Second, it was already rumoured7 that man was doomed8 not only to failure but to insincerity. He was charged with being at heart careless of everything but the satisfaction of crude animal instincts. He valued his ideals, we were told, only in so far as they afforded ‘symbolical fulfilment’ to his primitive9 cravings.
Third, and most unsettling, if this view of human nature were true, all judgments11 of ethical13 good and evil were vitiated. For whenever we judged anything to be objectively good, our value-judgment12 was determined14 (it was said,) not by the objective character and relations of the thing itself as a whole, but by some superficial and irrelevant15 feature which happened to stimulate16 instinctive17 or childhood cravings. Thus the considered judgments from which the ethical distinction was derived18 appeared invalid19 as data for ethics21. And this view, that the distinction between good and bad was, after all, meaningless, was also strongly suggested by the chaotic22 state of ethical theory itself. For some writers defined ‘good’ in one way, some in others; and some said it was indefinable; and some explained it in such a modern and ‘scientific’ manner that they explained it away. Thus the very distinction on which any ideal must be based, the distinction which religion and common sense alike had assumed to be objective and universal, was beginning to seem arbitrary. All causes, all ideals, all obligations and enthusiasms, were suspect in the suspicion that ‘goodness’ itself was, after all, meaningless.
Such were the three doubts, cosmological, psychological, and ethical, that were creeping into the minds of thoughtful persons even in that distant age which ended in 1914. To-day they are more prevalent.
Now the first of these questions is perhaps of no great importance. During the rise of modern science, thoughtful persons began to wonder whether the world was really good, bad, or indifferent; or whether it was ‘on our side’ or not. When the more intelligent were as yet only beginning to wake from the dreams of the more na?ve religious orthodoxy, this issue was bound to seem urgent. To-day we are perhaps no nearer an answer than in the days when Huxley first opposed the human to the cosmical; but we are more ready to shelve the question and tackle other matters. For it becomes clear that, if by ‘world’ we mean ‘the whole of being’, the answer must wait until we know something of the real nature of that whole. Moreover, the ultimate fate of our race and our ideals seems now more remote and less important than in the days before we realized the vastness of the future. But if by ‘world’ is meant the physical or ‘natural’ world, we are becoming reconciled to the knowledge that Nature, our ever-fascinating mother, is more resourceful than virtuous24. We begin to cease from looking to her either as a model or as a protagonist. True to the modern fashion in filial piety25, we are prone26 rather to correct than respect her. It is for us, not for her, to say what it is that is good, and to discover if possible whether or not goodness is but a delusion27. As to her maternal28 protection, we are alternately braced29 and grieved to find that we must depend on ourselves alone. But we are no longer appalled30.
The cosmological question thus deserves less attention than perhaps it gets. For, granted that. the good-bad distinction is valid20, Nature, as our intellectual, and moral inferior, must simply be brought to heel, animal that she is. But as to the Whole, whether it is ‘on our side’ or not, how dare we pass judgment on it? For, granted the validity of the ethical distinction, none but a universally informed mind is entitled to judge the universe. It is possible that, though in our ethical distinction we truly grasp a universal principle, yet that which in the cosmical view must be seen to be good is far beyond the appreciative31 powers of our little minds. Much that seemed to Queen Victoria very bad is judged by us to be very good. Yet (though some of us easily forget it), the difference between the Queen’s horizon and our own is perhaps less than the difference between ours and the span of all being. Who are we, that we should judge the heavens by our childish values? Shall we, because the gods neither please us nor make themselves intelligible32 to us, dub33 them insensitive or stupid? Parents, it is said, are justified34 in fulfilling, not merely in pleasing their children. And the gods, if there be such, are to be justified not by the sweets they give us, who indeed are very simple children, but by the judgment of the fully36 enlightened mind, which may (conceivably) be theirs, but very surely is not ours. For these reasons it is as well to leave the cosmological question untouched.
But the other two questions rightly become more insistent37 in the plain man’s mind every year. In the days when the teaching of the churches was accepted at least intellectually by the congregations (and even by the great uncongregated), there was no ethical problem in the plain man’s mind. Spiritual advisers38 told him what was good, and he accepted their verdict, in theory, if not in practice. Love was the good; and the plain man accepted it as the good, not because he saw that it was so, but because the churches said that God had said that it was so.
