After DEMEA's departure, CLEANTHES and PHILO continued the conversation in the following manner. Our friend, I am afraid, said CLEANTHES, will have little inclination1 to revive this topic of discourse2, while you are in company; and to tell truth, PHILO, I should rather wish to reason with either of you apart on a subject so sublime3 and interesting. Your spirit of controversy4, joined to your abhorrence5 of vulgar superstition6, carries you strange lengths, when engaged in an argument; and there is nothing so sacred and venerable, even in your own eyes, which you spare on that occasion.
I must confess, replied PHILO, that I am less cautious on the subject of Natural Religion than on any other; both because I know that I can never, on that head, corrupt7 the principles of any man of common sense; and because no one, I am confident, in whose eyes I appear a man of common sense, will ever mistake my intentions. You, in particular, CLEANTHES, with whom I live in unreserved intimacy8; you are sensible, that notwithstanding the freedom of my conversation, and my love of singular arguments, no one has a deeper sense of religion impressed on his mind, or pays more profound adoration9 to the Divine Being, as he discovers himself to reason, in the inexplicable10 contrivance and artifice11 of nature. A purpose, an intention, a design, strikes every where the most careless, the most stupid thinker; and no man can be so hardened in absurd systems, as at all times to reject it. That Nature does nothing in vain, is a maxim12 established in all the schools, merely from the contemplation of the works of Nature, without any religious purpose; and, from a firm conviction of its truth, an anatomist, who had observed a new organ or canal, would never be satisfied till he had also discovered its use and intention. One great foundation of the Copernican system is the maxim, That Nature acts by the simplest methods, and chooses the most proper means to any end; and astronomers14 often, without thinking of it, lay this strong foundation of piety15 and religion. The same thing is observable in other parts of philosophy: And thus all the sciences almost lead us insensibly to acknowledge a first intelligent Author; and their authority is often so much the greater, as they do not directly profess16 that intention.
It is with pleasure I hear GALEN reason concerning the structure of the human body. The anatomy17 of a man, says he [De formatione foetus], discovers above 600 different muscles; and whoever duly considers these, will find, that, in each of them, Nature must have adjusted at least ten different circumstances, in order to attain18 the end which she proposed; proper figure, just magnitude, right disposition19 of the several ends, upper and lower position of the whole, the due insertion of the several nerves, veins20, and arteries21: So that, in the muscles alone, above 6000 several views and intentions must have been formed and executed. The bones he calculates to be 284: The distinct purposes aimed at in the structure of each, above forty. What a prodigious22 display of artifice, even in these simple and homogeneous parts! But if we consider the skin, ligaments, vessels23, glandules, humours, the several limbs and members of the body; how must our astonishment24 rise upon us, in proportion to the number and intricacy of the parts so artificially adjusted! The further we advance in these researches, we discover new scenes of art and wisdom: But descry25 still, at a distance, further scenes beyond our reach; in the fine internal structure of the parts, in the economy of the brain, in the fabric26 of the seminal27 vessels. All these artifices28 are repeated in every different species of animal, with wonderful variety, and with exact propriety29, suited to the different intentions of Nature in framing each species. And if the infidelity of GALEN, even when these natural sciences were still imperfect, could not withstand such striking appearances, to what pitch of pertinacious30 obstinacy31 must a philosopher in this age have attained32, who can now doubt of a Supreme33 Intelligence!
Could I meet with one of this species (who, I thank God, are very rare), I would ask him: Supposing there were a God, who did not discover himself immediately to our senses, were it possible for him to give stronger proofs of his existence, than what appear on the whole face of Nature? What indeed could such a Divine Being do, but copy the present economy of things; render many of his artifices so plain, that no stupidity could mistake them; afford glimpses of still greater artifices, which demonstrate his prodigious superiority above our narrow apprehensions35; and conceal36 altogether a great many from such imperfect creatures? Now, according to all rules of just reasoning, every fact must pass for undisputed, when it is supported by all the arguments which its nature admits of; even though these arguments be not, in themselves, very numerous or forcible: How much more, in the present case, where no human imagination can compute37 their number, and no understanding estimate their cogency38!
