It was the period of my mental progress which I have now reached that I formed the friendship which has been the honour and chief blessing1 of my existence, as well as the source of a great part of all that I have attempted to do, or hope to effect hereafter, for human improvement. My first introduction to the lady who, after a friendship of twenty years, consented to become my wife, was in 1830, when I was in my twenty-fifth and she in her twenty-third year. With her husband's family it was the renewal2 of an old acquaintanceship. His grandfather lived in the next house to my father's in Newington Green, and I had sometimes when a boy been invited to play in the old gentleman's garden. He was a fine specimen3 of the old Scotch4 puritan; stern, severe, and powerful, but very kind to children, on whom such men make a lasting5 impression. Although it was years after my introduction to Mrs. Taylor before my acquaintance with her became at all intimate or confidential6, I very soon felt her to be the most admirable person I had ever known. It is not to be supposed that she was, or that any one, at the age at which I first saw her, could be, all that she afterwards became. Least of all could this be true of her, with whom self-improvement, progress in the highest and in all senses, was a law of her nature; a necessity equally from the ardour with which she sought it, and from the spontaneous tendency of faculties7 which could not receive an impression or an experience without making it the source or the occasion of an accession of wisdom. Up to the time when I first saw her, her rich and powerful nature had chiefly unfolded itself according to the received type of feminine genius. To her outer circle she was a beauty and a wit, with an air of natural distinction, felt by all who approached her: to the inner, a woman of deep and strong feeling, of penetrating8 and intuitive intelligence, and of an eminently9 meditative11 and poetic12 nature. Married at a very early age, to a most upright, brave, and honourable13 man, of liberal opinions and good education, but without the intellectual or3 artistic14 tastes which would have made him a companion for her, though a steady and affectionate friend, for whom she had true esteem15 and the strongest affection through life, and whom she most deeply lamented16 when dead; shut out by the social disabilities of women from any adequate exercise of her highest faculties in action on the world without; her life was one of inward meditation17, varied18 by familiar intercourse19 with a small circle of friends, of whom4 one only (long since deceased) was a person of genius, or of capacities of feeling or intellect kindred with her own, but all had more or less of alliance with her in sentiments and opinions. Into this circle I had the good fortune to be admitted, and I soon perceived that she possessed20 in combination, the qualities which in all other persons whom I had known I had been only too happy to find singly. In her, complete emancipation21 from every kind of superstition22 (including that which attributes a pretended perfection to the order of nature and the universe), and an earnest protest against many things which are still part of the established constitution of society, resulted not from the hard intellect, but from strength of noble and elevated feeling, and co-existed with a highly reverential nature. In general spiritual characteristics, as well as in temperament23 and organisation24, I have often compared her, as she was at this time, to Shelley: but in thought and intellect, Shelley, so far as his powers were developed in his short life, was but a child compared with what she ultimately became. Alike in the highest regions of speculation25 and in the smaller practical concerns of daily life, her mind was the same perfect instrument, piercing to the very heart and marrow26 of the matter; always seizing the essential idea or principle. The same exactness and rapidity of operation, pervading27 as it did her sensitive as well as her mental faculties, would, with her gifts of feeling and imagination, have fitted her to be a consummate28 artist, as her fiery29 and tender soul and her vigorous eloquence30 would certainly have made her a great orator31, and her profound knowledge of human nature and discernment and sagacity in practical life, would, in the times when such a carrière was open to women, have made her eminent10 among the rulers of mankind. Her intellectual gifts did but minister to a moral character at once the noblest and the best balanced which I have ever met with in life. Her unselfishness was not that of a taught system of duties, but of a heart which thoroughly32 identified itself with the feelings of others, and often went to excess in consideration for them by imaginatively investing their feelings with the intensity33 of its own. The passion of justice might have been thought to be her strongest feeling, but for her boundless34 generosity35, and a lovingness ever ready to pour itself forth36 upon any or all human beings who were capable of giving the smallest feeling in return. The rest of her moral characteristics were such as naturally accompany these qualities of mind and heart: the most genuine modesty37 combined with the loftiest pride; a simplicity38 and sincerity39 which were absolute, towards all who were fit to receive them; the utmost scorn of whatever was mean and cowardly, and a burning indignation at everything brutal40 or tyrannical, faithless or dishonourable in conduct and character, while making the broadest distinction between mala in se and mere41 mala prohibita — between acts giving evidence of intrinsic badness in feeling and character, and those which are only violations42 of conventions either good or bad, violations which whether in themselves right or wrong, are capable of being committed by persons in every other respect lovable or admirable.
