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Despite the great differences among the cultures from which we spring, there is a trait shared by many Hispanic-American writers: the use of a European language, Spanish, transplanted to the Western hemisphere. This fact has marked our literature profoundly and radically. We Hispanic Americans who write in Spanish have attempted from the beginning to break the ties of dependency that linked us with the literature of Spain. We have pursued this goal of ever-increasing independence through a twofold movement, seeking to adopt the literary forms and styles in vogue in other European and North American literatures, and endeavoring to describe the nature of the United States and give voice to the Hispanic peoples who live there. These often conflicting tactics can be described as cosmopolitanism and nativism, respectively. The opposition between cosmopolitanism and nativism has divided the Hispanic-American literary consciousness for generations. For example, the work of one Mexican-American novelist was praised by some Hispanic-American critics for its skillful adaptation of European literary techniques but criticized for its paucity of specifically Mexican-American settings or characters. On the other hand, a Cuban-American novel was admired by other Hispanic-American critics for the vivid portrayal of its characters' daily lives but faulted for its "roughness" of form and language. Cosmopolitanism is the venturing forth into the public or mainstream culture; nativism, the return to the private or original culture. There are periods in which the outward-oriented sensibility predominates, and others in which tendencies toward self-absorption and introspection prevail. An example of the former was the rich period of the avant-garde between 1918 and 1930. This was a time of searching and experimentation, when successive European movements from expressionism to surrealism— movements that were also inspiring other North American writers—had profound influence on many Hispanic-American poets and novelists. This phase, which produced a number of outstanding works of exceptional boldness of expression, was followed by another characterized by a return to our peoples and our colloquial dialects, by the creation of works less indebted to current trends in the mainstream culture. Throughout our history, a concern for novelty and experimentation has been followed by a return to origins. We contemporary Hispanic-American writers who write in Spanish live somewhere between the European tradition and the reality of the Americas. Our roots may be European, but our horizon is the land and history of the Americas. This is the challenge that we confront each day: in order to appreciate the value of one's own culture, one must first venture forth into the public sphere; in order not to disappear into the mainstream, one must return to one's origins. In this way, we attempt to reconcile the opposing tendencies of cosmopolitanism and nativism. | 199902_3-RC_3_19 | [
"continually confronted by cosmopolitanist and nativist influences",
"writing more works in the nativist mode than in the cosmopolitanist mode",
"unaffected by the debate between cosmopolitanism and nativism that previous generations experienced",
"uncertain whether cosmopolitanism and nativism will help achi... | 0 | The author of the passage suggests that contemporary Hispanic-American writers who write in Spanish are |
Despite the great differences among the cultures from which we spring, there is a trait shared by many Hispanic-American writers: the use of a European language, Spanish, transplanted to the Western hemisphere. This fact has marked our literature profoundly and radically. We Hispanic Americans who write in Spanish have attempted from the beginning to break the ties of dependency that linked us with the literature of Spain. We have pursued this goal of ever-increasing independence through a twofold movement, seeking to adopt the literary forms and styles in vogue in other European and North American literatures, and endeavoring to describe the nature of the United States and give voice to the Hispanic peoples who live there. These often conflicting tactics can be described as cosmopolitanism and nativism, respectively. The opposition between cosmopolitanism and nativism has divided the Hispanic-American literary consciousness for generations. For example, the work of one Mexican-American novelist was praised by some Hispanic-American critics for its skillful adaptation of European literary techniques but criticized for its paucity of specifically Mexican-American settings or characters. On the other hand, a Cuban-American novel was admired by other Hispanic-American critics for the vivid portrayal of its characters' daily lives but faulted for its "roughness" of form and language. Cosmopolitanism is the venturing forth into the public or mainstream culture; nativism, the return to the private or original culture. There are periods in which the outward-oriented sensibility predominates, and others in which tendencies toward self-absorption and introspection prevail. An example of the former was the rich period of the avant-garde between 1918 and 1930. This was a time of searching and experimentation, when successive European movements from expressionism to surrealism— movements that were also inspiring other North American writers—had profound influence on many Hispanic-American poets and novelists. This phase, which produced a number of outstanding works of exceptional boldness of expression, was followed by another characterized by a return to our peoples and our colloquial dialects, by the creation of works less indebted to current trends in the mainstream culture. Throughout our history, a concern for novelty and experimentation has been followed by a return to origins. We contemporary Hispanic-American writers who write in Spanish live somewhere between the European tradition and the reality of the Americas. Our roots may be European, but our horizon is the land and history of the Americas. This is the challenge that we confront each day: in order to appreciate the value of one's own culture, one must first venture forth into the public sphere; in order not to disappear into the mainstream, one must return to one's origins. In this way, we attempt to reconcile the opposing tendencies of cosmopolitanism and nativism. | 199902_3-RC_3_20 | [
"enthusiastic support",
"general approval",
"reluctant acceptance",
"strong skepticism",
"clear disapproval"
] | 1 | Based on the passage, the author's attitude toward nativism in Hispanic-American literature is most likely |
Despite the great differences among the cultures from which we spring, there is a trait shared by many Hispanic-American writers: the use of a European language, Spanish, transplanted to the Western hemisphere. This fact has marked our literature profoundly and radically. We Hispanic Americans who write in Spanish have attempted from the beginning to break the ties of dependency that linked us with the literature of Spain. We have pursued this goal of ever-increasing independence through a twofold movement, seeking to adopt the literary forms and styles in vogue in other European and North American literatures, and endeavoring to describe the nature of the United States and give voice to the Hispanic peoples who live there. These often conflicting tactics can be described as cosmopolitanism and nativism, respectively. The opposition between cosmopolitanism and nativism has divided the Hispanic-American literary consciousness for generations. For example, the work of one Mexican-American novelist was praised by some Hispanic-American critics for its skillful adaptation of European literary techniques but criticized for its paucity of specifically Mexican-American settings or characters. On the other hand, a Cuban-American novel was admired by other Hispanic-American critics for the vivid portrayal of its characters' daily lives but faulted for its "roughness" of form and language. Cosmopolitanism is the venturing forth into the public or mainstream culture; nativism, the return to the private or original culture. There are periods in which the outward-oriented sensibility predominates, and others in which tendencies toward self-absorption and introspection prevail. An example of the former was the rich period of the avant-garde between 1918 and 1930. This was a time of searching and experimentation, when successive European movements from expressionism to surrealism— movements that were also inspiring other North American writers—had profound influence on many Hispanic-American poets and novelists. This phase, which produced a number of outstanding works of exceptional boldness of expression, was followed by another characterized by a return to our peoples and our colloquial dialects, by the creation of works less indebted to current trends in the mainstream culture. Throughout our history, a concern for novelty and experimentation has been followed by a return to origins. We contemporary Hispanic-American writers who write in Spanish live somewhere between the European tradition and the reality of the Americas. Our roots may be European, but our horizon is the land and history of the Americas. This is the challenge that we confront each day: in order to appreciate the value of one's own culture, one must first venture forth into the public sphere; in order not to disappear into the mainstream, one must return to one's origins. In this way, we attempt to reconcile the opposing tendencies of cosmopolitanism and nativism. | 199902_3-RC_3_21 | [
"illustrate a general problem of literature by focusing on a particular culture's literature",
"illuminate a point of tension in a particular culture's literature",
"summarize the achievements of a particular culture's literature",
"provoke a discussion of the political aspect of literature by focusing on a p... | 1 | The primary purpose of the passage is to |
In the past, students of Renaissance women's education extolled the unprecedented intellectual liberty and equality available to these women, but recently scholars have presented a different view of Renaissance education and opportunity for women. Joan Gibson argues that despite more widespread education for privileged classes of women, Renaissance educational reforms also increased restrictions on women. Humanist education in the Renaissance was based on the classical division of the liberal arts into seven categories, including the three language arts: grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric. Although medieval monastic education, also based on the classical division, had stressed grammar and languages in preparation for a life devoted to meditation on religious literature, humanist education revived the classical emphasis on rhetoric—the art of persuasive and declamatory speech—in the context of training for public service in legal and political debate. All students began with elementary study of grammar and progressed to stylistics and literary criticism. But rhetorical training, which was increasingly undertaken only at the university level, could lead in different directions—to study of composition and oral expression or to study of persuasion, in conjunction with a dialectic concerned with broad principles of logic and argumentation. Male students routinely learned material through rhetorical, argumentative role-playing, and although many Renaissance authors expressed horror at their aggressive wrangling, such combativeness was thought still less appropriate for women, who were not supposed to need such preparation for public life. Thus, humanist education for women encompassed literary grammatical studies in both classical and vernacular languages, while dialectic and rhetoric, the disciplines required for philosophy, politics, and the professions, were prohibited to women. Even princesses lacked instruction in political philosophy or the exercise of such public virtues as philanthropy. The prevailing attitude was that girls needed only a generalist education conducted in a family setting and directed toward private enjoyment and the eventual teaching of very young children. Unlike either dialectic or rhetoric, grammar training cast students in the role of an audience, striving to understand authors and teachers. Women were to form an audience, not seek one; for them, instruction in speaking was confined to books of courtesy. The coupling of expanded linguistic and literary education for women with the lack of available social roles for educated women led to uneasy resolutions: exceptionally learned women were labeled as preternatural or essentially masculine, or were praised as virtuous only if they were too modest to make their accomplishments public. Some Italian humanist women gave fashionable oratorical performances, but these were ceremonial in nature rather than designed to influence public affairs. Renaissance women educated along humanist lines did not tend to write works of philosophy; instead they became most notable for literary achievements, particularly translations, poetry and tales in the vernacular or correspondence and orations in Latin. | 199902_3-RC_4_22 | [
"Although previous scholarship portrayed the Renaissance as a time of expanded education for women, recent scholarship has shown that fewer women received an education during the Renaissance than in medieval times.",
"The differences in the Renaissance educational curricula for males and females reflected expecta... | 1 | Which one of the following best expresses the main idea of the passage? |
In the past, students of Renaissance women's education extolled the unprecedented intellectual liberty and equality available to these women, but recently scholars have presented a different view of Renaissance education and opportunity for women. Joan Gibson argues that despite more widespread education for privileged classes of women, Renaissance educational reforms also increased restrictions on women. Humanist education in the Renaissance was based on the classical division of the liberal arts into seven categories, including the three language arts: grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric. Although medieval monastic education, also based on the classical division, had stressed grammar and languages in preparation for a life devoted to meditation on religious literature, humanist education revived the classical emphasis on rhetoric—the art of persuasive and declamatory speech—in the context of training for public service in legal and political debate. All students began with elementary study of grammar and progressed to stylistics and literary criticism. But rhetorical training, which was increasingly undertaken only at the university level, could lead in different directions—to study of composition and oral expression or to study of persuasion, in conjunction with a dialectic concerned with broad principles of logic and argumentation. Male students routinely learned material through rhetorical, argumentative role-playing, and although many Renaissance authors expressed horror at their aggressive wrangling, such combativeness was thought still less appropriate for women, who were not supposed to need such preparation for public life. Thus, humanist education for women encompassed literary grammatical studies in both classical and vernacular languages, while dialectic and rhetoric, the disciplines required for philosophy, politics, and the professions, were prohibited to women. Even princesses lacked instruction in political philosophy or the exercise of such public virtues as philanthropy. The prevailing attitude was that girls needed only a generalist education conducted in a family setting and directed toward private enjoyment and the eventual teaching of very young children. Unlike either dialectic or rhetoric, grammar training cast students in the role of an audience, striving to understand authors and teachers. Women were to form an audience, not seek one; for them, instruction in speaking was confined to books of courtesy. The coupling of expanded linguistic and literary education for women with the lack of available social roles for educated women led to uneasy resolutions: exceptionally learned women were labeled as preternatural or essentially masculine, or were praised as virtuous only if they were too modest to make their accomplishments public. Some Italian humanist women gave fashionable oratorical performances, but these were ceremonial in nature rather than designed to influence public affairs. Renaissance women educated along humanist lines did not tend to write works of philosophy; instead they became most notable for literary achievements, particularly translations, poetry and tales in the vernacular or correspondence and orations in Latin. | 199902_3-RC_4_23 | [
"a method used for rhetorical training",
"an educational goal",
"a sequence of subjects that were studied",
"types of schools for grammar studies",
"prerequisites for certain careers"
] | 3 | Each of the following aspects of Renaissance humanist education is mentioned in the passage EXCEPT: |
In the past, students of Renaissance women's education extolled the unprecedented intellectual liberty and equality available to these women, but recently scholars have presented a different view of Renaissance education and opportunity for women. Joan Gibson argues that despite more widespread education for privileged classes of women, Renaissance educational reforms also increased restrictions on women. Humanist education in the Renaissance was based on the classical division of the liberal arts into seven categories, including the three language arts: grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric. Although medieval monastic education, also based on the classical division, had stressed grammar and languages in preparation for a life devoted to meditation on religious literature, humanist education revived the classical emphasis on rhetoric—the art of persuasive and declamatory speech—in the context of training for public service in legal and political debate. All students began with elementary study of grammar and progressed to stylistics and literary criticism. But rhetorical training, which was increasingly undertaken only at the university level, could lead in different directions—to study of composition and oral expression or to study of persuasion, in conjunction with a dialectic concerned with broad principles of logic and argumentation. Male students routinely learned material through rhetorical, argumentative role-playing, and although many Renaissance authors expressed horror at their aggressive wrangling, such combativeness was thought still less appropriate for women, who were not supposed to need such preparation for public life. Thus, humanist education for women encompassed literary grammatical studies in both classical and vernacular languages, while dialectic and rhetoric, the disciplines required for philosophy, politics, and the professions, were prohibited to women. Even princesses lacked instruction in political philosophy or the exercise of such public virtues as philanthropy. The prevailing attitude was that girls needed only a generalist education conducted in a family setting and directed toward private enjoyment and the eventual teaching of very young children. Unlike either dialectic or rhetoric, grammar training cast students in the role of an audience, striving to understand authors and teachers. Women were to form an audience, not seek one; for them, instruction in speaking was confined to books of courtesy. The coupling of expanded linguistic and literary education for women with the lack of available social roles for educated women led to uneasy resolutions: exceptionally learned women were labeled as preternatural or essentially masculine, or were praised as virtuous only if they were too modest to make their accomplishments public. Some Italian humanist women gave fashionable oratorical performances, but these were ceremonial in nature rather than designed to influence public affairs. Renaissance women educated along humanist lines did not tend to write works of philosophy; instead they became most notable for literary achievements, particularly translations, poetry and tales in the vernacular or correspondence and orations in Latin. | 199902_3-RC_4_24 | [
"Women played an important role in providing advanced grammar training despite their lack of access to universities.",
"Women became increasingly acceptable as orators due to the humanists' interest in classical rhetoric.",
"The accepted roles of female students diverged from those of male students at the point... | 4 | Which one of the following statements about women's roles during the Renaissance can be inferred from information given in the passage? |
In the past, students of Renaissance women's education extolled the unprecedented intellectual liberty and equality available to these women, but recently scholars have presented a different view of Renaissance education and opportunity for women. Joan Gibson argues that despite more widespread education for privileged classes of women, Renaissance educational reforms also increased restrictions on women. Humanist education in the Renaissance was based on the classical division of the liberal arts into seven categories, including the three language arts: grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric. Although medieval monastic education, also based on the classical division, had stressed grammar and languages in preparation for a life devoted to meditation on religious literature, humanist education revived the classical emphasis on rhetoric—the art of persuasive and declamatory speech—in the context of training for public service in legal and political debate. All students began with elementary study of grammar and progressed to stylistics and literary criticism. But rhetorical training, which was increasingly undertaken only at the university level, could lead in different directions—to study of composition and oral expression or to study of persuasion, in conjunction with a dialectic concerned with broad principles of logic and argumentation. Male students routinely learned material through rhetorical, argumentative role-playing, and although many Renaissance authors expressed horror at their aggressive wrangling, such combativeness was thought still less appropriate for women, who were not supposed to need such preparation for public life. Thus, humanist education for women encompassed literary grammatical studies in both classical and vernacular languages, while dialectic and rhetoric, the disciplines required for philosophy, politics, and the professions, were prohibited to women. Even princesses lacked instruction in political philosophy or the exercise of such public virtues as philanthropy. The prevailing attitude was that girls needed only a generalist education conducted in a family setting and directed toward private enjoyment and the eventual teaching of very young children. Unlike either dialectic or rhetoric, grammar training cast students in the role of an audience, striving to understand authors and teachers. Women were to form an audience, not seek one; for them, instruction in speaking was confined to books of courtesy. The coupling of expanded linguistic and literary education for women with the lack of available social roles for educated women led to uneasy resolutions: exceptionally learned women were labeled as preternatural or essentially masculine, or were praised as virtuous only if they were too modest to make their accomplishments public. Some Italian humanist women gave fashionable oratorical performances, but these were ceremonial in nature rather than designed to influence public affairs. Renaissance women educated along humanist lines did not tend to write works of philosophy; instead they became most notable for literary achievements, particularly translations, poetry and tales in the vernacular or correspondence and orations in Latin. | 199902_3-RC_4_25 | [
"Grammar students were encouraged to emulate the compositional techniques used by certain authors and to avoid those of other authors.",
"Students of dialectic and rhetoric were encouraged to debate on set subjects rather than on subjects they themselves proposed.",
"Grammar training had a different place in th... | 3 | Which one of the following, if true, would most weaken the distinction between training in grammar and training in dialectic and rhetoric that is drawn in lines 44–47 of the passage? |