I shall further add, said CLEANTHES, to what you have so well urged, that one great advantage of the principle of Theism, is, that it is the only system of cosmogony which can be rendered intelligible39 and complete, and yet can throughout preserve a strong analogy to what we every day see and experience in the world. The comparison of the universe to a machine of human contrivance, is so obvious and natural, and is justified40 by so many instances of order and design in Nature, that it must immediately strike all unprejudiced apprehensions, and procure41 universal approbation42. Whoever attempts to weaken this theory, cannot pretend to succeed by establishing in its place any other that is precise and determinate: It is sufficient for him if he start doubts and difficulties; and by remote and abstract views of things, reach that suspense43 of judgement, which is here the utmost boundary of his wishes. But, besides that this state of mind is in itself unsatisfactory, it can never be steadily44 maintained against such striking appearances as continually engage us into the religious hypothesis. A false, absurd system, human nature, from the force of prejudice, is capable of adhering to with obstinacy and perseverance45: But no system at all, in opposition46 to a theory supported by strong and obvious reason, by natural propensity47, and by early education, I think it absolutely impossible to maintain or defend.
So little, replied PHILO, do I esteem48 this suspense of judgement in the present case to be possible, that I am apt to suspect there enters somewhat of a dispute of words into this controversy, more than is usually imagined. That the works of Nature bear a great analogy to the productions of art, is evident; and according to all the rules of good reasoning, we ought to infer, if we argue at all concerning them, that their causes have a proportional analogy. But as there are also considerable differences, we have reason to suppose a proportional difference in the causes; and in particular, ought to attribute a much higher degree of power and energy to the supreme cause, than any we have ever observed in mankind. Here then the existence of a DEITY49 is plainly ascertained50 by reason: and if we make it a question, whether, on account of these analogies, we can properly call him a mind or intelligence, notwithstanding the vast difference which may reasonably be supposed between him and human minds; what is this but a mere13 verbal controversy? No man can deny the analogies between the effects: To restrain ourselves from inquiring concerning the causes is scarcely possible. From this inquiry51, the legitimate52 conclusion is, that the causes have also an analogy: And if we are not contented53 with calling the first and supreme cause a GOD or DEITY, but desire to vary the expression; what can we call him but MIND or THOUGHT, to which he is justly supposed to bear a considerable resemblance?
All men of sound reason are disgusted with verbal disputes, which abound54 so much in philosophical55 and theological inquiries56; and it is found, that the only remedy for this abuse must arise from clear definitions, from the precision of those ideas which enter into any argument, and from the strict and uniform use of those terms which are employed. But there is a species of controversy, which, from the very nature of language and of human ideas, is involved in perpetual ambiguity57, and can never, by any precaution or any definitions, be able to reach a reasonable certainty or precision. These are the controversies58 concerning the degrees of any quality or circumstance. Men may argue to all eternity59, whether HANNIBAL be a great, or a very great, or a superlatively great man, what degree of beauty CLEOPATRA possessed60, what epithet61 of praise LIVY or THUCYDIDES is entitled to, without bringing the controversy to any determination. The disputants may here agree in their sense, and differ in the terms, or vice62 versa; yet never be able to define their terms, so as to enter into each other's meaning: Because the degrees of these qualities are not, like quantity or number, susceptible63 of any exact mensuration, which may be the standard in the controversy. That the dispute concerning Theism is of this nature, and consequently is merely verbal, or perhaps, if possible, still more incurably64 ambiguous, will appear upon the slightest inquiry. I ask the Theist, if he does not allow, that there is a great and immeasurable, because incomprehensible difference between the human and the divine mind: The more pious65 he is, the more readily will he assent66 to the affirmative, and the more will he be disposed to magnify the difference: He will even assert, that the difference is of a nature which cannot be too much magnified. I next turn to the Atheist67, who, I assert, is only nominally68 so, and can never possibly be in earnest; and I ask him, whether, from the coherence69 and