Even before the war, however, very many had already ceased to take their professed39 religion seriously, even on the side of theory. The startling and bracing40 discoveries of science began to make us incredulous of the old teaching, even if also far too credulous41 of the new. But perhaps the, main effect of science was that it made the old hopes look trite42 and even childish. For the doctrine43 of science was austere44; while the doctrine of the old faith was by now padded over with comfortable devices. Comfort cannot stir us to loyalty45. Thus, while to some the orthodox view was merely unbelievable, to others, though they accepted it as true, it had ceased to be commanding. Consequently, while in some quarters there was a purely46 intellectual scepticism, in others there was a purely emotional disillusionment. Elsewhere these two dissatisfactions were combined. And so the ethical questions began to whisper themselves in many minds. Those who felt most strongly the objective validity of the good-bad distinction but had lost the old faith, craved47 most eagerly an ethical theory not incompatible48 with their new cosmology. Those who were still intuitively convinced that love was the best thing in the world, sought some justification49 other than the word of a God whose existence they were beginning to doubt.
Then came the war. It gave us something large to do and vivid to think. It pushed those doubts from the focus of our attention. Already in the years before the war the only vivid and widespread ideal was nationalism, and patriotism50 was the only compelling religion. The one thing bigger than themselves which most men could both believe in and care for was their ‘country’; and they readily accepted the war as the supreme51 religious rite23 of sacrifice to their romantic god.
It is true, of course, that the motives53 that led men to fight were diverse. Not in all, perhaps not in many, was this strictly54 religious impulse the main factor. Many, no doubt, went simply to stamp out a conflagration55 that seemed to threaten their homes and all whom they loved. Some, on the other hand, went to escape the tyranny of the economic mill; some to escape mere35 boredom56; some to be quit of their families or their friends; some to assert their manhood in the eyes of women. The white feather flicked57 their self-esteem, and drove them to accept without enthusiasm the sacrament imposed by the only living orthodox faith, the faith in nationalism. But these, who fought primarily for their own good name and not for the romantic ideal, would never have been herded58 into khaki had they not assumed that to shirk this ordeal59 was in fact shameful~ Self-pride alone will not force normal persons to swim Niagara or swallow poison. They must feel that the deed is expected of them, and rightly expected. They must expect it of themselves. In fact, they must feel that to serve in the cause really is obligatory60 on all self-respecting persons. They must admit the ‘ought’, even though they fulfil it only for self-pride. Of course, there were many who went to the front for no reason whatever, but in response to herd-suggestion — with no more loyalty than sheep who follow their leader. But how did that suggestion ever come into being? It arose amongst those for whom ‘duty’ was a meaningful word, who judged, however reluctantly, that there is something other than the person of each that has a ‘claim’ on each because of its intrinsic goodness.
Some of us, perhaps, are over cynical61 about the war, or at least about the motives of those who fought. For we incline to forget that, in an age when the spur and the comfortable promises of religious faith were both of them less compelling than of old, when the objectivity of good was doubted and the hope of immortality62 fading, men freely gave themselves for the only ideal which seemed to claim them. As the religious faiths waned63, the national faiths waxed. Traditions of national dignity, righteousness, and might seemed less improbable than the doctrines64 of the churches, and far more vivid. Moreover, patriotism was well within the capacity of the schoolboy culture, which alone was general, even among the educated. For the appeal of nationalism was twofold. It was easily assimilated to our egoism; yet it offered us something to serve, something other than, and greater than, our private selves. This was just what we craved: on the one hand salvation66 for our self-esteem (so crippled in the petty round of life), and on the other hand a clear obligation, a duty of service, however humble67, in a great and vivid cause. Had the war offered satisfaction to one only of these impulses, its hold would have been less constant. But it fulfilled now the one and now the other as our need varied68; and in no mood could we escape it.
Had the peoples been able to take Christianity to heart, they would not have needed the psychical69 ‘release’ afforded by passionate70 nationalism. Their egoism would have found fulfilment in the certainty of eternal salvation; and their loyalty might have found in the Christ-god an object both vivid and universal. But since this could not be; the nation was taken as a substitute, and war as the great rite. And the war, even if it has done nothing else of value, has, I should say, underlined in red two facts of human nature. It has shown, on the one hand, how subtly egoism can disguise itself even from itself, accepting even agony and death for mere pride. But, on the other hand, it has shown that. self-disregarding loyalty is a quite normal capacity of man, and a capacity which can become active even on a superb scale when a clear call comes. ‘Cant71!’ says the sceptic. But is it cant? Looking back to those days, remembering the details of the behaviour of our friends, and for that matter our own heart-searchings, can we deny that each of us was determined to a greater or less extent by the cognition of values in relation to which our private needs were seen to be irrelevant?