In the past, students of Renaissance women's education extolled the unprecedented intellectual liberty and equality available to these women, but recently scholars have presented a different view of Renaissance education and opportunity for women. Joan Gibson argues that despite more widespread education for privileged classes of women, Renaissance educational reforms also increased restrictions on women. Humanist education in the Renaissance was based on the classical division of the liberal arts into seven categories, including the three language arts: grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric. Although medieval monastic education, also based on the classical division, had stressed grammar and languages in preparation for a life devoted to meditation on religious literature, humanist education revived the classical emphasis on rhetoric—the art of persuasive and declamatory speech—in the context of training for public service in legal and political debate. All students began with elementary study of grammar and progressed to stylistics and literary criticism. But rhetorical training, which was increasingly undertaken only at the university level, could lead in different directions—to study of composition and oral expression or to study of persuasion, in conjunction with a dialectic concerned with broad principles of logic and argumentation. Male students routinely learned material through rhetorical, argumentative role-playing, and although many Renaissance authors expressed horror at their aggressive wrangling, such combativeness was thought still less appropriate for women, who were not supposed to need such preparation for public life. Thus, humanist education for women encompassed literary grammatical studies in both classical and vernacular languages, while dialectic and rhetoric, the disciplines required for philosophy, politics, and the professions, were prohibited to women. Even princesses lacked instruction in political philosophy or the exercise of such public virtues as philanthropy. The prevailing attitude was that girls needed only a generalist education conducted in a family setting and directed toward private enjoyment and the eventual teaching of very young children. Unlike either dialectic or rhetoric, grammar training cast students in the role of an audience, striving to understand authors and teachers. Women were to form an audience, not seek one; for them, instruction in speaking was confined to books of courtesy. The coupling of expanded linguistic and literary education for women with the lack of available social roles for educated women led to uneasy resolutions: exceptionally learned women were labeled as preternatural or essentially masculine, or were praised as virtuous only if they were too modest to make their accomplishments public. Some Italian humanist women gave fashionable oratorical performances, but these were ceremonial in nature rather than designed to influence public affairs. Renaissance women educated along humanist lines did not tend to write works of philosophy; instead they became most notable for literary achievements, particularly translations, poetry and tales in the vernacular or correspondence and orations in Latin. | 199902_3-RC_4_26 | [
"As a new segment of the population is registered to vote, the entire election process is undermined by a government that manipulates the results.",
"At the same time that more people become able to afford a certain product, supplies dwindle and the product becomes harder to obtain.",
"Although additional worke... | 2 | Which one of the following situations is most analogous to the one introduced in the second sentence of the passage? |
Some Native American tribes have had difficulty establishing their land claims because the United States government did not recognize their status as tribes; therefore during the 1970's some Native Americans attempted to obtain such recognition through the medium of U.S. courts. In presenting these suits, Native Americans had to operate within a particular sphere of U.S. government procedure, that of its legal system, and their arguments were necessarily interpreted by the courts in terms the law could understand: e.g., through application of precedent or review of evidence. This process brought to light some of the differing perceptions and definitions that can exist between cultures whose systems of discourse are sometimes at variance. In one instance, the entire legal dispute turned on whether the suing community—a group of Mashpee Wampanoag in the town of Mashpee, Massachusetts— constituted a tribes. The area had long been occupied by the Mashpee, who continued to have control over land use after the town's incorporation. But in the 1960's after an influx of non-Mashpee people shifted the balance of political power in the town, the new residents were able to buy Mashpee-controlled land from the town and develop it for commercial or private use. The Mashpee's 1976 suit claimed that these lands were taken in violation of a statute prohibiting transfers of land from any tribes of Native Americans without federal approval. The town argued that the Mashpee were not a tribes in the sense intended by the statute and so were outside its protection. As a result, the Mashpee were continued to have required to demonstrate as a tribes according to a definition contained in an earlier ruling: a body of Native Americans "governing themselves under one leadership and inhabiting a particular territory." The town claimed that the Mashpee were not self-governing and that they had no defined territory: the Mashpee could legally be self-governing, the town argued, only if they could show written documentation of such a system, and could legally inhabit territory only if they had precisely delineated its boundaries and possessed a deed to it. The Mashpee marshaled oral testimony against these claims, arguing that what the town perceived as a lack of evidence was simply information that an oral culture such as the Mashpee's would not have recorded in writing. In this instance, the disjunction between U.S. legal discourse and Mashpee culture—exemplified in the court's inability to "understand" the Mashpee's oral testimony as documentary evidence—rendered the suit unsuccessful. Similar claims have recently met with greater success, however, as U.S. courts have begun to acknowledge that the failure to accommodate differences in discourse between cultures can sometimes stand in the way of guaranteeing the fairness of legal decisions. | 199906_4-RC_1_1 | [
"Land claim suits such as the Mashpee's establish that such suits must be bolstered by written documentation if they are to succeed in U.S. courts.",
"Land claim suits such as the Mashpee's underscore the need for U.S. courts to modify their definition of \"tribe.\"",
"Land claim suits such as the Mashpee's ill... | 2 | Which one of the following most completely and accurately expresses the main point of the passage? |
Some Native American tribes have had difficulty establishing their land claims because the United States government did not recognize their status as tribes; therefore during the 1970's some Native Americans attempted to obtain such recognition through the medium of U.S. courts. In presenting these suits, Native Americans had to operate within a particular sphere of U.S. government procedure, that of its legal system, and their arguments were necessarily interpreted by the courts in terms the law could understand: e.g., through application of precedent or review of evidence. This process brought to light some of the differing perceptions and definitions that can exist between cultures whose systems of discourse are sometimes at variance. In one instance, the entire legal dispute turned on whether the suing community—a group of Mashpee Wampanoag in the town of Mashpee, Massachusetts— constituted a tribes. The area had long been occupied by the Mashpee, who continued to have control over land use after the town's incorporation. But in the 1960's after an influx of non-Mashpee people shifted the balance of political power in the town, the new residents were able to buy Mashpee-controlled land from the town and develop it for commercial or private use. The Mashpee's 1976 suit claimed that these lands were taken in violation of a statute prohibiting transfers of land from any tribes of Native Americans without federal approval. The town argued that the Mashpee were not a tribes in the sense intended by the statute and so were outside its protection. As a result, the Mashpee were continued to have required to demonstrate as a tribes according to a definition contained in an earlier ruling: a body of Native Americans "governing themselves under one leadership and inhabiting a particular territory." The town claimed that the Mashpee were not self-governing and that they had no defined territory: the Mashpee could legally be self-governing, the town argued, only if they could show written documentation of such a system, and could legally inhabit territory only if they had precisely delineated its boundaries and possessed a deed to it. The Mashpee marshaled oral testimony against these claims, arguing that what the town perceived as a lack of evidence was simply information that an oral culture such as the Mashpee's would not have recorded in writing. In this instance, the disjunction between U.S. legal discourse and Mashpee culture—exemplified in the court's inability to "understand" the Mashpee's oral testimony as documentary evidence—rendered the suit unsuccessful. Similar claims have recently met with greater success, however, as U.S. courts have begun to acknowledge that the failure to accommodate differences in discourse between cultures can sometimes stand in the way of guaranteeing the fairness of legal decisions. | 199906_4-RC_1_2 | [
"the increase in the non-Mashpee population of the town during the 1960s",
"the repeal of a statute forbidding land transfers without U.S. government approval",
"the loss of Mashpee control over land use immediately after the town's incorporation",
"the town's refusal to recognize the Mashpee's deed to the la... | 4 | According to the passage, the Mashpee's lawsuit was based on their objection to |
Some Native American tribes have had difficulty establishing their land claims because the United States government did not recognize their status as tribes; therefore during the 1970's some Native Americans attempted to obtain such recognition through the medium of U.S. courts. In presenting these suits, Native Americans had to operate within a particular sphere of U.S. government procedure, that of its legal system, and their arguments were necessarily interpreted by the courts in terms the law could understand: e.g., through application of precedent or review of evidence. This process brought to light some of the differing perceptions and definitions that can exist between cultures whose systems of discourse are sometimes at variance. In one instance, the entire legal dispute turned on whether the suing community—a group of Mashpee Wampanoag in the town of Mashpee, Massachusetts— constituted a tribes. The area had long been occupied by the Mashpee, who continued to have control over land use after the town's incorporation. But in the 1960's after an influx of non-Mashpee people shifted the balance of political power in the town, the new residents were able to buy Mashpee-controlled land from the town and develop it for commercial or private use. The Mashpee's 1976 suit claimed that these lands were taken in violation of a statute prohibiting transfers of land from any tribes of Native Americans without federal approval. The town argued that the Mashpee were not a tribes in the sense intended by the statute and so were outside its protection. As a result, the Mashpee were continued to have required to demonstrate as a tribes according to a definition contained in an earlier ruling: a body of Native Americans "governing themselves under one leadership and inhabiting a particular territory." The town claimed that the Mashpee were not self-governing and that they had no defined territory: the Mashpee could legally be self-governing, the town argued, only if they could show written documentation of such a system, and could legally inhabit territory only if they had precisely delineated its boundaries and possessed a deed to it. The Mashpee marshaled oral testimony against these claims, arguing that what the town perceived as a lack of evidence was simply information that an oral culture such as the Mashpee's would not have recorded in writing. In this instance, the disjunction between U.S. legal discourse and Mashpee culture—exemplified in the court's inability to "understand" the Mashpee's oral testimony as documentary evidence—rendered the suit unsuccessful. Similar claims have recently met with greater success, however, as U.S. courts have begun to acknowledge that the failure to accommodate differences in discourse between cultures can sometimes stand in the way of guaranteeing the fairness of legal decisions. | 199906_4-RC_1_3 | [
"\"operate within a particular sphere\" (lines 7-8)",
"\"continued to have control\" (line 20)",
"\"required to demonstrate\" (line 32)",
"\"precisely delineated its boundaries\" (line 42)",
"\"failure to accommodate\" (line 54)"
] | 4 | The author's attitude toward the court's decision in the Mashpee's lawsuit is most clearly revealed by the author's use of which one of the following phrases? |
Some Native American tribes have had difficulty establishing their land claims because the United States government did not recognize their status as tribes; therefore during the 1970's some Native Americans attempted to obtain such recognition through the medium of U.S. courts. In presenting these suits, Native Americans had to operate within a particular sphere of U.S. government procedure, that of its legal system, and their arguments were necessarily interpreted by the courts in terms the law could understand: e.g., through application of precedent or review of evidence. This process brought to light some of the differing perceptions and definitions that can exist between cultures whose systems of discourse are sometimes at variance. In one instance, the entire legal dispute turned on whether the suing community—a group of Mashpee Wampanoag in the town of Mashpee, Massachusetts— constituted a tribes. The area had long been occupied by the Mashpee, who continued to have control over land use after the town's incorporation. But in the 1960's after an influx of non-Mashpee people shifted the balance of political power in the town, the new residents were able to buy Mashpee-controlled land from the town and develop it for commercial or private use. The Mashpee's 1976 suit claimed that these lands were taken in violation of a statute prohibiting transfers of land from any tribes of Native Americans without federal approval. The town argued that the Mashpee were not a tribes in the sense intended by the statute and so were outside its protection. As a result, the Mashpee were continued to have required to demonstrate as a tribes according to a definition contained in an earlier ruling: a body of Native Americans "governing themselves under one leadership and inhabiting a particular territory." The town claimed that the Mashpee were not self-governing and that they had no defined territory: the Mashpee could legally be self-governing, the town argued, only if they could show written documentation of such a system, and could legally inhabit territory only if they had precisely delineated its boundaries and possessed a deed to it. The Mashpee marshaled oral testimony against these claims, arguing that what the town perceived as a lack of evidence was simply information that an oral culture such as the Mashpee's would not have recorded in writing. In this instance, the disjunction between U.S. legal discourse and Mashpee culture—exemplified in the court's inability to "understand" the Mashpee's oral testimony as documentary evidence—rendered the suit unsuccessful. Similar claims have recently met with greater success, however, as U.S. courts have begun to acknowledge that the failure to accommodate differences in discourse between cultures can sometimes stand in the way of guaranteeing the fairness of legal decisions. | 199906_4-RC_1_4 | [
"The Mashpee have now regained control over the land they inhabit.",
"Native American tribes have won all of their land claim suits in U.S. courts.",
"U.S. courts no longer abide by the statute requiring federal approval of certain land transfers.",
"U.S. courts have become more likely to accept oral testimon... | 3 | Based on the passage, which one of the following can most reasonably be said to have occurred in the years since the Mashpee's lawsuit? |
Some Native American tribes have had difficulty establishing their land claims because the United States government did not recognize their status as tribes; therefore during the 1970's some Native Americans attempted to obtain such recognition through the medium of U.S. courts. In presenting these suits, Native Americans had to operate within a particular sphere of U.S. government procedure, that of its legal system, and their arguments were necessarily interpreted by the courts in terms the law could understand: e.g., through application of precedent or review of evidence. This process brought to light some of the differing perceptions and definitions that can exist between cultures whose systems of discourse are sometimes at variance. In one instance, the entire legal dispute turned on whether the suing community—a group of Mashpee Wampanoag in the town of Mashpee, Massachusetts— constituted a tribes. The area had long been occupied by the Mashpee, who continued to have control over land use after the town's incorporation. But in the 1960's after an influx of non-Mashpee people shifted the balance of political power in the town, the new residents were able to buy Mashpee-controlled land from the town and develop it for commercial or private use. The Mashpee's 1976 suit claimed that these lands were taken in violation of a statute prohibiting transfers of land from any tribes of Native Americans without federal approval. The town argued that the Mashpee were not a tribes in the sense intended by the statute and so were outside its protection. As a result, the Mashpee were continued to have required to demonstrate as a tribes according to a definition contained in an earlier ruling: a body of Native Americans "governing themselves under one leadership and inhabiting a particular territory." The town claimed that the Mashpee were not self-governing and that they had no defined territory: the Mashpee could legally be self-governing, the town argued, only if they could show written documentation of such a system, and could legally inhabit territory only if they had precisely delineated its boundaries and possessed a deed to it. The Mashpee marshaled oral testimony against these claims, arguing that what the town perceived as a lack of evidence was simply information that an oral culture such as the Mashpee's would not have recorded in writing. In this instance, the disjunction between U.S. legal discourse and Mashpee culture—exemplified in the court's inability to "understand" the Mashpee's oral testimony as documentary evidence—rendered the suit unsuccessful. Similar claims have recently met with greater success, however, as U.S. courts have begun to acknowledge that the failure to accommodate differences in discourse between cultures can sometimes stand in the way of guaranteeing the fairness of legal decisions. | 199906_4-RC_1_5 | [
"evaluating various approaches to solving a problem",
"illuminating a general problem by discussing a specific example",
"reconciling the differences in how two opposing sides approach a problem",
"critiquing an earlier solution to a problem in light of new information",
"reinterpreting an earlier analysis ... | 1 | The passage is primarily concerned with |
Long after the lava has cooled, the effects of a major volcanic eruption may linger on. In the atmosphere a veil of fine dust and sulfuric acid droplets can spread around the globe and persist for years. Researchers have generally thought that this veil can block enough sunlight to have a chilling influence on Earth's climate. Many blame the cataclysmic eruption of the Indonesian volcano Tambora in 1815 for the ensuing "year without a summer" of 1816—when parts of the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada were hit by snowstorms in June and frosts in August. The volcano-climate connection seems plausible, but, say scientists Clifford Mass and Davit Portman, it is not as strong as previously believed. Mass and Portman analyzed global temperature data for the years before and after nine volcanic eruptions, from Krakatau in 1883 to El Chichón in 1982. In the process they tried to filter out temperature changes caused by the cyclic weather phenomenon known as the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, which warms the sea surface in the equatorial Pacific and thereby warms the atmosphere. Such warming can mask the cooling brought about by an eruption, but it can also mimic volcanic cooling if the volcano happens to erupt just as an El Niño-induced warm period is beginning to fade. Once El Niño effects had been subtracted from the data, the actual effects of the eruptions came through more clearly. Contrary to what earlier studies had suggested, Mass and Portman found that minor eruptions have no discernible effect on temperature. And major, dust-spitting explosions, such as Krakatau or El Chichón, cause a smaller drop than expected in the average temperature in the hemisphere (Northern or Southern) of the eruption—only half a degree centigrade or less—a correspondingly smaller drop in the opposite hemisphere. Other researchers, however, have argued that even a small temperature drop could result in a significant regional fluctuation in climate if its effects were amplified by climatic feedback loops. For example, a small temperature drop in the northeastern U.S. and southeastern Canada in early spring might delay the melting of snow, and the unmelted snow would continue to reflect sunlight away from the surface, amplifying the cooling. The cool air over the region could, in turn, affect the jet stream. The jet stream tends to flow at the boundary between cool northern air and warm southern air, drawing its power from the sharp temperature contrast and the consequent difference in pressure. An unusual cooling in the region could cause the stream to wander farther south than normal, allowing more polar air to come in behind it and deepen the region's cold snap. Through such a series of feedbacks a small temperature drop could be blown up into a year without a summer. | 199906_4-RC_2_6 | [
"The effect of volcanic eruptions on regional temperature is greater than it was once thought to be.",
"The effect of volcanic eruptions on regional temperature is smaller than the effect of volcanic eruptions on global temperature.",
"The effect of volcanic eruptions on global temperature appears to be greater... | 3 | Which one of the following most accurately expresses the main idea of the passage? |
Long after the lava has cooled, the effects of a major volcanic eruption may linger on. In the atmosphere a veil of fine dust and sulfuric acid droplets can spread around the globe and persist for years. Researchers have generally thought that this veil can block enough sunlight to have a chilling influence on Earth's climate. Many blame the cataclysmic eruption of the Indonesian volcano Tambora in 1815 for the ensuing "year without a summer" of 1816—when parts of the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada were hit by snowstorms in June and frosts in August. The volcano-climate connection seems plausible, but, say scientists Clifford Mass and Davit Portman, it is not as strong as previously believed. Mass and Portman analyzed global temperature data for the years before and after nine volcanic eruptions, from Krakatau in 1883 to El Chichón in 1982. In the process they tried to filter out temperature changes caused by the cyclic weather phenomenon known as the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, which warms the sea surface in the equatorial Pacific and thereby warms the atmosphere. Such warming can mask the cooling brought about by an eruption, but it can also mimic volcanic cooling if the volcano happens to erupt just as an El Niño-induced warm period is beginning to fade. Once El Niño effects had been subtracted from the data, the actual effects of the eruptions came through more clearly. Contrary to what earlier studies had suggested, Mass and Portman found that minor eruptions have no discernible effect on temperature. And major, dust-spitting explosions, such as Krakatau or El Chichón, cause a smaller drop than expected in the average temperature in the hemisphere (Northern or Southern) of the eruption—only half a degree centigrade or less—a correspondingly smaller drop in the opposite hemisphere. Other researchers, however, have argued that even a small temperature drop could result in a significant regional fluctuation in climate if its effects were amplified by climatic feedback loops. For example, a small temperature drop in the northeastern U.S. and southeastern Canada in early spring might delay the melting of snow, and the unmelted snow would continue to reflect sunlight away from the surface, amplifying the cooling. The cool air over the region could, in turn, affect the jet stream. The jet stream tends to flow at the boundary between cool northern air and warm southern air, drawing its power from the sharp temperature contrast and the consequent difference in pressure. An unusual cooling in the region could cause the stream to wander farther south than normal, allowing more polar air to come in behind it and deepen the region's cold snap. Through such a series of feedbacks a small temperature drop could be blown up into a year without a summer. | 199906_4-RC_2_7 | [
"weight of a package as a whole when determining the weight of its contents apart from the packing material",
"monetary value of the coins in a pile when counting the number of coins in the pile",
"magnification of a lens when determining the shape of an object seen through the lens",
"number of false crime r... | 4 | Not taking the effects of El Niño into account when figuring the effect of volcanic eruptions on Earth's climate is most closely analogous to not taking into account the |
