conceived as existing. Here there seems to be a confused notion that because the properties of a geometrical figure can be deduced from its definition, therefore the existence of something more than a simple idea can be deduced from the definition of that idea itself. But besides the mathematical influence, there was evidently a Platonic influence at work; and one is reminded of Plato’s argument that the soul cannot die because it participates in the idea of life. Such fallacies were impossible so long as Aristotle’s logic continued to be carefully studied, and they gradually disappeared with its revival. Meanwhile the cat was away, and the mice used their opportunity.
That the absolute disjunction of thought from matter involved the impossibility of their interaction, was a consequence not drawn by Descartes himself, but by his immediate followers290. Here also, Greek philosophy played its part in hastening the development of modern ideas. The fall of Aristotle had incidentally the effect of reviving not only the systems which preceded, but also those which followed his. Chief among these were Stoicism and Epicureanism. Differing widely in most other respects, they agreed in teaching that body is acted on by body alone. The Cartesians accepted this principle to the fullest extent so far as human perceptions and volitions were concerned; and to a great extent in dealing with the problems of physical science. But instead of arguing from the laws of mechanical causation to the materiality of mind, they argued from its immateriality to the total absence of communication between consciousness and motion. There was, however, one thinker of that age who went all lengths with the later Greek materialists. This was Thomas Hobbes, the founder of modern ethics, the first Englishman to grasp and develope still further Galileo’s method of mathematical deduction and mechanical analysis.
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V.
The author of the Leviathan has sometimes been represented as one who carried the Baconian method into politics, and prepared the way for its more thorough application to psychology by Locke. But this view, which regards the three great leaders of English philosophy in the seventeenth century as successive links in a connected series, is a misapprehension of history, which could only have arisen through leaving out of account the contemporary development of Continental speculation, and through the inveterate habit of looking on the modern distinction between empiricism and transcendentalism as a fundamental antithesis293 dividing the philosophers of every epoch4 into two opposing schools. The truth is that, if the three writers just mentioned agree in deriving294 knowledge solely295 from experience, they agree in nothing else; and that their unanimity296 on this one point does not amount to much, will be evident if we consider what each understood by the notion in question.
With Bacon, experience was the negation297 of mere authority, whether taking the form of natural prejudice, of individual prepossession, of hollow phrases, or of established systems. The question how we come by that knowledge which all agree to be the most certain, is left untouched in his logic; either of the current answers would have suited his system equally well; nor is there any reason for believing that he would have sided with Mill rather than with Kant respecting the origin of mathematical axioms. With Locke, experience meant the analysis of notions and judgments into the simple data of sense and self-consciousness; and the experientialists of the present day are beyond all doubt his disciples299; but the parentage of his philosophy, so far as it is simply a denial of innate300 ideas, must be sought, not in the Novum Organum, nor in any other modern work, but in the old Organon of Aristotle, or in the comments of the396 Schoolmen who followed Aristotle in protesting against the Platonism of their time, just as Locke protested against the Platonism of Descartes and Malebranche.
The experience of Hobbes differs both in origin and application from either of these. With him, sensible impressions are not a court of appeal against traditional judgments, nor yet are they the ultimate elements into which all ideas may be analysed; they are the channels through which pulsating301 movements are conveyed into the mind; and these movements, again, represent the action of mechanical forces or the will of a paramount302 authority. And he holds this doctrine, partly as a logical consequence of his materialism, partly as a safeguard against the theological pretensions303 which, in his opinion, are a constant threat to social order. The authority of the political sovereign is menaced on the one hand by Papal infallibility, and on the other by rebellious304 subjects putting forward a claim to supernatural inspiration. To the Pope, Hobbes says: ‘You are violating the law of Nature by professing305 to derive52 from God what is really given only by the consent of men, and can only be given by them to their temporal head,—the right to impose a particular religion.‘ To the Puritan, he says: ‘Your inward illumination is a superstitious306 dream, and you have no right to use it as a pretext307 for breaking the king’s peace. Religion has really nothing to do with the supernatural; it is only a particular way of inculcating obedience308 to the natural conditions of social union.’
Again, Hobbes differs wholly from Bacon in the deductive character of his method. His logic is the old syllogistic309 system reorganised on the model of mathematical analysis. Like all the great thinkers of his time, he was a geometrician and a mechanical physicist121, reasoning from general to particular propositions and descending310 from causes to effects.554397 His famous theory of a social contract is a rational construction, not a historical narrative311. But though a mathematician, he shows no traces of Platonic influence. He is, therefore, all the more governed by Atomist and Stoic16 modes of thought. He treats human nature, single and associated, as Galileo and Descartes had treated motion and space. Like them, too, he finds himself in constant antagonism to Aristotle. The description of man as a social animal is disdainfully rejected, and the political union resolved into an equilibrium312 of many opposing wills maintained by violent pressure from without. In ethics, no less than in physics, we find attractive forces replaced by mechanical impacts.
While the analysis of Hobbes goes much deeper than Aristotle’s, the grasp of his reconstructive synthesis is wider and stronger in at least an equal proportion. Recognising the good of the whole as the supreme rule of conduct,555 he gives a new interpretation to the particular virtues313, and disposes of the theory which made them a mean between two extremes no less effectually than his contemporaries had disposed of the same theory in its application to the elementary constitution of matter. And just as they were aided in their revolt against Aristotle by the revival of other Greek systems, so also was he. The identification of justice with public interest, though commonly attributed to Epicurus alone, was, like materialism, an idea shared by him with Stoicism, and was probably impressed on modern thought by the weight of their united authority. And when we find the philosopher of Malmesbury making public happiness consist in order and tranquillity314, we cannot but think that this was a generalisation from the Stoic and Epicurean conceptions of individual happiness; for it reproduces, under a social form, the same ideal of passionless repose315.
On the other hand, this substitution of the social for the personal integer involves a corresponding change in the398 valuation of individual happiness. What the passions had been to later Greek philosophy, that the individual soul became to Hobbes, something essentially infinite and insatiable, whose desires grow as they are gratified, whose happiness, if such it can be called, is not a condition of stable repose but of perpetual movement and unrest.556 Here, again, the analogy between physics and ethics obtains. In both, there was an original opposition between the idea of a limit and the idea of infinite expansion. Just as, among the earlier Greek thinkers, there was a physical philosophy of the infinite or, as its impugners called it, the indefinite, so also there was, corresponding to it, a philosophy of the infinite or indefinite in ethics, represented, not indeed by professional moralists, but by rhetoricians and men of the world. Their ideal was not the contented316 man, but the popular orator317 or the despot who revels318 in the consciousness of power—the ability to satisfy his desires, whatever they may be. And the extreme consequence of this principle is drawn by Plato’s Callicles when he declares that true happiness consists in nursing one’s desires up to the highest point at which they can be freely indulged; while his ideal of character is the superior individual who sets at naught319 whatever restraints have been devised by a weak and timid majority to protect themselves against him.
The Greek love of balanced antithesis and circumscribing320 form triumphed over the infinite in both fields. While the two great masters of idealism imprisoned321 the formless and turbulent terrestrial elements within a uniform and eternal sphere of crystal, they imposed a similar restraint on the desires and emotions, confining them within a barrier of reason which, when once erected322, could never be broken through. And although the ground won in physics was lost again for a time through a revival of old theories, this was because true Hellenism found its only congenial sphere in399 ethics, and there the philosophy of the finite continued to reign147 supreme. If the successors of Aristotle fell back on cosmologies of ampler scope than his, they retained his limiting method in their speculations323 on man.
With Christianity, there came a certain inversion324 of parts. The external universe again became subjected to narrow limitations, and the flammantia moenia mundi beyond which Epicurus had dared to penetrate325, were raised up once more and guarded by new terrors as an impassable barrier to thought. But infinity326 took refuge within the soul; and, while in this life a sterner self-control than even that of Stoicism was enjoined327, perspectives of illimitable delight in another life were disclosed. Finally, at the Renaissance, every barrier was simultaneously328 overthrown329, and the accumulated energies of western civilisation330 expatiated331 over a field which, if it was vast in reality, was absolutely unbounded in imagination. Great as were the achievements of that age, its dreams were greater still; and what most excites our wonder in the works of its heroes is but the fragment of an unfinished whole. The ideal of life set up by Aristotle was, like his conception of the world, contradicted in every particular; and the relative positions assigned by him to act and power were precisely reversed. It has been shown how Shakespeare reflected the Platonism of his contemporaries: he reflected also the fierce outburst of their ambition; and in describing what they would dare, to possess solely sovereign sway and masterdom, or wear without corrival all the dignities of honour, he borrowed almost the very words used by Euripides to express the feelings encouraged by some teachers of his time. The same spirit is exhibited a generation later in the dramas of Calderon and Corneille, before their thoughts were forced into a different channel by the stress of the Catholic reaction; while its last and highest manifestation279 is the sentiment of Milton’s ruined archangel, that to reign in hell is better than to serve in heaven. Thus,400 when Hobbes reduces all the passions to modes of the fundamental desire for power,557 he does but give the scientific theory of that which stands proclaimed in more thrilling accents by the noblest poetry of his age.