But the nation is a sorry substitute for the God of Love; and the war disillusioned72 many. Nationalism, of course, is not yet seriously in decline. Even to-day most of us but seldom and hesitatingly transcend73 it. Indeed, on the fringes of our Western civilization it spreads alarmingly; and now it threatens to inflame74 even the East. But, in the regions where it was born, patriotic75 zeal76 is perhaps tempered slightly. Even Fascism, its most modern and extravagant77 phase, may be regarded as a final, though long-drawn-out paroxysm, the last and hopeless protest of barbarians78, who at heart feel themselves to have been mentally outdistanced. Even if this is too optimistic a view, we may hope that, as the world becomes more and more unified79 culturally, nationalism may be. reduced from a conflagration to a wholesome80 warmth in our hearts.
But the failure (or impending81 failure) of nationalism as a faith, and of the nation as the supreme object of practical loyalty, forces once more on the attention of thoughtful persons those ethical problems which, in a period of urgent action, they had sought to ignore. Those who are consciously troubled about these questions are indeed few; for most folk consider ethical inquiry82 a priggish and futile83 occupation. Yet these questions lurk84 in the background of all minds; and so they tend to get themselves answered inattentively, and to become the secret source of prejudice and savage85 behaviour.
Consider the outstanding movements of the day. Apart from the slow but sure conquests of the intelligence in many fields, the most remarkable86 features of our age are Fascism, Bolshevism, and a recrudescence of the more superstitious87 and preposterous88 ‘religious’ sects89. Fascism is accepted by those who, still paying respect to the older religion of Europe, but finding in nationalism the only commanding ideal, can conceive loyalty only in terms of fear and hate of rival nations and parties. Fascism assumes its ideal uncritically. It also uncritically assumes the validity of the fundamental ethical concept. It offers a faith, and exacts devotion; and therein lies its power. Bolshevism equally makes ethical assumptions: Although it affects to despise ethics and metaphysics, and to reduce obligation to egoism, yet it is evidently felt as a faith, and as an ideal which has an absolute claim on the faithful. Thus in days of widespread disillusionment any ideal, however crude, however rationally indefensible, is felt to be better than no ideal at all.
Both these movements owe their strength in part to a dread90 of doubt that increases as doubt becomes more insistent. Both win adherents91 by satisfying the craving10 for activity in a cause conceived as objectively important. This phobia of uncertainty92 is perhaps also one source of the increase of the cruder kinds of religious fanaticism94. In this case, of course, as in the others, one motive52 is the desire for mere personal salvation, in this world or another; but it can scarcely be questioned that the average fanatic93, of whatever persuasion95, does honestly feel that it is supremely96 important, not merely for him but for the world, that the flood of doubt be dammed, and that his policy be followed as the only means to world-salvation. And thus it happens that an age of increasing scepticism is also an age of increasing fanaticism. Very many persons have desperately97 shut their eyes and swallowed whole whatever comforting or commanding creed98 was available. They have willingly exposed themselves to religious suggestion, or political suggestion, till in time they have attained99 a real, but artificial, state of faith. On the other hand, an increasing number have definitely freed themselves from every kind of theological allegiance; while on the political side also there are signs of a growing disillusionment with established social ideals. Thus in both spheres, religious and political, it is lip-service that wanes100; faith and frank unfaith alike increase.
It is not surprising that in an age of intellectual perplexity men should take refuge either in irrational101 dogma or in a hand-to-mouth pursuit of pleasure. And mere pleasure-seeking is evidently an increasing fever to-day. The old-fashioned, unreasoned restraints are being removed; and there is an unabashed claim to free life, free thought, and even ‘free love’; in short for the free ‘creative’ exercise of all human faculties102. In literature and art, war is waged against authority and restraint. We are familiar with the crusade for spontaneity, instinct, the subconscious103, and with the cult65 of the creative and non-rational ‘life force’, which has been well called’ the dark god ‘. All this is wholesome as a reaction from an age of stuffy104 clothes and stuffy morals. But is freedom an end or a means? To the released captive it indeed seems for a while a sufficient end; and to those who lack pleasures, pleasure seems the end. Yet pleasure grows stale; and an aimless freedom becomes a prison. It is being well proved in these days that a life of mere impulse leads nowhere, and moreover is strangely unsatisfying. In our present disillusionment the only freedom to. be sought is, it seems, a free fling before the crash. Surely it is this conviction of the futility105 of all things that is at the root of our fever to snatch joy before we die.