apparent sympathy in all the parts of this world, there be not a certain degree of analogy among all the operations of Nature, in every situation and in every age; whether the rotting of a turnip70, the generation of an animal, and the structure of human thought, be not energies that probably bear some remote analogy to each other: It is impossible he can deny it: He will readily acknowledge it. Having obtained this concession71, I push him still further in his retreat; and I ask him, if it be not probable, that the principle which first arranged, and still maintains order in this universe, bears not also some remote inconceivable analogy to the other operations of nature, and, among the rest, to the economy of human mind and thought. However reluctant, he must give his assent. Where then, cry I to both these antagonists72, is the subject of your dispute? The Theist allows, that the original intelligence is very different from human reason: The Atheist allows, that the original principle of order bears some remote analogy to it. Will you quarrel, Gentlemen, about the degrees, and enter into a controversy, which admits not of any precise meaning, nor consequently of any determination? If you should be so obstinate73, I should not be surprised to find you insensibly change sides; while the Theist, on the one hand, exaggerates the dissimilarity between the Supreme Being, and frail74, imperfect, variable, fleeting75, and mortal creatures; and the Atheist, on the other, magnifies the analogy among all the operations of Nature, in every period, every situation, and every position. Consider then, where the real point of controversy lies; and if you cannot lay aside your disputes, endeavour, at least, to cure yourselves of your animosity.
And here I must also acknowledge, CLEANTHES, that as the works of Nature have a much greater analogy to the effects of our art and contrivance, than to those of our benevolence76 and justice, we have reason to infer, that the natural attributes of the Deity have a greater resemblance to those of men, than his moral have to human virtues78. But what is the consequence? Nothing but this, that the moral qualities of man are more defective79 in their kind than his natural abilities. For, as the Supreme Being is allowed to be absolutely and entirely80 perfect, whatever differs most from him, departs the furthest from the supreme standard of rectitude and perfection.
It seems evident that the dispute between the Skeptics and Dogmatists is entirely verbal, or at least regards only the degrees of doubt and assurance which we ought to indulge with regard to all reasoning; and such disputes are commonly, at the bottom, verbal, and admit not of any precise determination. No philosophical Dogmatist denies that there are difficulties both with regard to the senses and to all science, and that these difficulties are in a regular, logical method, absolutely insolvable. No Skeptic81 denies that we lie under an absolute necessity, notwithstanding these difficulties, of thinking, and believing, and reasoning, with regard to all kinds of subjects, and even of frequently assenting82 with confidence and security. The only difference, then, between these sects83, if they merit that name, is, that the Sceptic, from habit, caprice, or inclination, insists most on the difficulties; the Dogmatist, for like reasons, on the necessity.
These, CLEANTHES, are my unfeigned sentiments on this subject; and these sentiments, you know, I have ever cherished and maintained. But in proportion to my veneration85 for true religion, is my abhorrence of vulgar superstitions86; and I indulge a peculiar87 pleasure, I confess, in pushing such principles, sometimes into absurdity88, sometimes into impiety89. And you are sensible, that all bigots, notwithstanding their great aversion to the latter above the former, are commonly equally guilty of both.
My inclination, replied CLEANTHES, lies, I own, a contrary way. Religion, however corrupted90, is still better than no religion at all. The doctrine91 of a future state is so strong and necessary a security to morals, that we never ought to abandon or neglect it. For if finite and temporary rewards and punishments have so great an effect, as we daily find; how much greater must be expected from such as are infinite and eternal?
How happens it then, said PHILO, if vulgar superstition be so salutary to society, that all history abounds92 so much with accounts of its pernicious consequences on public affairs? Factions94, civil wars, persecutions, subversions of government, oppression, slavery; these are the dismal95 consequences which always attend its prevalency over the minds of men. If the religious spirit be ever mentioned in any historical narration96, we are sure to meet afterwards with a detail of the miseries97 which attend it. And no period of time can be happier or more prosperous, than those in which it is never regarded or heard of.
