Very different feelings are inspired by this characteristic fact of modern life. To some it seems that this melting of the rigid14 framework of traditions is a welcome sign of spring and growth: that a long winter, which had slowed the blood of the earth and retarded15 the development of civilisation16, is over at last, and little, shapeless, promising17 shoots of new ideals are rising from the loosened soil. To others it seems as if the binding18 fabric19 of our civilisation were weakened and we were in danger of returning to barbarism. Surely those old traditions did hold together the structure of our civilisation? And surely it is impossible to replace in a few generations the links of a planet-wide human society? The shades of dead Memphis and Babylon and Nineveh, of Athens and Rome and Bagdad, of Venice and Genoa and Florence, pass before their anxious eyes. In each case, they remind us, this same moral, social, and intellectual restlessness preceded death.
The inevitable20 specialism of our age adds to the confusion. Life is a connected whole, yet neither research nor reform can now be other than sectional. We devote ourselves to a candid21 study of some particular reform, and we find it a thoroughly22 reasonable proposal, a deduction23 from principles that we are bound to admit. But we have not had leisure to discover the indisputable principles of other reforms; and, when we hear the demand of change and progress rising on one side after another—in the Church, the State, the Home, the School, and so on—we remark sententiously that rebellion is becoming a fashion, that our generation is getting feverish or neurotic24, that we must insist on authority somewhere. We repeat plausible25 phrases about the decay of respect and the wisdom of the race. We fasten on symptoms of disorder26—without inquiring very closely whether the disorder is new or has been recently aggravated—and we conclude that conservatism is a social duty: that, at all events, we will admit reform only by the inch. We fancy ourselves the guardians27 of the palladium.
Quite apart from purely28 selfish motives29, some of the closest observers of our age do differ radically30 in diagnosis31 and prescription32. The same movements are symptoms of health to one man, symptoms of disease to another. Take the enlargement of divorce, the decay of clerical authority, the industrial revolt, or the rebellion of women. There seems to be no common ground left on which the observers may meet with any hope of agreement. The old religious and political standards will now hopelessly divide any roomful of educated men and women. You propose, perhaps, to fall back on moral standards—the ground on which “all reasonable people” unite—and someone quotes against you half a dozen of the most brilliant writers of Europe and America. Hopes and lamentations, inspired by precisely33 the same facts of life, mingle34 confusedly in our literature, and men and women of large heart and little leisure seem to be condemned35 to a sterile36 perplexity or a selfish absorption in business and pleasure. What, at all events, is the meaning or purpose of life? And how is this spreading rebellion related to it?
First let us examine the grounds of the very distressing37 forecasts of the Conservative. In the vast majority of cases that are worth examining one will find that the pessimism38 has not very firm foundations. Your dismal39 prophet is usually a man with an ancient gospel which we are discarding, or a new gospel which does not attract us. The appeal to the modern world, he realises, must be utilitarian40: he must show us that, without him, we perish. So he recklessly heaps up before our eyes statistics of crime and consumption and lunacy and alcohol: he makes weird41 and totally inaccurate42 statements about France or the United States or some other country: he marshals the shades of dead empires—which seem to have died of a wonderful complication of modern maladies—before us with appropriate rhetoric43.
Now to this kind of conservatism, which says that we are decaying, I reply that, on every positive test of national health, we are more flourishing than we ever were before. Dark as the earth is, it was never brighter than it is to-day, or more full of promise for the morrow. The war is not inconsistent with this general statement, as I will show later. A failure to advance in one direction does not alter the fact that we have advanced in a hundred others; and the gross behaviour of one nation does not destroy the gain that half a dozen other nations were ready to behave with a new decency44 in warfare45. As to that “lesson of history” which is stridently read to us by men and women whose command of history is not otherwise conspicuous46, I would remind them that the civilisation of dead empires always reached its height just before, or at the time when, they began to decay. Does anyone suggest that we ought not further to develop our civilisation lest we also decay? However, I have sufficiently47 discussed elsewhere this nonsense about “laws of history”; and I will show later that these older empires decayed, not because of their high development of intellect and fine sentiment, which leads to revolt, but from the natural defect of those very institutions which our conservatives defend.