Some indeed have assumed a very different attitude in the general disillusionment. They have devised a stoical ideal, which, by emancipating107 man from all passing impulses, should enable him to gain a kind of tragic108 triumph over the universe. They have said: ‘Man himself creates the distinction between good and evil. We will take as our ideal (just because it pleases us to do so) freedom from the tyranny of desire, and fearless contemplation of reality.’ Clearly if pessimism109 is intellectually justified, this is the only sane110 attitude. And even if the pessimistic view is mistaken, pessimism is a wholesome error. It was very necessary that we should learn not only the irrationality111 of the older optimisms but also their banality112. The only way to an optimism of finer mood, if it be intellectually possible at all, is perhaps through heartfelt acceptance of pessimism.
What, then, is the most significant feature of our age? Shall we be remembered chiefly for our social conflicts, for our international confusion, for the brilliant adolescence113 of science, or for our disillusionment? These are the features that we, who are immersed in to-day, see most clearly. Yet there is a more memorable114 fact about the modern world, a fact which we scarcely notice. Ours is the age, not simply of disillusionment, but of the Vindication115 of man’s capacity for loyalty even in the teeth of disillusionment. For what has been happening since the days of secure faith? First, when the ancient fear of hell was removed, men were discovered on the whole not less but more responsible. And when later all the old beliefs began to seem legendary116 and even petty, men did not plunge117 into individualism light-heartedly. Desperately they made of individualism itself a kind of topsy-turvy ideal, and tried to be loyal to it; or at the very least they found excuses for it, as being a means to some universal end. But presently they began to tire of it, and to look round for some more commanding object of loyalty. And so to-day, alongside of the old religious objects, and the old uncriticized individualism, thrive the cults118 of nationalism, bolshevism, fascism — movements which, though deeply infused by man’s self-regard, would none of them be what they are, were they not also irradiated by his unquenchable capacity for loyalty. But of these faiths bolshevism is the most glorious example of devotion in disillusionment. Sown in contempt of human nature, it flowered into a self-forgetful enthusiasm by which, in spite of its intellectual wrong-headedness, human nature is vindicated119.
None of these faiths can withstand dispassionate criticism. Each in turn must sooner or later seem incoherent and petty. And so, in conflicting waves of disillusionment and devotion to new objects, and again disillusionment, we live out our stormy age. Never before, perhaps, have the objects of loyalty been subjected to such keen criticism. Never before has loyalty been driven so desperately from object to object in search of that which, of its own nature, can command allegiance. Even when, in the last extremity120, men try to live without any devotion whatever, they prove their essentially121 loyal nature by a sense of futility and guilt122 that they cannot explain away. On the other hand the stoic106, disillusioned with all other objects, is driven to conceive in his own mind an ideal of conduct, and to achieve a precarious123 peace by pretending with all his might that this, which he believes to be a figment of his personal taste, is yet somehow of intrinsic and universal excellence124.
Thus on all hands man’s loyalty is vindicated. But to see that loyalty is a real factor in human nature is not to answer those ancient ethical questions with which all thoughtful persons are confronted to-day. Indeed, the mere prevalence of devotion to causes does not itself prove that loyalty ever is, as it purports125 to be, actually called into being by the intrinsic value of its object, and not merely by some secret and primitive itch126 of the experient himself. Still less is it clear that the ethical distinction between good and bad, on which loyalty claims to rest, is an intelligible distinction. What do we really mean when we speak of things as good and bad absolutely or universally? What, if anything, can we mean intelligibly127 by such phrases? Has ‘good’ ultimately no meaning at all, save ‘good for‘ some conscious being or other? Or is our delight in the goodness of a thing, not prior to its goodness, but consequent on it? And in what sense ‘ought’ a man to act so as to bring goods into being and abolish bads? What does it mean to say that he ought to do so whether he wants to or not, and even that the act itself ought to be done whether anyone admits the obligation or not?
And further if the ethical distinction is not simply a delusion, what kinds of things is it that in this actual world are good, and what bad? And what is it that would be the ideal, the best of all? What is the end for which we all ought to be striving? These latter indeed are the really interesting questions; but clearly the others are more fundamental. And perhaps the true answer to these fundamental ethical questions might turn out to be after all simply that they are meaningless.