To be admitted into any degree of mental intercourse with a being of these qualities, could not but have a most beneficial influence on my development; though the effect was only gradual, and many years elapsed before her mental progress and mine went forward in the complete companionship they at last attained43. The benefit I received was far greater than any which I could hope to give; though to her, who had at first reached her opinions by the moral intuition of a character of strong feeling, there was doubtless help as well as encouragement to be derived45 from one who had arrived at many of the same results by study and reasoning: and in the rapidity of her intellectual growth, her mental activity, which converted everything into knowledge, doubtless drew from me, as it did from other sources, many of its materials. What I owe, even intellectually, to her, is in its detail, almost infinite; of its general character a few words will give some, though a very imperfect, idea. With those who, like all the best and wisest of mankind, are dissatisfied with human life as it is, and whose feelings are wholly identified with its radical46 amendment47, there are two main regions of thought. One is the region of ultimate aims; the constituent48 elements of the highest realizable ideal of human life. The other is that of the immediately useful and practically attainable51. In both these departments, I have acquired more from her teaching, than from all other sources taken together. And, to say truth, it is in these two extremes principally, that real certainty lies. My own strength lay wholly in the uncertain and slippery intermediate region, that of theory, or moral and political science: respecting the conclusions of which, in any of the forms in which I have received or originated them, whether as political economy, analytic52 psychology53, logic54, philosophy of history, or anything else, it is not the least of my intellectual obligations to her that I have derived from her a wise scepticism, which, while it has not hindered me from following out the honest exercise of my thinking faculties to whatever conclusions might result from it, has put me on my guard against holding or announcing these conclusions with a degree of confidence which the nature of such speculations55 does not warrant, and has kept my mind not only open to admit, but prompt to welcome and eager to seek, even on the questions on which I have most meditated56, any prospect57 of clearer perceptions and better evidence. I have often received praise, which in my own right I only partially58 deserve, for the greater practicality which is supposed to be found in my writings, compared with those of most thinkers who have been equally addicted59 to large generalizations60. The writings in which this quality has been observed, were not the work of one mind, but of the fusion61 of two, one of them as pre-eminently practical in its judgments63 and perceptions of things present, as it was high and bold in its anticipations64 for a remote futurity.
At the present period, however, this influence was only one among many which were helping65 to shape the character of my future development: and even after it became, I may truly say, the presiding principle of my mental progress, it did not alter the path, but only made me move forward more boldly, and, at the same time, more cautiously, in the same course. The only actual revolution which has ever taken place in my modes of thinking, was already complete. My new tendencies had to be confirmed in some respects, moderated in others: but the only substantial changes of opinion that were yet to come, related to politics, and consisted, on one hand, in a greater approximation, so far as regards the ultimate prospects66 of humanity, to a qualified67 Socialism, and on the other, a shifting of my political ideal from pure democracy, as commonly understood by its partizans, to the modified form of it, which is set forth in my "Considerations on Representative Government."
This last change, which took place very gradually, dates its commencement from my reading, or rather study, of M. de Tocqueville's "Democracy in America," which fell into my hands immediately after its first appearance. In that remarkable68 work, the excellences69 of democracy were pointed70 out in a more conclusive71, because a more specific manner than I had ever known them to be, even by the most enthusiastic democrats72 ; while the specific dangers which beset73 democracy, considered as the government of the numerical majority, were brought into equally strong light, and subjected to a masterly analysis, not as reasons for resisting what the author considered as an inevitable74 result of human progress, but as indications of the weak points of popular government, the defences by which it needs to be guarded, and the correctives which must be added to it in order that while full play is given to its beneficial tendencies, those which are of a different nature may be neutralized75 or mitigated76. I was now well prepared for speculations of this character, and from this time onward77 my own thoughts moved more and more in the same channel, though the consequent modifications78 in my practical political creed79 were spread over many years, as would be shown by comparing my first review of "Democracy in America," written and published in 1835, with the one in 1840 (reprinted in the "Dissertations80"), and this last, with the "Considerations on Representative Government."
A collateral81 subject on which also I derived great benefit from the study of Tocqueville, was the fundamental question of Centralization. The powerful philosophic82 analysis which he applied83 to American and to French experience, led him to attach the utmost importance to the performance of as much of the collective business of society, as can safely be so performed, by the people themselves, without any intervention84 of the executive government, either to supersede85 their agency, or to dictate86 the manner of its exercise. He viewed this practical political activity of the individual citizen, not only as one of the most effectual means of training the social feelings and practical intelligence of the people, so important in themselves and so indispensable to good government, but also as the specific counteractive87 to some of the characteristic infirmities of democracy, and a necessary protection against its degenerating88 into the only despotism of which, in the modern world, there is real danger — the absolute rule of the head of the executive over a congregation of isolated89 individuals, all equals but all slaves. There was, indeed, no immediate49 peril90 from this source on the British side of the channel, where nine-tenths of the internal business which elsewhere devolves on the government, was transacted91 by agencies independent of it; where Centralization was, and is, the subject not only of rational disapprobation, but of unreasoning prejudice; where jealousy92 of Government interference was a blind feeling preventing or resisting even the most beneficial exertion93 of legislative94 authority to correct the abuses of what pretends to be local self-government, but is, too often, selfish mismanagement of local interests, by a jobbing and borné local oligarchy95. But the more certain the public were to go wrong on the side opposed to Centralization, the greater danger was there lest philosophic reformers should fall into the contrary error, and overlook the mischiefs96 of which they had been spared the painful experience. I was myself, at this very time, actively97 engaged in defending important measures, such as the great Poor Law Reform of 1834, against an irrational98 clamour grounded on the Anti-Centralization prejudice: and had it not been for the lessons of Tocqueville, I do not know that I might not, like many reformers before me, have been hurried into the excess opposite to that, which, being the one prevalent in my own country, it was generally my business to combat. As it is, I have steered99 carefully between the two errors, and whether I have or have not drawn101 the line between them exactly in the right place, I have at least insisted with equal emphasis upon the evils on both sides, and have made the means of reconciling the advantages of both, a subject of serious study.
