i. A World of Villages
THE AGE that now dawned was one of almost explosive progress, explosive, yet controlled. Unlike the industrial revolution, which is familiar to readers of this book, it was not dependent on licentious1 economic individualism. Its energy was derived2, of course, very largely from the self-assertive itch3 of able individuals, but the means of satisfying this craving4 were now in the main centrally planned and socially useful.
Superficially at least I was able to grasp the material achievement of the race in this period, but its cultural life henceforth increasingly escaped me, outranging my comprehension.
Nevertheless it seems worth while to describe the main features of the new order, not only because it was characteristic of the human race for a very long time but also because of its novelty and its significance for our own age. At the outset the innate5 calibre of the average human being was not appreciably6 higher than our own. Men were on the whole no more intelligent, and had no more capacity for generosity7 than we have; but, owing to the world-wide victory of the will for the light and the founding of a new tradition of moral integrity and a more wholesome8 economy, average individuals behaved far better. They lived normally far nearer the upper limit of their capacity. Instead of being constantly degraded by their environment, they were constantly braced9 and humanized. The rulers of the new world were not content with this. The whole social organization was dominated by the aim of continuously raising the average human capacity far beyond its present level.
The social order of the new world was very different from any earlier form. It might be described as at once ‘super-modern’ and yet in a way medieval. At bottom it depended on the special characters of the new source of mechanical power. Two contrary but harmonized tendencies were at work. On the one hand mechanization was being steadily10 pushed forward; on the other there was a surprising recovery of manual skill and versatility11 in the life of the ordinary human being. On the one hand came the fulfilment of social unity12 and harmony, on the other the development of the individual’s self-sufficiency and all-roundness.
This balanced economy was greatly assisted by the fact that power came to be accessible almost anywhere and was derived from quite ordinary materials. In our own age, no doubt, such an order would be far more difficult to establish, since in our stage of industrial evolution, power and manufacture both demand far-reaching organization, and the reducing of individuals to specialized13 cogs in the great machine. But even we, had we clear sight and the will for change, could at least set our faces in this direction.
Though at first the generators15 had been exceedingly cumbersome16 and delicate, the method was later transformed by a series of brilliant inventions, resulting from world-wide co-operative research. The standard generator14, which supported the new civilization as combustion17 engines of all sorts support our own, was a subtle little machine which could be housed in a small barn. All the skill of the most expert physicists18 was needed for the making of this instrument; but the finished article, if not fool-proof, was reliable, potent19, and versatile20. It could be used not only for the production of power but also for the transmutation of the elements, and the synthesizing of a vast range of materials for use. As a power-unit it demanded little more skill than we use in motoring; but as an instrument for the varied21 synthesizing of materials it could employ every range of ability. Some elements and compounds could be produced easily by any competent person, some demanded rather special aptitude22 and training, some could be attempted only by the most brilliant masters, and some had to be undertaken in the great electro-chemical factories.
Little by little every village came to have its own power plant. Even isolated23 houses generated their own power and could produce the simpler materials. In the main, however, the village was the unit of the new social system. Its strength was due to the scope and limitations of the standard generator, which employed directly and indirectly24 in village industry and agriculture between fifty and five hundred persons. The population of the average village consisted of the electro-magnetic engineers who saw to the generating of power, a number of craftsmen25 specialized in the production of the different kinds of material needed by the village, and another set of craftsmen who worked up the materials into articles of use. The former class of craftsmen, who were called ‘atomic weavers26’, used as their raw material ingredients in the local earth. These they bombarded with sub-atomic particles, fired out by their mighty27 power plant, and thus they produced a great range of elements and compounds. The process demanded the same kind of skill as that of the old-time hand-spinners and weavers, the craftsmen vying28 with each other to produce the subtlest and most serviceable compounds and mixtures free from all impurities29. These products were then worked up by craftsmen of the other class into crockery, furniture, cutting tools, building materials, clothing, and so on. The village textile workers clothed their fellow villagers in a great variety of simple but pleasing fabrics30. Even isolated households, with their smaller plant, could provide themselves with many of the simpler materials. On the other hand some villages excelled so much in a particular line of craftsmanship32 that their products were in demand throughout the countryside. Only the most difficult materials and articles had to be brought to the village from the local factory, itself but a large and highly specialized village or cluster of villages around a great power house and synthesis station.