We are not decaying. England is, for every class of its citizens, an immeasurably finer place to live in than it was a hundred years ago. I speak on the strength of a rigorous comparison of the moral and social life of England a century ago with that of modern England, but I cannot give the facts here. Let it suffice to make plain that I have no sympathy with pessimists48 and preachers of penance49 and austerity, of any school. The world improves, and improves more rapidly than it ever did before. What stirs one’s impatience50 is the consciousness that we could, and do not, move with infinitely51 greater speed: that we tolerate abuses and shams52 which insult our intelligence and mock our professions of humanity.
What, then, are the grounds of the optimistic view of this widespread revolt? Let us admit that conservatism, in the sense of an attitude of caution, is a virtue53. We would not try unknown drugs on the life of an individual, and we ought not to apply untried recipes to the life of forty million people. Yet it is precisely from this medical world that we gather valuable hints of progress. By two centuries of sober and heroic labour the physician has brought the greater part of our maladies under control. He would tell you, in private, that he has a hope of eventually being able to check all disease and prolong life. The laissez-faire attitude is unknown in medical science. It is unknown in our technical and commercial worlds. We have made stupendous progress, not by conserving54, but by innovating55: not asking if a machine or a system worked well, but if we could devise a better. In science—in all on which we pride ourselves in modern civilisation—we have followed the progressive principle: we have cultivated revolt. Since we began to do so, we have raised the level of our civilisation in each generation.
It is therefore not surprising that many are asking whether we ought not to extend the progressive principle to our religions, moralities, politics, economic systems, schools, domestic and civic56 and social traditions. It is, in other words, quite natural that there should be a demand for, not one reform only, but a hundred reforms, in modern life. We are justly, wisely proud of what is distinctive57 and superior in our civilisation: advance, better organisation58, economy of waste, greater efficiency. The mystery is that so many would restrict this improvement to what they call the “lower” material departments of life, and keep a strict guard against the reformer at the frontiers of their spiritual or political world. The modern rebellion is a very logical effort to apply these very successful principles to as much of life as is susceptible59 of improvement.
This effort, further, coincides with the quite dominant60 and characteristic note of modern culture: evolution. We forget sometimes that until half a century ago Europe was oppressed by an entirely61 wrong view of the earth’s resources. Plato put a philosophic62 anathema63 on the earth. This material mass, he said, was a barren thing. Order, truth, beauty, love had to come to it, in fitful gleams, from a world beyond, over which man had no control. We know now that Plato was wrong. Order, truth, beauty, and love have developed on the earth—they are “sublunary” things—and man can control their sources and enlarge their proportions. They do not properly make men great: men make them great. They are as surely under our direction as are applied64 science and commerce and the franchise65. We can cultivate them as we now cultivate pansies or sheep. It depends on us if lies and disorder and dishonour66 are to linger among us, or if truth and justice and beauty are to prevail.
Again therefore it is quite natural that we should hear a demand for a more extensive use of these powers of ours. The ships and ploughs and illuminants of a hundred years ago were made by the same men, or the same generations of men, as the religions and polities and moralities of the time. Why assume that the wisdom of the race was almost infallible in its spiritual and more difficult creations, but capable of enormous improvement on the material side? Conservatism, as anything more than an attitude of caution and prudence67, has not a plausible air.