Where no danger could deter160 from the pursuit of power, no balancing of pain with pleasure availed to quench332 the ardour of desire. With full knowledge that violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, the fateful condition was accepted. Not only did Giordano Bruno, in conscious parallelism with his theory of matter, declare that without mutation333, variety, and vicissitude334 nothing would be agreeable, nothing good, nothing delightful335, that enjoyment336 consists solely in transition and movement, and that all pleasure lies midway between the painful longing337 of fresh appetite and the sadness of its satiation and extinction;558 but the sedater338 wisdom of Bacon, in touching339 on the controversy between Callicles and Socrates, seems to incline towards the side of the former; and, in all cases, warns men not to make too much of the inconveniences attendent on pleasure, but ‘so to procure340 serenity341 as they destroy not magnanimity.’559
These, then, were the principal elements of the philosophical Renaissance. First, there was a certain survival of Aristotelianism as a method of comprehensive and logical arrangement. Then there was the new Platonism, bringing along with it a revival of either Alexandrian or mediaeval pantheism, and closely associated with geometrical studies. Thirdly, there was the old Greek Atomism, as originally set forth by Democritus or as re-edited by Epicurus, traditionally unfavourable to theology, potent264 alike for decomposition342 and reconstruction343, confirmed by the new astronomy, and lending its method to the reformation of mathematics; next the later Greek ethical344 systems; and finally the formless idea of infinite power which all Greek systems had, as such,401 conspired to suppress, but which, nevertheless, had played a great part in the earlier stages of Greek speculation both physical and moral.
On these foundations the lofty edifice345 of Spinozism was reared; out of these materials its composite structure was built; and without a previous study of them it cannot be understood.
VI.
Whether Spinoza ever read Plato is doubtful. One hardly sees why he should have neglected a writer whose works were easily accessible, and at that time very popular with thinking minds. But whether he was acquainted with the Dialogues at first hand or not, Plato will help us to understand Spinoza, for it was through the door of geometry that he entered philosophy, and under the guidance of one who was saturated with the Platonic spirit; so far as Christianity influenced him, it was through elements derived from Plato; and his metaphysical method was one which, more than any other, would have been welcomed with delight by the author of the Meno and the Republic, as an attempt to realise his own dialectical ideal. For Spinozism is, on the face of it, an application of geometrical reasoning to philosophy, and especially to ethics. It is also an attempt to prove transcendentally what geometricians only assume—the necessity of space. Now, Plato looked on geometrical demonstration as the great type of certainty, the scientific completion of what Socrates had begun by his interrogative method, the one means of carrying irrefragable conviction into every department of knowledge, and more particularly into the study of our highest good. On the other hand, he saw that geometricians assume what itself requires to be demonstrated; and he confidently expected that the deficiency would be supplied by his own projected method of transcendent dialectics. Such at least seems to be the drift of the following passage:
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When I speak of the division of the intellectual, you will also understand me to speak of that knowledge which reason herself attains346 by the power of dialectic, using the hypotheses not as first principles, but only as hypotheses—that is to say as steps and points of departure into a region which is above hypotheses, in order that she may soar beyond them to the first principle of the whole; and clinging to this and then to that which depends on this, by successive steps she descends347 again without the aid of any sensible object, beginning and ending in ideas.560
The problem, then, which Spinoza set himself was, first, to account for the fundamental assumptions of all science, and more particularly of geometry, by deducing them from a single self-evident principle; and then to use that principle for the solution of whatever problems seemed to stand most in need of its application. And, as usually happens in such adventurous enterprises, the supposed answer of pure reason was obtained by combining or expanding conceptions borrowed without criticism from pre-existing systems of philosophy.
Descartes had already accomplished348 a great simplification of the speculative problem by summing up all existence under the two heads of extension and thought. It remained to account for these, and to reduce them to a single idea. As we have seen, they were derived from Greek philosophy, and the bond which was to unite them must be sought for in the same direction. It will be remembered that the systems of Plato and Aristotle were bounded at either extremity349 by a determinate and by an indeterminate principle. With the one, existence ranged between the Idea of Good at the upper end of the scale and empty space at the lower; with the other, between absolute Thought and First Matter. It was by combining the two definite terms, space and thought, that Descartes had constructed his system; and after subtracting these the two indefinite terms remained. In one respect they were even more opposed to each other than were the terms with which they had been respectively associated. The Idea403 of Good represented unity289, identity, and constancy, as against plurality, difference, and change; while Aristotle’s Matter was, by its very definition, multiform, fluctuating, and indeterminate. Nevertheless, there were equally important analogies traceable between them. No very clear account could be given of either, and both were customarily described by negatives. If Matter fell short of complete existence, the Good transcended350 all existence. If the one was a universal capacity for assuming Forms, the other was the source whence all Forms proceeded. When the distinctive351 characteristics of an individual were thought away, the question might well be mooted352 into which principle it would return. The ambiguous use of the word Power contributed still further to their identification, for it was not less applicable to the receptive than to the productive faculty353. Now we have just seen into what importance the idea of Power suddenly sprang at the Renaissance: with Bruno it was the only abiding354 reality of Nature; with Hobbes it was the only object of human desire.
Another term occupying a very large place in Aristotle’s philosophy was well adapted to mediate146 between and eventually to unite the two speculative extremes. This was Substance; in logic the subject of predication, in metaphysics the substratum of qualities, the ο?σ?α or Being of the Ten Categories. Now First Matter might fairly claim the position of a universal subject or substance, since it was invested with every sensible quality in turn, and even, as the common element of all Forms, with every thinkable quality as well. Aristotle himself had finally pronounced for the individual compound of Form and Matter as the true substance. Yet he also speaks as if the essential definition of a thing constituted the thing itself; in which case Form alone could be the true subject; and a similar claim might be put forward on behalf of the Plotinian One.561
404
Such were the à priori elements which a historical synthesis had prepared to satisfy the want of a metaphysical Absolute. Let us now see what result would follow when the newly-recovered idea of space was subjected to a metaphysical analysis. Extension is both one and infinite. No particular area can be conceived apart from the whole which both contains and explains it. Again, extension is absolutely homogeneous; to whatever distance we may travel in imagination there will still be the same repetition of similar parts. But space, with the Cartesians, meant more than a simple juxtaposition355 of parts; having been made the essence of matter, it was invested with mechanical as well as with geometrical properties. The bodies into which it resolved itself were conceived as moving, and as communicating their movement to one another through an unbroken chain of causation in which each constituted a single link, determining and determined by the rest; so that, here also, each part was explained by reference to an infinite whole, reproducing its essence, while exempt356 from the condition of circumscribed357 existence. We can understand, then, that when the necessity of accounting358 for extension itself once became felt, the natural solution would be to conceive it as holding the same relation to some greater whole which its own subdivisions held to their sum total; in other words it should be at once a part, an emanation, and an image of the ultimate reality. This is, in fact, very nearly the relation which Matter holds to the One in the Neo-Platonic system. And we know that with Plotinus Matter is almost the same as infinite Extension.
Corresponding to the universal space which contains all particular spaces, there was, in the Neo-Platonic system, a universal Thought which contained all particular thoughts,—the Nous about which we heard so much in studying Plotinus.405 Such a conception is utterly strange to the modern mind, but it was familiar enough to Spinoza; and we can see how it would be suggested by the common forms of reasoning. The tendency of syllogism is either to subsume lower under higher notions until a summum genus is reached, or to resolve all subjects into a single predicate, or to connect all predicates with a single subject. The analogies of space, too, would tell in the same direction, bringing nearer the idea of a vast thought-sea in which all particular thoughts, or what to a Cartesian meant the same thing, all particular minds, were contained. And Neo-Platonism showed how this universal Mind or Thought could, like the space which it so much resembled, be interpreted as the product of a still higher principle. To complete the parallelism, it remained to show that Thought, which before had seemed essentially finite, is, on the contrary, co-infinite with Extension. How this was done will appear a little further on.
Spinoza gathered up all the threads of speculation thus made ready for his grasp, when he defined God as a substance consisting of infinite attributes, each of which expresses his infinite and eternal essence; subsequently adding that the essence here spoken of is Power, and that two of the infinite attributes are Extension and Thought, whereof the particular things known to us are modes. Platonism had decomposed359 the world into two ideal principles, and had re-created it by combining them over again in various proportions, but they were not entirely reabsorbed and worked up into the concrete reality which resulted from their union; they were, so to speak, knotted together, but the ends continued to hang loose. Above and below the finite sphere of existence there remained as an unemployed360 surplus the infinite causal energy of the One and the infinite passive potentiality of Matter. Spinoza combined and identified the two opposing elements in the notion of a single substance as infinite in actuality as they had been in power. He thus gave its highest metaphysical expression406 to that common tendency which we traced through the prospects361 opened out by the Copernican astronomy, the revival of Atomism, the dynamical psychology of Hobbes, and the illimitable passion of the Renaissance, while, at the same time, preserving the unity of Plato’s idealism, and even making it more concentrated than before.