Such briefly128 are the well-worn theoretical problems which, I suggest, have to-day become practical problems. Just because no ethical theory is now taken for granted, a sound ethical science is needed, whether its findings be positive or negative. Ethics has not hitherto been a live issue; and so books about ethics have mostly been abstract and remote. Only lately has ethical scepticism been not merely propounded129 but deliberately130 put into practice. Only lately has it begun to break down well-established habits of behaviour. For to-day, while much human conduct is still based on the old assumption of the universality of good and bad, much also springs definitely from the conviction that this distinction is invalid. Now that theoretical differences are carried into practice, our practice becomes more radically131 and bitterly discordant132 than ever before. May our theory in turn be revivified by its new practical import!
Not all of us, indeed, are aware of the ethical problems explicitly133. But all our lives are influenced by the fact that there is no agreement about them; and probably every intelligent person is at some time or other painfully conscious of them. They have, of course, been faced many times in the past, and many times answered in terms of successive cultures. Yet they remain for most of us still unsolved, and we cry out for a solution of them in our modem134 speech. For just as physical science is finding itself no longer able to avoid philosophical135 questions, so politics, social reform, and even private life, are being influenced by doubts whose nature is philosophical. In fact there lurks136 in the background of every mind to-day a profound ethical perplexity.
Ethics is a hackneyed, treacherous137, tedious, and, many would say, a stagnant138 and profitless subject. It offers none of the ceaseless adventures of physics, nor the shocks of psychology139. But to-day we are ‘up against’ ethics whether we will or no. It is an obscure little matter that has somehow to be cleared up, or remain a secret and spreading rot in the foundations of our thought and practice. The trouble has perhaps been that ethics has been too sternly isolated141 as a self-contained science. In the recent somewhat disorderly advance of biology and psychology fierce battles have been fought on the borders of ethics. Some claim that ethics has been annihilated142, others that it has established its sovereign independence. While agreeing with the latter party, I hold that ethics cannot afford to isolate140 itself, but must seek mutually profitable intercourse143 with its neighbours. Biology, psychology, and ethics are certainly distinct sciences,; yet if we would properly understand the principles of any one of them, we must bear in mind the principles of both the others.
In this book, though I shall try to show the bearings of ethics on psychology, my chief aim is to envisage144 in the light of biology and psychology the basic ethical problems themselves. First, however, it will be necessary to consider ethics as an isolated subject, and to form some opinion about various contemporary ethical theories. We shall then be in a position to correlate whatever seems sound in these theories with recent thought in biology and psychology. Thus I hope to get a clearer view of the basic principles of ethics itself.
Problems of the logical nature of ‘good’, and the logical ground of obligation, constitute the more abstract and perhaps the less interesting ethical task. Having come to some opinion on these subjects, we should be able to discuss with more assurance, though only schematically, the concrete character of the ideal implied in the nature of our world. Such a discussion I shall attempt towards the end of this book. And finally, since our subject inevitably145 leads on to metaphysical questions, I shall indulge in some highly speculative146 thought upon the status of ‘good and bad’ in the constitution of the universe.