It is well also to regard the essential or characteristic line of human evolution. Apart from a few who are caught by a transient attempt to glorify68 instinct, we agree that the development of intelligence is one of the main sources of progress. Now this great and general awakening69 of intelligence in recent decades was bound to lead to a good deal of challenging of old traditions. That was precisely why the grandfathers of our bishops70 and peers opposed it. This higher intelligence of the race is now assisted in its decisions by a vastly greater and more accurate knowledge of man and the universe than our grandparents had; and the cheapening of literature dimly conveys this knowledge to millions who were left out of account when the traditional maps of life were drafted. The artisan discusses economics and theology. The Tonga Islander works out mathematical problems. I met a pure-blooded negro, with a European degree in philosophy, who told me that he had been forced to resign his chair in an African Mohammedan college because of his advanced ideas! Once I discussed with a group of miners industrial questions and religion from twelve to three in the morning, over pots of beer, in a little inn on the west coast of New Zealand, a hundred miles from anything like a town.
It is quite impossible for this spreading and better informed intelligence to bow humbly72 to the ideas of an earlier generation. It is going to think for itself, at all events. The old traditions must be revised throughout. Revision is not particularly dangerous except to errors. And already we have discovered that our political and religious and social oracles73 have been teaching a good deal of error. We begin to suspect that many things the divine right of kings and the eternal torment74 of the wicked may not be strictly75 accurate. We had better reconsider all our ways of living.
The second permanent strain of human evolution is the development of fine sentiment. The notion that the world is becoming more preponderantly intellectual, and that progress along our present lines means a limitation of sentiment, is inaccurate. We are working toward a healthy equilibrium76. Sentimental77 people—those in whom a starving of intellect or disuse of muscle has surcharged the nervous system with morbid78 energy—will become more balanced, more intellectual. Ancient phrases and modern shibboleths79 will not be able to induce in them an instinctive80 warmth or agitation81: they will have to pass the bar of reason before they reach what one might call the executive department of personality. But sentiment—deep and healthy feeling—has a precious use in life. The development of fine sentiment is as necessary as the cultivation82 of reason to the advance of man and of civilisation. We find this illustrated83 in all the older civilisations when they reach their highest point. We are picking up this strain of development to-day, and, since civilisation is now too widely diffused84 ever to perish again, we may assume that it will continue. Now this finer sentiment of our time demands the revision of our traditions and institutions no less imperiously than our higher intelligence does. We cannot leave behind the callousness85 and brutality86 of the Middle Ages and at the same time retain medieval practices. Intellectually and emotionally we are improving, and we must expect that, as our finer powers grow, there will be an increasing demand for revision and reconstruction88. As Mr. Watson finely says:
“Guests of the ages, at tomorrow’s door
Why shrink we? The long track behind us lies,
Bidding us enter; and I count him wise
Who loves so well man’s noble memories
He needs must love man’s nobler hopes yet more.”
This is, I think, a correct analysis of the innovating spirit of modern times. These general considerations to which it is due are quite beyond discussion. One feels that one is almost perpetrating platitudes90 in describing them. In fact, we would to-day find only a negligible number of people who oppose progress and innovation altogether. They usually oppose it in one or two departments of life, and quite warmly applaud it in others. A Socialist-Ritualist clergyman, for instance, fiercely demands advance in the economic field, yet fences his own department of life with the most rigorous warnings against innovating trespassers. A Rationalist-Individualist feels that the Church is the most obvious and urgent field for innovation, and at the same time guards his economic world against it with a flaming sword. A Suffragist pours fiery92 scorn on our obstinate93 conservatism in regard to the franchise, and then discovers an even more obstinate and entirely sacred conservatism when other women claim something more than political emancipation94. It is this very general sectarianism which compels us to review the philosophy of revolt. These principles apply to the whole of life. All our institutions must be critically examined. The searchlight will not injure them if they are sound.