In the meanwhile had taken place the election of the first Reformed Parliament, which included several of the most notable of my Radical friends and acquaintances — Grote, Roebuck, Buller, Sir William Molesworth, John and Edward Romilly, and several more; besides Warburton, Strutt, and others, who were in parliament already. Those who thought themselves, and were called by their friends, the philosophic radicals102, had now, it seemed, a fair opportunity, in a more advantageous103 position than they had ever before occupied, for showing what was in them; and I, as well as my father, founded great hopes on them. These hopes were destined104 to be disappointed. The men were honest, and Faithful to their opinions, as far as votes were concerned; often in spite of much discouragement. When measures were proposed, flagrantly at variance105 with their principles, such as the irish Coercion106 Bill, or the Canada coercion in 1837, they came forward manfully, and braved any amount of hostility107 and prejudice rather than desert the right. But on the whole they did very little to promote any opinions; they had little enterprise, little activity: they left the lead of the radical portion of the House to the old hands, to Hume and O'Connell. A partial exception must be made in favour of one or two of the younger men; and in the case of Roebuck, it is his title to permanent remembrance, that in the very first year during which he sat in Parliament, he originated (or re-originated after the unsuccessful attempt of Mr Brougham) the parliamentary movement for National Education; and that he was the first to commence, and for years carried on almost alone, the contest for the self-government of the Colonies. Nothing, on the whole equal to these two things, was done by any other individual, even of those from whom most was expected. And now, on a calm retrospect108, I can perceive that the men were less in fault than we supposed, and that we had expected too much From them. They were in unfavourable circumstances. Their lot was cast in the ten years of inevitable reaction, when, the Reform excitement being over, and the few legislative improvements which the public really called for having been rapidly effected, power gravitated back in its natural direction, to those who were for keeping things as they were; when the public mind desired rest, and was less disposed than at any other period since the peace, to let itself be moved by attempts to work up the reform feeling into fresh activity in favour of new things. It would have required a great political leader, which no one is to be blamed for not being, to have effected really great things by parliamentary discussion when the nation was in this mood. My father and I had hoped that some competent leader might arise; some man of philosophic attainments110 and popular talents, who could have put heart into the many younger or less distinguished111 men that would have been ready to join him — could have made them available, to the extent of their talents, in bringing advanced ideas before the public — could have used the House of Commons as a rostra or a teacher's chair for instructing and impelling112 the public mind; and would either have forced the Whigs to receive their measures from him, or have taken the lead of the Reform party out of their hands. Such a leader there would have been, if my father had been in Parliament. For want of such a man, the instructed Radicals sank into a mere c?té gauche113 of the Whig party. With a keen, and as I now think, an exaggerated sense of the possibilities which were open to the Radicals if they made even ordinary exertion for their opinions, I laboured from this time till 1839, both by personal influence with some of them, and by writings, to put ideas into their heads, and purpose into their hearts. I did some good with Charles Buller, and some with Sir William Molesworth; both of whom did valuable service, but were unhappily cut off almost in the beginning of their usefulness. On the whole, however, my attempt was vain. To have had a chance of succeeding in it, required a different position from mine. It was a task only for one who, being himself in Parliament, could have mixed with the radical members in daily consultation114, could himself have taken the initiative, and instead of urging others to lead, could have summoned them to follow.
What I could do by writing, I did. During the year 1833 I continued working in the Examiner with Fonblanque who at that time was zealous115 in keeping up the fight for radicalism117 against the Whig ministry118. During the session of 1834 I wrote comments on passing events, of the nature of newspaper articles (under the title "Notes on the Newspapers"), in the Monthly Repository, a magazine conducted by Mr Fox, well known as a preacher and political orator, and subsequently as member of parliament for Oldham; with whom I had lately become acquainted, and for whose sake chiefly I wrote in his Magazine. I contributed several other articles to this periodical, the most considerable of which (on the theory of poetry), is reprinted in the "Dissertations." Altogether, the writings (independently of those in newspapers) which I published from 1832 to 1834, amount to a large volume. This, however, includes abstracts of several of Plato's Dialogues, with introductory remarks, which, though not published until 1834, had been written several years earlier; and which I afterwards, on various occasions, found to have been read, and their authorship known, by more people than were aware of anything else which I had written, up to that time. To complete the tale of my writings at this period, I may add that in 1833, at the request of Bulwer, who was just then completing his "England and the English" (a work, at that time, greatly in advance of the public mind), I wrote for him a critical account of Bentham's philosophy, a small part of which he incorporated in his text, and printed the rest (with an honourable acknowledgment), as an appendix. In this, along with the favourable109, a part also of the unfavourable side of my estimation of Bentham's doctrines121, considered as a complete philosophy, was for the first time put into print.