The food of the village was not produced by the synthesis of organic compounds under sub-atomic power. Agriculture was still practised. But the old kind of agriculture was rapidly giving way to direct photo-synthesis of the essential food factors under sunlight. The village was surrounded by its private gardens and communal33 fields. The earth was impregnated with appropriate chemicals and sprinkled with the spore34 of an artificial ‘organic molecule’, which absorbed light and propagated itself till it covered the field with a green exfoliation. It was then gathered by a tractor armed with a sort of vacuum cleaner, washed, and worked up with other materials (similarly produced) into a great variety of food-stuffs. Throughout the summer the fields were harvested at intervals35 of about a week. The advantage of this system over the old-fashioned agriculture was that the land produced nearly ten times its former yield in food value.
Certain luxury foods, and every villager demanded his share of luxury, had to be procured36 from the local or national factory, and some specially37 choice articles from foreign lands. But any village with any pretension38 to taste and local pride could produce characteristic local variants39 of the essential synthetic40 ‘meats’, ‘breads’, ‘cheeses’, ‘fruits’, and drinks. Many an isolated homestead, if its food-making was managed with intelligence and artistry, could produce a simple but elegant meal to delight the most fastidious traveller.
Little by little the new processes transformed the whole economy of the world. A miniature aeroplane, driven by sub-atomic power derived from one of the rarer elements in the air, made it possible for everyone to travel anywhere at a speed which we should regard as more than adequate. For very long fast journeys people had to resort to air-liners and stratosphere-liners; but enterprising young men, and young women also, often went to the farthest countries in their own miniature planes. These little vehicles, commonly called ‘flies’, were rather smaller than our smallest gliders41. The flyer lay full length on his stomach in the coffin-like fuselage, which was padded to form a sort of bed.
Towns such as we know were disappearing. It was no longer necessary for people to live in great warrens, and there was a general demand for spaciousness42. Owing to the invaluable43 fly, this was no longer incompatible44 with constant social intercourse45. Many of the old towns were being demolished46 or thinned out so as to display to better advantage their few but valued architectural treasures. Slums had long since been turned into parks or agricultural land, with here and there a village. Of the old towns, the great ports alone fulfilled their old function, but these too were transformed. Save where ground space was restricted, as in New York, the congested area gave place to a host of villages separated by parks, market gardens, orchards47, and fields. The great increase of local self-sufficiency might have been expected to kill sea-borne trade, but though at first the ports declined, a new tendency soon appeared. Sub-atomic power had released so great a fund of human energy and skill that many of the peoples began to specialize once more, not indeed in the production of basic necessities, but in luxury foodstuffs48, luxury handicrafts, superfine machines and tools. A new and fierce competition arose between peoples that vied with each other to produce the very best articles of some particular type, such as optical instruments, textiles, furniture, and so on. This competition was not of the capitalist sort. Its motive49 was sheer pride of workmanship and enlightened patriotism50. In consequence of all this new industrial specialization, sea-borne and air-borne trade, and the transport of goods along the great arterial roads of the continents, were still important social services. Every village in this new and prosperous world demanded that, in addition to its self-sufficiency in essentials and its pride in local craftsmanship, it should have a share in the choicest products of the excess energy of all peoples.
The average individual in the new order, in whatever land he lived, was either a village craftsman31 in one of the specialized sub-atomic skills or a sort of glorified51 subsistence farmer. On his personal acre or in the communal village fields he produced enough food for his family or co-operated in the communal production of the village. Enough was left over for taxes, bartering52, trade with foreign lands, and lavish53 hospitality. As he would not be fully54 occupied by the new agriculture, unless he specialized in some difficult luxury product, he might also be enough of a craftsman with the sub-atomic machinery55 to make many of his household goods. His wife, possibly aided by the daughters, would prepare the food and keep the house in order. With the new power and the new labour-saving devices this would occupy no more than a couple of hours a day. The women would therefore lend a hand on the farm and probably spend a good deal of time on the production of clothes for the household. The children also would help on the farm, chiefly for their education. They would learn crafts for future use. The difference between the village agriculturalists and the village craftsmen was only one of emphasis. Both classes practised both activities, but while the agriculturalists supplemented their main occupation with simple crafts, the craftsmen were tillers and gardeners in their spare time.