The reason of this observation, replied CLEANTHES, is obvious. The proper office of religion is to regulate the heart of men, humanise their conduct, infuse the spirit of temperance, order, and obedience98; and as its operation is silent, and only enforces the motives99 of morality and justice, it is in danger of being overlooked, and confounded with these other motives. When it distinguishes itself, and acts as a separate principle over men, it has departed from its proper sphere, and has become only a cover to faction93 and ambition.
And so will all religion, said PHILO, except the philosophical and rational kind. Your reasonings are more easily eluded100 than my facts. The inference is not just, because finite and temporary rewards and punishments have so great influence, that therefore such as are infinite and eternal must have so much greater. Consider, I beseech101 you, the attachment102 which we have to present things, and the little concern which we discover for objects so remote and uncertain. When divines are declaiming against the common behaviour and conduct of the world, they always represent this principle as the strongest imaginable (which indeed it is); and describe almost all human kind as lying under the influence of it, and sunk into the deepest lethargy and unconcern about their religious interests. Yet these same divines, when they refute their speculative103 antagonists, suppose the motives of religion to be so powerful, that, without them, it were impossible for civil society to subsist104; nor are they ashamed of so palpable a contradiction. It is certain, from experience, that the smallest grain of natural honesty and benevolence has more effect on men's conduct, than the most pompous105 views suggested by theological theories and systems. A man's natural inclination works incessantly106 upon him; it is for ever present to the mind, and mingles107 itself with every view and consideration: whereas religious motives, where they act at all, operate only by starts and bounds; and it is scarcely possible for them to become altogether habitual108 to the mind. The force of the greatest gravity, say the philosophers, is infinitely109 small, in comparison of that of the least impulse: yet it is certain, that the smallest gravity will, in the end, prevail above a great impulse; because no strokes or blows can be repeated with such constancy as attraction and gravitation.
Another advantage of inclination: It engages on its side all the wit and ingenuity110 of the mind; and when set in opposition to religious principles, seeks every method and art of eluding111 them: In which it is almost always successful. Who can explain the heart of man, or account for those strange salvos and excuses, with which people satisfy themselves, when they follow their inclinations112 in opposition to their religious duty? This is well understood in the world; and none but fools ever repose113 less trust in a man, because they hear, that from study and philosophy, he has entertained some speculative doubts with regard to theological subjects. And when we have to do with a man, who makes a great profession of religion and devotion, has this any other effect upon several, who pass for prudent114, than to put them on their guard, lest they be cheated and deceived by him?
We must further consider, that philosophers, who cultivate reason and reflection, stand less in need of such motives to keep them under the restraint of morals; and that the vulgar, who alone may need them, are utterly115 incapable116 of so pure a religion as represents the Deity to be pleased with nothing but virtue77 in human behaviour. The recommendations to the Divinity are generally supposed to be either frivolous117 observances, or rapturous ecstasies118, or a bigoted119 credulity. We need not run back into antiquity120, or wander into remote regions, to find instances of this degeneracy. Amongst ourselves, some have been guilty of that atrociousness, unknown to the Egyptian and Grecian superstitions, of declaiming in express terms, against morality; and representing it as a sure forfeiture121 of the Divine favour, if the least trust or reliance be laid upon it.
But even though superstition or enthusiasm should not put itself in direct opposition to morality; the very diverting of the attention, the raising up a new and frivolous species of merit, the preposterous123 distribution which it makes of praise and blame, must have the most pernicious consequences, and weaken extremely men's attachment to the natural motives of justice and humanity.
Such a principle of action likewise, not being any of the familiar motives of human conduct, acts only by intervals124 on the temper; and must be roused by continual efforts, in order to render the pious zealot satisfied with his own conduct, and make him fulfil his devotional task. Many religious exercises are entered into with seeming fervour, where the heart, at the time, feels cold and languid: A habit of dissimulation126 is by degrees contracted; and fraud and falsehood become the predominant principle. Hence the reason of that vulgar observation, that the highest zeal125 in religion and the deepest hypocrisy127, so far from being inconsistent, are often or commonly united in the same individual character.