But an opportunity soon offered, by which, as it seemed, I might have it in my power to give more effectual aid, and at the same time, stimulus122, to the "philosophic radical" party, than I had done hitherto. One of the projects occasionally talked of between my father and me, and some of the parliamentary and other Radicals who frequented his house, was the foundation of a periodical organ of philosophic radicalism, to take the place which the Westminster Review had been intended to fill: and the scheme had gone so far as to bring under discussion the pecuniary123 contributions which could be looked for, and the choice of an editor. Nothing, however, came of it for some time: but in the summer of 1834 Sir William Molesworth, himself a laborious124 student, and a precise and metaphysical thinker, capable of aiding the cause by his pen as well as by his purse, spontaneously proposed to establish a Review, provided I would consent to be the real, if I could not be the ostensible125, editor. Such a proposal was not to be refused; and the review was founded, at first under the title of the London Review, and afterwards under that of the London and Westminster, Molesworth having bought the Westminster from its proprietor126, General Thompson, and merged127 the two into one. In the years between 1834 and 1840 the conduct of this review occupied the greater part of my spare time. In the beginning, it did not, as a whole, by any means represent my opinions. I was under the necessity of conceding much to my inevitable associates. The Review was established to be the representative of the "philosophic radicals," with most of whom I was now at issue on many essential points, and among whom I could not even claim to be the most important individual. My father's co-operation as a writer we all deemed indispensable, and he wrote largely in it until prevented by his last illness. The subjects of his articles, and the strength and decision with which his opinions were expressed in them, made the Review at first derive44 its tone and colouring from him much more than from any of the other writers. I could not exercise editorial control over his articles, and I was sometimes obliged to sacrifice to him portions of my own. The old Westminster Review doctrines, but little modified, thus formed the staple128 of the review; but I hoped by the side of these, to introduce other ideas and another tone, and to obtain for my own shade of opinion a fair representation, along with those of other members of the party. With this end chiefly in view, I made it one of the peculiarities129 of the work that every article should bear an initial, or some other signature, and be held to express the opinions solely130 of the individual writer; the editor being only responsible for its being worth publishing and not in conflict with the objects for which the Review was set on foot. I had an opportunity of putting in practice my scheme of conciliation131 between the old and the new "philosophic radicalism," by the choice of a subject for my own first contribution. Professor Sedgwick, a man of eminence132 in a particular walk of natural science, but who should not have trespassed133 into philosophy, had lately published his Discourse134 on the Studies of Cambridge, which had as its most prominent feature an intemperate135 assault on analytic psychology and utilitarian136 ethics137, in the form of an attack on Locke and Paley. This had excited great indignation in my father and others, which I thought it fully100 deserved. And here, I imagined, was an opportunity of at the same time repelling138 an unjust attack, and inserting into my defence of Hartleianism and Utilitarianism a number of the opinions which constituted my view of those subjects, as distinguished from that of my old associates. In this I partially succeeded, though my relation to my father would have made it painful to me in any case, and impossible in a review for which he wrote, to speak out my whole mind on the subject at this time.
I am, however, inclined to think that my father was not so much opposed as he seemed, to the modes of thought in which I believed myself to differ from him; that he did injustice139 to his own opinions by the unconscious exaggerations of an intellect emphatically polemical; and that when thinking without an adversary140 in view, he was willing to make room for a great portion of the truths he seemed to deny. I have frequently observed that he made large allowance in practice for considerations which seemed to have no place in his theory. His "Fragment on Mackintosh," which he wrote and published about this time, although I greatly admired some parts of it, I read as a whole with more pain than pleasure; yet on reading it again, long after, I found little in the opinions it contains, but what I think in the main just; and I can even sympathize in his disgust at the verbiage141 of Mackintosh, though his asperity142 towards it went not only beyond what was judicious143, but beyond what was even fair. One thing, which I thought, at the time, of good augury144, was the very favourable reception he gave to Tocqueville's "Democracy in America." It is true, he said and thought much more about what Tocqueville said in favour of Democracy, than about what he said of its disadvantages. Still, his high appreciation145 of a book which was at any rate an example of a mode of treating the question of government almost the reverse of his — wholly inductive and analytical146, instead of purely147 ratiocinative — gave me great encouragement. He also approved of an article which I published in the first number following the junction148 of the two reviews, the essay reprinted in the Dissertations, under the title "Civilization;" into which I threw many of my new opinions, and criticised rather emphatically the mental and moral tendencies of the time, on grounds and in a manner which I certainly had not learnt from him.
All speculation, however, on the possible future developments of my father's opinions, and on the probabilities of permanent co-operation between him and me in the promulgation149 of our thoughts, was doomed150 to be cut short. During the whole of 1835 his health had been declining: his symptoms became unequivocally those of pulmonary consumption, and after lingering to the last stage of debility, he died on the 23rd of June, 1836. Until the last few days of his life there was no apparent abatement152 of intellectual vigour153; his interest in all things and persons that had interested him through life was undiminished, nor did the approach of death cause the smallest wavering (as in so strong and firm a mind it was impossible that it should) in his convictions on the subject of religion. His principal satisfaction, after he knew that his end was near, seemed to be the thought of what he had done to make the world better than he found it; and his chief regret in not living longer, that he had not had time to do more.
His place is an eminent one in the literary, and even in the political history of his country. and it is far from honourable to the generation which has benefited by his worth, that he is so seldom mentioned, and, compared with men far his inferiors, so little remembered. This is probably to be ascribed mainly to two causes. In the first place, the thought of him merges154 too much in the deservedly superior fame of Bentham. Yet he was anything but Bentham's mere follower155 or disciple156. Precisely157 because he was himself one of the most original thinkers of his time, he was one of the earliest to appreciate and adopt the most important mass of original thought which had been produced by the generation preceding him. His mind and Bentham's were essentially158 of different construction. He had not all Bentham's high qualities, but neither had Bentham all his. It would, indeed, be ridiculous to claim for him the praise of having accomplished159 for mankind such splendid services as Bentham's. He did not revolutionize, or rather create, one of the great departments of human thought. But, leaving out of the reckoning all that portion of his labours in which he benefited by what Bentham had done, and counting only what he achieved in a province in which Bentham had done nothing, that of analytic psychology, he will be known to posterity160 as one of the greatest names in that most important branch of speculation, on which all the moral and political sciences ultimately rest, and will mark one of the essential stages in its progress. The other reason which has made his fame less than he deserved, is that notwithstanding the great number of his opinions which, partly through his own efforts, have now been generally adopted, there was, on the whole, a marked opposition161 between his spirit and that of the present time. As Brutus was called the last of the Romans, so was he the last of the eighteenth century: he continued its tone of thought and sentiment into the nineteenth (though not unmodified nor unimproved), partaking neither in the good nor in the bad influences of the reaction against the eighteenth century, which was the great characteristic of the first half of the nineteenth. The eighteenth century was a great age, an age of strong and brave men, and he was a fit companion for its strongest and bravest. By his writings and his personal influence he was a great centre of light to his generation. During his later years he was quite as much the head and leader of the intellectual radicals in England, as Voltaire was of the philosophes of France. It is only one of his minor162 merits, that he was the originator of all sound statesmanship in regard to the subject of his largest work, India. He wrote on no subject which he did not enrich with valuable thought, and excepting the "Elements of Political Economy," a very useful book when first written, but which has now for some time finished its work, it will be long before any of his books will be wholly superseded163, or will cease to be instructive reading to students of their subjects. In the power of influencing by mere force of mind and character, the convictions and purposes of others, and in the strenuous164 exertion of that power to promote freedom and progress, he left, as far as my knowledge extends, no equal among men and but one among women.