But how comes this sweetly reasonable philosophy to be converted into that passion for reform, that mordant95 and exasperating96 attack on institutions, which gives a special complexion97 to the literature of our time? For precisely the same reason as the invisible electric current leaps into incandescence98 when it passes through the sluggish99 particles of the filament100 of carbon or tungsten: resistance. The old faith is growing dim in our minds, and we have a suspicion that the thousands of men and women who, each night, terminate a life of pain or struggle or burden, wilt101 never see the sun rise again, on this or any other planet. We know that every decade in which we put off, with worn and hollow phrases, the abandonment of old errors, sees another generation pass away with just the same scars and traces of pain as those which scored the hearts of the dead two, and four, and six thousand years ago. We are vividly102 conscious that, quite apart from the myriads103 whose lives were embittered104 by poverty, or war, or a galling105 marriage-yoke, or the tyranny of some old tradition, there are further and vaster myriads who, whatever comfort they knew, might have been far happier, and now the sun has gone down on them for ever. There is real and very serious ground for impatience. The acreage of squalor and misery106 and grossness is still appalling107, and on every land lies the crushing burden of militarism; and this fearful visitation of war reminds us of the incalculable periodic cost of our folly108. The soil of the planet is wet with blood and tears, and a great part of this inhuman109 rain might be arrested. Much has been done: it is just that which stings. You cannot look back on the darkness from which the race has issued without perceiving that man has the power to transform the face of the earth: without entertaining a reasoned and coldly intellectual conviction that a day will yet dawn on this planet when laughter, as of children on May morning, will ring from pole to pole, and life, for all its work, will be a holiday. And when this reasoned and just belief encounters the sullen110 or selfish indifference111 of men and women to their creative power, their insensitiveness to the evils that they or their fellows endure, it glows and spits fire.
It is quite easy to apologise for strong language: much easier than to justify112 the general lack of it. And this impatience cannot be rebuked113 by reminding us that the remedy of some of our ills is very obscure; because the majority of people are indifferent to the very idea of reform. They shoulder burdens which they might at any moment lay aside for ever. Some of the greatest reforms that are pressed on us are not obscured by any serious controversy114. Yet in every civilised nation the mass of the people are inert115 and indifferent. Some even make a pretence116 of justifying117 their inertness118. Why, they ask, should we stir at all? Is there such a thing as a duty to improve the earth? What is the meaning or purpose of life? Or has it a purpose?
One generally finds that this kind of reasoning is merely a piece of controversial athletics120 or a thin excuse for idleness. People tell you that the conflict of science and religion—it would be better to say, the conflict of modern culture and ancient traditions—has robbed life of its plain significance. The men who, like Tolstoi, seriously urge this point fail to appreciate the modern outlook on life. Certainly modern culture—science, history, philosophy, and art—finds no purpose in life: that is to say, no purpose eternally fixed121 and to be discovered by man. A great chemist said a few years ago that he could imagine “a series of lucky accidents”—the chance blowing by the wind of certain chemicals into pools on the primitive122 earth—accounting for the first appearance of life; and one might not unjustly sum up the influences which have lifted those early germs to the level of conscious beings as a similar series of lucky accidents.
But it is sheer affectation to say that this demoralises us. If there is no purpose impressed on the universe, or prefixed to the development of humanity, it follows only that humanity may choose its own purpose and set up its own goal; and the most elementary sense of order will teach us that this choice must be social, not merely individual. In whatever measure ill-controlled individuals may yield to personal impulses or attractions, the aim of the race must be a collective aim. I do not mean an austere123 demand of self-sacrifice from the individual, but an adjustment—as genial124 and generous as possible—of individual variations for common good. Otherwise life becomes discordant125 and futile126, and the pain and waste react on each individual. So we raise again, in the twentieth century, the old question of “the greatest good,” which men discussed in the Stoa Poikile and the suburban127 groves128 of Athens, in the cool atria of patrician129 mansions130 on the Palatine and the Pincian, in the Museum at Alexandria, and the schools which Omar Khayyám frequented, in the straw-strewn schools of the Middle Ages and the opulent chambers131 of Cosmo de’ Medici.