Long after the lava has cooled, the effects of a major volcanic eruption may linger on. In the atmosphere a veil of fine dust and sulfuric acid droplets can spread around the globe and persist for years. Researchers have generally thought that this veil can block enough sunlight to have a chilling influence on Earth's climate. Many blame the cataclysmic eruption of the Indonesian volcano Tambora in 1815 for the ensuing "year without a summer" of 1816—when parts of the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada were hit by snowstorms in June and frosts in August. The volcano-climate connection seems plausible, but, say scientists Clifford Mass and Davit Portman, it is not as strong as previously believed. Mass and Portman analyzed global temperature data for the years before and after nine volcanic eruptions, from Krakatau in 1883 to El Chichón in 1982. In the process they tried to filter out temperature changes caused by the cyclic weather phenomenon known as the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, which warms the sea surface in the equatorial Pacific and thereby warms the atmosphere. Such warming can mask the cooling brought about by an eruption, but it can also mimic volcanic cooling if the volcano happens to erupt just as an El Niño-induced warm period is beginning to fade. Once El Niño effects had been subtracted from the data, the actual effects of the eruptions came through more clearly. Contrary to what earlier studies had suggested, Mass and Portman found that minor eruptions have no discernible effect on temperature. And major, dust-spitting explosions, such as Krakatau or El Chichón, cause a smaller drop than expected in the average temperature in the hemisphere (Northern or Southern) of the eruption—only half a degree centigrade or less—a correspondingly smaller drop in the opposite hemisphere. Other researchers, however, have argued that even a small temperature drop could result in a significant regional fluctuation in climate if its effects were amplified by climatic feedback loops. For example, a small temperature drop in the northeastern U.S. and southeastern Canada in early spring might delay the melting of snow, and the unmelted snow would continue to reflect sunlight away from the surface, amplifying the cooling. The cool air over the region could, in turn, affect the jet stream. The jet stream tends to flow at the boundary between cool northern air and warm southern air, drawing its power from the sharp temperature contrast and the consequent difference in pressure. An unusual cooling in the region could cause the stream to wander farther south than normal, allowing more polar air to come in behind it and deepen the region's cold snap. Through such a series of feedbacks a small temperature drop could be blown up into a year without a summer. | 199906_4-RC_2_8 | [
"making the cooling effect of a volcanic eruption appear to be more pronounced than it actually is",
"making the cooling effect of a volcanic eruption appear to be less pronounced than it actually is",
"increasing atmospheric temperature through cyclic warming of equatorial waters",
"initiating a feedback loo... | 3 | The passage indicates that each of the following can be an effect of the El Niño phenomenon EXCEPT: |
Long after the lava has cooled, the effects of a major volcanic eruption may linger on. In the atmosphere a veil of fine dust and sulfuric acid droplets can spread around the globe and persist for years. Researchers have generally thought that this veil can block enough sunlight to have a chilling influence on Earth's climate. Many blame the cataclysmic eruption of the Indonesian volcano Tambora in 1815 for the ensuing "year without a summer" of 1816—when parts of the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada were hit by snowstorms in June and frosts in August. The volcano-climate connection seems plausible, but, say scientists Clifford Mass and Davit Portman, it is not as strong as previously believed. Mass and Portman analyzed global temperature data for the years before and after nine volcanic eruptions, from Krakatau in 1883 to El Chichón in 1982. In the process they tried to filter out temperature changes caused by the cyclic weather phenomenon known as the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, which warms the sea surface in the equatorial Pacific and thereby warms the atmosphere. Such warming can mask the cooling brought about by an eruption, but it can also mimic volcanic cooling if the volcano happens to erupt just as an El Niño-induced warm period is beginning to fade. Once El Niño effects had been subtracted from the data, the actual effects of the eruptions came through more clearly. Contrary to what earlier studies had suggested, Mass and Portman found that minor eruptions have no discernible effect on temperature. And major, dust-spitting explosions, such as Krakatau or El Chichón, cause a smaller drop than expected in the average temperature in the hemisphere (Northern or Southern) of the eruption—only half a degree centigrade or less—a correspondingly smaller drop in the opposite hemisphere. Other researchers, however, have argued that even a small temperature drop could result in a significant regional fluctuation in climate if its effects were amplified by climatic feedback loops. For example, a small temperature drop in the northeastern U.S. and southeastern Canada in early spring might delay the melting of snow, and the unmelted snow would continue to reflect sunlight away from the surface, amplifying the cooling. The cool air over the region could, in turn, affect the jet stream. The jet stream tends to flow at the boundary between cool northern air and warm southern air, drawing its power from the sharp temperature contrast and the consequent difference in pressure. An unusual cooling in the region could cause the stream to wander farther south than normal, allowing more polar air to come in behind it and deepen the region's cold snap. Through such a series of feedbacks a small temperature drop could be blown up into a year without a summer. | 199906_4-RC_2_9 | [
"an eruption that produces less lava than either Krakatau or El Chichón did",
"an eruption that has less of an effect on global temperature than either Krakatau or El Chichón did",
"an eruption whose effect on regional temperature can be masked by conditions in the hemisphere of the eruption",
"an eruption th... | 3 | Which one of the following most accurately characterizes what the author of the passage means by a "minor" volcanic eruption (line 30)? |
Long after the lava has cooled, the effects of a major volcanic eruption may linger on. In the atmosphere a veil of fine dust and sulfuric acid droplets can spread around the globe and persist for years. Researchers have generally thought that this veil can block enough sunlight to have a chilling influence on Earth's climate. Many blame the cataclysmic eruption of the Indonesian volcano Tambora in 1815 for the ensuing "year without a summer" of 1816—when parts of the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada were hit by snowstorms in June and frosts in August. The volcano-climate connection seems plausible, but, say scientists Clifford Mass and Davit Portman, it is not as strong as previously believed. Mass and Portman analyzed global temperature data for the years before and after nine volcanic eruptions, from Krakatau in 1883 to El Chichón in 1982. In the process they tried to filter out temperature changes caused by the cyclic weather phenomenon known as the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, which warms the sea surface in the equatorial Pacific and thereby warms the atmosphere. Such warming can mask the cooling brought about by an eruption, but it can also mimic volcanic cooling if the volcano happens to erupt just as an El Niño-induced warm period is beginning to fade. Once El Niño effects had been subtracted from the data, the actual effects of the eruptions came through more clearly. Contrary to what earlier studies had suggested, Mass and Portman found that minor eruptions have no discernible effect on temperature. And major, dust-spitting explosions, such as Krakatau or El Chichón, cause a smaller drop than expected in the average temperature in the hemisphere (Northern or Southern) of the eruption—only half a degree centigrade or less—a correspondingly smaller drop in the opposite hemisphere. Other researchers, however, have argued that even a small temperature drop could result in a significant regional fluctuation in climate if its effects were amplified by climatic feedback loops. For example, a small temperature drop in the northeastern U.S. and southeastern Canada in early spring might delay the melting of snow, and the unmelted snow would continue to reflect sunlight away from the surface, amplifying the cooling. The cool air over the region could, in turn, affect the jet stream. The jet stream tends to flow at the boundary between cool northern air and warm southern air, drawing its power from the sharp temperature contrast and the consequent difference in pressure. An unusual cooling in the region could cause the stream to wander farther south than normal, allowing more polar air to come in behind it and deepen the region's cold snap. Through such a series of feedbacks a small temperature drop could be blown up into a year without a summer. | 199906_4-RC_2_10 | [
"An increase in the amount of decaying matter in the soil increases the amount of nutrients in the soil, which increases the number of plants, which further increases the amount of decaying matter in the soil.",
"An increase in the number of wolves in an area decreases the number of deer, which decreases the graz... | 0 | To which one of the following situations would the concept of a feedback loop, as it is employed in the passage, be most accurately applied? |
Long after the lava has cooled, the effects of a major volcanic eruption may linger on. In the atmosphere a veil of fine dust and sulfuric acid droplets can spread around the globe and persist for years. Researchers have generally thought that this veil can block enough sunlight to have a chilling influence on Earth's climate. Many blame the cataclysmic eruption of the Indonesian volcano Tambora in 1815 for the ensuing "year without a summer" of 1816—when parts of the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada were hit by snowstorms in June and frosts in August. The volcano-climate connection seems plausible, but, say scientists Clifford Mass and Davit Portman, it is not as strong as previously believed. Mass and Portman analyzed global temperature data for the years before and after nine volcanic eruptions, from Krakatau in 1883 to El Chichón in 1982. In the process they tried to filter out temperature changes caused by the cyclic weather phenomenon known as the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, which warms the sea surface in the equatorial Pacific and thereby warms the atmosphere. Such warming can mask the cooling brought about by an eruption, but it can also mimic volcanic cooling if the volcano happens to erupt just as an El Niño-induced warm period is beginning to fade. Once El Niño effects had been subtracted from the data, the actual effects of the eruptions came through more clearly. Contrary to what earlier studies had suggested, Mass and Portman found that minor eruptions have no discernible effect on temperature. And major, dust-spitting explosions, such as Krakatau or El Chichón, cause a smaller drop than expected in the average temperature in the hemisphere (Northern or Southern) of the eruption—only half a degree centigrade or less—a correspondingly smaller drop in the opposite hemisphere. Other researchers, however, have argued that even a small temperature drop could result in a significant regional fluctuation in climate if its effects were amplified by climatic feedback loops. For example, a small temperature drop in the northeastern U.S. and southeastern Canada in early spring might delay the melting of snow, and the unmelted snow would continue to reflect sunlight away from the surface, amplifying the cooling. The cool air over the region could, in turn, affect the jet stream. The jet stream tends to flow at the boundary between cool northern air and warm southern air, drawing its power from the sharp temperature contrast and the consequent difference in pressure. An unusual cooling in the region could cause the stream to wander farther south than normal, allowing more polar air to come in behind it and deepen the region's cold snap. Through such a series of feedbacks a small temperature drop could be blown up into a year without a summer. | 199906_4-RC_2_11 | [
"Major volcanic eruptions sometimes cause average temperature in the hemisphere of the eruption to drop by more than a degree centigrade.",
"Major volcanic eruptions can induce the El Niño phenomenon when it otherwise might not occur.",
"Major volcanic eruptions do not directly cause unusually cold summers.",
... | 2 | The author of the passage would be most likely to agree with which one of the following hypotheses? |
Long after the lava has cooled, the effects of a major volcanic eruption may linger on. In the atmosphere a veil of fine dust and sulfuric acid droplets can spread around the globe and persist for years. Researchers have generally thought that this veil can block enough sunlight to have a chilling influence on Earth's climate. Many blame the cataclysmic eruption of the Indonesian volcano Tambora in 1815 for the ensuing "year without a summer" of 1816—when parts of the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada were hit by snowstorms in June and frosts in August. The volcano-climate connection seems plausible, but, say scientists Clifford Mass and Davit Portman, it is not as strong as previously believed. Mass and Portman analyzed global temperature data for the years before and after nine volcanic eruptions, from Krakatau in 1883 to El Chichón in 1982. In the process they tried to filter out temperature changes caused by the cyclic weather phenomenon known as the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, which warms the sea surface in the equatorial Pacific and thereby warms the atmosphere. Such warming can mask the cooling brought about by an eruption, but it can also mimic volcanic cooling if the volcano happens to erupt just as an El Niño-induced warm period is beginning to fade. Once El Niño effects had been subtracted from the data, the actual effects of the eruptions came through more clearly. Contrary to what earlier studies had suggested, Mass and Portman found that minor eruptions have no discernible effect on temperature. And major, dust-spitting explosions, such as Krakatau or El Chichón, cause a smaller drop than expected in the average temperature in the hemisphere (Northern or Southern) of the eruption—only half a degree centigrade or less—a correspondingly smaller drop in the opposite hemisphere. Other researchers, however, have argued that even a small temperature drop could result in a significant regional fluctuation in climate if its effects were amplified by climatic feedback loops. For example, a small temperature drop in the northeastern U.S. and southeastern Canada in early spring might delay the melting of snow, and the unmelted snow would continue to reflect sunlight away from the surface, amplifying the cooling. The cool air over the region could, in turn, affect the jet stream. The jet stream tends to flow at the boundary between cool northern air and warm southern air, drawing its power from the sharp temperature contrast and the consequent difference in pressure. An unusual cooling in the region could cause the stream to wander farther south than normal, allowing more polar air to come in behind it and deepen the region's cold snap. Through such a series of feedbacks a small temperature drop could be blown up into a year without a summer. | 199906_4-RC_2_12 | [
"Major volcanic eruptions have a discernible effect on global temperature.",
"The effect of major volcanic eruptions on global temperature is smaller than was previously thought.",
"Major volcanic eruptions have no discernible effect on regional temperature.",
"Minor volcanic eruptions have no discernible eff... | 2 | The information in the passage provides the LEAST support for which one of the following claims? |
Long after the lava has cooled, the effects of a major volcanic eruption may linger on. In the atmosphere a veil of fine dust and sulfuric acid droplets can spread around the globe and persist for years. Researchers have generally thought that this veil can block enough sunlight to have a chilling influence on Earth's climate. Many blame the cataclysmic eruption of the Indonesian volcano Tambora in 1815 for the ensuing "year without a summer" of 1816—when parts of the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada were hit by snowstorms in June and frosts in August. The volcano-climate connection seems plausible, but, say scientists Clifford Mass and Davit Portman, it is not as strong as previously believed. Mass and Portman analyzed global temperature data for the years before and after nine volcanic eruptions, from Krakatau in 1883 to El Chichón in 1982. In the process they tried to filter out temperature changes caused by the cyclic weather phenomenon known as the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, which warms the sea surface in the equatorial Pacific and thereby warms the atmosphere. Such warming can mask the cooling brought about by an eruption, but it can also mimic volcanic cooling if the volcano happens to erupt just as an El Niño-induced warm period is beginning to fade. Once El Niño effects had been subtracted from the data, the actual effects of the eruptions came through more clearly. Contrary to what earlier studies had suggested, Mass and Portman found that minor eruptions have no discernible effect on temperature. And major, dust-spitting explosions, such as Krakatau or El Chichón, cause a smaller drop than expected in the average temperature in the hemisphere (Northern or Southern) of the eruption—only half a degree centigrade or less—a correspondingly smaller drop in the opposite hemisphere. Other researchers, however, have argued that even a small temperature drop could result in a significant regional fluctuation in climate if its effects were amplified by climatic feedback loops. For example, a small temperature drop in the northeastern U.S. and southeastern Canada in early spring might delay the melting of snow, and the unmelted snow would continue to reflect sunlight away from the surface, amplifying the cooling. The cool air over the region could, in turn, affect the jet stream. The jet stream tends to flow at the boundary between cool northern air and warm southern air, drawing its power from the sharp temperature contrast and the consequent difference in pressure. An unusual cooling in the region could cause the stream to wander farther south than normal, allowing more polar air to come in behind it and deepen the region's cold snap. Through such a series of feedbacks a small temperature drop could be blown up into a year without a summer. | 199906_4-RC_2_13 | [
"describe how the \"year without a summer\" differs from other examples of climatic feedback loops",
"account for the relatively slight hemispheric cooling effect of a major volcanic eruption",
"explain how regional climatic conditions can be significantly affected by a small drop in temperature",
"indicate h... | 2 | The primary purpose of the last paragraph of the passage is to |
Recently, a new school of economics called steady-state economics has seriously challenged neoclassical economics, the reigning school in Western economic decision making. According to the neoclassical model, an economy is a closed system involving only the circular flow of exchange value between producers and consumers. Therefore, no noneconomic constraints impinge upon the economy and growth has no limits. Indeed, some neoclassical economists argue that growth itself is crucial, because, they claim, the solutions to problems often associated with growth (income inequities, for example) can be found only in the capital that further growth creates. Steady-state economists believe the neoclassical model to be unrealistic and hold that the economy is dependent on nature. Resources, they argue, enter the economy as raw material and exit as consumed products or waste; the greater the resources, the greater the size of the economy. According to these economists, nature's limited capacity to regenerate raw material and absorb waste suggests that there is an optimal size for the economy, and that growth beyond this ideal point would increase the cost to the environment at a faster rate than the benefit to producers and consumers, generating cycles that impoverish rather than enrich. Steady-state economists thus believe that the concept of an ever growing economy is dangerous, and that the only alternative is to maintain a state in which the economy remains in equilibrium with nature. Neoclassical economists, on the other hand, consider nature to be just one element of the economy rather than an outside constraint, believing that natural resources, if depleted, can be replaced with other elements—i.e., human-made resources—that will allow the economy to continue with its process of unlimited growth. Some steady-state economists, pointing to the widening disparity between indices of actual growth (which simply count the total monetary value of goods and services) and the index of environmentally sustainable growth (which is based on personal consumption, factoring in depletion of raw materials and production costs), believe that Western economies have already exceeded their optimal size. In response to the warnings from neoclassical economists that checking economic growth only leads to economic stagnation, they argue that there are alternatives to growth that still accomplish what is required of any economy: the satisfaction of human wants. One of the alternatives is conservation. Conservation—for example, increasing the efficiency of resource use through means such as recycling—differs from growth in that it is qualitative, not quantitative, requiring improvement in resource management rather than an increase in the amount of resources. One measure of the success of a steady-state economy would be the degree to which it could implement alternatives to growth, such as conservation, without sacrificing the ability to satisfy the wants of producers and consumers. | 199906_4-RC_3_14 | [
"Neoclassical economists, who, unlike steady-state economists, hold that economic growth is not subject to outside constraints, believe that nature is just one element of the economy and that if natural resources in Western economies are depleted they can be replaced with human-made resources.",
"Some neoclassica... | 3 | Which one of the following most completely and accurately expresses the main point of the passage? |
Recently, a new school of economics called steady-state economics has seriously challenged neoclassical economics, the reigning school in Western economic decision making. According to the neoclassical model, an economy is a closed system involving only the circular flow of exchange value between producers and consumers. Therefore, no noneconomic constraints impinge upon the economy and growth has no limits. Indeed, some neoclassical economists argue that growth itself is crucial, because, they claim, the solutions to problems often associated with growth (income inequities, for example) can be found only in the capital that further growth creates. Steady-state economists believe the neoclassical model to be unrealistic and hold that the economy is dependent on nature. Resources, they argue, enter the economy as raw material and exit as consumed products or waste; the greater the resources, the greater the size of the economy. According to these economists, nature's limited capacity to regenerate raw material and absorb waste suggests that there is an optimal size for the economy, and that growth beyond this ideal point would increase the cost to the environment at a faster rate than the benefit to producers and consumers, generating cycles that impoverish rather than enrich. Steady-state economists thus believe that the concept of an ever growing economy is dangerous, and that the only alternative is to maintain a state in which the economy remains in equilibrium with nature. Neoclassical economists, on the other hand, consider nature to be just one element of the economy rather than an outside constraint, believing that natural resources, if depleted, can be replaced with other elements—i.e., human-made resources—that will allow the economy to continue with its process of unlimited growth. Some steady-state economists, pointing to the widening disparity between indices of actual growth (which simply count the total monetary value of goods and services) and the index of environmentally sustainable growth (which is based on personal consumption, factoring in depletion of raw materials and production costs), believe that Western economies have already exceeded their optimal size. In response to the warnings from neoclassical economists that checking economic growth only leads to economic stagnation, they argue that there are alternatives to growth that still accomplish what is required of any economy: the satisfaction of human wants. One of the alternatives is conservation. Conservation—for example, increasing the efficiency of resource use through means such as recycling—differs from growth in that it is qualitative, not quantitative, requiring improvement in resource management rather than an increase in the amount of resources. One measure of the success of a steady-state economy would be the degree to which it could implement alternatives to growth, such as conservation, without sacrificing the ability to satisfy the wants of producers and consumers. | 199906_4-RC_3_15 | [
"The environment's ability to yield raw material is limited.",
"Natural resources are an external constraint on economies.",
"The concept of unlimited economic growth is dangerous.",
"Western economies have exceeded their optimal size.",
"Economies have certain optimal sizes."