It has been shown how universal space and universal thought at once contain and explain each particular space and each particular concept. In like manner, the infinite substance contains and explains space and thought themselves. Contains them, yes, as attributes; but explains them, how? As two among an infinity of attributes. In other words, if we ask why there should be such an existence as space, the answer is because existence, being infinite, must necessarily include every conceivable thing. The argument is strikingly like a principle of the Epicurean philosophy, and may well have been suggested by it. According to Lucretius, the appearance of design in our world need not be attributed to creative intelligence, because infinite atoms moving in infinite manners through infinite time, must at length arrive, after a comprehensive series of experiments, at the present frame of things;562 and the same principle is invoked362 on a smaller scale to account for the origin of organised beings, of memory, and of civil society.563 In both systems, infinite space is the root-conception; but what Lucretius had legitimately363 used to explain becoming, Spinoza illegitimately applies to the elucidation364 of being. At one stroke all empirical knowledge is placed on an à priori foundation. By assuming unlimited credit at the bank of the universe we entitle ourselves to draw a cheque for any particular amount. Thus the idea of infinite attributes is no mere collateral366 speculation, but forms an407 essential element of Spinozism. The known varieties of existence are, so to speak, surrounded, supported, and fixed in their places by the endless multitude of the unknown. And this conception of being as absolutely infinite, is another proof of Spinoza’s Platonic tendencies, for it involves the realisation of an abstract idea, that is to say, of Being, which the philosopher treats as something more comprehensive than the facts of consciousness whence it is derived.
Or, again, we may say that two principles,—the Nominalistic as well as the Realistic,—are here at work. By virtue of the one, Spinoza makes Being something beyond and above the facts of experience. By virtue of the other he reinvests it with concrete reality, but a reality altogether transcending367 our powers of imagination. Very much, also, that Plotinus says about his One might be applied to Spinoza’s Substance, but with a new and positive meaning. The First Cause is above existence, but only existence as restricted within the very narrow limits of our experience, and only as infinite reality transcends368 the parts which it includes.
It is well known that Spinoza draws a sharp line of demarcation between the two attributes of Extension and Thought, which, with him, correspond to what are usually called body and mind. Neither attribute can act on the other. Mind receives no impressions from body, nor does body receive any impulses from mind. This proposition follows by rigorous logical necessity from the Platonic principle that mind is independent of body, combined with the Stoic principle that nothing but body can act on body, generalised into the wider principle that interaction implies homogeneity of nature. According to some critics, Spinoza’s teaching on this point constitutes a fatal flaw in his philosophy. How, it is asked, can we know that there is any such thing as body (or extension) if body cannot be perceived,—for perceived it certainly cannot be without acting on our minds? The idea of infinite substance suggests a way out of the408 difficulty. ‘I find in myself,’ Spinoza might say, ‘the idea of extension. In fact, my mind is nothing but the idea of extension, or the idea of that idea, and so on through as many self-reflections as you please. At the same time, mind, or thought, is not itself extended. Descartes and the Platonists before him have proved thus much. Consequently I can conceive extension as existing independently of myself, and, more generally, of all thought. But how can I be sure that it actually does so exist? In this wise. An examination of thought leads me to the notion of something in which it resides—a substance whose attribute it is. But having once conceived such a substance, I cannot limit it to a single attribute, nor to two, nor to any finite number. Limitation implies a boundary, and there can be no boundary assigned to existence, for existence by its very definition includes everything that is. Accordingly, whatever can be conceived, in other words whatever can be thought without involving a contradiction,—an important reservation which I beg you to observe,—must necessarily exist. Now extension involves no contradiction, therefore it exists,—exists, that is to say, as an attribute of the infinite substance. And, by parity369 of reasoning, there must be an idea of extension; for this also can exist without involving a contradiction, as the simplest introspection suffices to show. You ask me why then I do not believe in gorgons and chimaeras. I answer that since, in point of fact, they do not exist, I presume that their notion involves a contradiction, although my knowledge of natural law is not sufficiently extended to show me where the contradiction lies. But perhaps science will some day be able to point out in every instance of a non-existing thing, where the contradiction lies, no less surely than it can now be pointed out in the case of impossible geometrical figures.’ In short, while other people travel straight from their sensations to an external world, Spinoza travels round to it by the idea of an infinite substance.564
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The relation of Spinoza’s Substance to its attributes is ambiguous. It is at once their cause, their totality, and their unity. The highly elastic370 and indefinite term Power helped these various aspects to play into and replace one another according to the requirements of the system. It is associated with the subjective possibility of multiplying imaginary existences to any amount; with the causal energy in which existence originates; and with the expansiveness characteristic alike of Extension and of Thought. For the two known attributes of the universal substance are not simply related to it as co-predicates of a common subject; they severally express its essential Power, and are, to that extent, identical with one another. But when we ask, How do they express Power? the same ambiguity371 recurs286. Substance is revealed through its attributes, as a cause through its effects; as an aggregate through its constituents; and as an abstract notion through its concrete embodiments. Thus Extension and Thought are identical through their very differences, since these illustrate76 the versatility372 of their common source, and at the same time jointly373 contribute to the realisation of its perfection. But, for all practical purposes, Spinoza deals only with the parallelism and resemblance of the attributes. We have to see how he establishes it, and how far he was helped in so doing by the traditions of Greek philosophy.
VII.
It has been already shown how Extension, having become identified with matter, took on its mechanical qualities, and was conceived as a connected series of causes or modes of motion. The parallel found by Spinoza for this series in Thought is the chain of reasons and consequents forming a410 demonstrative argument; and here he is obviously following Aristotle, who although ostensibly distinguishing between formal and efficient causes, hopelessly confounds them in the second book of his Posterior Analytics.565 We are said to understand a thing when we bring it under a general rule, and also when we discover the mechanical agency which produces it. For instance, we may know that a particular man will die, either from the fact that all men are mortal, or from the fact that he has received a fatal wound. The general rule, however, is not the cause of what will happen, but only the cause of our knowing that it will happen; and knowledge of the rule by no means carries with it a knowledge of the efficient cause; as we see in the case of gravitation and other natural forces whose modus operandi is still a complete mystery. What deceived Aristotle was partly his false analysis of the syllogism, which he interpreted as the connexion of two terms by the interposition of a middle answering to the causal nexus375 of two phenomena; and partly his conception of the universe as a series of concentric spheres, through which movement is transmitted from without, thus combining the two ideas of notional comprehension and mechanical causation.
Be this as it may, Spinoza takes up the Aristotelian identification of logical with dynamical connexion, and gives it the widest possible development. For the Stagirite would not, at any rate, have dreamed of attributing any but a subjective existence to the demonstrative series, nor of extending it beyond the limits of our actual knowledge. Spinoza, on the other hand, assumes that the whole infinite chain of material causes is represented by a corresponding chain of eternal ideas; and this chain he calls the infinite intellect of God.566 Here, besides the necessities of systematisation, the411 influence of mediaeval realism is plainly evident. For, when the absolute self-existence of Plato’s Ideas had been surrendered in deference376 to Aristotle’s criticism, a home was still found for them by Plotinus in the eternal Nous, and by the Christian Schoolmen in the mind of God; nor did such a belief present any difficulties so long as the divine personality was respected. The pantheism of Spinoza, however, was absolute, and excluded the notion of any but a finite subjectivity377. Thus the infinite intellect of God is an unsupported chain of ideas recalling the theory at one time imagined by Plato.567 Or its existence may be merely what Aristotle would have called potential; in other words, Spinoza may mean that reasons will go on evolving themselves so long as we choose to study the dialectic of existence, always in strict parallelism with the natural series of material movements constituting the external universe; and just as this is determined through all its parts by the totality of extension, or of all matter (whether moving or motionless) taken together, so also at the summit of the logical series stands the idea of God, from whose definition the demonstration of every lesser378 idea necessarily follows. It is true that in a chain of connected energies the antecedent, as such, must be always precisely equal to the consequent; but, apparently, this difficulty did not present itself to Spinoza, nor need we be surprised at this; for Kant, coming a century later, was still so imbued379 with Aristotelian traditions as, similarly, to derive the category of Cause and Effect from the relation between Reason and Consequent in hypothetical propositions.568
Meanwhile the parallelism between Thought and Extension was not exhausted by the identification just analysed. Extension was not only a series of movements; it still remained an expression for co-existence and adjacency.412 Spinoza, therefore, felt himself obliged to supply Thought with a correspondingly continuous quality. It is here that his chief originality380 lies, here that he has been most closely followed by the philosophy of our own time. Mind, he declares, is an attribute everywhere accompanying matter, co-extensive and co-infinite with space. Our own animation381 is the sum or the resultant of an animation clinging to every particle that enters into the composition of our bodies. When our thoughts are affected by an external impulse, to suppose that this impulse proceeds from anything material is a delusion; it is produced by the mind belonging to the body which acts on our body; although in what sense this process is to be understood remains a mystery. Spinoza has clearly explained the doctrine of animal automatism, and shown it to be perfectly conceivable;569 but he has entirely omitted to explain how the parallel influence of one thought (or feeling) on another is to be understood; for although this too is spoken of as a causal relation, it seems to be quite different from the logical concatenation described as the infinite intellect of God; and to suppose that idea follows from idea like movement from movement would amount to a complete materialisation of mind; while our philosopher would certainly have repudiated382 Mr. Shadworth Hodgson’s theory, that states of consciousness are only connected through their extended substratum, as the segments of a mosaic383 picture are held together by the underlying surface of masonry384. Nor can we admit that Spinoza entertained the theory, now so popular, according to which extension and consciousness are merely different aspects of a single reality. For this would imply that the substance which they manifest had an existence of its own apart from its attributes; whereas Spinoza makes it consist of the attributes, that is to say, identifies it with their totality. We are forced, then, to conclude that the proposition declaring thought and extension to be the same thing570 has no413 other meaning than that they are connected by the double analogy which we have endeavoured to explain.