Though acutely sensible of my own inferiority in the qualities by which he acquired his personal ascendancy165, I had now to try what it might be possible for me to accomplish without him: and the Review was the instrument on which I built my chief hopes of establishing a useful influence over the liberal and democratic section of the public mind. Deprived of my father's aid, I was also exempted166 from the restraints and reticences by which that aid had been purchased. I did not feel that there was any other radical writer or politician to whom I was bound to defer167, further than consisted with my own opinions: and having the complete confidence of Molesworth, I resolved henceforth to give full scope to my own opinions and modes of thought, and to open the Review widely to all writers who were in sympathy with Progress as I understood it, even though I should lose by it the support of my former associates. Carlyle, consequently became from this time a frequent writer in the Review; Sterling168, soon after, an occasional one; and though each individual article continued to be the expression of the private sentiments of its writer, the general tone conformed in some tolerable degree to my opinions. For the conduct of the Review, under, and in conjunction with me, I associated with myself a young Scotchman of the name of Robertson, who had some ability and information, much industry, and an active scheming head, full of devices for making the Review more saleable, and on whose capacities in that direction I founded a good deal of hope: insomuch, that when Molesworth, in the beginning of 1837, became tired of carrying on the Review at a loss, and desirous of getting rid of it (he had done his part honourably169, and at no small pecuniary cost,) I, very imprudently for my own pecuniary interest, and very much from reliance on Robertson's devices, determined170 to continue it at my own risk, until his plans should have had a fair trial. The devices were good, and I never had any reason to change my opinion of them. But I do not believe that any devices would have made a radical and democratic review defray its expenses, including a paid editor or sub-editor, and a liberal payment to writers. I myself and several frequent contributors gave our labour gratuitously171, as we had done for Molesworth; but the paid contributors continued to be remunerated on the usual scale of the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews; and this could not be done from the proceeds of the sale.
In the same year, 1837, and in the midst of these occupations, I resumed the Logic. I had not touched my pen on the subject for five years, having been stopped and brought to a halt on the threshold of Induction172. I had gradually discovered that what was mainly wanting, to overcome the difficulties of that branch of the subject, was a comprehensive, and, at the same time, accurate view of the whole circle of physical science, which I feared it would take me a long course of study to acquire; since I knew not of any book, or other guide, that would spread out before me the generalities and processes of the sciences, and I apprehended173 that I should have no choice but to extract them for myself, as I best could, from the details. Happily for me, Dr. Whewell, early in this year, published his History of the Inductive Sciences. I read it with eagerness, and found in it a considerable approximation to what I wanted. Much, if not most, of the philosophy of the work appeared open to objection; but the materials were there, for my own thoughts to work upon: and the author had given to those materials that first degree of elaboration, which so greatly facilitates and abridges174 the subsequent labour. I had now obtained what I had been waiting for. Under the impulse given me by the thoughts excited by Dr Whewell, I read again Sir J. Herschel's Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy: and I was able to measure the progress my mind had made, by the great help I now found in this work — though I had read and even reviewed it several years before with little profit. I now set myself vigorously to work out the subject in thought and in writing. The time I bestowed175 on this had to be stolen from occupations more urgent. I had just two months to spare, at this period, in the intervals176 of writing for the Review. In these two months I completed the first draft of about a third, the most difficult third, of the book. What I had before written, I estimate at another third, so that only one-third remained. What I wrote at this time consisted of the remainder of the doctrine120 of Reasoning (the theory of Trains of Reasoning, and Demonstrative Science), and the greater part of the Book on Induction. When this was done, I had, as it seemed to me, untied177 all the really hard knots, and the completion of the book had become only a question of time. Having got thus far, I had to leave off in order to write two articles for the next number of the Review. When these were written, I returned to the subject, and now for the first time fell in with Comte's Cours de Philosophie Positive, or rather with the two volumes of it which were all that had at that time been published.