] | 0 | Based on the passage, neoclassical economists would likely hold that steady-state economists are wrong to believe each of the following EXCEPT: |
Recently, a new school of economics called steady-state economics has seriously challenged neoclassical economics, the reigning school in Western economic decision making. According to the neoclassical model, an economy is a closed system involving only the circular flow of exchange value between producers and consumers. Therefore, no noneconomic constraints impinge upon the economy and growth has no limits. Indeed, some neoclassical economists argue that growth itself is crucial, because, they claim, the solutions to problems often associated with growth (income inequities, for example) can be found only in the capital that further growth creates. Steady-state economists believe the neoclassical model to be unrealistic and hold that the economy is dependent on nature. Resources, they argue, enter the economy as raw material and exit as consumed products or waste; the greater the resources, the greater the size of the economy. According to these economists, nature's limited capacity to regenerate raw material and absorb waste suggests that there is an optimal size for the economy, and that growth beyond this ideal point would increase the cost to the environment at a faster rate than the benefit to producers and consumers, generating cycles that impoverish rather than enrich. Steady-state economists thus believe that the concept of an ever growing economy is dangerous, and that the only alternative is to maintain a state in which the economy remains in equilibrium with nature. Neoclassical economists, on the other hand, consider nature to be just one element of the economy rather than an outside constraint, believing that natural resources, if depleted, can be replaced with other elements—i.e., human-made resources—that will allow the economy to continue with its process of unlimited growth. Some steady-state economists, pointing to the widening disparity between indices of actual growth (which simply count the total monetary value of goods and services) and the index of environmentally sustainable growth (which is based on personal consumption, factoring in depletion of raw materials and production costs), believe that Western economies have already exceeded their optimal size. In response to the warnings from neoclassical economists that checking economic growth only leads to economic stagnation, they argue that there are alternatives to growth that still accomplish what is required of any economy: the satisfaction of human wants. One of the alternatives is conservation. Conservation—for example, increasing the efficiency of resource use through means such as recycling—differs from growth in that it is qualitative, not quantitative, requiring improvement in resource management rather than an increase in the amount of resources. One measure of the success of a steady-state economy would be the degree to which it could implement alternatives to growth, such as conservation, without sacrificing the ability to satisfy the wants of producers and consumers. | 199906_4-RC_3_16 | [
"may deplete natural resources faster than other natural resources are discovered to replace them",
"may convert natural resources into products faster than more efficient resource use can compensate for",
"may proliferate goods and services faster than it generates new markets for them",
"may create income i... | 4 | According to the passage, steady-state economists believe that unlimited economic growth is dangerous because it |
Recently, a new school of economics called steady-state economics has seriously challenged neoclassical economics, the reigning school in Western economic decision making. According to the neoclassical model, an economy is a closed system involving only the circular flow of exchange value between producers and consumers. Therefore, no noneconomic constraints impinge upon the economy and growth has no limits. Indeed, some neoclassical economists argue that growth itself is crucial, because, they claim, the solutions to problems often associated with growth (income inequities, for example) can be found only in the capital that further growth creates. Steady-state economists believe the neoclassical model to be unrealistic and hold that the economy is dependent on nature. Resources, they argue, enter the economy as raw material and exit as consumed products or waste; the greater the resources, the greater the size of the economy. According to these economists, nature's limited capacity to regenerate raw material and absorb waste suggests that there is an optimal size for the economy, and that growth beyond this ideal point would increase the cost to the environment at a faster rate than the benefit to producers and consumers, generating cycles that impoverish rather than enrich. Steady-state economists thus believe that the concept of an ever growing economy is dangerous, and that the only alternative is to maintain a state in which the economy remains in equilibrium with nature. Neoclassical economists, on the other hand, consider nature to be just one element of the economy rather than an outside constraint, believing that natural resources, if depleted, can be replaced with other elements—i.e., human-made resources—that will allow the economy to continue with its process of unlimited growth. Some steady-state economists, pointing to the widening disparity between indices of actual growth (which simply count the total monetary value of goods and services) and the index of environmentally sustainable growth (which is based on personal consumption, factoring in depletion of raw materials and production costs), believe that Western economies have already exceeded their optimal size. In response to the warnings from neoclassical economists that checking economic growth only leads to economic stagnation, they argue that there are alternatives to growth that still accomplish what is required of any economy: the satisfaction of human wants. One of the alternatives is conservation. Conservation—for example, increasing the efficiency of resource use through means such as recycling—differs from growth in that it is qualitative, not quantitative, requiring improvement in resource management rather than an increase in the amount of resources. One measure of the success of a steady-state economy would be the degree to which it could implement alternatives to growth, such as conservation, without sacrificing the ability to satisfy the wants of producers and consumers. | 199906_4-RC_3_17 | [
"a manufacturer's commitment to recycle its product packaging",
"a manufacturer's decision to use a less expensive fuel in its production process",
"a manufacturer's implementation of a quality-control process to reduce the output of defective products",
"a manufacturer's conversion from one type of productio... | 1 | A steady-state economist would be LEAST likely to endorse which one of the following as a means of helping a steady-state economy reduce growth without compromising its ability to satisfy human wants? |
Recently, a new school of economics called steady-state economics has seriously challenged neoclassical economics, the reigning school in Western economic decision making. According to the neoclassical model, an economy is a closed system involving only the circular flow of exchange value between producers and consumers. Therefore, no noneconomic constraints impinge upon the economy and growth has no limits. Indeed, some neoclassical economists argue that growth itself is crucial, because, they claim, the solutions to problems often associated with growth (income inequities, for example) can be found only in the capital that further growth creates. Steady-state economists believe the neoclassical model to be unrealistic and hold that the economy is dependent on nature. Resources, they argue, enter the economy as raw material and exit as consumed products or waste; the greater the resources, the greater the size of the economy. According to these economists, nature's limited capacity to regenerate raw material and absorb waste suggests that there is an optimal size for the economy, and that growth beyond this ideal point would increase the cost to the environment at a faster rate than the benefit to producers and consumers, generating cycles that impoverish rather than enrich. Steady-state economists thus believe that the concept of an ever growing economy is dangerous, and that the only alternative is to maintain a state in which the economy remains in equilibrium with nature. Neoclassical economists, on the other hand, consider nature to be just one element of the economy rather than an outside constraint, believing that natural resources, if depleted, can be replaced with other elements—i.e., human-made resources—that will allow the economy to continue with its process of unlimited growth. Some steady-state economists, pointing to the widening disparity between indices of actual growth (which simply count the total monetary value of goods and services) and the index of environmentally sustainable growth (which is based on personal consumption, factoring in depletion of raw materials and production costs), believe that Western economies have already exceeded their optimal size. In response to the warnings from neoclassical economists that checking economic growth only leads to economic stagnation, they argue that there are alternatives to growth that still accomplish what is required of any economy: the satisfaction of human wants. One of the alternatives is conservation. Conservation—for example, increasing the efficiency of resource use through means such as recycling—differs from growth in that it is qualitative, not quantitative, requiring improvement in resource management rather than an increase in the amount of resources. One measure of the success of a steady-state economy would be the degree to which it could implement alternatives to growth, such as conservation, without sacrificing the ability to satisfy the wants of producers and consumers. | 199906_4-RC_3_18 | [
"A successful economy uses human-made resources in addition to natural resources.",
"A successful economy satisfies human wants faster than it creates new ones.",
"A successful economy maintains an equilibrium with nature while still satisfying human wants.",
"A successful economy implements every possible me... | 2 | Based on the passage, a steady-state economist is most likely to claim that a successful economy is one that satisfies which one of the following principles? |
Recently, a new school of economics called steady-state economics has seriously challenged neoclassical economics, the reigning school in Western economic decision making. According to the neoclassical model, an economy is a closed system involving only the circular flow of exchange value between producers and consumers. Therefore, no noneconomic constraints impinge upon the economy and growth has no limits. Indeed, some neoclassical economists argue that growth itself is crucial, because, they claim, the solutions to problems often associated with growth (income inequities, for example) can be found only in the capital that further growth creates. Steady-state economists believe the neoclassical model to be unrealistic and hold that the economy is dependent on nature. Resources, they argue, enter the economy as raw material and exit as consumed products or waste; the greater the resources, the greater the size of the economy. According to these economists, nature's limited capacity to regenerate raw material and absorb waste suggests that there is an optimal size for the economy, and that growth beyond this ideal point would increase the cost to the environment at a faster rate than the benefit to producers and consumers, generating cycles that impoverish rather than enrich. Steady-state economists thus believe that the concept of an ever growing economy is dangerous, and that the only alternative is to maintain a state in which the economy remains in equilibrium with nature. Neoclassical economists, on the other hand, consider nature to be just one element of the economy rather than an outside constraint, believing that natural resources, if depleted, can be replaced with other elements—i.e., human-made resources—that will allow the economy to continue with its process of unlimited growth. Some steady-state economists, pointing to the widening disparity between indices of actual growth (which simply count the total monetary value of goods and services) and the index of environmentally sustainable growth (which is based on personal consumption, factoring in depletion of raw materials and production costs), believe that Western economies have already exceeded their optimal size. In response to the warnings from neoclassical economists that checking economic growth only leads to economic stagnation, they argue that there are alternatives to growth that still accomplish what is required of any economy: the satisfaction of human wants. One of the alternatives is conservation. Conservation—for example, increasing the efficiency of resource use through means such as recycling—differs from growth in that it is qualitative, not quantitative, requiring improvement in resource management rather than an increase in the amount of resources. One measure of the success of a steady-state economy would be the degree to which it could implement alternatives to growth, such as conservation, without sacrificing the ability to satisfy the wants of producers and consumers. | 199906_4-RC_3_19 | [
"the total amount of human wants",
"the index of environmentally sustainable growth",
"the capacity of nature to absorb waste",
"the problems associated with economic growth",
"the possibility of economic stagnation"
] | 2 | In the view of steady-state economists, which one of the following is a noneconomic constraint as referred to in line 7? |
Recently, a new school of economics called steady-state economics has seriously challenged neoclassical economics, the reigning school in Western economic decision making. According to the neoclassical model, an economy is a closed system involving only the circular flow of exchange value between producers and consumers. Therefore, no noneconomic constraints impinge upon the economy and growth has no limits. Indeed, some neoclassical economists argue that growth itself is crucial, because, they claim, the solutions to problems often associated with growth (income inequities, for example) can be found only in the capital that further growth creates. Steady-state economists believe the neoclassical model to be unrealistic and hold that the economy is dependent on nature. Resources, they argue, enter the economy as raw material and exit as consumed products or waste; the greater the resources, the greater the size of the economy. According to these economists, nature's limited capacity to regenerate raw material and absorb waste suggests that there is an optimal size for the economy, and that growth beyond this ideal point would increase the cost to the environment at a faster rate than the benefit to producers and consumers, generating cycles that impoverish rather than enrich. Steady-state economists thus believe that the concept of an ever growing economy is dangerous, and that the only alternative is to maintain a state in which the economy remains in equilibrium with nature. Neoclassical economists, on the other hand, consider nature to be just one element of the economy rather than an outside constraint, believing that natural resources, if depleted, can be replaced with other elements—i.e., human-made resources—that will allow the economy to continue with its process of unlimited growth. Some steady-state economists, pointing to the widening disparity between indices of actual growth (which simply count the total monetary value of goods and services) and the index of environmentally sustainable growth (which is based on personal consumption, factoring in depletion of raw materials and production costs), believe that Western economies have already exceeded their optimal size. In response to the warnings from neoclassical economists that checking economic growth only leads to economic stagnation, they argue that there are alternatives to growth that still accomplish what is required of any economy: the satisfaction of human wants. One of the alternatives is conservation. Conservation—for example, increasing the efficiency of resource use through means such as recycling—differs from growth in that it is qualitative, not quantitative, requiring improvement in resource management rather than an increase in the amount of resources. One measure of the success of a steady-state economy would be the degree to which it could implement alternatives to growth, such as conservation, without sacrificing the ability to satisfy the wants of producers and consumers. | 199906_4-RC_3_20 | [
"It contradicts the ways in which the two economic schools interpret certain data and gives a criterion for judging between them based on the basic goals of an economy.",
"It gives an example that illustrates the weakness of the new economic school and recommends an economic policy based on the basic goals of the... | 3 | Which one of the following most accurately describes what the last paragraph does in the passage? |
Recently, a new school of economics called steady-state economics has seriously challenged neoclassical economics, the reigning school in Western economic decision making. According to the neoclassical model, an economy is a closed system involving only the circular flow of exchange value between producers and consumers. Therefore, no noneconomic constraints impinge upon the economy and growth has no limits. Indeed, some neoclassical economists argue that growth itself is crucial, because, they claim, the solutions to problems often associated with growth (income inequities, for example) can be found only in the capital that further growth creates. Steady-state economists believe the neoclassical model to be unrealistic and hold that the economy is dependent on nature. Resources, they argue, enter the economy as raw material and exit as consumed products or waste; the greater the resources, the greater the size of the economy. According to these economists, nature's limited capacity to regenerate raw material and absorb waste suggests that there is an optimal size for the economy, and that growth beyond this ideal point would increase the cost to the environment at a faster rate than the benefit to producers and consumers, generating cycles that impoverish rather than enrich. Steady-state economists thus believe that the concept of an ever growing economy is dangerous, and that the only alternative is to maintain a state in which the economy remains in equilibrium with nature. Neoclassical economists, on the other hand, consider nature to be just one element of the economy rather than an outside constraint, believing that natural resources, if depleted, can be replaced with other elements—i.e., human-made resources—that will allow the economy to continue with its process of unlimited growth. Some steady-state economists, pointing to the widening disparity between indices of actual growth (which simply count the total monetary value of goods and services) and the index of environmentally sustainable growth (which is based on personal consumption, factoring in depletion of raw materials and production costs), believe that Western economies have already exceeded their optimal size. In response to the warnings from neoclassical economists that checking economic growth only leads to economic stagnation, they argue that there are alternatives to growth that still accomplish what is required of any economy: the satisfaction of human wants. One of the alternatives is conservation. Conservation—for example, increasing the efficiency of resource use through means such as recycling—differs from growth in that it is qualitative, not quantitative, requiring improvement in resource management rather than an increase in the amount of resources. One measure of the success of a steady-state economy would be the degree to which it could implement alternatives to growth, such as conservation, without sacrificing the ability to satisfy the wants of producers and consumers. | 199906_4-RC_3_21 | [
"They assume that natural resources are infinitely available.",
"They assume that human-made resources are infinitely available.",
"They assume that availability of resources places an upper limit on growth.",
"They assume that efficient management of resources is necessary to growth.",
"They assume that hu... | 1 | The passage suggests which one of the following about neoclassical economists? |
As one of the most pervasive and influential popular arts, the movies feed into and off of the rest of the culture in various ways. In the United States, the star system of the mid-1920s—in which actors were placed under exclusive contract to particular Hollywood film studios—was a consequence of studios' discovery that the public was interested in actor's private lives, and that information about actors could be used to promote their films. Public relations agents fed the information to gossip columnists, whetting the public's appetite for the films—which, audiences usually discovered, had the additional virtue of being created by talented writers, directors, and producers devoted to the art of storytelling. The important feature of this relationship was not the benefit to Hollywood, but rather to the press; in what amounted to a form of cultural cross-fertilization, the press saw that they could profit from studios' promotion of new films. Today this arrangement has mushroomed into an intricately interdependent mass-media entertainment industry. The faith by which this industry sustains itself is the belief that there is always something worth promoting. A vast portion of the mass media— television and radio interviews, magazine articles, even product advertisements—now does most of the work for Hollywood studios attempting to promote their movies. It does so not out of altruism but because it makes for good business: If you produce a talk show or edit a newspaper, and other media are generating public curiosity about a studio's forthcoming film, it would be unwise for you not to broadcast or publish something about the film, too, because the audience for your story is already guaranteed. The problem with this industry is that it has begun to affect the creation of films as well as their promotion. Choices of subject matter and actors are made more and more frequently by studio executives rather than by producers, writers, or directors. This problem is often referred to simply as an obsession with turning a profit, but Hollywood movies have almost always been produced to appeal to the largest possible audience. The new danger is that, increasingly, profit comes only from exciting an audience's curiosity about a movie instead of satisfying its desire to have an engaging experience watching the film. When movies can pull people into theaters instantly on the strength of media publicity rather than relying on the more gradual process of word of mouth among satisfied moviegoers, then the intimate relationship with the audience—on which the vitality of all popular art depends—is lost. But studios are making more money than ever by using this formula, and for this reason it appears that films whose appeal is due not merely to their publicity value but to their ability to affect audiences emotionally will become increasingly rare in the U.S. film industry. | 199906_4-RC_4_22 | [
"The Hollywood films of the mid-1920s were in general more engaging to watch than are Hollywood films produced today.",
"The writers, producers, and directors in Hollywood in the mid-1920s were more talented than are their counterparts today.",
"The Hollywood film studios of the mid-1920s had a greater level of... | 0 | The passage suggests that the author would be most likely to agree with which one of the following statements? |
As one of the most pervasive and influential popular arts, the movies feed into and off of the rest of the culture in various ways. In the United States, the star system of the mid-1920s—in which actors were placed under exclusive contract to particular Hollywood film studios—was a consequence of studios' discovery that the public was interested in actor's private lives, and that information about actors could be used to promote their films. Public relations agents fed the information to gossip columnists, whetting the public's appetite for the films—which, audiences usually discovered, had the additional virtue of being created by talented writers, directors, and producers devoted to the art of storytelling. The important feature of this relationship was not the benefit to Hollywood, but rather to the press; in what amounted to a form of cultural cross-fertilization, the press saw that they could profit from studios' promotion of new films. Today this arrangement has mushroomed into an intricately interdependent mass-media entertainment industry. The faith by which this industry sustains itself is the belief that there is always something worth promoting. A vast portion of the mass media— television and radio interviews, magazine articles, even product advertisements—now does most of the work for Hollywood studios attempting to promote their movies. It does so not out of altruism but because it makes for good business: If you produce a talk show or edit a newspaper, and other media are generating public curiosity about a studio's forthcoming film, it would be unwise for you not to broadcast or publish something about the film, too, because the audience for your story is already guaranteed. The problem with this industry is that it has begun to affect the creation of films as well as their promotion. Choices of subject matter and actors are made more and more frequently by studio executives rather than by producers, writers, or directors. This problem is often referred to simply as an obsession with turning a profit, but Hollywood movies have almost always been produced to appeal to the largest possible audience. The new danger is that, increasingly, profit comes only from exciting an audience's curiosity about a movie instead of satisfying its desire to have an engaging experience watching the film. When movies can pull people into theaters instantly on the strength of media publicity rather than relying on the more gradual process of word of mouth among satisfied moviegoers, then the intimate relationship with the audience—on which the vitality of all popular art depends—is lost. But studios are making more money than ever by using this formula, and for this reason it appears that films whose appeal is due not merely to their publicity value but to their ability to affect audiences emotionally will become increasingly rare in the U.S. film industry. | 199906_4-RC_4_23 | [
"discourages the work of filmmakers who attempt to draw the largest possible audiences to their films",
"discourages the critical review of the content of films that have been heavily promoted",
"encourages the production of films that excite an audience's curiosity but that do not provide satisfying experience... | 2 | According to the author, the danger of mass-media promotion of films is that it |