The analogy between Thought and Extension under the two aspects of necessary connexion and mere contingent385 relation in co-existence or succession, was, in truth, more interesting to its author as a basis for his ethical than as a development of his metaphysical speculations. The two orders of relations represent, in their distinction, the opposition of science to opinion or imagination, the opposition of dutiful conviction to blind or selfish impulse. Spinoza borrows from the Stoics386 their identification of volition291 with belief; but in working out the consequences of this principle it is of Plato rather than of the Stoics that he reminds us. The passions are in his system what sense, imagination, and opinion were in that of the Athenian idealist; and his ethics may almost be called the metaphysics of the Republic turned outside in. Joy, grief and desire are more or less imperfect perceptions of reality—a reality not belonging to the external world but to the conscious subject itself.571 When Spinoza traces them to a consciousness or expectation of raised or lowered power, we recognise the influence of Hobbes; but when, here as elsewhere, he identifies power with existence, we detect a return to Greek forms of thought. The great conflict between illusion and reality is fought out once more; only, this time, it is about our own essence that we are first deceived and then enlightened. If the nature and origin of outward things are half revealed, half concealed by sense and imagination, our emotions are in like manner the obscuring and distorting medium through which we apprehend387 our inmost selves, and whatever adds to or takes away from the plenitude of our existence; and what science is to the one, morality and religion are to the other.
It is remarkable that while Spinoza was giving a new application to the Platonic method, another Cartesian,414 Malebranche, was working it out more strictly388 on the old lines of speculative research. The Recherche389 de la Vérité of this unjustly neglected thinker is a methodical account of the various subjective obstacles which impede390 our apprehension292 of things as they really exist, and of the means by which it may be facilitated. Here also, attention is concentrated on the subjective side of philosophy; and if the mental processes selected for study are of theoretical rather than practical interest, we may probably attribute this to the circumstance that every ethical question was already decided391 for Malebranche by the Church whose orders he had assumed.
But it was not merely in the writings of professed philosophers that the new aspect of Platonism found expression. All great art embodies392 in one form or another the leading conceptions of its age; and the latter half of the seventeenth century found such a manifestation in the comedies of Molière. If these works stand at the head of French literature, they owe their position not more to their author’s brilliant wit than to his profound philosophy of life; or rather, we should say that with him wit and philosophy are one. The comic power of Shakespeare was shown by resolving the outward appearances of this world into a series of dissolving illusions. Like Spinoza and Malebranche, Molière turns the illusion in, showing what perverted393 opinions men form of themselves and others, through misconceptions and passions either of spontaneous growth or sedulously394 fostered by designing hands. Society, with him, seems almost entirely made up of pretenders and their dupes, both characters being not unfrequently combined in the same person, who is made a victim through his desire to pass for what he is not and cannot be. And this is what essentially distinguishes the art of Molière from the New Comedy of Athens, which he, like other moderns, had at first felt inclined to imitate until the success of the Précieuses Ridicules395 showed him where his true opportunities lay. For the New Comedy was Aristotelian where it was not simply humanist; that is415 to say, it was an exhibition of types like those sketched396 by Aristotle’s disciple298, Theophrastus, and already prefigured in the master’s own Ethics. These were the perennial397 forms in a world of infinite and perishing individual existences, not concealed behind phenomena, but incorporated in them and constituting their essential truth. The Old Comedy is something different again; it is pre-philosophic, and may be characterised as an attempt to describe great political interests and tendencies through the medium of myths and fables398 and familiar domesticities, just as the old theories of Nature, the old lessons of practical wisdom, and the first great national chronicles had been thrown into the same homely399 form.572
The purely intellectual view of human nature, the definition of mind in terms of cognition, is one more fallacy from which Aristotle’s teaching, had it not fallen into neglect or contempt, might have guarded Spinoza. Nevertheless, his parallelism between passion and sensuous perception saves him from the worst extravagances of his Greek predecessors. For the senses, however much they might be maligned400, never were nor could be altogether rejected; while the passions met with little mercy from Plato and with none from the Stoics, who considered them not only unnecessary but even unnatural401. Spinoza more wisely sees in them assertions, however obscure and confused, of the will to be and grow which constitutes individual existence. And he sees that they can no more be removed by pointing out their evil consequences than sense-impressions can be abolished by proving their fallaciousness. On the other hand, when Spinoza speaks as if one emotion could only be conquered or expelled by another emotion, we must not allow his peculiar phraseology to conceal44 from us the purely intellectual character of his whole ethical system. What he really holds is that emotion can be416 overcome by reason or better knowledge, because it is itself an imperfect cognition. Point by point, an analogy—or something more than an analogy—is made out between the errors of sensuous perception joined to imagination, and the errors of our spontaneous efforts after happiness or self-realisation. Both are imposed on us from without, and neither can be got rid of by a simple act of volition. Both are affected by illusions of perspective: the nearer object of desire, like the nearer object of perception, assuming a disproportionate place in the field of view. In both, accidental contiguity is habitually402 confounded with causation; while in both the assignment of causes to effects, instead of being traced back through an infinite series of antecedents, stops short with the antecedent nearest to ourselves. If objects are classified according to their superficial resemblances or the usages of common language, so also are the desires sustained and intensified403 by imitation and rivalry404. By parity of reasoning, moral education must be conducted on the same lines as intellectual education. First, it is shown how our individual existence, depending as it does on forces infinitely405 exceeding our own, is to be maintained. This is chiefly done by cultivating friendly relations with other men; probably, although Spinoza does not himself make the comparison, on the same principle as that observed in the mutual406 assistance and rectification407 of the senses, together with their preservation408 by means of verbal signs. The misleading passions are to be overcome by discovering their origin; by referring the pleasures and pains which produce them to the right causes; by calling in thought to redress409 the balance of imagination; by dividing the attention among an infinite number of causes; finally, by demonstrating the absolute necessity of whatever actions excite them, and classifying them according to their relations, in the same way that the phenomena of the material world are dealt with when subjected to scientific analysis.
417
So far Spinoza, following the example of Stoicism, has only studied the means by which reason conquers passion. He now proceeds to show, in the spirit of Plato or of Platonic Christianity, how immensely superior to the pleasures of sense and opinion are those afforded by true religion—by the love of God and the possession of eternal life. But, here also, as in the Greek system, logic does duty for emotion. The love of God means no more than viewing ourselves as filling a place in the infinite framework of existence, and as determined to be what we are by the totality of forces composing it. And eternal life is merely the adjustment of our thoughts to the logical order by which all modes of existence are deducible from the idea of infinite power.
Thus, while Spinoza draws to a head all the tendencies inherited from Greek philosophy, borrowing from the early physicists their necessarianism; from the Atomists, their exclusion of final causes, their denial of the supernatural, and their infinite worlds; from the Athenian school, their distinction between mind and body and between reason and sense; from Aristotle, his parallelism between causation and syllogism; from the Epicureans, their vindication410 of pleasure; and from the Stoics, their identification of belief with action, their conquest of passion and their devotion to humanity;—it is to the dominant411 Platonism of the seventeenth century that his system owes its foundation, its development, and its crown; for he begins by realising the abstract conception of being, and infers its absolute infinity from the misleading analogy of space, which is not an abstraction at all; deduces his conclusions according to the geometrical method recommended by Plato; and ends, like Plato, by translating dialectic formulas into the emotional language of religious faith.573
418
VIII.
From this grand synthesis, however, a single element was omitted; and, like the uninvited guest of fairy tradition, it proved strong enough singly to destroy what had been constructed by the united efforts of all the rest. This was the sceptical principle, the critical analysis of ideas, first exercised by Protagoras, made a new starting-point by Socrates, carried to perfection by Plato, supplementing experience with Aristotle, and finally proclaimed in its purity as the sole function of philosophy by an entire school of Greek thought.
Notwithstanding the sterility412 commonly associated with mere negation, it was this which, of all the later Greek schools, possessed413 the greatest powers of growth. Besides passing through more than one stage of development on its own account, Scepticism imposed serious modifications414 on Stoicism, gave birth to Eclecticism415, and contributed to the establishment of Neo-Platonism. The explanation is not far to seek. The more highly organised a system is, the more resistance does it offer to change, the more does its transmission tend to assume a rigidly417 scholastic26 form. To such dogmatism the Sceptics were, on principle, opposed; and by keeping the problems of philosophy open, they facilitated the task of all who had a new solution to offer; while mind and its activities being, to some extent, safe from the universal doubt, the sceptical principle spontaneously threw back thought on a subjective instead of an objective synthesis of knowledge—in other words, on that psychological idealism the pregnancy418 and comprehensiveness of which are every day becoming more clearly recognised. And we shall now see how the same fertilising power of criticism has been manifested in modern times as well.
The sceptical philosophy, already advocated in the Middle Ages by John of Salisbury, was, like every other form of ancient thought, revived at the Renaissance, but only under419 the very superficial form which infers from the co-existence of many divergent opinions that none of them can be true. Even so, however, it led Montaigne to sounder notions of toleration and humanity than were entertained by any of his contemporaries. With Bacon, and still more with Descartes, it also appears as the necessary preparation for a remodelling419 of all belief; but the great dogmatic systems still exercised such a potent influence on both those thinkers that their professed demand for a new method merely leads up to an altered statement of the old unproved assumptions.