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1 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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2 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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3 loomed | |
v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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4 outgrow | |
vt.长大得使…不再适用;成长得不再要 | |
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5 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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6 protagonist | |
n.(思想观念的)倡导者;主角,主人公 | |
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7 rumoured | |
adj.谣传的;传说的;风 | |
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8 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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9 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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10 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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11 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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12 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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13 ethical | |
adj.伦理的,道德的,合乎道德的 | |
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14 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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15 irrelevant | |
adj.不恰当的,无关系的,不相干的 | |
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16 stimulate | |
vt.刺激,使兴奋;激励,使…振奋 | |
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17 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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18 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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19 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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20 valid | |
adj.有确实根据的;有效的;正当的,合法的 | |
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21 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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22 chaotic | |
adj.混沌的,一片混乱的,一团糟的 | |
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23 rite | |
n.典礼,惯例,习俗 | |
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24 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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25 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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26 prone | |
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27 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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28 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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29 braced | |
adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 );撑牢;使自己站稳;振作起来 | |
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30 appalled | |
v.使惊骇,使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的;丧胆的 | |
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31 appreciative | |
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32 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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33 dub | |
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34 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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36 fully | |
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37 insistent | |
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38 advisers | |
顾问,劝告者( adviser的名词复数 ); (指导大学新生学科问题等的)指导教授 | |
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39 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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40 bracing | |
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41 credulous | |
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42 trite | |
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43 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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44 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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45 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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47 craved | |
渴望,热望( crave的过去式 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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48 incompatible | |
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49 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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50 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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51 supreme | |
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54 strictly | |
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55 conflagration | |
n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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56 boredom | |
n.厌烦,厌倦,乏味,无聊 | |
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57 flicked | |
(尤指用手指或手快速地)轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 ); (用…)轻挥; (快速地)按开关; 向…笑了一下(或瞥了一眼等) | |
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58 herded | |
群集,纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 ); 放牧; (使)向…移动 | |
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59 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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60 obligatory | |
adj.强制性的,义务的,必须的 | |
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61 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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62 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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63 waned | |
v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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64 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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65 cult | |
n.异教,邪教;时尚,狂热的崇拜 | |
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66 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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67 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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68 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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69 psychical | |
adj.有关特异功能现象的;有关特异功能官能的;灵魂的;心灵的 | |
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70 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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71 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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72 disillusioned | |
a.不再抱幻想的,大失所望的,幻想破灭的 | |
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73 transcend | |
vt.超出,超越(理性等)的范围 | |
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74 inflame | |
v.使燃烧;使极度激动;使发炎 | |
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75 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
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76 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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77 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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78 barbarians | |
n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 );外国人;粗野的人;无教养的人 | |
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79 unified | |
(unify 的过去式和过去分词); 统一的; 统一标准的; 一元化的 | |
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80 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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81 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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82 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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83 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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84 lurk | |
n.潜伏,潜行;v.潜藏,潜伏,埋伏 | |
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85 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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86 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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87 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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88 preposterous | |
adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
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89 sects | |
n.宗派,教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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90 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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91 adherents | |
n.支持者,拥护者( adherent的名词复数 );党羽;徒子徒孙 | |
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92 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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93 fanatic | |
n.狂热者,入迷者;adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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94 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
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95 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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96 supremely | |
adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
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97 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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98 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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99 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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100 wanes | |
v.衰落( wane的第三人称单数 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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101 irrational | |
adj.无理性的,失去理性的 | |
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102 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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103 subconscious | |
n./adj.潜意识(的),下意识(的) | |
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104 stuffy | |
adj.不透气的,闷热的 | |
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105 futility | |
n.无用 | |
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106 stoic | |
n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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107 emancipating | |
v.解放某人(尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚)( emancipate的现在分词 ) | |
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108 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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109 pessimism | |
n.悲观者,悲观主义者,厌世者 | |
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110 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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111 irrationality | |
n. 不合理,无理性 | |
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112 banality | |
n.陈腐;平庸;陈词滥调 | |
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113 adolescence | |
n.青春期,青少年 | |
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114 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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115 vindication | |
n.洗冤,证实 | |
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116 legendary | |
adj.传奇(中)的,闻名遐迩的;n.传奇(文学) | |
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117 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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118 cults | |
n.迷信( cult的名词复数 );狂热的崇拜;(有极端宗教信仰的)异教团体 | |
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119 vindicated | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
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120 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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121 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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122 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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123 precarious | |
adj.不安定的,靠不住的;根据不足的 | |
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124 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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125 purports | |
v.声称是…,(装得)像是…的样子( purport的第三人称单数 ) | |
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126 itch | |
n.痒,渴望,疥癣;vi.发痒,渴望 | |
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127 intelligibly | |
adv.可理解地,明了地,清晰地 | |
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128 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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129 propounded | |
v.提出(问题、计划等)供考虑[讨论],提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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131 radically | |
ad.根本地,本质地 | |
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132 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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133 explicitly | |
ad.明确地,显然地 | |
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134 modem | |
n.调制解调器 | |
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135 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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136 lurks | |
n.潜在,潜伏;(lurk的复数形式)vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的第三人称单数形式) | |
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137 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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138 stagnant | |
adj.不流动的,停滞的,不景气的 | |
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139 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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140 isolate | |
vt.使孤立,隔离 | |
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141 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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142 annihilated | |
v.(彻底)消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 );使无效;废止;彻底击溃 | |
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143 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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144 envisage | |
v.想象,设想,展望,正视 | |
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145 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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146 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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