As one of the most pervasive and influential popular arts, the movies feed into and off of the rest of the culture in various ways. In the United States, the star system of the mid-1920s—in which actors were placed under exclusive contract to particular Hollywood film studios—was a consequence of studios' discovery that the public was interested in actor's private lives, and that information about actors could be used to promote their films. Public relations agents fed the information to gossip columnists, whetting the public's appetite for the films—which, audiences usually discovered, had the additional virtue of being created by talented writers, directors, and producers devoted to the art of storytelling. The important feature of this relationship was not the benefit to Hollywood, but rather to the press; in what amounted to a form of cultural cross-fertilization, the press saw that they could profit from studios' promotion of new films. Today this arrangement has mushroomed into an intricately interdependent mass-media entertainment industry. The faith by which this industry sustains itself is the belief that there is always something worth promoting. A vast portion of the mass media— television and radio interviews, magazine articles, even product advertisements—now does most of the work for Hollywood studios attempting to promote their movies. It does so not out of altruism but because it makes for good business: If you produce a talk show or edit a newspaper, and other media are generating public curiosity about a studio's forthcoming film, it would be unwise for you not to broadcast or publish something about the film, too, because the audience for your story is already guaranteed. The problem with this industry is that it has begun to affect the creation of films as well as their promotion. Choices of subject matter and actors are made more and more frequently by studio executives rather than by producers, writers, or directors. This problem is often referred to simply as an obsession with turning a profit, but Hollywood movies have almost always been produced to appeal to the largest possible audience. The new danger is that, increasingly, profit comes only from exciting an audience's curiosity about a movie instead of satisfying its desire to have an engaging experience watching the film. When movies can pull people into theaters instantly on the strength of media publicity rather than relying on the more gradual process of word of mouth among satisfied moviegoers, then the intimate relationship with the audience—on which the vitality of all popular art depends—is lost. But studios are making more money than ever by using this formula, and for this reason it appears that films whose appeal is due not merely to their publicity value but to their ability to affect audiences emotionally will become increasingly rare in the U.S. film industry. | 199906_4-RC_4_24 | [
"competition among different segments of the U.S. mass media",
"the interrelationship of Hollywood movies with other types of popular art",
"Hollywood film studios' discovery that the press could be used to communicate with the public",
"the press's mutually beneficial relationship with Hollywood film studios... | 3 | The phrase "cultural cross-fertilization" (line 17) is used in the passage to refer to which one of the following? |
As one of the most pervasive and influential popular arts, the movies feed into and off of the rest of the culture in various ways. In the United States, the star system of the mid-1920s—in which actors were placed under exclusive contract to particular Hollywood film studios—was a consequence of studios' discovery that the public was interested in actor's private lives, and that information about actors could be used to promote their films. Public relations agents fed the information to gossip columnists, whetting the public's appetite for the films—which, audiences usually discovered, had the additional virtue of being created by talented writers, directors, and producers devoted to the art of storytelling. The important feature of this relationship was not the benefit to Hollywood, but rather to the press; in what amounted to a form of cultural cross-fertilization, the press saw that they could profit from studios' promotion of new films. Today this arrangement has mushroomed into an intricately interdependent mass-media entertainment industry. The faith by which this industry sustains itself is the belief that there is always something worth promoting. A vast portion of the mass media— television and radio interviews, magazine articles, even product advertisements—now does most of the work for Hollywood studios attempting to promote their movies. It does so not out of altruism but because it makes for good business: If you produce a talk show or edit a newspaper, and other media are generating public curiosity about a studio's forthcoming film, it would be unwise for you not to broadcast or publish something about the film, too, because the audience for your story is already guaranteed. The problem with this industry is that it has begun to affect the creation of films as well as their promotion. Choices of subject matter and actors are made more and more frequently by studio executives rather than by producers, writers, or directors. This problem is often referred to simply as an obsession with turning a profit, but Hollywood movies have almost always been produced to appeal to the largest possible audience. The new danger is that, increasingly, profit comes only from exciting an audience's curiosity about a movie instead of satisfying its desire to have an engaging experience watching the film. When movies can pull people into theaters instantly on the strength of media publicity rather than relying on the more gradual process of word of mouth among satisfied moviegoers, then the intimate relationship with the audience—on which the vitality of all popular art depends—is lost. But studios are making more money than ever by using this formula, and for this reason it appears that films whose appeal is due not merely to their publicity value but to their ability to affect audiences emotionally will become increasingly rare in the U.S. film industry. | 199906_4-RC_4_25 | [
"description of the origins of a particular aspect of a popular art; discussion of the present state of this aspect; analysis of a problem associated with this aspect; introduction of a possible solution to the problem",
"description of the origins of a particular aspect of a popular art; discussion of the presen... | 1 | Which one of the following most accurately describes the organization of the passage? |
As one of the most pervasive and influential popular arts, the movies feed into and off of the rest of the culture in various ways. In the United States, the star system of the mid-1920s—in which actors were placed under exclusive contract to particular Hollywood film studios—was a consequence of studios' discovery that the public was interested in actor's private lives, and that information about actors could be used to promote their films. Public relations agents fed the information to gossip columnists, whetting the public's appetite for the films—which, audiences usually discovered, had the additional virtue of being created by talented writers, directors, and producers devoted to the art of storytelling. The important feature of this relationship was not the benefit to Hollywood, but rather to the press; in what amounted to a form of cultural cross-fertilization, the press saw that they could profit from studios' promotion of new films. Today this arrangement has mushroomed into an intricately interdependent mass-media entertainment industry. The faith by which this industry sustains itself is the belief that there is always something worth promoting. A vast portion of the mass media— television and radio interviews, magazine articles, even product advertisements—now does most of the work for Hollywood studios attempting to promote their movies. It does so not out of altruism but because it makes for good business: If you produce a talk show or edit a newspaper, and other media are generating public curiosity about a studio's forthcoming film, it would be unwise for you not to broadcast or publish something about the film, too, because the audience for your story is already guaranteed. The problem with this industry is that it has begun to affect the creation of films as well as their promotion. Choices of subject matter and actors are made more and more frequently by studio executives rather than by producers, writers, or directors. This problem is often referred to simply as an obsession with turning a profit, but Hollywood movies have almost always been produced to appeal to the largest possible audience. The new danger is that, increasingly, profit comes only from exciting an audience's curiosity about a movie instead of satisfying its desire to have an engaging experience watching the film. When movies can pull people into theaters instantly on the strength of media publicity rather than relying on the more gradual process of word of mouth among satisfied moviegoers, then the intimate relationship with the audience—on which the vitality of all popular art depends—is lost. But studios are making more money than ever by using this formula, and for this reason it appears that films whose appeal is due not merely to their publicity value but to their ability to affect audiences emotionally will become increasingly rare in the U.S. film industry. | 199906_4-RC_4_26 | [
"Many Hollywood studio executives do consider a film's ability to satisfy moviegoers emotionally.",
"Many Hollywood studio executives achieved their positions as a result of demonstrating talent at writing, producing, or directing films that satisfy audiences emotionally.",
"Most writers, producers, and directo... | 3 | The author's position in lines 35-47 would be most weakened if which one of the following were true? |
For some years before the outbreak of World War I, a number of painters in different European countries developed works of art that some have described as prophetic: paintings that by challenging viewers' habitual ways of perceiving the world of the present are thus said to anticipate a future world that would be very different. The artistic styles that they brought into being varied widely, but all these styles had in common a very important break with traditions of representational art that stretched back to the Renaissance. So fundamental is this break with tradition that it is not surprising to discover that these artist—among them Picasso and Braque in France, Kandinsky in Germany, and Malevich in Russia—are often credited with having anticipated not just subsequent developments in the arts, but also the political and social disruptions and upheavals of the modern world that came into being during and after the war. One art critic even goes so far as to claim that it is the very prophetic power of these artworks, and not their break with traditional artistic techniques, that constitutes their chief interest and value. No one will deny that an artist may, just as much as a writer or a politician, speculate about the future and then try to express a vision of that future through making use of a particular style or choice of imagery; speculation about the possibility of war in Europe was certainly widespread during the early years of the twentieth century. But the forward-looking quality attributed to these artists should instead be credited to their exceptional aesthetic innovations rather than to any power to make clever guesses about political or social trends. For example, the clear impression we get of Picasso and Braque, the joint founders of cubism, from their contemporaries as well as from later statements made by the artists themselves, is that they were primarily concerned with problems of representation and form and with efforts to create a far more "real" reality than the one that was accessible only to the eye. The reformation of society was of no interest to them as artists. It is also important to remember that not all decisive changes in art are quickly followed by dramatic events in the world outside art. The case of Delacroix, the nineteenth-century French painter, is revealing. His stylistic innovations startled his contemporaries—and still retain that power over modern viewers—but most art historians have decided that Delacroix adjusted himself to new social conditions that were already coming into being as a result of political upheavals that had occurred in 1830, as opposed to other artists who supposedly told of changes still to come. | 199910_2-RC_1_1 | [
"Although they flourished independently, the pre–World War I European painters who developed new ways of looking at the world shared a common desire to break with the traditions of representational art.",
"The work of the pre–World War I European painters who developed new ways of looking at the world cannot be s... | 1 | Which one of the following most accurately states the main idea of the passage? |
For some years before the outbreak of World War I, a number of painters in different European countries developed works of art that some have described as prophetic: paintings that by challenging viewers' habitual ways of perceiving the world of the present are thus said to anticipate a future world that would be very different. The artistic styles that they brought into being varied widely, but all these styles had in common a very important break with traditions of representational art that stretched back to the Renaissance. So fundamental is this break with tradition that it is not surprising to discover that these artist—among them Picasso and Braque in France, Kandinsky in Germany, and Malevich in Russia—are often credited with having anticipated not just subsequent developments in the arts, but also the political and social disruptions and upheavals of the modern world that came into being during and after the war. One art critic even goes so far as to claim that it is the very prophetic power of these artworks, and not their break with traditional artistic techniques, that constitutes their chief interest and value. No one will deny that an artist may, just as much as a writer or a politician, speculate about the future and then try to express a vision of that future through making use of a particular style or choice of imagery; speculation about the possibility of war in Europe was certainly widespread during the early years of the twentieth century. But the forward-looking quality attributed to these artists should instead be credited to their exceptional aesthetic innovations rather than to any power to make clever guesses about political or social trends. For example, the clear impression we get of Picasso and Braque, the joint founders of cubism, from their contemporaries as well as from later statements made by the artists themselves, is that they were primarily concerned with problems of representation and form and with efforts to create a far more "real" reality than the one that was accessible only to the eye. The reformation of society was of no interest to them as artists. It is also important to remember that not all decisive changes in art are quickly followed by dramatic events in the world outside art. The case of Delacroix, the nineteenth-century French painter, is revealing. His stylistic innovations startled his contemporaries—and still retain that power over modern viewers—but most art historians have decided that Delacroix adjusted himself to new social conditions that were already coming into being as a result of political upheavals that had occurred in 1830, as opposed to other artists who supposedly told of changes still to come. | 199910_2-RC_1_2 | [
"The supposed innovations of Picasso, Braque, Kandinsky, and Malevich were based on stylistic discoveries that had been made in the Renaissance but went unexplored for centuries.",
"The work of Picasso, Braque, Kandinsky, and Malevich possessed prophetic power because these artists employed the traditional techni... | 3 | The art critic mentioned in lines 19–20 would be most likely to agree with which one of the following statements? |
For some years before the outbreak of World War I, a number of painters in different European countries developed works of art that some have described as prophetic: paintings that by challenging viewers' habitual ways of perceiving the world of the present are thus said to anticipate a future world that would be very different. The artistic styles that they brought into being varied widely, but all these styles had in common a very important break with traditions of representational art that stretched back to the Renaissance. So fundamental is this break with tradition that it is not surprising to discover that these artist—among them Picasso and Braque in France, Kandinsky in Germany, and Malevich in Russia—are often credited with having anticipated not just subsequent developments in the arts, but also the political and social disruptions and upheavals of the modern world that came into being during and after the war. One art critic even goes so far as to claim that it is the very prophetic power of these artworks, and not their break with traditional artistic techniques, that constitutes their chief interest and value. No one will deny that an artist may, just as much as a writer or a politician, speculate about the future and then try to express a vision of that future through making use of a particular style or choice of imagery; speculation about the possibility of war in Europe was certainly widespread during the early years of the twentieth century. But the forward-looking quality attributed to these artists should instead be credited to their exceptional aesthetic innovations rather than to any power to make clever guesses about political or social trends. For example, the clear impression we get of Picasso and Braque, the joint founders of cubism, from their contemporaries as well as from later statements made by the artists themselves, is that they were primarily concerned with problems of representation and form and with efforts to create a far more "real" reality than the one that was accessible only to the eye. The reformation of society was of no interest to them as artists. It is also important to remember that not all decisive changes in art are quickly followed by dramatic events in the world outside art. The case of Delacroix, the nineteenth-century French painter, is revealing. His stylistic innovations startled his contemporaries—and still retain that power over modern viewers—but most art historians have decided that Delacroix adjusted himself to new social conditions that were already coming into being as a result of political upheavals that had occurred in 1830, as opposed to other artists who supposedly told of changes still to come. | 199910_2-RC_1_3 | [
"they had a long-standing interest in politics",
"they worked actively to bring about social change",
"their formal innovations were actually the result of chance",
"their work was a deliberate attempt to transcend visual reality",
"the formal aspects of their work were of little interest to them"
] | 3 | According to the passage, the statements of Picasso and Braque indicate that |
For some years before the outbreak of World War I, a number of painters in different European countries developed works of art that some have described as prophetic: paintings that by challenging viewers' habitual ways of perceiving the world of the present are thus said to anticipate a future world that would be very different. The artistic styles that they brought into being varied widely, but all these styles had in common a very important break with traditions of representational art that stretched back to the Renaissance. So fundamental is this break with tradition that it is not surprising to discover that these artist—among them Picasso and Braque in France, Kandinsky in Germany, and Malevich in Russia—are often credited with having anticipated not just subsequent developments in the arts, but also the political and social disruptions and upheavals of the modern world that came into being during and after the war. One art critic even goes so far as to claim that it is the very prophetic power of these artworks, and not their break with traditional artistic techniques, that constitutes their chief interest and value. No one will deny that an artist may, just as much as a writer or a politician, speculate about the future and then try to express a vision of that future through making use of a particular style or choice of imagery; speculation about the possibility of war in Europe was certainly widespread during the early years of the twentieth century. But the forward-looking quality attributed to these artists should instead be credited to their exceptional aesthetic innovations rather than to any power to make clever guesses about political or social trends. For example, the clear impression we get of Picasso and Braque, the joint founders of cubism, from their contemporaries as well as from later statements made by the artists themselves, is that they were primarily concerned with problems of representation and form and with efforts to create a far more "real" reality than the one that was accessible only to the eye. The reformation of society was of no interest to them as artists. It is also important to remember that not all decisive changes in art are quickly followed by dramatic events in the world outside art. The case of Delacroix, the nineteenth-century French painter, is revealing. His stylistic innovations startled his contemporaries—and still retain that power over modern viewers—but most art historians have decided that Delacroix adjusted himself to new social conditions that were already coming into being as a result of political upheavals that had occurred in 1830, as opposed to other artists who supposedly told of changes still to come. | 199910_2-RC_1_4 | [
"Social or political changes usually lead to important artistic innovations.",
"Artistic innovations do not necessarily anticipate social or political upheavals.",
"Some European painters have used art to predict social or political changes.",
"Important stylistic innovations are best achieved by abandoning p... | 1 | The author presents the example of Delacroix in order to illustrate which one of the following claims? |
For some years before the outbreak of World War I, a number of painters in different European countries developed works of art that some have described as prophetic: paintings that by challenging viewers' habitual ways of perceiving the world of the present are thus said to anticipate a future world that would be very different. The artistic styles that they brought into being varied widely, but all these styles had in common a very important break with traditions of representational art that stretched back to the Renaissance. So fundamental is this break with tradition that it is not surprising to discover that these artist—among them Picasso and Braque in France, Kandinsky in Germany, and Malevich in Russia—are often credited with having anticipated not just subsequent developments in the arts, but also the political and social disruptions and upheavals of the modern world that came into being during and after the war. One art critic even goes so far as to claim that it is the very prophetic power of these artworks, and not their break with traditional artistic techniques, that constitutes their chief interest and value. No one will deny that an artist may, just as much as a writer or a politician, speculate about the future and then try to express a vision of that future through making use of a particular style or choice of imagery; speculation about the possibility of war in Europe was certainly widespread during the early years of the twentieth century. But the forward-looking quality attributed to these artists should instead be credited to their exceptional aesthetic innovations rather than to any power to make clever guesses about political or social trends. For example, the clear impression we get of Picasso and Braque, the joint founders of cubism, from their contemporaries as well as from later statements made by the artists themselves, is that they were primarily concerned with problems of representation and form and with efforts to create a far more "real" reality than the one that was accessible only to the eye. The reformation of society was of no interest to them as artists. It is also important to remember that not all decisive changes in art are quickly followed by dramatic events in the world outside art. The case of Delacroix, the nineteenth-century French painter, is revealing. His stylistic innovations startled his contemporaries—and still retain that power over modern viewers—but most art historians have decided that Delacroix adjusted himself to new social conditions that were already coming into being as a result of political upheavals that had occurred in 1830, as opposed to other artists who supposedly told of changes still to come. | 199910_2-RC_1_5 | [
"The author describes an artistic phenomenon; introduces one interpretation of this phenomenon; proposes an alternative interpretation and then supports this alternative by criticizing the original interpretation.",
"The author describes an artistic phenomenon; identifies the causes of that phenomenon; illustrate... | 0 | Which one of the following most accurately describes the contents of the passage? |
For some years before the outbreak of World War I, a number of painters in different European countries developed works of art that some have described as prophetic: paintings that by challenging viewers' habitual ways of perceiving the world of the present are thus said to anticipate a future world that would be very different. The artistic styles that they brought into being varied widely, but all these styles had in common a very important break with traditions of representational art that stretched back to the Renaissance. So fundamental is this break with tradition that it is not surprising to discover that these artist—among them Picasso and Braque in France, Kandinsky in Germany, and Malevich in Russia—are often credited with having anticipated not just subsequent developments in the arts, but also the political and social disruptions and upheavals of the modern world that came into being during and after the war. One art critic even goes so far as to claim that it is the very prophetic power of these artworks, and not their break with traditional artistic techniques, that constitutes their chief interest and value. No one will deny that an artist may, just as much as a writer or a politician, speculate about the future and then try to express a vision of that future through making use of a particular style or choice of imagery; speculation about the possibility of war in Europe was certainly widespread during the early years of the twentieth century. But the forward-looking quality attributed to these artists should instead be credited to their exceptional aesthetic innovations rather than to any power to make clever guesses about political or social trends. For example, the clear impression we get of Picasso and Braque, the joint founders of cubism, from their contemporaries as well as from later statements made by the artists themselves, is that they were primarily concerned with problems of representation and form and with efforts to create a far more "real" reality than the one that was accessible only to the eye. The reformation of society was of no interest to them as artists. It is also important to remember that not all decisive changes in art are quickly followed by dramatic events in the world outside art. The case of Delacroix, the nineteenth-century French painter, is revealing. His stylistic innovations startled his contemporaries—and still retain that power over modern viewers—but most art historians have decided that Delacroix adjusted himself to new social conditions that were already coming into being as a result of political upheavals that had occurred in 1830, as opposed to other artists who supposedly told of changes still to come. | 199910_2-RC_1_6 | [