Meanwhile the old principle of universal doubt could no longer be maintained in presence of the certainties already won by modern science. Man, in the time of Newton, had, as Pope tersely420 puts it, ‘too much knowledge for the sceptic side.’ The problem was not how to establish the reality, but how to ascertain167 the origin and possible extent of that knowledge. The first to perceive this, the first to evolve criticism out of scepticism, and therefore the real founder of modern philosophy, was Locke. Nevertheless, even with him, the advantage of studying the more recent in close connexion with the earlier developments of thought does not cease; it only enters on a new phase. If he cannot, like his predecessors, be directly affiliated to one or more of the Greek schools, his position can be illustrated421 by a parallel derived from the history of those schools. What Arcesilaus and Carneades had been to Socrates and his successors, that Locke was, in a large measure, to Bacon and the Cartesians. He went back to the initial doubt which with them had been overborne by the dogmatic reaction, and insisted on making it a reality. The spirit of the Apologia is absent from Plato’s later dialogues, only to reappear with even more than its original power in the teaching of the New Academy. And, in like manner, Descartes’ introspective method, with its demand for clear ideas, becomes, in the Essay concerning Human Understanding, an irresistible422 solvent423 for 420the psychologyy and physics of its first propounder424. The doctrine of innate ideas, the doctrine that extension is the essence of matter, the doctrine that thought is the essence of mind, the more general doctrine, held also by Bacon, that things have a discoverable essence whence all their properties may be deduced by a process analogous425 to mathematical reasoning,—all collapsed426 when brought to the test of definite and concrete experience.
We have here, indeed, something comparable not only to the scepticism of the New Academy, but also to the Aristotelian criticism of Plato’s metaphysics; and, at first sight, it might seem as if the Peripatetic philosophy was destined427 once more to regain210 the position taken from it by the resuscitation428 of its ancient foe429. But Locke was not inclined to substitute one form of scholasticism for another. By applying the analytical method of Atomism to knowledge itself, he created a weapon equally fatal to the two competing systems. Under his dissection430, the concrete individual substance of the one vanished no less completely than the universal ideas of the other. Nothing remained but a bundle of qualities held together by a subjective bond.
Similarly, in political science, the analytical method of assuming civil government to result from a concurrence431 of individual wills, which with Hobbes had served only to destroy ecclesiastical authority, while leaving intact and even strengthening the authority of secular432 rulers, was reinterpreted by Locke as a negation of all absolutism whatever.
It is interesting to observe how, here also, the positive science of the age had a large share in determining its philosophic character. Founded on the discovery of the earth’s true shape, Aristotle’s metaphysics had been overthrown by the discovery of the earth’s motion. And now the claims of Cartesianism to have furnished an exact knowledge of matter and a definition of it whence all the facts of observation could be deduced à priori, were summarily refuted by the discovery421 of universal gravitation. The Cartesians complained that Newton was bringing back the occult qualities of the Schoolmen; but the tendency of bodies to move towards one another proved as certain as it was inexplicably433 mysterious. For a time, the study of causes was superseded434 by the study of laws; and the new method of physical science moved in perfect harmony with the phenomenism of Locke. One most important consequence of this revolution was to place the new Critical philosophy on a footing quite different from that occupied by the ancient sceptics. Both restricted certain knowledge to our own states of consciousness; but it now appeared that this might be done without impeaching435 the value of accepted scientific conclusions, which was more than the Academic philosophy would have admitted. In other words, granting that we were limited to phenomena, it was shown that science consisted in ascertaining the relations of these phenomena to one another, instead of to a problematic reality lying behind them; while, that such relations existed and were, in fact, part of the phenomena themselves, was what no sceptic could easily deny.
Nevertheless, in each case, subjective idealism had the effect of concentrating speculation, properly so called, on ethical and practical interests. Locke struck the keynote of eighteenth century philosophy when he pronounced morality to be ‘the proper science and business of mankind in general.’574 And no sooner had morality come to the front than the significance of ancient thought again made itself apparent. Whether through conscious imitation, or because the same causes brought about the same effects, ethical enquiries moved along the lines originally laid down in the schools of Athens. When rules of conduct were not directly referred to a divine revelation, they were based either on a supposed law of Nature, or on the necessities of human happiness, or on some combination of the two. Nothing is more characteristic of422 the eighteenth century than its worship of Nature. Even the theology of the age is deeply coloured by it; and with the majority of those who rejected theology it became a new religion. But this sentiment is demonstrably of Greek origin, and found its most elaborate, though not its most absolute, expression in Stoicism. The Stoics had inherited it from the Cynics, who held the faith in greater purity; and these, again, so far as we can judge, from a certain Sophistic school, some fragments of whose teaching have been preserved by Xenophon and Plato; while the first who gave wide currency to this famous abstraction was, in all probability, Heracleitus. To the Stoics, however, is due that intimate association of naturalism with teleology436 which meets us again in the philosophy of the last century, and even now wherever the doctrine of evolution has not been thoroughly accepted. It was assumed, in the teeth of all evidence, that Nature bears the marks of a uniformly beneficent design, that evil is exclusively of human origin, and that even human nature is essentially good when unspoiled by artificial restrictions437.
Yet if teleology was, in some respects, a falling-off from the rigid416 mechanicism first taught by the pre-Socratic schools and then again by the Cartesian school, in at least one respect it marked a comparative progress. For the first attempts made both by ancient and modern philosophy to explain vital phenomena on purely mechanical principles were altogether premature438; and the immense extension of biological knowledge which took place subsequently to both, could not but bring about an irresistible movement in the opposite direction. The first to revive teleology was Leibniz, who furnished a transition from the seventeenth to the eighteenth century by his monadology. In this, Atomism is combined with Aristotelian ideas, just as it had previously439 been combined with Platonic ideas by Descartes. The movement of the atoms is explained by their aspiration440 after a more perfect state instead of by mechanical pressure. But while Leibniz still relies on423 the ontological argument of Descartes to prove the existence of God, this was soon abandoned, along with the cosmological argument, for the argument from design, which was also that used by the Stoics; while in ethics the fitness of things was substituted for the more mechanical law of self-preservation, as the rule of conduct; and the subjection of all impulse to reason was replaced by the milder principle of a control exercised by the benevolent441 over the malevolent442 instincts. This was a very distinct departure from the Stoic method, yet those who made it were more faithful to teleology than Stoicism had been; for to condemn443 human feeling altogether was implicitly444 to condemn the work of Nature or of God.
The other great ethical method of the eighteenth century, its hedonism, was closely connected with the sceptical movement in speculative philosophy, and, like that, received an entirely new significance by becoming associated with the idea of law. Those who isolate man from the universe are necessarily led to seek in his interests as such the sole regulator of his actions, and their sole sanction in the opinion of his fellows. Protagoras went already so far, notwithstanding his unwillingness to recognise pleasure as the supreme end; and in the system of his true successor, Aristippus, the most extreme hedonism goes hand in hand with the most extreme idealism; while with Epicurus, again, both are tempered by the influence of naturalism, imposing445 on him its conceptions of objective law alike in science and in practice. Still his system leaned heavily to the side of self-gratification pure and simple; and it was reserved for modern thought to establish a complete equilibrium between the two competing tendencies of Greek ethics. This has been effected in Utilitarianism; and those critics are entirely mistaken who, like M. Guyau, regard that system as a mere reproduction of Epicureanism. It might with full as much reason be called a modern version of Stoicism. The idea of humanity is essentially Stoic; to work for the good of humanity was a424 Stoic precept; and to sacrifice one’s own pleasure for that higher good is a virtue which would have satisfied the most rigorous demands of a Cleanthes, an Epictêtus, or an Aurelius.
Utilitarianism agrees with the ancient hedonism in holding pleasure to be the sole good and pain the sole evil. Its adherents446 also, for the most part, admit that the desire of the one and the dread447 of the other are the sole motives449 to action; but, while making the end absolutely universal and impersonal450, they make the motive448 into a momentary451 impulse, without any necessary relation to the future happiness of the agent himself. The good man does his duty because doing it gives him pleasure, or because the failure to do it would give him pain, at the moment; although he knows that a contrary course would save him from greater pain or win him greater pleasure hereafter. No accurate thinker would call this acting from a selfish or interested motive; nor does it agree with the teaching of Epicurus. Were all sensitive beings to be united in a single organism, then, on utilitarian principles, self-interest, interpreted in the sense of seeking its own preservation and pleasure, would be the only law that the individualised aggregate could rationally obey. But the good of each part would be rigorously subordinated to the good of the whole; and utilitarian morality desires that we should act as if this hypothesis were realised, at least in reference to our own particular interests. Now, the idea of humanity as forming such a consolidated452 whole is not Epicurean. It belongs to the philosophy which always reprobated pleasure, precisely because its pursuit is associated with the dereliction of public duty and with bitter rivalry for the possession of what, by its very nature, exists only in limited quantities, while the demand for it is unlimited or, at any rate, far exceeds the supply. According to the Stoics, there was only one way in which the individual could study his private425 interest without abandoning his position as a social being, and this was to find it exclusively in the practice of virtue.575 But virtue and public interest remained mere forms scantily453 supplemented by appeals to the traditional morality, until the idea of generalised happiness, of pleasure diffused454 through the whole community, came to fill them with substance and life.