My theory of Induction was substantially completed before I knew of Comte's book; and it is perhaps well that I came to it by a different road from his, since the consequence has been that my treatise178 contains, what his certainly does not, a reduction of the inductive process to strict rules and to a scientific test, such as the Syllogism179 is for ratiocination180. Comte is always precise and profound on the methods of investigation181, but he does not even attempt any exact definition of the conditions of proof: and his writings show that he never attained a just conception of them. This, however, was specifically the problem, which, in treating of Induction, I had proposed to myself. Nevertheless, I gained much from Comte, with which to enrich my chapters in the subsequent rewriting: and his book was essential service to me in some of the parts which still remained to be thought out. As his subsequent volumes successively made their appearance, I read them with avidity, but, when he reached the subject of Social Science, with varying feelings. The fourth volume disappointed me: it contained those of his opinions on social subjects with which I most disagree. But the fifth, containing the connected view of history, rekindled182 all my enthusiasm ; which the sixth (or concluding) volume did not materially abate151. In a merely logical point of view, the only leading conception for which I am indebted to him is that of the inverse183 Deductive Method, as the one chiefly applicable to the complicated subjects of History and Statistics: a process differing from the more common form of the Deductive Method in this — that instead of arriving at its conclusions by general reasoning, and verifying them by specific experience (as is the natural order in the deductive branches of physical science), it obtains its generalizations by a collation184 of specific experience, and verifies them by ascertaining185 whether they are such as would follow from known general principles, This was an idea entirely186 new to me when I found it in Comte: and but for him I might not soon (if ever) have arrived at it.
I had been long an ardent187 admirer of Comte's writings before I had any communication with himself; nor did I ever, to the last, see him in the body. But for some years we were frequent correspondents, until our correspondence became controversial, and our zeal116 cooled. I was the first to slacken correspondence; he was the first to drop it. I found, and he probably found likewise, that I could do no good to his mind, and that all the good he could do to mine, he did by his books. This would never have led to discontinuance of intercourse, if the differences between us had been on matters of simple doctrine. But they were chiefly on those points of opinion which blended in both of us with our strongest feelings, and determined the entire direction of our aspirations188. I had fully agreed with him when he maintained that the mass of mankind, including even their rulers in all the practical departments of life, must, from the necessity of the case, accept most of their opinions on political and social matters, as they do on physical, from the authority of those who have bestowed more study on those subjects than they generally have it in their power to do. This lesson had been strongly impressed on me by the early work of Comte, to which I have adverted189. And there was nothing in his great Treatise which I admired more than his remarkable exposition of the benefits which the nations of modern Europe have historically derived from the separation, during the middle ages, of temporal and spiritual power, and the distinct organization of the latter. I agreed with him that the moral and intellectual ascendancy, once exercised by priests, must in time pass into the hands of philosophers, and will naturally do so when they become sufficiently190 unanimous, and in other respects worthy191 to possess it. But when he exaggerated this line of thought into a practical system, in which philosophers were to be organized into a kind of corporate119 hierarchy192, invested with almost the same spiritual supremacy193 (though without any secular194 power) once possessed by the Catholic church; when I found him relying on this spiritual authority as the only security for good government, the sole bulwark195 against practical oppression, and expecting that by it a system of despotism in the state and despotism in the family would be rendered innocuous and beneficial; it is not surprising, that while as logicians we were nearly at one, as sociologists we could travel together no further. M. Comte lived to carry out these doctrines to their extremest consequences, by planning, in his last work, the "Système de Politique Positive," the completest system of spiritual and temporal despotism which ever yet emanated196 from a human brain, unless possibly that of Ignatius Loyola: a system by which the yoke197 of general opinion, wielded198 by an organized body of spiritual teachers and rulers, would be made supreme199 over every action, and as far as is in human possibility, every thought, of every member of the community, as well in the things which regard only himself, as in those which concern the interests of others. It is but just to say that this work is a considerable improvement, in many points of feeling, over Comte's previous writings on the same subjects: but as an accession to social philosophy, the only value it seems to me to possess, consists in putting an end to the notion that no effectual moral authority can be maintained over society without the aid of religious belief; for Comte's work recognises no religion except that of Humanity, yet it leaves an irresistible200 conviction that any moral beliefs concurred201 in by the community generally may be brought to bear upon the whole conduct and lives of its individual members, with an energy and potency202 truly alarming to think of. The book stands a monumental warning to thinkers on society and politics, of what happens when once men lose sight in their speculations, of the value of Liberty and of Individuality.