As in the period that we call the Middle Ages, the great majority of men were agriculturalists to some extent; though minorities specialized completely, working in the factories, laboratories, and so on. In some districts specialism was more common than elsewhere. The different countries retained much of their characteristic pattern of life, but native customs were transmuted56 to accord with the general pattern and spirit of the new world. In some lands the ordinary village included, along with the houses of the village craftsmen, those of the local agriculturalists, who went to the communal or private fields each day by fly. Elsewhere the villages were populated mainly by craftsmen. The agriculturalists lived in scattered57 farm-houses throughout the countryside. In some countries there were few specialists, in others many. In some, agriculture was mainly individualistic, though subject to strict control by the state or the village; in others it was carried on by communal village enterprise. In some, where population was sparse58, the grown sons would set up new farms in the untamed land. In others, densely59 populated, the sons might either decide among themselves who was to take over the paternal60 farm, or all might stay on in the old home with their wives and families, supplementing its produce by trade in handicrafts. Sometimes the individual homestead expanded into a clan61 village. Sometimes a dwelling-house would be little more than a dormitory, all social activity being centred upon the village. Sometimes the villages them-selves tended to be mentally dominated by some neighbouring town or metropolis62. But even the greatest cities of the world were now organic clusters of villages, each making its own special contribution to the city’s life.
ii. Village Culture
One remarkable63 institution was almost universal, namely the village ‘meeting’, a gathering64 of all the villagers for the planning of their communal life. The ‘meeting’ took a great variety of forms in different lands; but nearly always it centred on a building which combined many of the characters of a village hall, a church, and a public house. By some freak of the evolution of language it was known in all countries as the ‘poob’. In it the village met every evening to yarn65, play games, sing, drink their synthetic elixirs66, smoke their synthetic tobaccos. It was also the communal eating-house where friends could meet over a meal, where many of the more sociable67 villagers fed every day, where the guests of the village were entertained, where village banquets were held. In it also the villagers met for concerts and lectures. In it at regular intervals they held their formal ‘meetings’ to discuss communal business and settle disputes. There they also held their sacred ceremonies, such as marriages, funerals, initiations into citizenship68, commemorations of great events, local, national, or cosmopolitan69.
The poob housed the village sports trophies70, historical relics71, and art treasures. It contained also, normally behind curtains, but displayed on great occasions, the village ‘ark’. This was at once a safe where valuable documents were preserved, a mascot72, a sacred symbol, and a shrine73. The ark was a great carved chest, often surmounted74 by a symbolic75 statue or picture. Sometimes it was the work of local craftsmen, sometimes it was a much treasured import from the near-by city or some foreign land. These objects varied greatly in aesthetic76 value and in symbolic power. A few were visited by pilgrims from every part of the planet. Others, though dear and sacred to the hearts of their own villagers, drew no attention from elsewhere. These symbols sometimes represented in a stylized manner incidents of special significance in the life of the village or the nation or mankind. Sometimes they symbolized77 love or reason or family, or the unity of the human race, or man’s relation to the cosmos78. On any solemn occasion, such as a marriage or one of the regular ‘days of contemplation’, the ark would be unveiled, and the assembled villagers would sit in silence for a few minutes before it. Music would follow, choral or instrumental, and then the brief and simple ceremony would be performed by the village headman or some specially deputed villager or stranger, either with some well-established form of words or impromptu79, or perhaps with silent gesture. When the ceremony was over the ark would be once more veiled, and the villagers would drink or feed together.
Often the poob was simply the ancient village church or temple. In cities it might be the cathedral or the city hall or some other historic building. Meetings of essentially80 the same type as the village meetings, but more ritualistic, took place in all the cities and in each national metropolis. Specially important meetings occurred in the four great cultural world-centres, Peking, Benares, Moscow, and San Francisco. But most exalted82 of all were the annual commemorations in sacred Lhasa.
Now that the economic problem had been solved, public attention was more and more directed to the cultural life of the race. Education was no longer dominated by the need to equip the young for the individualistic economic ‘battle of life’, nor yet by the demand for efficient and docile83 robots. Vocational training was still an important element in education, but it no longer devoured84 the whole time and attention of the young people. All children were brought up mainly in their native village. There were no boarding schools, great swarms85 of young things living in monastic isolation86 from the life of the world. Normally every child lived at home, and grew up in the normal environment of farm life, acquiring the various skills which were demanded by the varied life of adults. The village schools, though some were severely87 criticized for inefficiency88 or laxity, were in the main inspired by the new tradition of the race. In every country the teachers were jealously selected, and carefully trained in the great residential89 universities. In some countries a group of a score or a hundred neighbouring villages might combine to set up a common school for the brighter children of the whole district. Elsewhere this principle was rejected as tending to create a class division between the bright and the dull. Instead, both types were kept in the village school, but those who showed superior capacity were allowed to absent themselves from classes so long as they kept pace with the class work. The time thus gained they spent on developing their special powers or interests. A searching system of vocational selection skimmed off from the village schools those children of leaving age who had superior aptitude for particular occupations, and those who, through high general intelligence were fitted to become teachers or research workers in some branch of science or in technical philosophy, and also those whose special talents for organizing and social intercourse were needed for industrial management, large-scale economic planning, and political leadership.