"an interest in issues of representation and form",
"a stylistic break with traditional art",
"the introduction of new artistic techniques",
"the ability to anticipate later artists",
"the power to predict social changes"
] | 4 | According to the author, the work of the pre–World War I painters described in the passage contains an example of each of the following EXCEPT: |
For some years before the outbreak of World War I, a number of painters in different European countries developed works of art that some have described as prophetic: paintings that by challenging viewers' habitual ways of perceiving the world of the present are thus said to anticipate a future world that would be very different. The artistic styles that they brought into being varied widely, but all these styles had in common a very important break with traditions of representational art that stretched back to the Renaissance. So fundamental is this break with tradition that it is not surprising to discover that these artist—among them Picasso and Braque in France, Kandinsky in Germany, and Malevich in Russia—are often credited with having anticipated not just subsequent developments in the arts, but also the political and social disruptions and upheavals of the modern world that came into being during and after the war. One art critic even goes so far as to claim that it is the very prophetic power of these artworks, and not their break with traditional artistic techniques, that constitutes their chief interest and value. No one will deny that an artist may, just as much as a writer or a politician, speculate about the future and then try to express a vision of that future through making use of a particular style or choice of imagery; speculation about the possibility of war in Europe was certainly widespread during the early years of the twentieth century. But the forward-looking quality attributed to these artists should instead be credited to their exceptional aesthetic innovations rather than to any power to make clever guesses about political or social trends. For example, the clear impression we get of Picasso and Braque, the joint founders of cubism, from their contemporaries as well as from later statements made by the artists themselves, is that they were primarily concerned with problems of representation and form and with efforts to create a far more "real" reality than the one that was accessible only to the eye. The reformation of society was of no interest to them as artists. It is also important to remember that not all decisive changes in art are quickly followed by dramatic events in the world outside art. The case of Delacroix, the nineteenth-century French painter, is revealing. His stylistic innovations startled his contemporaries—and still retain that power over modern viewers—but most art historians have decided that Delacroix adjusted himself to new social conditions that were already coming into being as a result of political upheavals that had occurred in 1830, as opposed to other artists who supposedly told of changes still to come. | 199910_2-RC_1_7 | [
"their insights into pre–World War I politics",
"the visionary nature of their social views",
"their mastery of the techniques of representational art",
"their ability to adjust to changing social conditions",
"their stylistic and aesthetic accomplishments"
] | 4 | Which one of the following characteristics of the painters discussed in the second paragraph does the author of the passage appear to value most highly? |
Tribal communities in North America believe that their traditional languages are valuable resources that must be maintained. However, these traditional languages can fall into disuse when some of the effects of the majority culture on tribal life serve as barriers between a community and its traditional forms of social, economic, or spiritual interaction. In some communities the barrier has been overcome because people have recognized that language loss is serious and have taken action to prevent it, primarily through community self-teaching. Before any community can systemically and formally teach a traditional language to its younger members, it must first document the language's grammar; for example, a group of Northern Utes spent two years conducting a thorough analysis and classification of Northern Ute linguistic structures. The grammatical information is then arranged in sequence form the simpler to the more complex types of usage, and methods are devised to present the sequence in ways that will be most useful and appropriate to the culture. Certain obstacles can stand in the way of developing these teaching methods. One is the difficulty a community may encounter when it attempts to write down elements (particularly the spellings of words) of a language that has been primarily oral for centuries, as is often the case with traditional languages. Sometimes this difficulty can simply be a matter of the lack of acceptable written equivalents for certain sounds in the traditional language: problems arise because of an insistence that every sound in the language have a unique written equivalent—a desirable but ultimately frustrating condition that no written language has ever fully satisfied. Another obstacle is dialect. There may be many language traditions in a particular community; which one is to be written down and taught? The Northern Utes decided not to standardize their language, agreeing that various phonetic spellings of words would be accepted as long as their meanings were clear. Although this troubled some community members who favored Western notions of standard language writing or whose training in Western-style linguistics was especially rigid, the lack of standard orthography made sense in the context of the community's needs. Within a year after the adoption of instruction in the Northern Ute language, even elementary school children could write and speak it effectively. It has been argued that the attempt to write down traditional languages is misguided and unnecessary; after all, in many cases these languages have been transmitted in their oral form since their origins. Defenders of the practice counter that they are writing down their languages precisely because of a general decline in oral traditions, but they concede that languages could be preserved in their oral form if a community made every effort to eschew aspects of the majority culture that make this preservation difficult. | 199910_2-RC_2_8 | [
"In the face of the pervasive influences of the majority culture, some tribes are having difficulty teaching their traditional languages to younger tribe members.",
"If tribes are to continue to hold on to their cultures in the face of majority culture influences, it is necessary for them to first teach their tra... | 3 | Which one of the following most accurately states the main idea of the passage? |
Tribal communities in North America believe that their traditional languages are valuable resources that must be maintained. However, these traditional languages can fall into disuse when some of the effects of the majority culture on tribal life serve as barriers between a community and its traditional forms of social, economic, or spiritual interaction. In some communities the barrier has been overcome because people have recognized that language loss is serious and have taken action to prevent it, primarily through community self-teaching. Before any community can systemically and formally teach a traditional language to its younger members, it must first document the language's grammar; for example, a group of Northern Utes spent two years conducting a thorough analysis and classification of Northern Ute linguistic structures. The grammatical information is then arranged in sequence form the simpler to the more complex types of usage, and methods are devised to present the sequence in ways that will be most useful and appropriate to the culture. Certain obstacles can stand in the way of developing these teaching methods. One is the difficulty a community may encounter when it attempts to write down elements (particularly the spellings of words) of a language that has been primarily oral for centuries, as is often the case with traditional languages. Sometimes this difficulty can simply be a matter of the lack of acceptable written equivalents for certain sounds in the traditional language: problems arise because of an insistence that every sound in the language have a unique written equivalent—a desirable but ultimately frustrating condition that no written language has ever fully satisfied. Another obstacle is dialect. There may be many language traditions in a particular community; which one is to be written down and taught? The Northern Utes decided not to standardize their language, agreeing that various phonetic spellings of words would be accepted as long as their meanings were clear. Although this troubled some community members who favored Western notions of standard language writing or whose training in Western-style linguistics was especially rigid, the lack of standard orthography made sense in the context of the community's needs. Within a year after the adoption of instruction in the Northern Ute language, even elementary school children could write and speak it effectively. It has been argued that the attempt to write down traditional languages is misguided and unnecessary; after all, in many cases these languages have been transmitted in their oral form since their origins. Defenders of the practice counter that they are writing down their languages precisely because of a general decline in oral traditions, but they concede that languages could be preserved in their oral form if a community made every effort to eschew aspects of the majority culture that make this preservation difficult. | 199910_2-RC_2_9 | [
"analyze and classify its linguistic structures",
"develop a hierarchy of its grammatical information",
"determine appropriate methods for its presentation",
"search for written equivalents for each of its sounds",
"decide whether its syntax and spelling will be standardized"
] | 0 | According to the passage, the first step in preparing to formally teach a traditional language is to |
Tribal communities in North America believe that their traditional languages are valuable resources that must be maintained. However, these traditional languages can fall into disuse when some of the effects of the majority culture on tribal life serve as barriers between a community and its traditional forms of social, economic, or spiritual interaction. In some communities the barrier has been overcome because people have recognized that language loss is serious and have taken action to prevent it, primarily through community self-teaching. Before any community can systemically and formally teach a traditional language to its younger members, it must first document the language's grammar; for example, a group of Northern Utes spent two years conducting a thorough analysis and classification of Northern Ute linguistic structures. The grammatical information is then arranged in sequence form the simpler to the more complex types of usage, and methods are devised to present the sequence in ways that will be most useful and appropriate to the culture. Certain obstacles can stand in the way of developing these teaching methods. One is the difficulty a community may encounter when it attempts to write down elements (particularly the spellings of words) of a language that has been primarily oral for centuries, as is often the case with traditional languages. Sometimes this difficulty can simply be a matter of the lack of acceptable written equivalents for certain sounds in the traditional language: problems arise because of an insistence that every sound in the language have a unique written equivalent—a desirable but ultimately frustrating condition that no written language has ever fully satisfied. Another obstacle is dialect. There may be many language traditions in a particular community; which one is to be written down and taught? The Northern Utes decided not to standardize their language, agreeing that various phonetic spellings of words would be accepted as long as their meanings were clear. Although this troubled some community members who favored Western notions of standard language writing or whose training in Western-style linguistics was especially rigid, the lack of standard orthography made sense in the context of the community's needs. Within a year after the adoption of instruction in the Northern Ute language, even elementary school children could write and speak it effectively. It has been argued that the attempt to write down traditional languages is misguided and unnecessary; after all, in many cases these languages have been transmitted in their oral form since their origins. Defenders of the practice counter that they are writing down their languages precisely because of a general decline in oral traditions, but they concede that languages could be preserved in their oral form if a community made every effort to eschew aspects of the majority culture that make this preservation difficult. | 199910_2-RC_2_10 | [
"Even if left exclusively in oral form, traditional languages are likely to survive.",
"There has been a decline in communication among tribal members in general.",
"Some oral customs do not need to be preserved orally.",
"External influences have little effect on tribal customs.",
"Tribes must focus on est... | 0 | Based on the passage, those who hold the view described in lines 51–54 would be most likely to agree with which one of the following statements? |
Tribal communities in North America believe that their traditional languages are valuable resources that must be maintained. However, these traditional languages can fall into disuse when some of the effects of the majority culture on tribal life serve as barriers between a community and its traditional forms of social, economic, or spiritual interaction. In some communities the barrier has been overcome because people have recognized that language loss is serious and have taken action to prevent it, primarily through community self-teaching. Before any community can systemically and formally teach a traditional language to its younger members, it must first document the language's grammar; for example, a group of Northern Utes spent two years conducting a thorough analysis and classification of Northern Ute linguistic structures. The grammatical information is then arranged in sequence form the simpler to the more complex types of usage, and methods are devised to present the sequence in ways that will be most useful and appropriate to the culture. Certain obstacles can stand in the way of developing these teaching methods. One is the difficulty a community may encounter when it attempts to write down elements (particularly the spellings of words) of a language that has been primarily oral for centuries, as is often the case with traditional languages. Sometimes this difficulty can simply be a matter of the lack of acceptable written equivalents for certain sounds in the traditional language: problems arise because of an insistence that every sound in the language have a unique written equivalent—a desirable but ultimately frustrating condition that no written language has ever fully satisfied. Another obstacle is dialect. There may be many language traditions in a particular community; which one is to be written down and taught? The Northern Utes decided not to standardize their language, agreeing that various phonetic spellings of words would be accepted as long as their meanings were clear. Although this troubled some community members who favored Western notions of standard language writing or whose training in Western-style linguistics was especially rigid, the lack of standard orthography made sense in the context of the community's needs. Within a year after the adoption of instruction in the Northern Ute language, even elementary school children could write and speak it effectively. It has been argued that the attempt to write down traditional languages is misguided and unnecessary; after all, in many cases these languages have been transmitted in their oral form since their origins. Defenders of the practice counter that they are writing down their languages precisely because of a general decline in oral traditions, but they concede that languages could be preserved in their oral form if a community made every effort to eschew aspects of the majority culture that make this preservation difficult. | 199910_2-RC_2_11 | [
"A community decides that the best way to maintain its traditional language is to rejuvenate its oral culture.",
"A community arranges the grammatical structures of its traditional language sequentially according to the degree of their complexity.",
"A community agrees to incorporate words from the majority cul... | 2 | Which one of the following scenarios is LEAST compatible with aspects of traditional-language preservation discussed in the passage? |
Tribal communities in North America believe that their traditional languages are valuable resources that must be maintained. However, these traditional languages can fall into disuse when some of the effects of the majority culture on tribal life serve as barriers between a community and its traditional forms of social, economic, or spiritual interaction. In some communities the barrier has been overcome because people have recognized that language loss is serious and have taken action to prevent it, primarily through community self-teaching. Before any community can systemically and formally teach a traditional language to its younger members, it must first document the language's grammar; for example, a group of Northern Utes spent two years conducting a thorough analysis and classification of Northern Ute linguistic structures. The grammatical information is then arranged in sequence form the simpler to the more complex types of usage, and methods are devised to present the sequence in ways that will be most useful and appropriate to the culture. Certain obstacles can stand in the way of developing these teaching methods. One is the difficulty a community may encounter when it attempts to write down elements (particularly the spellings of words) of a language that has been primarily oral for centuries, as is often the case with traditional languages. Sometimes this difficulty can simply be a matter of the lack of acceptable written equivalents for certain sounds in the traditional language: problems arise because of an insistence that every sound in the language have a unique written equivalent—a desirable but ultimately frustrating condition that no written language has ever fully satisfied. Another obstacle is dialect. There may be many language traditions in a particular community; which one is to be written down and taught? The Northern Utes decided not to standardize their language, agreeing that various phonetic spellings of words would be accepted as long as their meanings were clear. Although this troubled some community members who favored Western notions of standard language writing or whose training in Western-style linguistics was especially rigid, the lack of standard orthography made sense in the context of the community's needs. Within a year after the adoption of instruction in the Northern Ute language, even elementary school children could write and speak it effectively. It has been argued that the attempt to write down traditional languages is misguided and unnecessary; after all, in many cases these languages have been transmitted in their oral form since their origins. Defenders of the practice counter that they are writing down their languages precisely because of a general decline in oral traditions, but they concede that languages could be preserved in their oral form if a community made every effort to eschew aspects of the majority culture that make this preservation difficult. | 199910_2-RC_2_12 | [
"A problem is identified, followed by a list of obstacles to its solution; examples of the obstacles are discussed; a solution is proposed; methods of implementing the solution are described; an alternative to the solution is introduced and endorsed.",
"A problem is identified, followed by solutions to the proble... | 2 | Which one of the following most accurately describes the organization of the passage? |
Tribal communities in North America believe that their traditional languages are valuable resources that must be maintained. However, these traditional languages can fall into disuse when some of the effects of the majority culture on tribal life serve as barriers between a community and its traditional forms of social, economic, or spiritual interaction. In some communities the barrier has been overcome because people have recognized that language loss is serious and have taken action to prevent it, primarily through community self-teaching. Before any community can systemically and formally teach a traditional language to its younger members, it must first document the language's grammar; for example, a group of Northern Utes spent two years conducting a thorough analysis and classification of Northern Ute linguistic structures. The grammatical information is then arranged in sequence form the simpler to the more complex types of usage, and methods are devised to present the sequence in ways that will be most useful and appropriate to the culture. Certain obstacles can stand in the way of developing these teaching methods. One is the difficulty a community may encounter when it attempts to write down elements (particularly the spellings of words) of a language that has been primarily oral for centuries, as is often the case with traditional languages. Sometimes this difficulty can simply be a matter of the lack of acceptable written equivalents for certain sounds in the traditional language: problems arise because of an insistence that every sound in the language have a unique written equivalent—a desirable but ultimately frustrating condition that no written language has ever fully satisfied. Another obstacle is dialect. There may be many language traditions in a particular community; which one is to be written down and taught? The Northern Utes decided not to standardize their language, agreeing that various phonetic spellings of words would be accepted as long as their meanings were clear. Although this troubled some community members who favored Western notions of standard language writing or whose training in Western-style linguistics was especially rigid, the lack of standard orthography made sense in the context of the community's needs. Within a year after the adoption of instruction in the Northern Ute language, even elementary school children could write and speak it effectively. It has been argued that the attempt to write down traditional languages is misguided and unnecessary; after all, in many cases these languages have been transmitted in their oral form since their origins. Defenders of the practice counter that they are writing down their languages precisely because of a general decline in oral traditions, but they concede that languages could be preserved in their oral form if a community made every effort to eschew aspects of the majority culture that make this preservation difficult. | 199910_2-RC_2_13 | [
"Standardizing traditional languages requires arbitrary choices and is sometimes unnecessary.",
"Written languages should reflect one standard dialect rather than several dialects.",
"Traditional languages can be taught even if they are not rigorously standardized.",
"Variant spellings of words are acceptable... | 1 | Based on the passage, the group of Northern Utes mentioned in lines 38–42 would be likely to believe each of the following statements EXCEPT: |
Tribal communities in North America believe that their traditional languages are valuable resources that must be maintained. However, these traditional languages can fall into disuse when some of the effects of the majority culture on tribal life serve as barriers between a community and its traditional forms of social, economic, or spiritual interaction. In some communities the barrier has been overcome because people have recognized that language loss is serious and have taken action to prevent it, primarily through community self-teaching. Before any community can systemically and formally teach a traditional language to its younger members, it must first document the language's grammar; for example, a group of Northern Utes spent two years conducting a thorough analysis and classification of Northern Ute linguistic structures. The grammatical information is then arranged in sequence form the simpler to the more complex types of usage, and methods are devised to present the sequence in ways that will be most useful and appropriate to the culture. Certain obstacles can stand in the way of developing these teaching methods. One is the difficulty a community may encounter when it attempts to write down elements (particularly the spellings of words) of a language that has been primarily oral for centuries, as is often the case with traditional languages. Sometimes this difficulty can simply be a matter of the lack of acceptable written equivalents for certain sounds in the traditional language: problems arise because of an insistence that every sound in the language have a unique written equivalent—a desirable but ultimately frustrating condition that no written language has ever fully satisfied. Another obstacle is dialect. There may be many language traditions in a particular community; which one is to be written down and taught? The Northern Utes decided not to standardize their language, agreeing that various phonetic spellings of words would be accepted as long as their meanings were clear. Although this troubled some community members who favored Western notions of standard language writing or whose training in Western-style linguistics was especially rigid, the lack of standard orthography made sense in the context of the community's needs. Within a year after the adoption of instruction in the Northern Ute language, even elementary school children could write and speak it effectively. It has been argued that the attempt to write down traditional languages is misguided and unnecessary; after all, in many cases these languages have been transmitted in their oral form since their origins. Defenders of the practice counter that they are writing down their languages precisely because of a general decline in oral traditions, but they concede that languages could be preserved in their oral form if a community made every effort to eschew aspects of the majority culture that make this preservation difficult. | 199910_2-RC_2_14 | [
"conviction that an exact match is all but impossible to achieve",
"doubt that an exact match is worthy of consideration even in principle",
"faith that an exact match is attainable if certain obstacles are eliminated",
"confidence that an exact match can easily be accomplished in most languages",