It has also to be observed that the idea of utility as a test of moral goodness is quite distinct from hedonism. Plato proclaims, in the most unequivocal terms, that actions must be estimated by their consequences instead of by the feelings of sympathy or antipathy455 which they excite; yet no one could object more strongly to making pleasure the end of action. Thus, three distinct doctrines seem to converge284 in modern English ethics, of which all are traceable to Greek philosophy, but only one to Epicureanism in particular, and not ultimately to that but to the older systems whence it sprang.
And here we unexpectedly find ourselves confronted by a new relation between ancient and modern thought. Each acts as a powerful precipitant on the other, dissolving what might otherwise have passed for inseparable associations, and combining elements which a less complete experience might have led us to regard as necessarily incompatible with one another. The instance just analysed is highly significant; nor does it stand alone. Modern spiritualists often talk as if morality was impossible apart from their peculiar metaphysics. But the Stoics, confessedly the purest moralists of antiquity456, were uncompromising materialists; while the spiritualist Aristotle taught what is not easily distinguishable from a very refined sort of egoism. Again, the doctrine of free-will is now commonly connected with a belief in the separability of consciousness from matter, and, like that, is declared to be an indispensable condition of morality. Among the Greeks,426 however, it was held by the materialist251 Epicureans more distinctly than by any other school; while the Stoics did not find necessarianism inconsistent with self-sacrificing virtue. The partial derivation of knowledge from an activity in our own minds is another supposed concomitant of spiritualism; although Aristotle traces every idea to an external source, while at the same time holding some cognitions to be necessarily true—a theory repudiated by modern experientialists. To Plato, the spirituality of the soul seemed to involve its pre-existence no less than its immortality457, a consequence not accepted by his modern imitators. Teleology is now commonly opposed to pantheism; the two were closely combined in Stoicism; while Aristotle, although he believed in a personal God, attributed the marks of design in Nature to purely unconscious agencies.
IX.
The naturalism and utilitarianism of the eighteenth century are the last conceptions directly inherited from ancient philosophy by modern thought. Henceforward, whatever light the study of the former can throw on the vicissitudes458 of the latter is due either to their partial parallelism, or to an influence becoming every day fainter and more difficult to trace amid the multitude of factors involved. The progress of analytical criticism was continually deflected459 or arrested by the still powerful resistance of scholasticism, just as the sceptical tendencies of the New Academy had been before, though happily with less permanent success; and as, in antiquity, this had happened within no less than without the critical school, so also do we find Locke clinging to the theology of Descartes; Berkeley lapsing460 into Platonism; Hume playing fast and loose with his own principles; and Kant leaving it doubtful to which side he belongs, so evenly are the two opposing tendencies balanced in his mind, so427 dexterously461 does he adapt the new criticism to the framework of scholastic logic and metaphysics.
Meanwhile the strength of the analytical method was doubled by its extension to the phenomena of growth and change; for, as applied to these, it became the famous theory of Development or Evolution. No idea belongs so completely to modern philosophy; for even the ancient thinkers who threw their cosmology into a historical form had never attempted to explain the present by the past. If anything, they explained the past by the present, assuming a rough analogy to exist between the formation of the universe as a whole and the genesis of those natural or artificial bodies which were continually growing or being built up before their eyes. Their cosmology was, in fact, nothing but the old mythology462 stripped of its personal or conscious element; and, like it, was a hypothesis unsupported by any external evidence;—a criticism not inconsistent with the admission that to eliminate the supernatural element from speculation was, even in the absence of any solid addition to human knowledge, an achievement of inestimable value. The evolutionary463 method is also an elimination of the supernatural, but it is a great deal more. By tracing the history of compound structures to their first origin, and noting the successive increments464 to which their gradual growth is due, it reveals, as no statical analysis ever could, the actual order of synthesis, and the meaning of the separate constituents by whose joint374 action their movements are determined; while, conversely, their dissolution supplies us with a number of ready-made experiments in which the influence of each particular factor in the sum total may be detected by watching the changes that ensue on its removal. In a word, the method of evolution is the atomistic method, extended from matter to motion, and viewed under the form of succession instead of under the form of co-existence.
As a universal philosophy, the theory of Development,428 like every other modern idea, has only been permitted to manifest itself in combination with different forms of the old scholasticism. The whole speculative movement of our century is made up of such hybrid465 systems; and three, in particular, still divide the suffrages466 of many thinking men who have not been able entirely to shake off the influence of reactionary467 ideas. These are the systems of Hegel, of Comte, and of Mr. Herbert Spencer. In each, the logic and metaphysics inherited from Greek thought are variously compounded with the new science. And each, for that very reason, serves to facilitate the transition from one to the other; a part analogous to that played among the Greeks themselves by the vast constructions of Plato and Aristotle, or, in an age of less productivity, by the Stoic and Alexandrian philosophies.
The influence of Aristotle has, indeed, continued to make itself felt not only through the teaching of his modern imitators, but more directly as a living tradition in literature, or through the renewed study of his writings at first hand. Even in the pure sciences, it survived until a comparatively recent period, and, so far as the French intellect goes, it is not yet entirely extinct. From Abélard on, Paris was the headquarters of that soberer scholasticism which took its cue from the Peripatetic logic; and the resulting direction of thought, deeply impressed as it became on the French character and the French language, was interrupted rather than permanently468 altered by the Cartesian revolution, and, with the fall of Cartesianism, gradually recovered its old predominance. The Aristotelian philosophy is remarkable above all others for clear definitions, full descriptions, comprehensive classifications, lucid365 reasoning, encyclopaedic science, and disinterested273 love of knowledge; along with a certain incapacity for ethical speculation,576 strong conservative leanings, and a general tendency towards the rigid demarcation rather than the fruitful commingling469 of ideas. And it will probably be admitted429 that these are also traits characteristic of French thinking as opposed to English or German thinking. For instance, widely different as is the Mécanique Céleste from the astronomy of Aristotle’s treatise On the Heavens, both agree in being attempts to prove the eternal stability of the celestial system.577 The destructive deluges470 by which Aristotle supposes civilisation to be periodically interrupted, reappear on a larger scale in the theory of catastrophes471 still held by French geologists472. Another Aristotelian dogma, the fixity of organic species, though vigorously assailed473 by eminent474 French naturalists475, has, on the whole, triumphed over the opposite doctrine of transformism in France, and now impedes476 the acceptance of Darwin’s teaching even in circles where theological prepossessions are extinct. The accepted classifications in botany and zoology477 are the work of Frenchmen following in the footsteps of Aristotle, whose genius for methodical arrangement was signally exemplified in at least one of these departments; the division of animals into vertebrate and invertebrate478 being originally due to him. Bichat’s distinction between the animal and the vegetable functions recalls Aristotle’s distinction between the sensitive and nutritive souls; while his method of studying the tissues before the organs is prefigured in the treatise on the Parts of Animals. For a long time, the ruling of Aristotle’s Poetics was undisputed in French criticism; and if anything could disentitle Montesquieu’s Esprit des Lois to the proud motto, Prolem sine matre creatam, it would be its close relationship to the Politics of the same universal master. Finally, if it be granted that the enthusiasm for knowledge, irrespective of its utilitarian applications, exists to a greater degree among the educated classes of France than in any other modern society, we may plausibly479 attribute this honourable480 characteristic to the fostering influence of one who has430 proclaimed more eloquently481 than any other philosopher that theoretical activity is the highest good of human life, the ideal of all Nature, and the sole beatitude of God.
It remains to add a few words on the position which ancient and modern philosophy respectively occupy towards theology. Here their relation is one of contrast rather than of resemblance. The Greek thinkers start at an immense distance from religious belief, and their first allusions482 to it are marked by a scornful denial of its validity. Gradually, with the transition from physical to ethical enquiries, an approximation between the two is brought about, though not without occasional returns to their former attitude of hostility483. Finally, in presence of a common danger they become interwoven and almost identified with one another; while the new religion against which they make common cause, itself presents the same spectacle of metaphysical and moral ideas entering into combination with the spontaneous products of popular mythology. And be it observed that throughout the whole of this process action and reaction were equal and contrary. The decline and corruption of philosophy was the price paid for the elevation484 and purification of religion. While the one was constantly sinking, the other was constantly rising, until they converged on the plane of dogmatic theology. By the very circumstances of the case, an opposite course has been imposed on the development of modern philosophy. Starting from an intimate union with religion, it slowly disengages itself from the compromising alliance; and, although, here also, the normal course of ideas has been interrupted by frequent reactions, the general movement of European thought has been no less decidedly towards a complete emancipation485 from the popular beliefs than the movement of Greek thought had been towards their conciliation486 and support.
Spottiswoode & Co., Printers, New-street Square, London.