The bad effects of such habits, even in common life, are easily imagined; but where the interests of religion are concerned, no morality can be forcible enough to bind128 the enthusiastic zealot. The sacredness of the cause sanctifies every measure which can be made use of to promote it.
The steady attention alone to so important an interest as that of eternal salvation129, is apt to extinguish the benevolent130 affections, and beget131 a narrow, contracted selfishness. And when such a temper is encouraged, it easily eludes132 all the general precepts133 of charity and benevolence.
Thus, the motives of vulgar superstition have no great influence on general conduct; nor is their operation favourable134 to morality, in the instances where they predominate.
Is there any maxim in politics more certain and infallible, than that both the number and authority of priests should be confined within very narrow limits; and that the civil magistrate135 ought, for ever, to keep his fasces and axes from such dangerous hands? But if the spirit of popular religion were so salutary to society, a contrary maxim ought to prevail. The greater number of priests, and their greater authority and riches, will always augment136 the religious spirit. And though the priests have the guidance of this spirit, why may we not expect a superior sanctity of life, and greater benevolence and moderation, from persons who are set apart for religion, who are continually inculcating it upon others, and who must themselves imbibe137 a greater share of it? Whence comes it then, that, in fact, the utmost a wise magistrate can propose with regard to popular religions, is, as far as possible, to make a saving game of it, and to prevent their pernicious consequences with regard to society? Every expedient138 which he tries for so humble139 a purpose is surrounded with inconveniences. If he admits only one religion among his subjects, he must sacrifice, to an uncertain prospect140 of tranquillity141, every consideration of public liberty, science, reason, industry, and even his own independency. If he gives indulgence to several sects, which is the wiser maxim, he must preserve a very philosophical indifference142 to all of them, and carefully restrain the pretensions143 of the prevailing144 sect84; otherwise he can expect nothing but endless disputes, quarrels, factions, persecutions, and civil commotions145.
True religion, I allow, has no such pernicious consequences: but we must treat of religion, as it has commonly been found in the world; nor have I any thing to do with that speculative tenet of Theism, which, as it is a species of philosophy, must partake of the beneficial influence of that principle, and at the same time must lie under a like inconvenience, of being always confined to very few persons.
Oaths are requisite146 in all courts of judicature; but it is a question whether their authority arises from any popular religion. It is the solemnity and importance of the occasion, the regard to reputation, and the reflecting on the general interests of society, which are the chief restraints upon mankind. Custom-house oaths and political oaths are but little regarded even by some who pretend to principles of honesty and religion; and a Quaker's asseveration is with us justly put upon the same footing with the oath of any other person. I know, that POLYBIUS [Lib. vi. cap. 54.] ascribes the infamy147 of GREEK faith to the prevalency of the EPICUREAN philosophy: but I know also, that Punic faith had as bad a reputation in ancient times as Irish evidence has in modern; though we cannot account for these vulgar observations by the same reason. Not to mention that Greek faith was infamous148 before the rise of the Epicurean philosophy; and EURIPIDES [Iphigenia in Tauride], in a passage which I shall point out to you, has glanced a remarkable149 stroke of satire150 against his nation, with regard to this circumstance.
Take care, PHILO, replied CLEANTHES, take care: push not matters too far: allow not your zeal against false religion to undermine your veneration for the true. Forfeit122 not this principle, the chief, the only great comfort in life; and our principal support amidst all the attacks of adverse151 fortune. The most agreeable reflection, which it is possible for human imagination to suggest, is that of genuine Theism, which represents us as the workmanship of a Being perfectly152 good, wise, and powerful; who created us for happiness; and who, having implanted in us immeasurable desires of good, will prolong our existence to all eternity, and will transfer us into an infinite variety of scenes, in order to satisfy those desires, and render our felicity complete and durable153. Next to such a Being himself (if the comparison be allowed), the happiest lot which we can imagine, is that of being under his guardianship154 and protection.