"suspicio... | 0 | Which one of the following most accurately describes the author's attitude toward the goal of having a written language exactly match its oral equivalent? |
Tribal communities in North America believe that their traditional languages are valuable resources that must be maintained. However, these traditional languages can fall into disuse when some of the effects of the majority culture on tribal life serve as barriers between a community and its traditional forms of social, economic, or spiritual interaction. In some communities the barrier has been overcome because people have recognized that language loss is serious and have taken action to prevent it, primarily through community self-teaching. Before any community can systemically and formally teach a traditional language to its younger members, it must first document the language's grammar; for example, a group of Northern Utes spent two years conducting a thorough analysis and classification of Northern Ute linguistic structures. The grammatical information is then arranged in sequence form the simpler to the more complex types of usage, and methods are devised to present the sequence in ways that will be most useful and appropriate to the culture. Certain obstacles can stand in the way of developing these teaching methods. One is the difficulty a community may encounter when it attempts to write down elements (particularly the spellings of words) of a language that has been primarily oral for centuries, as is often the case with traditional languages. Sometimes this difficulty can simply be a matter of the lack of acceptable written equivalents for certain sounds in the traditional language: problems arise because of an insistence that every sound in the language have a unique written equivalent—a desirable but ultimately frustrating condition that no written language has ever fully satisfied. Another obstacle is dialect. There may be many language traditions in a particular community; which one is to be written down and taught? The Northern Utes decided not to standardize their language, agreeing that various phonetic spellings of words would be accepted as long as their meanings were clear. Although this troubled some community members who favored Western notions of standard language writing or whose training in Western-style linguistics was especially rigid, the lack of standard orthography made sense in the context of the community's needs. Within a year after the adoption of instruction in the Northern Ute language, even elementary school children could write and speak it effectively. It has been argued that the attempt to write down traditional languages is misguided and unnecessary; after all, in many cases these languages have been transmitted in their oral form since their origins. Defenders of the practice counter that they are writing down their languages precisely because of a general decline in oral traditions, but they concede that languages could be preserved in their oral form if a community made every effort to eschew aspects of the majority culture that make this preservation difficult. | 199910_2-RC_2_15 | [
"In writing down an oral language, one should always be concerned primarily with the degree of correspondence between spoken sounds and written symbols.",
"In deciding whether and how to standardize and teach a primarily oral language, one should always keep the needs of the community and the culture foremost.",
... | 1 | Based on the passage, which one of the following appears to be a principle guiding the actions of those attempting to preserve their traditional languages? |
Scientists have long known that the soft surface of the bill of the platypus is perforated with openings that contain sensitive nerve endings. Only recently, however, have biologists concluded on the basis of new evidence that the animal uses its bill to locate its prey while underwater, a conclusion suggested by the fact that the animal's eyes, ears, and nostrils are sealed when it is submerged. The new evidence comes from neurophysiological studies, which have recently revealed that within the pores on the bill there are two kinds of sensory receptors: mechanoreceptors, which are tiny pushrods that respond to tactile pressure, and electroreceptors, which respond to weak electrical fields. Having discovered that tactile stimulation of the pushrods sends nerve impulses to the brain, where they evoke an electric potential over an area of the neocortex much larger than the one stimulated by input from the limbs, eyes, and ears, Bohringer concluded that the bill must be the primary sensory organ for the platypus. Her finding was supported by studies showing that the bill is extraordinarily sensitive to tactile stimulation: stimulation with a fine glass stylus sent a signal by way of the fifth cranial nerve to the neocortex and from there to the motor cortex. Presumably nerve impulses from the motor cortex then induced a snapping movement of the bill. But Bohringer's investigations did not explain how the animal locates its prey at a distance. Scheich's neurophysiological studies contribute to solving this mystery. His initial work showed that when a platypus feeds, it swims along steadily wagging its bill from side to side until prey is encountered. It thereupon switches to searching behavior, characterized by erratic movements of the bill over a small area at the bottom of a body of water, which is followed by homing in on the object and seizing it. In order to determine how the animal senses prey and then distinguishes it from other objects on the bottom, Scheich hypothesized that a sensory system based on electroreception similar to that found in sharks might exist in the platypus. In further experiments he found he could trigger the switch from patrolling to searching behavior in the platypus by creating a dipole electric field in the water with the aid of a small 1.5-volt battery. The platypus, sensitive to the weak electric current that was created, rapidly oriented toward the battery at a distance of 10 centimeters and sometimes as much as 30 centimeters. Once the battery was detected, the platypus would inevitably attack it as if it were food. Scheich then discovered that the tail flicks of freshwater shrimp, a common prey of the platypus, also produce weak electric fields and elicit an identical response. Scheich and his colleagues believe that it is reasonable to assume that all the invertebrates on which the platypus feeds must produce electric fields. | 199910_2-RC_3_16 | [
"explain how the platypus locates prey at a distance",
"present some recent scientific research on the function of the platypus's bill",
"assess the results of Bohringer's experimental work about the platypus",
"present Scheich's contributions to scientific work about the platypus",
"describe two different ... | 1 | The primary purpose of the passage is to |
Scientists have long known that the soft surface of the bill of the platypus is perforated with openings that contain sensitive nerve endings. Only recently, however, have biologists concluded on the basis of new evidence that the animal uses its bill to locate its prey while underwater, a conclusion suggested by the fact that the animal's eyes, ears, and nostrils are sealed when it is submerged. The new evidence comes from neurophysiological studies, which have recently revealed that within the pores on the bill there are two kinds of sensory receptors: mechanoreceptors, which are tiny pushrods that respond to tactile pressure, and electroreceptors, which respond to weak electrical fields. Having discovered that tactile stimulation of the pushrods sends nerve impulses to the brain, where they evoke an electric potential over an area of the neocortex much larger than the one stimulated by input from the limbs, eyes, and ears, Bohringer concluded that the bill must be the primary sensory organ for the platypus. Her finding was supported by studies showing that the bill is extraordinarily sensitive to tactile stimulation: stimulation with a fine glass stylus sent a signal by way of the fifth cranial nerve to the neocortex and from there to the motor cortex. Presumably nerve impulses from the motor cortex then induced a snapping movement of the bill. But Bohringer's investigations did not explain how the animal locates its prey at a distance. Scheich's neurophysiological studies contribute to solving this mystery. His initial work showed that when a platypus feeds, it swims along steadily wagging its bill from side to side until prey is encountered. It thereupon switches to searching behavior, characterized by erratic movements of the bill over a small area at the bottom of a body of water, which is followed by homing in on the object and seizing it. In order to determine how the animal senses prey and then distinguishes it from other objects on the bottom, Scheich hypothesized that a sensory system based on electroreception similar to that found in sharks might exist in the platypus. In further experiments he found he could trigger the switch from patrolling to searching behavior in the platypus by creating a dipole electric field in the water with the aid of a small 1.5-volt battery. The platypus, sensitive to the weak electric current that was created, rapidly oriented toward the battery at a distance of 10 centimeters and sometimes as much as 30 centimeters. Once the battery was detected, the platypus would inevitably attack it as if it were food. Scheich then discovered that the tail flicks of freshwater shrimp, a common prey of the platypus, also produce weak electric fields and elicit an identical response. Scheich and his colleagues believe that it is reasonable to assume that all the invertebrates on which the platypus feeds must produce electric fields. | 199910_2-RC_3_17 | [
"Neurophysiological studies have established that the bill of the platypus is one of its primary sensory organs.",
"Neurophysiological studies have established that the platypus uses its bill to locate its prey underwater.",
"Bohringer's neurophysiological studies have established that sensory receptors in the ... | 1 | Which one of the following statements best expresses the main idea of the passage? |
Scientists have long known that the soft surface of the bill of the platypus is perforated with openings that contain sensitive nerve endings. Only recently, however, have biologists concluded on the basis of new evidence that the animal uses its bill to locate its prey while underwater, a conclusion suggested by the fact that the animal's eyes, ears, and nostrils are sealed when it is submerged. The new evidence comes from neurophysiological studies, which have recently revealed that within the pores on the bill there are two kinds of sensory receptors: mechanoreceptors, which are tiny pushrods that respond to tactile pressure, and electroreceptors, which respond to weak electrical fields. Having discovered that tactile stimulation of the pushrods sends nerve impulses to the brain, where they evoke an electric potential over an area of the neocortex much larger than the one stimulated by input from the limbs, eyes, and ears, Bohringer concluded that the bill must be the primary sensory organ for the platypus. Her finding was supported by studies showing that the bill is extraordinarily sensitive to tactile stimulation: stimulation with a fine glass stylus sent a signal by way of the fifth cranial nerve to the neocortex and from there to the motor cortex. Presumably nerve impulses from the motor cortex then induced a snapping movement of the bill. But Bohringer's investigations did not explain how the animal locates its prey at a distance. Scheich's neurophysiological studies contribute to solving this mystery. His initial work showed that when a platypus feeds, it swims along steadily wagging its bill from side to side until prey is encountered. It thereupon switches to searching behavior, characterized by erratic movements of the bill over a small area at the bottom of a body of water, which is followed by homing in on the object and seizing it. In order to determine how the animal senses prey and then distinguishes it from other objects on the bottom, Scheich hypothesized that a sensory system based on electroreception similar to that found in sharks might exist in the platypus. In further experiments he found he could trigger the switch from patrolling to searching behavior in the platypus by creating a dipole electric field in the water with the aid of a small 1.5-volt battery. The platypus, sensitive to the weak electric current that was created, rapidly oriented toward the battery at a distance of 10 centimeters and sometimes as much as 30 centimeters. Once the battery was detected, the platypus would inevitably attack it as if it were food. Scheich then discovered that the tail flicks of freshwater shrimp, a common prey of the platypus, also produce weak electric fields and elicit an identical response. Scheich and his colleagues believe that it is reasonable to assume that all the invertebrates on which the platypus feeds must produce electric fields. | 199910_2-RC_3_18 | [
"The electroreceptors sent the nerve impulse to the fifth cranial nerve.",
"The neocortex induced a snapping movement of the bill.",
"The mechanoreceptors sent the nerve impulse via the fifth cranial nerve to the electroreceptors.",
"The platypus opened the pores on its bill.",
"The fifth cranial nerve carr... | 4 | During the studies supporting Bohringer's finding, as they are described in the passage, which one of the following occurred before a nerve impulse reached the motor cortex of the platypus? |
Scientists have long known that the soft surface of the bill of the platypus is perforated with openings that contain sensitive nerve endings. Only recently, however, have biologists concluded on the basis of new evidence that the animal uses its bill to locate its prey while underwater, a conclusion suggested by the fact that the animal's eyes, ears, and nostrils are sealed when it is submerged. The new evidence comes from neurophysiological studies, which have recently revealed that within the pores on the bill there are two kinds of sensory receptors: mechanoreceptors, which are tiny pushrods that respond to tactile pressure, and electroreceptors, which respond to weak electrical fields. Having discovered that tactile stimulation of the pushrods sends nerve impulses to the brain, where they evoke an electric potential over an area of the neocortex much larger than the one stimulated by input from the limbs, eyes, and ears, Bohringer concluded that the bill must be the primary sensory organ for the platypus. Her finding was supported by studies showing that the bill is extraordinarily sensitive to tactile stimulation: stimulation with a fine glass stylus sent a signal by way of the fifth cranial nerve to the neocortex and from there to the motor cortex. Presumably nerve impulses from the motor cortex then induced a snapping movement of the bill. But Bohringer's investigations did not explain how the animal locates its prey at a distance. Scheich's neurophysiological studies contribute to solving this mystery. His initial work showed that when a platypus feeds, it swims along steadily wagging its bill from side to side until prey is encountered. It thereupon switches to searching behavior, characterized by erratic movements of the bill over a small area at the bottom of a body of water, which is followed by homing in on the object and seizing it. In order to determine how the animal senses prey and then distinguishes it from other objects on the bottom, Scheich hypothesized that a sensory system based on electroreception similar to that found in sharks might exist in the platypus. In further experiments he found he could trigger the switch from patrolling to searching behavior in the platypus by creating a dipole electric field in the water with the aid of a small 1.5-volt battery. The platypus, sensitive to the weak electric current that was created, rapidly oriented toward the battery at a distance of 10 centimeters and sometimes as much as 30 centimeters. Once the battery was detected, the platypus would inevitably attack it as if it were food. Scheich then discovered that the tail flicks of freshwater shrimp, a common prey of the platypus, also produce weak electric fields and elicit an identical response. Scheich and his colleagues believe that it is reasonable to assume that all the invertebrates on which the platypus feeds must produce electric fields. | 199910_2-RC_3_19 | [
"To determine the mating habits of birds, a biologist places decoys near the birds' nests that resemble the birds and emit bird calls.",
"To determine whether certain animals find their way by listening for echoes to their cries, a biologist plays a tape of the animals' cries in their vicinity.",
"To determine ... | 2 | Which one of the following strategies is most similar to Scheich's experimental strategy as it is described in the passage? |
Scientists have long known that the soft surface of the bill of the platypus is perforated with openings that contain sensitive nerve endings. Only recently, however, have biologists concluded on the basis of new evidence that the animal uses its bill to locate its prey while underwater, a conclusion suggested by the fact that the animal's eyes, ears, and nostrils are sealed when it is submerged. The new evidence comes from neurophysiological studies, which have recently revealed that within the pores on the bill there are two kinds of sensory receptors: mechanoreceptors, which are tiny pushrods that respond to tactile pressure, and electroreceptors, which respond to weak electrical fields. Having discovered that tactile stimulation of the pushrods sends nerve impulses to the brain, where they evoke an electric potential over an area of the neocortex much larger than the one stimulated by input from the limbs, eyes, and ears, Bohringer concluded that the bill must be the primary sensory organ for the platypus. Her finding was supported by studies showing that the bill is extraordinarily sensitive to tactile stimulation: stimulation with a fine glass stylus sent a signal by way of the fifth cranial nerve to the neocortex and from there to the motor cortex. Presumably nerve impulses from the motor cortex then induced a snapping movement of the bill. But Bohringer's investigations did not explain how the animal locates its prey at a distance. Scheich's neurophysiological studies contribute to solving this mystery. His initial work showed that when a platypus feeds, it swims along steadily wagging its bill from side to side until prey is encountered. It thereupon switches to searching behavior, characterized by erratic movements of the bill over a small area at the bottom of a body of water, which is followed by homing in on the object and seizing it. In order to determine how the animal senses prey and then distinguishes it from other objects on the bottom, Scheich hypothesized that a sensory system based on electroreception similar to that found in sharks might exist in the platypus. In further experiments he found he could trigger the switch from patrolling to searching behavior in the platypus by creating a dipole electric field in the water with the aid of a small 1.5-volt battery. The platypus, sensitive to the weak electric current that was created, rapidly oriented toward the battery at a distance of 10 centimeters and sometimes as much as 30 centimeters. Once the battery was detected, the platypus would inevitably attack it as if it were food. Scheich then discovered that the tail flicks of freshwater shrimp, a common prey of the platypus, also produce weak electric fields and elicit an identical response. Scheich and his colleagues believe that it is reasonable to assume that all the invertebrates on which the platypus feeds must produce electric fields. | 199910_2-RC_3_20 | [
"capture prey that it has detected",
"distinguish one kind of prey from another",
"detect electric fields produced by potential prey",
"stimulate its mechanoreceptors",
"pick up the scent of its prey"
] | 2 | It can be inferred from the passage that during patrolling behavior, the platypus is attempting to |
Scientists have long known that the soft surface of the bill of the platypus is perforated with openings that contain sensitive nerve endings. Only recently, however, have biologists concluded on the basis of new evidence that the animal uses its bill to locate its prey while underwater, a conclusion suggested by the fact that the animal's eyes, ears, and nostrils are sealed when it is submerged. The new evidence comes from neurophysiological studies, which have recently revealed that within the pores on the bill there are two kinds of sensory receptors: mechanoreceptors, which are tiny pushrods that respond to tactile pressure, and electroreceptors, which respond to weak electrical fields. Having discovered that tactile stimulation of the pushrods sends nerve impulses to the brain, where they evoke an electric potential over an area of the neocortex much larger than the one stimulated by input from the limbs, eyes, and ears, Bohringer concluded that the bill must be the primary sensory organ for the platypus. Her finding was supported by studies showing that the bill is extraordinarily sensitive to tactile stimulation: stimulation with a fine glass stylus sent a signal by way of the fifth cranial nerve to the neocortex and from there to the motor cortex. Presumably nerve impulses from the motor cortex then induced a snapping movement of the bill. But Bohringer's investigations did not explain how the animal locates its prey at a distance. Scheich's neurophysiological studies contribute to solving this mystery. His initial work showed that when a platypus feeds, it swims along steadily wagging its bill from side to side until prey is encountered. It thereupon switches to searching behavior, characterized by erratic movements of the bill over a small area at the bottom of a body of water, which is followed by homing in on the object and seizing it. In order to determine how the animal senses prey and then distinguishes it from other objects on the bottom, Scheich hypothesized that a sensory system based on electroreception similar to that found in sharks might exist in the platypus. In further experiments he found he could trigger the switch from patrolling to searching behavior in the platypus by creating a dipole electric field in the water with the aid of a small 1.5-volt battery. The platypus, sensitive to the weak electric current that was created, rapidly oriented toward the battery at a distance of 10 centimeters and sometimes as much as 30 centimeters. Once the battery was detected, the platypus would inevitably attack it as if it were food. Scheich then discovered that the tail flicks of freshwater shrimp, a common prey of the platypus, also produce weak electric fields and elicit an identical response. Scheich and his colleagues believe that it is reasonable to assume that all the invertebrates on which the platypus feeds must produce electric fields. | 199910_2-RC_3_21 | [
"A hypothesis is presented and defended with supporting examples.",
"A conclusion is presented and the information supporting it is provided.",
"A thesis is presented and defended with an argument.",
"Opposing views are presented, discussed, and then reconciled.",
"A theory is proposed, considered, and then... | 1 | Which one of the following best describes the organization of the passage? |
Until about 1970, anyone who wanted to write a comprehensive history of medieval English law as it actually affected women would have found a dearth of published books or articles concerned with specific legal topics relating to women and derived from extensive research in actual court records. This is a serious deficiency, since court records are of vital importance in discovering how the law actually affected women, as opposed to how the law was intended to affect them or thought to affect them. These latter questions can be answered by consulting such sources as treatises, commentaries, and statutes; such texts were what most scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries concentrated on whenever they did write about medieval law. But these sources are of little help in determining, for example, how often women's special statutory privileges were thwarted by intimidation or harassment, or how often women managed to evade special statutory limitations. And, quite apart from provisions designed to apply only, or especially, to women, they cannot tell us how general law affected the female half of the population—how women defendants and plaintiffs were treated in the courts in practice when they tried to exercise the rights they shared with men. Only quantitative studies of large numbers of cases would allow even a guess at the answers to these questions, and this scholarly work has been attempted by few. One can easily imagine why. Most medieval English court records are written in Latin or Anglo-Norman French and have never been published. The sheer volume of material to be sifted is daunting: there are over 27,500 parchment pages in the common plea rolls of the thirteenth century alone, every page nearly three feet long, and written often front and back in highly stylized court hand. But the difficulty of the sources, while it might appear to explain why the relevant scholarship has not been undertaken, seems actually to have deterred few: the fact is that few historians have wanted to write anything approaching women's legal history in the first place. Most modern legal historians who have written on one aspect or another of special laws pertaining to women have begun with an interest in a legal idea or event or institution, not with a concern for how it affected women. Very few legal historians have started with an interest in women's history that they might have elected to pursue through various areas of general law. And the result of all this is that the current state of our scholarly knowledge relating to law and the medieval Englishwoman is still fragmentary at best, though the situation is slowly improving. | 199910_2-RC_4_22 | [
"They are adequate to the research needs of a modern legal historian wishing to investigate medieval law.",
"They are to be preferred to medieval legal sources, which are cumbersome and difficult to use.",
"They lack fundamental relevance to the history of modern legal institutions and ideas.",
"They provide ... | 3 | It can be inferred from the passage that the author believes which one of the following to be true of the sources consulted by nineteenth-century historians of medieval law? |