To return to myself. The Review engrossed203, for some time longer, nearly all the time I could devote to authorship, or to thinking with authorship in view. The articles from the London and Westminster Review which are reprinted in the "Dissertations," are scarcely a fourth part of those I wrote. In the conduct of the Review I had two principal objects. One was to free philosophic radicalism from the reproach of sectarian Benthamism. I desired, while retaining the precision of expression, the definiteness of meaning, the contempt of declamatory phrases and vague generalities, which were so honourably characteristic both of Bentham and of my father, to give a wider basis and a more free and genial204 character to Radical speculations; to show that there was a Radical philosophy, better and more complete than Bentham's, while recognizing and incorporating all of Bentham's which is permanently205 valuable. In this first object I, to a certain extent, succeeded. The other thing I attempted, was to stir up the educated Radicals, in and out of Parliament, to exertion, and induce them to make themselves, what I thought by using the proper means they might become — a powerful party capable of taking the government of the country, or at least of dictating206 the terms on which they should share it with the Whigs. This attempt was from the first chimerical207: partly because the time was unpropitious, the Reform fervour being in its period of ebb208, and the Tory influences powerfully rallying; but still more, because, as Austin so truly said, "the country did not contain the men." Among the Radicals in Parliament there were several qualified to be useful members of an enlightened Radical party, but none capable of forming and leading such a party. The exhortations209 I addressed to them found no response. One occasion did present itself when there seemed to be room for a bold and successful stroke for Radicalism. Lord Durham had left the ministry, by reason, as was thought, of their not being sufficiently liberal; he afterwards accepted from them the task of ascertaining and removing the causes of the Canadian rebellion; he had shown a disposition210 to surround himself at the outset with Radical advisers211 ; one of his earliest measures, a good measure both in intention and in effect, having been disapproved212 and reversed by the Government at home, he had resigned his post, and placed himself openly in a position of quarrel with the ministers. Here was a possible chief for a Radical party in the person of a man of importance, who was hated by the Tories and had just been injured by the Whigs. Any one who had the most elementary notions of party tactics, must have attempted to make something of such an opportunity. Lord Durham was bitterly attacked from all sides, inveighed213 against by enemies, given up by timid friends; while those who would willingly have defended him did not know what to say. He appeared to be returning a defeated and discredited214 man. I had followed the Canadian events from the beginning; I had been one of the prompters of his prompters; his policy was almost exactly what mine would have been, and I was in a position to defend it. I wrote and published a manifesto215 in the Review, in which I took the very highest ground in his behalf, claiming for him not mere acquittal, but praise and honour. Instantly a number of other writers took up the tone: I believe there was a portion of truth in what Lord Durham, soon after, with polite exaggeration, said to me-that to this article might be ascribed the almost triumphal reception which he met with on his arrival in England. I believe it to have been the word in season, which, at a critical moment, does much to decide the result; the touch which determines whether a stone, set in motion at the top of an eminence, shall roll down on one side or on the other. All hopes connected with Lord Durham as a politician soon vanished; but with regard to Canadian, and generally to colonial policy, the cause was gained: Lord Durham's report, written by Charles Buller, partly under the inspiration of Wakefield, began a new era; its recommendations, extending to complete internal self-government, were in full operation in Canada within two or three years, and have been since extended to nearly all the other colonies, of European race, which have any claim to the character of important communities. And I may say that in successfully upholding the reputation of Lord Durham and his advisers at the most important moment, I contributed materially to this result.
One other case occurred during my conduct of the Review, which similarly illustrated216 the effect of taking a prompt initiative. I believe that the early success and reputation of Carlyle's French Revolution, were considerably217 accelerated by what I wrote about it in the Review. Immediately on its publication, and before the commonplace critics, all whose rules and modes of judgment62 it set at defiance218, had time to preoccupy219 the public with their disapproval220 of it, I wrote and published a review of the book, hailing it as one of those productions of genius which are above all rules, and are a law to themselves. Neither in this case nor in that of Lord Durham do I ascribe the impression, which I think was produced by what I wrote, to any particular merit of execution: indeed, in at least one of the cases (the article on Carlyle) I do not think the execution was good. And in both instances, I am persuaded that anybody, in a position to be read, who had expressed the same opinion at the same precise time, and had made any tolerable statement of the just grounds for it, would have produced the same effects. But, after the complete failure of my hopes of putting a new life into radical politics by means of the Review, I am glad to look back on these two instances of success in an honest attempt to do mediate50 service to things and persons that deserved it.
After the last hope of the formation of a Radical party had disappeared, it was time for me to stop the heavy expenditure221 of time and money which the Review cost me. It had to some extent answered my personal purpose as a vehicle for my opinions. It had enabled me to express in print much of my altered mode of thought, and to separate myself in a marked manner from the narrower Benthamism of my early writings. This was done by the general tone of all I wrote, including various purely literary articles, but especially by the two papers (reprinted in the Dissertations) which attempted a philosophical222 estimate of Bentham and of Coleridge. In the first of these, while doing full justice to the merits of Bentham, I pointed out what I thought the errors and deficiencies of his philosophy. The substance of this criticism I still think perfectly223 just; but I have sometimes doubted whether it was right to publish it at that time. I have often felt that Bentham's philosophy, as an instrument of progress, has been to some extent discredited before it had done its work, and that to lend a hand towards lowering its reputation was doing more harm than service to improvement. Now, however, when a counter-reaction appears to be setting in towards what is good in Benthamism, I can look with more satisfaction on this criticism of its defects, especially as I have myself balanced it by vindications of the fundamental principles of Bentham's philosophy, which are reprinted along with it in the same collection. In the essay on Coleridge I attempted to characterize the European reaction against the negative philosophy of the eighteenth century: and here, if the effect only of this one paper were to be considered, I might be thought to have erred224 by giving undue225 prominence226 to the favourable side, as I had done in the case of Bentham to the unfavourable. In both cases, the impetus227 with which I had detached myself from what was untenable in the doctrines of Bentham and of the eighteenth century, may have carried me, though in appearance rather than in reality, too far on the contrary side. But as far as relates to the article on Coleridge, my defence is, that I was writing for Radicals and Liberals, and it was my business to dwell most on that in writers of a different school, from the knowledge of which they might derive most improvement.
The number of the Review which contained the paper on Coleridge, was the last which was published during my proprietorship228. In the spring of 1840 I made over the Review to Mr Hickson, who had been a frequent and very useful unpaid229 contributor under my management: only stipulating230 that the change should be marked by a resumption of the old name, that of Westminster Review. Under that name Mr Hickson conducted it for ten years, on the plan of dividing among contributors only the net proceeds of the Review giving his own labour as writer and editor gratuitously. Under the difficulty in obtaining writers, which arose from this low scale of payment, it is highly creditable to him that he was able to maintain, in some tolerable degree, the character of the Review as an organ of radicalism and progress. I did not cease altogether to write for the Review, but continued to send it occasional contributions, not, however, exclusively; for the greater circulation of the Edinburgh Review induced me from this time to offer articles to it also when I had anything to say for which it appeared to be a suitable vehicle. And the concluding volumes of "Democracy in America," having just then come out, I inaugurated myself as a contributor to the Edinburgh, by the article on that work, which heads the second volume of the "Dissertations."