We answer, as men did in all those earlier debates, according to our temperament132. One says culture, another character, another happiness, another pleasure, another efficiency. This discussion is often a mere119 exercise of wit, and very often we use a quite arbitrary standard in fixing what is “best,” or the greatest good. Probably the modern mind will put to itself the plain question: “What is the best purpose for the race, in its own interest, to adopt?” As we are not now clear that there are any other interests to be consulted, this is the obvious form of the question. And when we do put it in this form, the old conflict begins to disappear. We see that a comprehensive ideal, embracing all the classical answers, commends itself. We want more—we want as much as possible—culture, character, happiness, pleasure, and efficiency. We want a quicker and fuller development of man’s highest and richest resources. But, if you look closely into it, there is one ultimate and commanding element in this broad ideal. It is happiness. Culture is a necessity of the race and luxury of the few. Character is supremely133 important, but you have now to prove to men that it is important. We do not bow any longer to arbitrary commands and categorical imperatives134 and Stoic135 laws. We have to be convinced that the cultivation of a high type of character will lessen136 suffering and brighten the earth. Pleasure, again, is, as Epicurus insisted, only a part of a large ideal of happiness. There is, in fact, no ground on which you can appeal to the mass of men to-day in favour of cultivation or idealism except this ground that it makes for greater happiness: and on that ground you may safely appeal to the whole race.
Sometimes, when you ascend137 the slopes of a range of hills,—the idea occurred to me during a walk from Chamonix to Montanvert,—the mists close round you, and the guiding peaks and contours are lost. Then, perhaps, some point breaks through the clouds, and you stride on confidently. This must apply to the most sceptical or nebulous mind of our generation. The old dream of a co-operative effort to improve life, to bring happiness to as many minds of mortals as we can reach, shines above all the mists of the day. Through the ruins of creeds138 and philosophies, which have for ages disdained139 it, we are retracing140 our steps toward that height—just as the Athenians did two thousand years ago. It rests on no metaphysic, no sacred legend, no disputable tradition—nothing that scepticism can corrode141 or advancing knowledge undermine. Its foundations are the fundamental and unchanging impulses of our nature. Its features are as clear and attractive to the child as to the philosopher. Philosophers will, of course, declare it superficial; but we may remind them that all their supposed deeper probing of reality, from Pythagoras to Bergson, has ended in a confusion of contradictory142 guesses. Churchmen will declare with horror that it is “materialistic143”; and we may remind them that for fifteen centuries they have taught Europe to place its highest good in happiness. If the happiness they promised is getting doubtful, we make sure of what we can. In truth, however, no nobler aim ever inspired action, and none is so fitted to appeal to modern man. It is, in fact, the mainspring of nearly all the progressive activity of our time. The more doubtful all else becomes, the more determined144 men and women are to be happy in this world. Thrones and creeds and institutions, even moral codes, are brought to judgment145 to-day before that ideal. It is more profitable to judge the living than the dead.
This ideal is the chief inspiration of the rebellious146 temper of our age. The revolt which burns in so much of the abler literature of our time is an unselfish revolt, or non-selfish revolt: it is an outcome of that larger spirit which conceives the self to be a part of the general social organism, and it is therefore neither egoistic nor altruistic147. It finds a sanction in the new intelligence, and an inspiration in the finer sentiments, of our generation, but the glow which chiefly illumines it is the glow of the great vision of a happier earth. It speaks of the claims of truth and justice, and assails148 untruth and injustice150, for these are elemental principles of social life; but it appeals more confidently to the warmer sympathy which is linking the scattered151 children of the race, and it urges all to co-operate in the restriction152 of suffering and the creation of happiness. The advance guard of the race, the men and women in whom mental alertness is associated with fine feeling, cry that they have reached Pisgah’s slope; and in increasing numbers men and women are pressing on to see if it be really the Promised Land. That is the spirit of the reform-movement of our times. Popes anathematise our age, and the clergy91 of all sects153 bemoan154 its “materialism,” yet it is exulting155 in a wider and higher idealism than any that ever yet stirred the heart of man. For we now know from what dark and brutal87 origins we came, and we feel that, if we advance only as we are advancing, we may reach any height that any prophet ever yet saw in his visions.