These appearances, said PHILO, are most engaging and alluring155; and with regard to the true philosopher, they are more than appearances. But it happens here, as in the former case, that, with regard to the greater part of mankind, the appearances are deceitful, and that the terrors of religion commonly prevail above its comforts.
It is allowed, that men never have recourse to devotion so readily as when dejected with grief or depressed156 with sickness. Is not this a proof, that the religious spirit is not so nearly allied157 to joy as to sorrow?
But men, when afflicted158, find consolation159 in religion, replied CLEANTHES. Sometimes, said PHILO: but it is natural to imagine, that they will form a notion of those unknown beings, suitably to the present gloom and melancholy160 of their temper, when they betake themselves to the contemplation of them. Accordingly, we find the tremendous images to predominate in all religions; and we ourselves, after having employed the most exalted161 expression in our descriptions of the Deity, fall into the flattest contradiction in affirming that the damned are infinitely superior in number to the elect.
I shall venture to affirm, that there never was a popular religion, which represented the state of departed souls in such a light, as would render it eligible162 for human kind that there should be such a state. These fine models of religion are the mere product of philosophy. For as death lies between the eye and the prospect of futurity, that event is so shocking to Nature, that it must throw a gloom on all the regions which lie beyond it; and suggest to the generality of mankind the idea of CERBERUS and FURIES; devils, and torrents163 of fire and brimstone.
It is true, both fear and hope enter into religion; because both these passions, at different times, agitate164 the human mind, and each of them forms a species of divinity suitable to itself. But when a man is in a cheerful disposition, he is fit for business, or company, or entertainment of any kind; and he naturally applies himself to these, and thinks not of religion. When melancholy and dejected, he has nothing to do but brood upon the terrors of the invisible world, and to plunge165 himself still deeper in affliction. It may indeed happen, that after he has, in this manner, engraved166 the religious opinions deep into his thought and imagination, there may arrive a change of health or circumstances, which may restore his good humour, and raising cheerful prospects167 of futurity, make him run into the other extreme of joy and triumph. But still it must be acknowledged, that, as terror is the primary principle of religion, it is the passion which always predominates in it, and admits but of short intervals of pleasure.
Not to mention, that these fits of excessive, enthusiastic joy, by exhausting the spirits, always prepare the way for equal fits of superstitious168 terror and dejection; nor is there any state of mind so happy as the calm and equable. But this state it is impossible to support, where a man thinks that he lies in such profound darkness and uncertainty169, between an eternity of happiness and an eternity of misery170. No wonder that such an opinion disjoints the ordinary frame of the mind, and throws it into the utmost confusion. And though that opinion is seldom so steady in its operation as to influence all the actions; yet it is apt to make a considerable breach171 in the temper, and to produce that gloom and melancholy so remarkable in all devout172 people.
It is contrary to common sense to entertain apprehensions or terrors upon account of any opinion whatsoever173, or to imagine that we run any risk hereafter, by the freest use of our reason. Such a sentiment implies both an absurdity and an inconsistency. It is an absurdity to believe that the Deity has human passions, and one of the lowest of human passions, a restless appetite for applause. It is an inconsistency to believe, that, since the Deity has this human passion, he has not others also; and, in particular, a disregard to the opinions of creatures so much inferior.