The End
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3 entirely | |
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7 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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9 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
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10 revival | |
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11 naturalist | |
n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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12 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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14 abortive | |
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15 platonic | |
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16 stoic | |
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17 decadence | |
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18 epic | |
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19 drawn | |
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20 antagonism | |
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21 victorious | |
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22 materialism | |
n.[哲]唯物主义,唯物论;物质至上 | |
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23 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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24 pointed | |
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25 controversy | |
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26 scholastic | |
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27 remarkable | |
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28 sufficiently | |
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29 supreme | |
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30 consultation | |
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31 passionate | |
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32 tracts | |
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33 authoritative | |
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34 interfere | |
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35 adoption | |
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37 intelligible | |
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38 doctrine | |
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39 prevailing | |
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40 logic | |
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41 treatise | |
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46 heresy | |
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47 persecution | |
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48 arraigned | |
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49 aggravation | |
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51 peripatetic | |
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52 derive | |
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55 worthy | |
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56 psychology | |
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57 ethics | |
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90 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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91 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
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92 saturated | |
a.饱和的,充满的 | |
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93 consistency | |
n.一贯性,前后一致,稳定性;(液体的)浓度 | |
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94 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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95 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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96 misgivings | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕;疑虑,担心,恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 );疑惧 | |
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97 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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98 flux | |
n.流动;不断的改变 | |
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99 conspired | |
密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
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100 overthrow | |
v.推翻,打倒,颠覆;n.推翻,瓦解,颠覆 | |
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101 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
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102 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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103 alienated | |
adj.感到孤独的,不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 );使不友好;转让;让渡(财产等) | |
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104 discredited | |
不足信的,不名誉的 | |
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105 decried | |
v.公开反对,谴责( decry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106 eluded | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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107 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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108 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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109 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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110 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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111 adherent | |
n.信徒,追随者,拥护者 | |
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112 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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113 excerpts | |
n.摘录,摘要( excerpt的名词复数 );节选(音乐,电影)片段 | |
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114 testimonies | |
(法庭上证人的)证词( testimony的名词复数 ); 证明,证据 | |
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115 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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116 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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117 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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118 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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120 coalition | |
n.结合体,同盟,结合,联合 | |
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121 physicist | |
n.物理学家,研究物理学的人 | |
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122 physicists | |
物理学家( physicist的名词复数 ) | |
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123 persistent | |
adj.坚持不懈的,执意的;持续的 | |
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124 persistently | |
ad.坚持地;固执地 | |
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125 formulated | |
v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
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126 dispelled | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127 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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128 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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129 induction | |
n.感应,感应现象 | |
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130 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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131 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
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132 aphoristic | |
警句(似)的,格言(似)的 | |
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133 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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134 unlimited | |
adj.无限的,不受控制的,无条件的 | |
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135 modification | |
n.修改,改进,缓和,减轻 | |
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136 enumeration | |
n.计数,列举;细目;详表;点查 | |
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137 encyclopaedia | |
n.百科全书 | |
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138 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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139 enumerated | |
v.列举,枚举,数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140 blots | |
污渍( blot的名词复数 ); 墨水渍; 错事; 污点 | |
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141 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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142 discriminated | |
分别,辨别,区分( discriminate的过去式和过去分词 ); 歧视,有差别地对待 | |
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143 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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144 annexing | |
并吞( annex的现在分词 ); 兼并; 强占; 并吞(国家、地区等) | |
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145 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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146 mediate | |
vi.调解,斡旋;vt.经调解解决;经斡旋促成 | |
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147 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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148 reigns | |
n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 );君主统治时期;任期;当政期 | |
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149 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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150 constituents | |
n.选民( constituent的名词复数 );成分;构成部分;要素 | |
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151 inorganic | |
adj.无生物的;无机的 | |
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152 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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153 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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154 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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155 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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156 inveterate | |
adj.积习已深的,根深蒂固的 | |
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157 proclivities | |
n.倾向,癖性( proclivity的名词复数 ) | |
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158 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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159 component | |
n.组成部分,成分,元件;adj.组成的,合成的 | |
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160 deter | |
vt.阻止,使不敢,吓住 | |
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161 configuration | |
n.结构,布局,形态,(计算机)配置 | |
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162 emancipated | |
adj.被解放的,不受约束的v.解放某人(尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚)( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163 prosecution | |
n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
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164 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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165 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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166 elimination | |
n.排除,消除,消灭 | |
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167 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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168 ascertaining | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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169 residues | |
n.剩余,余渣( residue的名词复数 );剩余财产;剩数 | |
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170 syllogism | |
n.演绎法,三段论法 | |
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171 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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172 specified | |
adj.特定的 | |
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173 dubbed | |
v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 );把…称为;配音;复制 | |
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174 scrutiny | |
n.详细检查,仔细观察 | |
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175 conditional | |
adj.条件的,带有条件的 | |
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176 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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177 experimentation | |
n.实验,试验,实验法 | |
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178 prerogative | |
n.特权 | |
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179 countenanced | |
v.支持,赞同,批准( countenance的过去式 ) | |
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180 chancellor | |
n.(英)大臣;法官;(德、奥)总理;大学校长 | |
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181 physiologist | |
n.生理学家 | |
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182 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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183 expenditure | |
n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出;使用,消耗 | |
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184 incurred | |
[医]招致的,遭受的; incur的过去式 | |
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185 wrested | |
(用力)拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 ); 费力取得; (从…)攫取; ( 从… ) 强行取去… | |
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186 artifice | |
n.妙计,高明的手段;狡诈,诡计 | |
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187 judicious | |
adj.明智的,明断的,能作出明智决定的 | |
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188 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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189 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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190 isolate | |
vt.使孤立,隔离 | |
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191 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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192 relegated | |
v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 );使降职;转移;把…归类 | |
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193 terseness | |
简洁,精练 | |
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194 precept | |
n.戒律;格言 | |
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195 amassing | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的现在分词 ) | |
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196 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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197 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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198 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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199 partisans | |
游击队员( partisan的名词复数 ); 党人; 党羽; 帮伙 | |
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200 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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201 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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202 incompatible | |
adj.不相容的,不协调的,不相配的 | |
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203 picturesquely | |
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204 unwillingness | |
n. 不愿意,不情愿 | |
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205 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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206 juncture | |
n.时刻,关键时刻,紧要关头 | |
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207 dispersed | |
adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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208 axis | |
n.轴,轴线,中心线;坐标轴,基准线 | |
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209 collapses | |
折叠( collapse的第三人称单数 ); 倒塌; 崩溃; (尤指工作劳累后)坐下 | |
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210 regain | |
vt.重新获得,收复,恢复 | |
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211 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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212 invaders | |
入侵者,侵略者,侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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213 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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214 mediator | |
n.调解人,中介人 | |
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215 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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216 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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217 pedantic | |
adj.卖弄学问的;迂腐的 | |
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218 underlying | |
adj.在下面的,含蓄的,潜在的 | |
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219 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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220 relatively | |
adv.比较...地,相对地 | |
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221 analytical | |
adj.分析的;用分析法的 | |
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222 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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223 velocity | |
n.速度,速率 | |
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224 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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225 impulsive | |
adj.冲动的,刺激的;有推动力的 | |
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226 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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227 astronomer | |
n.天文学家 | |
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228 astronomers | |
n.天文学者,天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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229 centripetal | |
adj.向心的 | |
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230 tangential | |
adj.离题的,切线的 | |
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231 inertia | |
adj.惰性,惯性,懒惰,迟钝 | |
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232 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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233 affinities | |
n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 );亲近;(生性)喜爱;类同 | |
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234 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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235 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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236 conversational | |
adj.对话的,会话的 | |
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237 encomium | |
n.赞颂;颂词 | |
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238 vouched | |
v.保证( vouch的过去式和过去分词 );担保;确定;确定地说 | |
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239 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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240 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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241 dynamics | |
n.力学,动力学,动力,原动力;动态 | |
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242 mathematician | |
n.数学家 | |
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243 mathematicians | |
数学家( mathematician的名词复数 ) | |
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244 discrete | |
adj.个别的,分离的,不连续的 | |
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245 calculus | |
n.微积分;结石 | |
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246 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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247 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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248 subjective | |
a.主观(上)的,个人的 | |
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249 spatial | |
adj.空间的,占据空间的 | |
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250 triangular | |
adj.三角(形)的,三者间的 | |
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251 materialist | |
n. 唯物主义者 | |
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252 materialistic | |
a.唯物主义的,物质享乐主义的 | |
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253 demonstration | |
n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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254 deduction | |
n.减除,扣除,减除额;推论,推理,演绎 | |
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255 rejection | |
n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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256 physiology | |
n.生理学,生理机能 | |
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257 conjectures | |
推测,猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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258 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
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259 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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260 corporeal | |
adj.肉体的,身体的;物质的 | |
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261 liberated | |
a.无拘束的,放纵的 | |
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262 exclusion | |
n.拒绝,排除,排斥,远足,远途旅行 | |
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263 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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264 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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265 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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266 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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267 teleological | |
adj.目的论的 | |
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268 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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269 virgins | |
处女,童男( virgin的名词复数 ); 童贞玛利亚(耶稣之母) | |
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270 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
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271 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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272 utilitarian | |
adj.实用的,功利的 | |
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273 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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274 disinterestedness | |
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275 severance | |
n.离职金;切断 | |