It is very difficult to avoid what seem to be rhetorical phrases in describing this age of ours: the age which some profess9 to find prosy and materialistic in comparison with the earlier age when a handful of plethoric156 landowners ruled England, and little children worked in filthy157 rooms for twelve hours a day, and cut-throats, in most charming costumes, slew158 each other in the fields of London. I have not the least desire to use rhetoric; I do but express my feeling, and what I take to be the feeling of “advanced” people generally, as it comes to me. But in this poetry there is the solidity of scientific prose. Some time ago I sailed slowly toward Teneriffe from the south. Eighty miles away, on a fine morning, the summit of the Peak showed its delicate contour in the clouds, hardly distinguishable from them. We thought it an illusion, a simulating cloud, because far below the summit the blue sky seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon. The Peak floated in the air. But, as we drew nearer, the blue band below it grew thinner, and at last it disclosed the massive bulk of the supporting mountain.
Speaking as a sober student of history and science, I say that this dream of a brighter and happier earth rests on no less solid a foundation. We see primitive man, blindly, and with infinite slowness, move towards civilisation: we see civilisation slowly, with many a tragic159 interruption, advance toward the modern age: and now we see the pace quicken enormously, and we find a new consciousness of power and a deliberate aim at higher things bear the race onward160. The reformer’s belief in the future is a scientific deduction from the past.
The failure of the mass of people to co-operate in the realisation of this ideal is due, not to indolence or stupidity, but to the obsessing161 influence of the old traditions. They choke the fires of the mind: they make us insensible to the real enormity of a great deal of our social arrangements. Hence it is that the reformer’s appeal is cast so frequently in a negative or aggressive form. The most powerful thing in our world is, not truth, but untruth; and the most important thing in the world is to assail149 it. “Great is truth, and it will prevail,” said an ancient writer. But the civilisation which gave birth to that sentiment died, and all its promising young truths perished with it, and Europe fell under the rule of lies for more than a thousand years. Untruth is millennia162 older than truth. Its roots run deep into the flesh of the heart, while the rootlets of truth are struggling for a frail163 clasp in the intellect. Great is untruth, and it will prevail—unless it is attacked unceasingly. No untruth ever died a natural death. Being the sacred truth of yesterday, it is usually entrenched164 in powerful corporations, embodied165 in the law and life of nations, enshrined in the tenacious166 affections of the millions. At one time you incurred167 sentence of death if you challenged it: now you incur168 slander71, misrepresentation, and mockery. The race has been made docile169 to it by a kind of negative Eugenic—perhaps we ought to say Cacogenic—selection. Yet nearly everything which the majority venerate170 as truth to-day began its career as heresy171 and will end it as lie.
So the first task of the well-wisher of mankind is to distinguish truth from untruth in our traditions. The story of man is a long story of the tyranny of consecrated172 shams, with occasional intervals173 of rebellion and advance to a higher stage. Rebellion is the salt of the earth. There comes a time in the history of every civilisation when the mind of a few rises high enough to survey critically that stream of traditions in which the majority lazily float. Then comes the inevitable revolt; hence the close kinship which we feel across the ages with “the Preacher,” with Socrates, with Omar Khayyám, with Erasmus, with Molière. We are at the same stage of evolution, with the difference that we moderns have an immense mass of knowledge of history and prehistory to aid us in testing the value of our traditions. Already we have discarded scores of old dogmas: in religion, politics, education, law, and every department of our common life. It would be folly to attempt to fence off any province of our life from this critical scrutiny174. And since we obstinately175 retain many traditions which a very high proportion of properly educated people regard as unsound and mischievous176, since these traditions are the chief obstacle to the advance of the race, one of the most pressing needs of our time is, surely, a stern campaign for the abolition177 of this tyranny of shams.