To know God, says SENECA, is to worship him. All other worship is indeed absurd, superstitious, and even impious. It degrades him to the low condition of mankind, who are delighted with entreaty174, solicitation175, presents, and flattery. Yet is this impiety the smallest of which superstition is guilty. Commonly, it depresses the Deity far below the condition of mankind; and represents him as a capricious DEMON34, who exercises his power without reason and without humanity! And were that Divine Being disposed to be offended at the vices176 and follies177 of silly mortals, who are his own workmanship, ill would it surely fare with the votaries178 of most popular superstitions. Nor would any of human race merit his favour, but a very few, the philosophical Theists, who entertain, or rather indeed endeavour to entertain, suitable notions of his Divine perfections: As the only persons entitled to his compassion179 and indulgence would be the philosophical Sceptics, a sect almost equally rare, who, from a natural diffidence of their own capacity, suspend, or endeavour to suspend, all judgement with regard to such sublime and such extraordinary subjects.
If the whole of Natural Theology, as some people seem to maintain, resolves itself into one simple, though somewhat ambiguous, at least undefined proposition, That the cause or causes of order in the universe probably bear some remote analogy to human intelligence: If this proposition be not capable of extension, variation, or more particular explication: If it affords no inference that affects human life, or can be the source of any action or forbearance: And if the analogy, imperfect as it is, can be carried no further than to the human intelligence, and cannot be transferred, with any appearance of probability, to the other qualities of the mind; if this really be the case, what can the most inquisitive180, contemplative, and religious man do more than give a plain, philosophical assent to the proposition, as often as it occurs, and believe that the arguments on which it is established exceed the objections which lie against it? Some astonishment, indeed, will naturally arise from the greatness of the object; some melancholy from its obscurity; some contempt of human reason, that it can give no solution more satisfactory with regard to so extraordinary and magnificent a question. But believe me, CLEANTHES, the most natural sentiment which a well-disposed mind will feel on this occasion, is a longing181 desire and expectation that Heaven would be pleased to dissipate, at least alleviate182, this profound ignorance, by affording some more particular revelation to mankind, and making discoveries of the nature, attributes, and operations of the Divine object of our faith. A person, seasoned with a just sense of the imperfections of natural reason, will fly to revealed truth with the greatest avidity: While the haughty183 Dogmatist, persuaded that he can erect184 a complete system of Theology by the mere help of philosophy, disdains185 any further aid, and rejects this adventitious186 instructor187. To be a philosophical Sceptic is, in a man of letters, the first and most essential step towards being a sound, believing Christian188; a proposition which I would willingly recommend to the attention of PAMPHILUS: And I hope CLEANTHES will forgive me for interposing so far in the education and instruction of his pupil.
CLEANTHES and PHILO pursued not this conversation much further: and as nothing ever made greater impression on me, than all the reasonings of that day, so I confess, that, upon a serious review of the whole, I cannot but think, that PHILO's principles are more probable than DEMEA's; but that those of CLEANTHES approach still nearer to the truth.
The End
1 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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2 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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3 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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4 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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5 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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6 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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7 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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8 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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9 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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10 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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11 artifice | |
n.妙计,高明的手段;狡诈,诡计 | |
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12 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
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13 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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14 astronomers | |
n.天文学者,天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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15 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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16 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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17 anatomy | |
n.解剖学,解剖;功能,结构,组织 | |
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18 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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19 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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20 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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21 arteries | |
n.动脉( artery的名词复数 );干线,要道 | |
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22 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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23 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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24 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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25 descry | |
v.远远看到;发现;责备 | |
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26 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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27 seminal | |
adj.影响深远的;种子的 | |
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28 artifices | |
n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 );诡计;巧妙办法;虚伪行为 | |
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29 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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30 pertinacious | |
adj.顽固的 | |
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31 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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32 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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33 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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34 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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35 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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36 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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37 compute | |
v./n.计算,估计 | |
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38 cogency | |
n.说服力;adj.有说服力的 | |
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39 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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40 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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41 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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42 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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43 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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44 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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45 perseverance | |
n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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46 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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47 propensity | |
n.倾向;习性 | |
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48 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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49 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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50 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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52 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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53 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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54 abound | |
vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
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55 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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56 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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57 ambiguity | |
n.模棱两可;意义不明确 | |
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58 controversies | |
争论 | |
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59 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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60 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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61 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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62 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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63 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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64 incurably | |
ad.治不好地 | |
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65 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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66 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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67 atheist | |
n.无神论者 | |
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68 nominally | |
在名义上,表面地; 应名儿 | |
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69 coherence | |
n.紧凑;连贯;一致性 | |
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70 turnip | |
n.萝卜,芜菁 | |
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71 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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72 antagonists | |
对立[对抗] 者,对手,敌手( antagonist的名词复数 ); 对抗肌; 对抗药 | |
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73 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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74 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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75 fleeting | |
adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
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76 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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77 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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78 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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79 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