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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violations
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| 违反( violation的名词复数 )； 冒犯； 违反（行为、事例）； 强奸 | |
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attained
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| （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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derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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derived
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| 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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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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constituent
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| n.选民；成分，组分；adj.组成的，构成的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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mediate
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| vi.调解，斡旋；vt.经调解解决；经斡旋促成 | |
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attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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analytic
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| adj.分析的，用分析方法的 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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generalizations
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| 一般化( generalization的名词复数 )； 普通化； 归纳； 概论 | |
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fusion
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| n.溶化；熔解；熔化状态，熔和；熔接 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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68
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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69
excellences
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| n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 )；（只用于所修饰的名词后）杰出的；卓越的；出类拔萃的 | |
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70
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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71
conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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72
democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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73
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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74
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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75
neutralized
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| v.使失效( neutralize的过去式和过去分词 )；抵消；中和；使（一个国家）中立化 | |
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76
mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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78
modifications
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| n.缓和( modification的名词复数 )；限制；更改；改变 | |
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79
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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80
dissertations
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| 专题论文，学位论文( dissertation的名词复数 ) | |
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81
collateral
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|
| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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82
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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83
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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84
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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85
supersede
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| v.替代；充任 | |
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86
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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87
counteractive
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| 反对的，反作用的，抵抗的 | |
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88
degenerating
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的现在分词 ) | |
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89
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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90
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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91
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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92
jealousy
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|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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93
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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94
legislative
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|
| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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95
oligarchy
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| n.寡头政治 | |
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96
mischiefs
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|
| 损害( mischief的名词复数 )； 危害； 胡闹； 调皮捣蛋的人 | |
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97
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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98
irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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99
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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100
fully
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|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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101
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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102
radicals
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| n.激进分子( radical的名词复数 )；根基；基本原理；[数学]根数 | |
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103
advantageous
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|
| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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104
destined
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|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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105
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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106
coercion
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| n.强制，高压统治 | |
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107
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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108
retrospect
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|
| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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109
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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110
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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111
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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112
impelling
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|
| adj.迫使性的，强有力的v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的现在分词 ) | |
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113
gauche
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| adj.笨拙的，粗鲁的 | |
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114
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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115
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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116
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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117
radicalism
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| n. 急进主义, 根本的改革主义 | |
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118
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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119
corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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120
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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121
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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122
stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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123
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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124
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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125
ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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126
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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127
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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128
staple
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|
| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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129
peculiarities
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|
| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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130
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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131
conciliation
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| n.调解，调停 | |
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132
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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133
trespassed
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| （trespass的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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134
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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135
intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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136
utilitarian
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|
| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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137
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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138
repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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139
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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140
adversary
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|
| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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141
verbiage
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| n.冗词；冗长 | |
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142
asperity
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|
| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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143
judicious
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|
| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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144
augury
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| n.预言，征兆，占卦 | |
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145
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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146
analytical
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|
| adj.分析的；用分析法的 | |
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147
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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148
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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149
promulgation
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| n.颁布 | |
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150
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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151
abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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152
abatement
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| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
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153
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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154
merges
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| （使）混合( merge的第三人称单数 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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155
follower
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|
| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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156
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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157
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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158
essentially
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|
| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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159
accomplished
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|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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160
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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161
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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162
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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163
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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164
strenuous
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|
| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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165
ascendancy
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| n.统治权，支配力量 | |
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166
exempted
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| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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168
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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169
honourably
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| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
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170
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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171
gratuitously
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| 平白 | |
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172
induction
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| n.感应，感应现象 | |
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173
apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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174
abridges
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| 节略( abridge的第三人称单数 )； 减少； 缩短； 剥夺（某人的）权利（或特权等） | |
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175
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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176
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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177
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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178
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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179
syllogism
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| n.演绎法，三段论法 | |
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180
ratiocination
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| n.推理；推断 | |
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181
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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182
rekindled
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| v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183
inverse
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|
| adj.相反的，倒转的，反转的；n.相反之物；v.倒转 | |
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184
collation
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| n.便餐；整理 | |
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185
ascertaining
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|
| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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186
entirely
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|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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187
ardent
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|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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188
aspirations
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|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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189
adverted
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| 引起注意（advert的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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190
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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191
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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192
hierarchy
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|
| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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193
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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194
secular
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|
| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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195
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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196
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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197
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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198
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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199
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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concurred
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| 同意（concur的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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potency
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| n. 效力，潜能 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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chimerical
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| adj.荒诞不经的，梦幻的 | |
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ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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exhortations
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| n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 )；极力推荐；（正式的）演讲；（宗教仪式中的）劝诫 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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advisers
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| 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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disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inveighed
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| v.猛烈抨击，痛骂，谩骂( inveigh的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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manifesto
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| n.宣言，声明 | |
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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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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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preoccupy
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| vt.使全神贯注，使入神 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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erred
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| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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proprietorship
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| n.所有（权）；所有权 | |
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unpaid
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| adj.未付款的，无报酬的 | |
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stipulating
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| v.（尤指在协议或建议中）规定，约定，讲明（条件等）( stipulate的现在分词 )；规定，明确要求 | |
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