Potential artists were also selected. These might either go into residence at one of the great art schools or universities; or else, living on the maintenance grant, they could allow their genius to pursue its own course, eking81 out their meagre grant by selling their works. Of set purpose, and not through mere90 niggardliness91, the state allowed the young man or woman who chose to avoid all state-organized professions only a bare minimum of help, whether his field of adventure was art or science or philosophy. Thus it was hoped to weed out those who had not actually ‘got it in them’ to produce creative work. On the other hand, no matter how preposterous92 or shocking to the public his products might be, the adventurer was at least assured of his minimum grant. And if it had any real merit (unperceived by the majority), and indeed often if it had no real merit at all, he might well succeed in selling. For, unless his work was both technically93 feeble and quite extravagantly94 idiosyncratic, it was very likely to find some sort of market in the new culturally conscious world. For in this new world-society pictures, statues, music, and writing were in demand, in some cases by the national, in others by the world-wide public, and in yet others by one or other of the special publics, each interested in some particular sphere or genre95 of art. It. was not uncommon96 for a neglected young painter to leap from penury97 to affluence98 and fame on the sale of a single work. Many artists, however, had no such luck, and were forced to live on the maintenance grant alone throughout their lives. Some of these, ahead of their time, became world-famous after death, but the great majority were merely untalented enthusiasts99. No one dreamed of grudging100 them their futile101 but harmless careers, since the community could well afford to maintain them. Indeed, since most farms kept open house for any stray travellers, and all villages provided meals and beds for a constant flow of visitors, these artistic102 failures could eat and sleep their way over the face of the earth and use their maintenance grant wholly for clothing and extra comforts.
iii. The Forwards
One class of persons in the new world-order it is very difficult to describe. They cannot be fitted into any of our categories. Moreover their function gradually changed and increased in importance. In the earlier period of the continually developing world-Utopia they were merely tramps with a bent103 for self-observation, observation of their fellow men and speculation104 about the universe. Later, they became a recognize and increasingly respected profession. They were called by an Indian name which was translated into the English of that period as ‘the forwards’. In some respects they were the equivalent of the ancient ‘Servants of the Light’ who had played so great a part in the overthrow105 of the Tyranny, but their function was not to overthrow a social order and found another. In some ways they were a religious body, but they had no common creed106 save their common loyalty107 to the spirit. Like the medieval friars they were under a vow108 of poverty. A forward’s belongings109 were never to be more than such as could be carried easily in a moderate-sized rucksack. They spent much of their time wandering from village to village and from continent to continent, much also in retreat in the austere110 and beautiful hostels111 which they themselves had built with their own hands. There they occupied themselves with communal farming and craftsmanship, and also with meditation112 and discussion. They practised ‘psychic exercise’, a form of self-discipline leading to super-normal clarity and depth of experience and to profound personal integration113. On their travels they often helped in harvesting or other emergency work, and they took part in the social and religious life of the villages where they stayed, absorbing the atmosphere of the local poob and in return giving whatever was communicable in their own life of contemplation and discipline. They were under no vow of chastity, but marriage and domesticity were rare among them. A few married couples lived in the hostels or wandered together, gipsy-like, with their children. The celibate114 sometimes permitted themselves sexual love, either with colleagues of the opposite sex or with persons outside the order. Women who bore children from these unions were not disgraced but honoured. The extramarital sexual relationships of the forwards were mostly passionate115 and brief. Long before their fire was quenched116 the consecrated117 partner would hear the call to pass on. Then in grief but without rancour, and in thankfulness for the past, the lovers would part.
It was the aim of every member of the order to participate so far as possible in all the great emotional experiences of the awakened118 human life, while at the same time remaining in his innermost self detached from all save fundamental loyalty to the spirit. Thus sexual love, and even marriage and the responsibilities of parenthood, must be broken off at the first sign of enthralment, and on the other hand before the deep and pure current of emotion was contaminated by disillusionment. Every partner who entered into relation with one of the forwards knew well that this was the stern condition of the union. But the agony of these separations could be a fruitful agony for both members. It was the claim of many of the forwards themselves that in the desolate119 recovery from these partings they sometimes rose to their states of clearest vision. On the other hand those few who lived in permanent marriage were apt to pity rather than admire the majority, saying, ‘Well, for each there is an appropriate way; but for us the undying, the life-giving union.’