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embody
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| vt.具体表达，使具体化；包含，收录 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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rumbling
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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doctrines
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| 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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persistent
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resounds
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的第三人称单数 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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retarded
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| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
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civilisation
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promising
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binding
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fabric
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inevitable
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candid
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thoroughly
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deduction
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neurotic
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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guardians
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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29
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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30
radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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31
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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32
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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33
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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34
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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35
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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36
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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37
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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38
pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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39
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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40
utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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41
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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42
inaccurate
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| adj.错误的，不正确的，不准确的 | |
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43
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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44
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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45
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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46
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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47
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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48
pessimists
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|
| n.悲观主义者( pessimist的名词复数 ) | |
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49
penance
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|
| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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50
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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51
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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52
shams
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|
| 假象( sham的名词复数 )； 假货； 虚假的行为（或感情、言语等）； 假装…的人 | |
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53
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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54
conserving
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| v.保护，保藏，保存( conserve的现在分词 ) | |
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55
innovating
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|
| v.改革，创新( innovate的现在分词 )；引入（新事物、思想或方法）， | |
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56
civic
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|
| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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57
distinctive
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|
| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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58
organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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59
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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60
dominant
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|
| 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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61
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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62
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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63
anathema
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|
| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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64
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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65
franchise
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| n.特许，特权，专营权，特许权 | |
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66
dishonour
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|
| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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67
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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68
glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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69
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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70
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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71
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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72
humbly
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|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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73
oracles
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| 神示所( oracle的名词复数 )； 神谕； 圣贤； 哲人 | |
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74
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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75
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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76
equilibrium
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|
| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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77
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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78
morbid
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|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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79
shibboleths
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|
| n.（党派、集团等的）准则( shibboleth的名词复数 )；教条；用语；行话 | |
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80
instinctive
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|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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81
agitation
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|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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82
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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83
illustrated
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|
| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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84
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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85
callousness
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86
brutality
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|
| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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87
brutal
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|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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88
reconstruction
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|
| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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89
throbs
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| 体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
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90
platitudes
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|
| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
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91
clergy
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|
| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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92
fiery
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|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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93
obstinate
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|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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94
emancipation
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|
| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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95
mordant
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|
| adj.讽刺的；尖酸的 | |
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96
exasperating
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|
| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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97
complexion
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|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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98
incandescence
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| n.白热，炽热；白炽 | |
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99
sluggish
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|
| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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100
filament
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| n.细丝；长丝；灯丝 | |
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101
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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102
vividly
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|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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103
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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104
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
galling
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|
| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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106
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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107
appalling
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|
| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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108
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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109
inhuman
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|
| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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110
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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111
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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112
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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113
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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115
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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116
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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117
justifying
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|
| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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118
inertness
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| n.不活泼，没有生气；惰性；惯量 | |
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119
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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120
athletics
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| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
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121
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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122
primitive
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|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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123
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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124
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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125
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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126
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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127
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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128
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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129
patrician
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|
| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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130
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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131
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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132
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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133
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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134
imperatives
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| n.必要的事( imperative的名词复数 )；祈使语气；必须履行的责任 | |
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135
stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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136
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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137
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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138
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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139
disdained
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|
| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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140
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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141
corrode
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|
| v.使腐蚀，侵蚀，破害；v.腐蚀，被侵蚀 | |
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142
contradictory
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|
| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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143
materialistic
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|
| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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144
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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145
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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146
rebellious
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|
| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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147
altruistic
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| adj.无私的，为他人着想的 | |
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148
assails
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| v.攻击( assail的第三人称单数 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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149
assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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150
injustice
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|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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151
scattered
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|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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152
restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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153
sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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154
bemoan
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| v.悲叹，哀泣，痛哭；惋惜，不满于 | |
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155
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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156
plethoric
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| adj.过多的，多血症的 | |
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157
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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158
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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159
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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obsessing
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| v.时刻困扰( obsess的现在分词 )；缠住；使痴迷；使迷恋 | |
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162
millennia
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| n.一千年，千禧年 | |
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163
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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164
entrenched
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| adj.确立的，不容易改的(风俗习惯) | |
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165
embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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166
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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167
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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168
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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169
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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170
venerate
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| v.尊敬，崇敬，崇拜 | |
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171
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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172
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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173
intervals
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| 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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174
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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175
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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176
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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177
abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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