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276 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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277 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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278 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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279 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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280 brutes | |
兽( brute的名词复数 ); 畜生; 残酷无情的人; 兽性 | |
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281 physiological | |
adj.生理学的,生理学上的 | |
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282 asunder | |
adj.分离的,化为碎片 | |
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283 converged | |
v.(线条、运动的物体等)会于一点( converge的过去式 );(趋于)相似或相同;人或车辆汇集;聚集 | |
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284 converge | |
vi.会合;聚集,集中;(思想、观点等)趋近 | |
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285 precursor | |
n.先驱者;前辈;前任;预兆;先兆 | |
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286 recurs | |
再发生,复发( recur的第三人称单数 ) | |
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287 conversion | |
n.转化,转换,转变 | |
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288 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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289 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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290 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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291 volition | |
n.意志;决意 | |
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292 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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293 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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294 deriving | |
v.得到( derive的现在分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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295 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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296 unanimity | |
n.全体一致,一致同意 | |
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297 negation | |
n.否定;否认 | |
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298 disciple | |
n.信徒,门徒,追随者 | |
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299 disciples | |
n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 );门徒;耶稣的信徒;(尤指)耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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300 innate | |
adj.天生的,固有的,天赋的 | |
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301 pulsating | |
adj.搏动的,脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 );跳动;脉动;受(激情)震动 | |
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302 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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303 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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304 rebellious | |
adj.造反的,反抗的,难控制的 | |
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305 professing | |
声称( profess的现在分词 ); 宣称; 公开表明; 信奉 | |
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306 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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307 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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308 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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309 syllogistic | |
adj.三段论法的,演绎的,演绎性的 | |
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310 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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311 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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312 equilibrium | |
n.平衡,均衡,相称,均势,平静 | |
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313 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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314 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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315 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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316 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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317 orator | |
n.演说者,演讲者,雄辩家 | |
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318 revels | |
n.作乐( revel的名词复数 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉 | |
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319 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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320 circumscribing | |
v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的现在分词 );划定…范围;限制;限定 | |
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321 imprisoned | |
下狱,监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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322 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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323 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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324 inversion | |
n.反向,倒转,倒置 | |
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325 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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326 infinity | |
n.无限,无穷,大量 | |
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327 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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328 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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329 overthrown | |
adj. 打翻的,推倒的,倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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330 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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331 expatiated | |
v.详述,细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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332 quench | |
vt.熄灭,扑灭;压制 | |
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333 mutation | |
n.变化,变异,转变 | |
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334 vicissitude | |
n.变化,变迁,荣枯,盛衰 | |
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335 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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336 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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337 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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338 sedater | |
adj.镇定的( sedate的比较级 );泰然的;不慌不忙的(常用于名词前);宁静的 | |
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339 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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340 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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341 serenity | |
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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342 decomposition | |
n. 分解, 腐烂, 崩溃 | |
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343 reconstruction | |
n.重建,再现,复原 | |
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344 ethical | |
adj.伦理的,道德的,合乎道德的 | |
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345 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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346 attains | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的第三人称单数 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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347 descends | |
v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 );下去;下降;下斜 | |
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348 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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349 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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350 transcended | |
超出或超越(经验、信念、描写能力等)的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 ); 优于或胜过… | |
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351 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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352 mooted | |
adj.未决定的,有争议的,有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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353 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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354 abiding | |
adj.永久的,持久的,不变的 | |
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355 juxtaposition | |
n.毗邻,并置,并列 | |
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356 exempt | |
adj.免除的;v.使免除;n.免税者,被免除义务者 | |
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357 circumscribed | |
adj.[医]局限的:受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 );划定…范围;限制;限定 | |
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358 accounting | |
n.会计,会计学,借贷对照表 | |
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359 decomposed | |
已分解的,已腐烂的 | |
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360 unemployed | |
adj.失业的,没有工作的;未动用的,闲置的 | |
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361 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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362 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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363 legitimately | |
ad.合法地;正当地,合理地 | |
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364 elucidation | |
n.说明,阐明 | |
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365 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
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366 collateral | |
adj.平行的;旁系的;n.担保品 | |
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367 transcending | |
超出或超越(经验、信念、描写能力等)的范围( transcend的现在分词 ); 优于或胜过… | |
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368 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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369 parity | |
n.平价,等价,比价,对等 | |
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370 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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371 ambiguity | |
n.模棱两可;意义不明确 | |
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372 versatility | |
n.多才多艺,多样性,多功能 | |
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373 jointly | |
ad.联合地,共同地 | |
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374 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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375 nexus | |
n.联系;关系 | |
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376 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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377 subjectivity | |
n.主观性(主观主义) | |
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378 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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379 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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380 originality | |
n.创造力,独创性;新颖 | |
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381 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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382 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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383 mosaic | |
n./adj.镶嵌细工的,镶嵌工艺品的,嵌花式的 | |
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384 masonry | |
n.砖土建筑;砖石 | |
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385 contingent | |
adj.视条件而定的;n.一组,代表团,分遣队 | |
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386 stoics | |
禁欲主义者,恬淡寡欲的人,不以苦乐为意的人( stoic的名词复数 ) | |
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387 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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388 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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389 recherche | |
adj.精选的;罕有的 | |
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390 impede | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,阻止 | |
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391 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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392 embodies | |
v.表现( embody的第三人称单数 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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393 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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394 sedulously | |
ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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395 ridicules | |
n.嘲笑( ridicule的名词复数 );奚落;嘲弄;戏弄v.嘲笑,嘲弄,奚落( ridicule的第三人称单数 ) | |
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396 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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397 perennial | |
adj.终年的;长久的 | |
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398 fables | |
n.寓言( fable的名词复数 );神话,传说 | |
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399 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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400 maligned | |
vt.污蔑,诽谤(malign的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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401 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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402 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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403 intensified | |
v.(使)增强, (使)加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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404 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
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405 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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406 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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407 rectification | |
n. 改正, 改订, 矫正 | |
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408 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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409 redress | |
n.赔偿,救济,矫正;v.纠正,匡正,革除 | |
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410 vindication | |
n.洗冤,证实 | |
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411 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
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412 sterility | |
n.不生育,不结果,贫瘠,消毒,无菌 | |
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413 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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414 modifications | |
n.缓和( modification的名词复数 );限制;更改;改变 | |
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415 eclecticism | |
n.折衷主义 | |
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416 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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417 rigidly | |
adv.刻板地,僵化地 | |
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418 pregnancy | |
n.怀孕,怀孕期 | |
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419 remodelling | |
v.改变…的结构[形状]( remodel的现在分词 ) | |
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420 tersely | |
adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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421 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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422 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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423 solvent | |
n.溶剂;adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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424 propounder | |
n.提议者,建议者,[法] 提出遗嘱者 | |
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425 analogous | |
adj.相似的;类似的 | |
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426 collapsed | |
adj.倒塌的 | |
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427 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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428 resuscitation | |
n.复活 | |
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429 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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430 dissection | |
n.分析;解剖 | |
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431 concurrence | |
n.同意;并发 | |
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432 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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433 inexplicably | |
adv.无法说明地,难以理解地,令人难以理解的是 | |
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434 superseded | |
[医]被代替的,废弃的 | |
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435 impeaching | |
v.控告(某人)犯罪( impeach的现在分词 );弹劾;对(某事物)怀疑;提出异议 | |
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436 teleology | |
n.目的论 | |
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437 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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438 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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439 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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440 aspiration | |
n.志向,志趣抱负;渴望;(语)送气音;吸出 | |
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441 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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442 malevolent | |
adj.有恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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443 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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444 implicitly | |
adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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445 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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446 adherents | |
n.支持者,拥护者( adherent的名词复数 );党羽;徒子徒孙 | |
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447 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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448 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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449 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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450 impersonal | |
adj.无个人感情的,与个人无关的,非人称的 | |
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451 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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452 consolidated | |
a.联合的 | |
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453 scantily | |
adv.缺乏地;不充足地;吝啬地;狭窄地 | |
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454 diffused | |
散布的,普及的,扩散的 | |
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455 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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456 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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457 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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458 vicissitudes | |
n.变迁,世事变化;变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 );盛衰兴废 | |
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459 deflected | |
偏离的 | |
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460 lapsing | |
v.退步( lapse的现在分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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461 dexterously | |
adv.巧妙地,敏捷地 | |
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462 mythology | |
n.神话,神话学,神话集 | |
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463 evolutionary | |
adj.进化的;演化的,演变的;[生]进化论的 | |
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464 increments | |
n.增长( increment的名词复数 );增量;增额;定期的加薪 | |
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465 hybrid | |
n.(动,植)杂种,混合物 | |
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466 suffrages | |
(政治性选举的)选举权,投票权( suffrage的名词复数 ) | |
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467 reactionary | |
n.反动者,反动主义者;adj.反动的,反动主义的,反对改革的 | |
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468 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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469 commingling | |
v.混合,掺和,合并( commingle的现在分词 ) | |
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470 deluges | |
v.使淹没( deluge的第三人称单数 );淹没;被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没;穷于应付 | |
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471 catastrophes | |
n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 );灾难;不幸事件;困难 | |
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472 geologists | |
地质学家,地质学者( geologist的名词复数 ) | |
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473 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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474 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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475 naturalists | |
n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 );(文学艺术的)自然主义者 | |
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476 impedes | |
阻碍,妨碍,阻止( impede的第三人称单数 ) | |
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477 zoology | |
n.动物学,生态 | |
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478 invertebrate | |
n.无脊椎动物 | |
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479 plausibly | |
似真地 | |
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480 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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481 eloquently | |
adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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482 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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483 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
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484 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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485 emancipation | |
n.(从束缚、支配下)解放 | |
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486 conciliation | |
n.调解,调停 | |
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