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80 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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81 skeptic | |
n.怀疑者,怀疑论者,无神论者 | |
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82 assenting | |
同意,赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
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83 sects | |
n.宗派,教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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84 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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85 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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86 superstitions | |
迷信,迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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87 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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88 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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89 impiety | |
n.不敬;不孝 | |
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90 corrupted | |
(使)败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)腐化; 引起(计算机文件等的)错误; 破坏 | |
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91 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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92 abounds | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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93 faction | |
n.宗派,小集团;派别;派系斗争 | |
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94 factions | |
组织中的小派别,派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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95 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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96 narration | |
n.讲述,叙述;故事;记叙体 | |
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97 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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98 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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99 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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100 eluded | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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101 beseech | |
v.祈求,恳求 | |
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102 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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103 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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104 subsist | |
vi.生存,存在,供养 | |
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105 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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106 incessantly | |
ad.不停地 | |
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107 mingles | |
混合,混入( mingle的第三人称单数 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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108 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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109 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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110 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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111 eluding | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的现在分词 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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112 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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113 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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114 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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115 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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116 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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117 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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118 ecstasies | |
狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 ); 出神; 入迷; 迷幻药 | |
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119 bigoted | |
adj.固执己见的,心胸狭窄的 | |
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120 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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121 forfeiture | |
n.(名誉等)丧失 | |
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122 forfeit | |
vt.丧失;n.罚金,罚款,没收物 | |
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123 preposterous | |
adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
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124 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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125 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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126 dissimulation | |
n.掩饰,虚伪,装糊涂 | |
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127 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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128 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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129 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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130 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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131 beget | |
v.引起;产生 | |
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132 eludes | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的第三人称单数 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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133 precepts | |
n.规诫,戒律,箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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134 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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135 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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136 augment | |
vt.(使)增大,增加,增长,扩张 | |
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137 imbibe | |
v.喝,饮;吸入,吸收 | |
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138 expedient | |
adj.有用的,有利的;n.紧急的办法,权宜之计 | |
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139 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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140 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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141 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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142 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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143 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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144 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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145 commotions | |
n.混乱,喧闹,骚动( commotion的名词复数 ) | |
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146 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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147 infamy | |
n.声名狼藉,出丑,恶行 | |
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148 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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149 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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150 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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151 adverse | |
adj.不利的;有害的;敌对的,不友好的 | |
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152 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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153 durable | |
adj.持久的,耐久的 | |
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154 guardianship | |
n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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155 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
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156 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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157 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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158 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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160 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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161 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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162 eligible | |
adj.有条件被选中的;(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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163 torrents | |
n.倾注;奔流( torrent的名词复数 );急流;爆发;连续不断 | |
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164 agitate | |
vi.(for,against)煽动,鼓动;vt.搅动 | |
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165 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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166 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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167 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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168 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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169 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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170 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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171 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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172 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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173 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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174 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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175 solicitation | |
n.诱惑;揽货;恳切地要求;游说 | |
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176 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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177 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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178 votaries | |
n.信徒( votary的名词复数 );追随者;(天主教)修士;修女 | |
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179 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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180 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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181 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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182 alleviate | |
v.减轻,缓和,缓解(痛苦等) | |
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183 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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184 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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185 disdains | |
鄙视,轻蔑( disdain的名词复数 ) | |
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186 adventitious | |
adj.偶然的 | |
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187 instructor | |
n.指导者,教员,教练 | |
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188 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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