In addition to the duty of detachment from ordinary human experiences, the forwards laid upon themselves a complementary obligation. They must in a manner preserve detachment even from their supreme120 consecrated task of spiritual adventure. This too, if it should become enthralling121 to the hungry individual spirit, or lead to any slightest withdrawal122 of active sympathy from the life of the world, or again if it should be poisoned by any faint breath of self-pride, must be at once abandoned. The penitent123 would then impose on himself some weeks or months or even years of mundane124 life, as a farm worker or craftsman, a factory-hand, organizer, or teacher.
The twofold aim of the forwards was to explore the highest capacities of the human spirit and to impart their findings to the world. They were very widely respected, but not universally. There were some intellectuals of sceptical temper and also some hard-headed men of affairs who regarded the whole enterprise of the forwards as futile. These critics pointed125 out that in the perfecting of society and the raising of average intelligence and the endless developing of intellectual culture the race would be able to occupy itself fully for centuries to come, and probably for ever. There was no need, they said, to peer into the black fog of mystery.
For hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years I seemed to watch the successful carrying out of this policy, the patient perfecting of the social organization, the amplification126 of human life, the slow but universal rise of intelligence, the proliferation of culture in a thousand novel directions. Throughout this long period the forwards played an unostentatious but valuable part. Their spiritual researches led to no striking discovery, but they formed mankind’s permanent outposts towards the super-human; and their influence in keeping the daily lives of ordinary men and women sweet, and in preventing the temper of the race from becoming merely mundane, was probably very great. Of course there were fluctuations127 in their integrity and in their usefulness, phases of corruption128 and regeneration, of stagnation129 and of significant change; periods too when their presence was barely tolerated or even actively130 resented, and others when their influence was very great. But on the whole throughout this age their part was never central and dominant131, as it was later to become.
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licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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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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itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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appreciably
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| adv.相当大地 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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versatility
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| n.多才多艺，多样性，多功能 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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generator
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| n.发电机，发生器 | |
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generators
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| n.发电机，发生器( generator的名词复数 )；电力公司 | |
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cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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combustion
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| n.燃烧；氧化；骚动 | |
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physicists
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| 物理学家( physicist的名词复数 ) | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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craftsmen
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| n. 技工 | |
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weavers
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| 织工，编织者( weaver的名词复数 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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vying
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| adj.竞争的；比赛的 | |
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impurities
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| 不纯( impurity的名词复数 )； 不洁； 淫秽； 杂质 | |
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fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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craftsman
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| n.技工，精于一门工艺的匠人 | |
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craftsmanship
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| n.手艺 | |
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communal
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| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
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spore
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| n.(无花植物借以繁殖的)孢子，芽胞 | |
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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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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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pretension
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| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
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variants
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| n.变体( variant的名词复数 )；变种；变型；（词等的）变体 | |
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synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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gliders
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| n.滑翔机( glider的名词复数 ) | |
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spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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46
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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47
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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48
foodstuffs
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| 食物，食品( foodstuff的名词复数 ) | |
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49
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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50
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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51
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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52
bartering
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| v.作物物交换，以货换货( barter的现在分词 ) | |
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53
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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54
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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55
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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56
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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58
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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59
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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60
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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61
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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62
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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63
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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64
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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65
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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66
elixirs
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| n.炼金药，长生不老药( elixir的名词复数 )；酏剂 | |
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67
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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68
citizenship
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| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
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69
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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70
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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71
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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72
mascot
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| n.福神，吉祥的东西 | |
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73
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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74
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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75
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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76
aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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77
symbolized
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| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cosmos
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| n.宇宙；秩序，和谐 | |
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79
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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80
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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81
eking
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| v.（靠节省用量）使…的供应持久( eke的现在分词 )；节约使用；竭力维持生计；勉强度日 | |
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82
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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83
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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84
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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85
swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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86
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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87
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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88
inefficiency
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| n.无效率，无能；无效率事例 | |
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89
residential
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| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
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90
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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91
niggardliness
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92
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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93
technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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94
extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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95
genre
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| n.(文学、艺术等的)类型，体裁，风格 | |
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96
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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97
penury
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| n.贫穷，拮据 | |
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98
affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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99
enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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100
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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101
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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102
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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103
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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104
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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105
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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106
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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107
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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108
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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109
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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110
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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111
hostels
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| n.旅舍，招待所( hostel的名词复数 )；青年宿舍 | |
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112
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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113
integration
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| n.一体化，联合，结合 | |
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114
celibate
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| adj.独身的，独身主义的；n.独身者 | |
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115
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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116
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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117
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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118
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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119
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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120
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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121
enthralling
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| 迷人的 | |
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122
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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123
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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124
mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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125
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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126
amplification
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| n.扩大，发挥 | |
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127
fluctuations
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| 波动，涨落，起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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128
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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129
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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130
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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131
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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