Until about 1970, anyone who wanted to write a comprehensive history of medieval English law as it actually affected women would have found a dearth of published books or articles concerned with specific legal topics relating to women and derived from extensive research in actual court records. This is a serious deficiency, since court records are of vital importance in discovering how the law actually affected women, as opposed to how the law was intended to affect them or thought to affect them. These latter questions can be answered by consulting such sources as treatises, commentaries, and statutes; such texts were what most scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries concentrated on whenever they did write about medieval law. But these sources are of little help in determining, for example, how often women's special statutory privileges were thwarted by intimidation or harassment, or how often women managed to evade special statutory limitations. And, quite apart from provisions designed to apply only, or especially, to women, they cannot tell us how general law affected the female half of the population—how women defendants and plaintiffs were treated in the courts in practice when they tried to exercise the rights they shared with men. Only quantitative studies of large numbers of cases would allow even a guess at the answers to these questions, and this scholarly work has been attempted by few. One can easily imagine why. Most medieval English court records are written in Latin or Anglo-Norman French and have never been published. The sheer volume of material to be sifted is daunting: there are over 27,500 parchment pages in the common plea rolls of the thirteenth century alone, every page nearly three feet long, and written often front and back in highly stylized court hand. But the difficulty of the sources, while it might appear to explain why the relevant scholarship has not been undertaken, seems actually to have deterred few: the fact is that few historians have wanted to write anything approaching women's legal history in the first place. Most modern legal historians who have written on one aspect or another of special laws pertaining to women have begun with an interest in a legal idea or event or institution, not with a concern for how it affected women. Very few legal historians have started with an interest in women's history that they might have elected to pursue through various areas of general law. And the result of all this is that the current state of our scholarly knowledge relating to law and the medieval Englishwoman is still fragmentary at best, though the situation is slowly improving. | 199910_2-RC_4_23 | [
"The preparations necessary for the production of a particular kind of study are discussed, and reasons are given for why such preparations have not been undertaken until recently.",
"A problem is described, a taxonomy of various kinds of questions relevant to its solution is proposed, and an evaluation regarding... | 3 | Which one of the following best describes the organization of the first paragraph of the passage? |
Until about 1970, anyone who wanted to write a comprehensive history of medieval English law as it actually affected women would have found a dearth of published books or articles concerned with specific legal topics relating to women and derived from extensive research in actual court records. This is a serious deficiency, since court records are of vital importance in discovering how the law actually affected women, as opposed to how the law was intended to affect them or thought to affect them. These latter questions can be answered by consulting such sources as treatises, commentaries, and statutes; such texts were what most scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries concentrated on whenever they did write about medieval law. But these sources are of little help in determining, for example, how often women's special statutory privileges were thwarted by intimidation or harassment, or how often women managed to evade special statutory limitations. And, quite apart from provisions designed to apply only, or especially, to women, they cannot tell us how general law affected the female half of the population—how women defendants and plaintiffs were treated in the courts in practice when they tried to exercise the rights they shared with men. Only quantitative studies of large numbers of cases would allow even a guess at the answers to these questions, and this scholarly work has been attempted by few. One can easily imagine why. Most medieval English court records are written in Latin or Anglo-Norman French and have never been published. The sheer volume of material to be sifted is daunting: there are over 27,500 parchment pages in the common plea rolls of the thirteenth century alone, every page nearly three feet long, and written often front and back in highly stylized court hand. But the difficulty of the sources, while it might appear to explain why the relevant scholarship has not been undertaken, seems actually to have deterred few: the fact is that few historians have wanted to write anything approaching women's legal history in the first place. Most modern legal historians who have written on one aspect or another of special laws pertaining to women have begun with an interest in a legal idea or event or institution, not with a concern for how it affected women. Very few legal historians have started with an interest in women's history that they might have elected to pursue through various areas of general law. And the result of all this is that the current state of our scholarly knowledge relating to law and the medieval Englishwoman is still fragmentary at best, though the situation is slowly improving. | 199910_2-RC_4_24 | [
"what were the stated intentions of those who wrote medieval statutes",
"what were the unconscious or hidden motives of medieval lawmakers with regard to women",
"what was the impact of medieval legal thought concerning women on the development of important modern legal ideas and institutions",
"how medieval ... | 3 | According to the passage, quantitative studies of the kind referred to in line 25 can aid in determining |
Until about 1970, anyone who wanted to write a comprehensive history of medieval English law as it actually affected women would have found a dearth of published books or articles concerned with specific legal topics relating to women and derived from extensive research in actual court records. This is a serious deficiency, since court records are of vital importance in discovering how the law actually affected women, as opposed to how the law was intended to affect them or thought to affect them. These latter questions can be answered by consulting such sources as treatises, commentaries, and statutes; such texts were what most scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries concentrated on whenever they did write about medieval law. But these sources are of little help in determining, for example, how often women's special statutory privileges were thwarted by intimidation or harassment, or how often women managed to evade special statutory limitations. And, quite apart from provisions designed to apply only, or especially, to women, they cannot tell us how general law affected the female half of the population—how women defendants and plaintiffs were treated in the courts in practice when they tried to exercise the rights they shared with men. Only quantitative studies of large numbers of cases would allow even a guess at the answers to these questions, and this scholarly work has been attempted by few. One can easily imagine why. Most medieval English court records are written in Latin or Anglo-Norman French and have never been published. The sheer volume of material to be sifted is daunting: there are over 27,500 parchment pages in the common plea rolls of the thirteenth century alone, every page nearly three feet long, and written often front and back in highly stylized court hand. But the difficulty of the sources, while it might appear to explain why the relevant scholarship has not been undertaken, seems actually to have deterred few: the fact is that few historians have wanted to write anything approaching women's legal history in the first place. Most modern legal historians who have written on one aspect or another of special laws pertaining to women have begun with an interest in a legal idea or event or institution, not with a concern for how it affected women. Very few legal historians have started with an interest in women's history that they might have elected to pursue through various areas of general law. And the result of all this is that the current state of our scholarly knowledge relating to law and the medieval Englishwoman is still fragmentary at best, though the situation is slowly improving. | 199910_2-RC_4_25 | [
"the intent of medieval English laws regarding women and the opinions of commentators concerning how those laws affected women",
"the overall effectiveness of English law in the medieval period and some aspects of the special statutes that applied to women only",
"the degree of probability that a women defendan... | 0 | According to the passage, the sources consulted by legal scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries provided adequate information concerning which one of the following topics? |
Until about 1970, anyone who wanted to write a comprehensive history of medieval English law as it actually affected women would have found a dearth of published books or articles concerned with specific legal topics relating to women and derived from extensive research in actual court records. This is a serious deficiency, since court records are of vital importance in discovering how the law actually affected women, as opposed to how the law was intended to affect them or thought to affect them. These latter questions can be answered by consulting such sources as treatises, commentaries, and statutes; such texts were what most scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries concentrated on whenever they did write about medieval law. But these sources are of little help in determining, for example, how often women's special statutory privileges were thwarted by intimidation or harassment, or how often women managed to evade special statutory limitations. And, quite apart from provisions designed to apply only, or especially, to women, they cannot tell us how general law affected the female half of the population—how women defendants and plaintiffs were treated in the courts in practice when they tried to exercise the rights they shared with men. Only quantitative studies of large numbers of cases would allow even a guess at the answers to these questions, and this scholarly work has been attempted by few. One can easily imagine why. Most medieval English court records are written in Latin or Anglo-Norman French and have never been published. The sheer volume of material to be sifted is daunting: there are over 27,500 parchment pages in the common plea rolls of the thirteenth century alone, every page nearly three feet long, and written often front and back in highly stylized court hand. But the difficulty of the sources, while it might appear to explain why the relevant scholarship has not been undertaken, seems actually to have deterred few: the fact is that few historians have wanted to write anything approaching women's legal history in the first place. Most modern legal historians who have written on one aspect or another of special laws pertaining to women have begun with an interest in a legal idea or event or institution, not with a concern for how it affected women. Very few legal historians have started with an interest in women's history that they might have elected to pursue through various areas of general law. And the result of all this is that the current state of our scholarly knowledge relating to law and the medieval Englishwoman is still fragmentary at best, though the situation is slowly improving. | 199910_2-RC_4_26 | [
"linguistic studies of Anglo-Norman French and Latin undertaken in order to prepare for further study of medieval legal history",
"the editing and publication of medieval court records undertaken in order to facilitate the work of legal and other historians",
"quantitative studies of large numbers of medieval c... | 2 | As used in lines 37–38, the phrase "the relevant scholarship" can best be understood as referring to which one of the following kinds of scholarly work? |
Until about 1970, anyone who wanted to write a comprehensive history of medieval English law as it actually affected women would have found a dearth of published books or articles concerned with specific legal topics relating to women and derived from extensive research in actual court records. This is a serious deficiency, since court records are of vital importance in discovering how the law actually affected women, as opposed to how the law was intended to affect them or thought to affect them. These latter questions can be answered by consulting such sources as treatises, commentaries, and statutes; such texts were what most scholars of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries concentrated on whenever they did write about medieval law. But these sources are of little help in determining, for example, how often women's special statutory privileges were thwarted by intimidation or harassment, or how often women managed to evade special statutory limitations. And, quite apart from provisions designed to apply only, or especially, to women, they cannot tell us how general law affected the female half of the population—how women defendants and plaintiffs were treated in the courts in practice when they tried to exercise the rights they shared with men. Only quantitative studies of large numbers of cases would allow even a guess at the answers to these questions, and this scholarly work has been attempted by few. One can easily imagine why. Most medieval English court records are written in Latin or Anglo-Norman French and have never been published. The sheer volume of material to be sifted is daunting: there are over 27,500 parchment pages in the common plea rolls of the thirteenth century alone, every page nearly three feet long, and written often front and back in highly stylized court hand. But the difficulty of the sources, while it might appear to explain why the relevant scholarship has not been undertaken, seems actually to have deterred few: the fact is that few historians have wanted to write anything approaching women's legal history in the first place. Most modern legal historians who have written on one aspect or another of special laws pertaining to women have begun with an interest in a legal idea or event or institution, not with a concern for how it affected women. Very few legal historians have started with an interest in women's history that they might have elected to pursue through various areas of general law. And the result of all this is that the current state of our scholarly knowledge relating to law and the medieval Englishwoman is still fragmentary at best, though the situation is slowly improving. | 199910_2-RC_4_27 | [
"most modern legal historians' relative lack of interest in pursuing the subject",
"the linguistic and practical difficulties inherent in pursuing research relevant to such knowledge",
"a tendency on the part of most modern legal historians to rely too heavily on sources such as commentaries and treatises",
"... | 0 | It can be inferred from the passage that, in the author's view, which one of the following factors is most responsible for the current deficiencies in our knowledge of women's legal history? |
The okapi, a forest mammal of central Africa, has presented zoologists with a number of difficult questions since they first learned of its existence in 1900. The first was how to classify it. Because it was horselike in dimension, and bore patches of striped hide similar to a zebra's (a relative of the horse), zoologists first classified it as a member of the horse family. But further studies showed that, despite okapis' coloration and short necks, their closest relatives were giraffes. The okapi's rightful place within the giraffe family is confirmed by its skin-covered horns (in males), two-lobed canine teeth, and long prehensile tongue. The next question was the size of the okapi population. Because okapis were infrequently captured by hunters, some zoologists believed that they were rare; however, others theorized that their habits simply kept them out of sight. It was not until 1985, when zoologists started tracking okapis by affixing collars equipped with radio transmitters to briefly captured specimens, that reliable information about okapi numbers and habits began to be collected. It turns out that while okapis are not as rare as some zoologists suspected, their population is concentrated in an extremely limited chain of forestland in northeastern central Africa, surrounded by savanna. One reason for their seeming scarcity is that their coloration allows okapis to camouflage themselves even at close range. Another is that okapis do not travel in groups or with other large forest mammals, and neither frequent open riverbanks nor forage at the borders of clearings, choosing instead to keep to the forest interior. This is because okapis, unlike any other animal in the central African forest, subsist entirely on leaves: more than one hundred species of plants have been identified as part of their diet, and about twenty of these are preferred. Okapis never eat one plant to the exclusion of others; even where preferred foliage is abundant, okapis will leave much of it uneaten, choosing to move on and sample other leaves. Because of this, and because of the distribution of their food, okapis engage in individual rather than congregated foraging. But other questions about okapi behavior arise. Why for example, do they prefer to remain within forested areas when many of their favorite plants are found in the open border between forest and savanna? One possibility is that this is a defense against predators; another is that the okapi was pushed into the forest by competition with other large, hoofed animals, such as the bushbuck and bongo, that specialize on the forest edges and graze them more efficiently. Another question is why okapis are absent from other nearby forest regions that would seem hospitable to them. Zoologists theorize that okapis are relicts of an era when forestland was scarce and that they continue to respect those borders even though available forestland has long since expanded. | 199912_3-RC_1_1 | [
"Information gathered by means of radio-tracking collars has finally provided answers to the questions about okapis that zoologists have been attempting to answer since they first learned of the mammal's existence.",
"Because of their physical characteristics and their infrequent capture by hunters, okapis presen... | 2 | Which one of the following most completely and accurately expresses the main idea of the passage? |
The okapi, a forest mammal of central Africa, has presented zoologists with a number of difficult questions since they first learned of its existence in 1900. The first was how to classify it. Because it was horselike in dimension, and bore patches of striped hide similar to a zebra's (a relative of the horse), zoologists first classified it as a member of the horse family. But further studies showed that, despite okapis' coloration and short necks, their closest relatives were giraffes. The okapi's rightful place within the giraffe family is confirmed by its skin-covered horns (in males), two-lobed canine teeth, and long prehensile tongue. The next question was the size of the okapi population. Because okapis were infrequently captured by hunters, some zoologists believed that they were rare; however, others theorized that their habits simply kept them out of sight. It was not until 1985, when zoologists started tracking okapis by affixing collars equipped with radio transmitters to briefly captured specimens, that reliable information about okapi numbers and habits began to be collected. It turns out that while okapis are not as rare as some zoologists suspected, their population is concentrated in an extremely limited chain of forestland in northeastern central Africa, surrounded by savanna. One reason for their seeming scarcity is that their coloration allows okapis to camouflage themselves even at close range. Another is that okapis do not travel in groups or with other large forest mammals, and neither frequent open riverbanks nor forage at the borders of clearings, choosing instead to keep to the forest interior. This is because okapis, unlike any other animal in the central African forest, subsist entirely on leaves: more than one hundred species of plants have been identified as part of their diet, and about twenty of these are preferred. Okapis never eat one plant to the exclusion of others; even where preferred foliage is abundant, okapis will leave much of it uneaten, choosing to move on and sample other leaves. Because of this, and because of the distribution of their food, okapis engage in individual rather than congregated foraging. But other questions about okapi behavior arise. Why for example, do they prefer to remain within forested areas when many of their favorite plants are found in the open border between forest and savanna? One possibility is that this is a defense against predators; another is that the okapi was pushed into the forest by competition with other large, hoofed animals, such as the bushbuck and bongo, that specialize on the forest edges and graze them more efficiently. Another question is why okapis are absent from other nearby forest regions that would seem hospitable to them. Zoologists theorize that okapis are relicts of an era when forestland was scarce and that they continue to respect those borders even though available forestland has long since expanded. | 199912_3-RC_1_2 | [
"pose a question about okapi behavior",
"rebut a theory about okapi behavior",
"counter the assertion that okapis are rare",
"explain why okapis appeared to be rare",
"support the belief that okapis are rare"
] | 3 | The function of the third paragraph is to |
The okapi, a forest mammal of central Africa, has presented zoologists with a number of difficult questions since they first learned of its existence in 1900. The first was how to classify it. Because it was horselike in dimension, and bore patches of striped hide similar to a zebra's (a relative of the horse), zoologists first classified it as a member of the horse family. But further studies showed that, despite okapis' coloration and short necks, their closest relatives were giraffes. The okapi's rightful place within the giraffe family is confirmed by its skin-covered horns (in males), two-lobed canine teeth, and long prehensile tongue. The next question was the size of the okapi population. Because okapis were infrequently captured by hunters, some zoologists believed that they were rare; however, others theorized that their habits simply kept them out of sight. It was not until 1985, when zoologists started tracking okapis by affixing collars equipped with radio transmitters to briefly captured specimens, that reliable information about okapi numbers and habits began to be collected. It turns out that while okapis are not as rare as some zoologists suspected, their population is concentrated in an extremely limited chain of forestland in northeastern central Africa, surrounded by savanna. One reason for their seeming scarcity is that their coloration allows okapis to camouflage themselves even at close range. Another is that okapis do not travel in groups or with other large forest mammals, and neither frequent open riverbanks nor forage at the borders of clearings, choosing instead to keep to the forest interior. This is because okapis, unlike any other animal in the central African forest, subsist entirely on leaves: more than one hundred species of plants have been identified as part of their diet, and about twenty of these are preferred. Okapis never eat one plant to the exclusion of others; even where preferred foliage is abundant, okapis will leave much of it uneaten, choosing to move on and sample other leaves. Because of this, and because of the distribution of their food, okapis engage in individual rather than congregated foraging. But other questions about okapi behavior arise. Why for example, do they prefer to remain within forested areas when many of their favorite plants are found in the open border between forest and savanna? One possibility is that this is a defense against predators; another is that the okapi was pushed into the forest by competition with other large, hoofed animals, such as the bushbuck and bongo, that specialize on the forest edges and graze them more efficiently. Another question is why okapis are absent from other nearby forest regions that would seem hospitable to them. Zoologists theorize that okapis are relicts of an era when forestland was scarce and that they continue to respect those borders even though available forestland has long since expanded. | 199912_3-RC_1_3 | [
"a child who eats one kind of food at a time, consuming all of it before going on to the next kind",
"a professor who strictly follows the outline in the syllabus, never digressing to follow up on student questions",
"a student who delays working on homework until the last minute, then rushes to complete it",
... | 3 | Based on the passage, in its eating behavior the okapi is most analogous to |
The okapi, a forest mammal of central Africa, has presented zoologists with a number of difficult questions since they first learned of its existence in 1900. The first was how to classify it. Because it was horselike in dimension, and bore patches of striped hide similar to a zebra's (a relative of the horse), zoologists first classified it as a member of the horse family. But further studies showed that, despite okapis' coloration and short necks, their closest relatives were giraffes. The okapi's rightful place within the giraffe family is confirmed by its skin-covered horns (in males), two-lobed canine teeth, and long prehensile tongue. The next question was the size of the okapi population. Because okapis were infrequently captured by hunters, some zoologists believed that they were rare; however, others theorized that their habits simply kept them out of sight. It was not until 1985, when zoologists started tracking okapis by affixing collars equipped with radio transmitters to briefly captured specimens, that reliable information about okapi numbers and habits began to be collected. It turns out that while okapis are not as rare as some zoologists suspected, their population is concentrated in an extremely limited chain of forestland in northeastern central Africa, surrounded by savanna. One reason for their seeming scarcity is that their coloration allows okapis to camouflage themselves even at close range. Another is that okapis do not travel in groups or with other large forest mammals, and neither frequent open riverbanks nor forage at the borders of clearings, choosing instead to keep to the forest interior. This is because okapis, unlike any other animal in the central African forest, subsist entirely on leaves: more than one hundred species of plants have been identified as part of their diet, and about twenty of these are preferred. Okapis never eat one plant to the exclusion of others; even where preferred foliage is abundant, okapis will leave much of it uneaten, choosing to move on and sample other leaves. Because of this, and because of the distribution of their food, okapis engage in individual rather than congregated foraging. But other questions about okapi behavior arise. Why for example, do they prefer to remain within forested areas when many of their favorite plants are found in the open border between forest and savanna? One possibility is that this is a defense against predators; another is that the okapi was pushed into the forest by competition with other large, hoofed animals, such as the bushbuck and bongo, that specialize on the forest edges and graze them more efficiently. Another question is why okapis are absent from other nearby forest regions that would seem hospitable to them. Zoologists theorize that okapis are relicts of an era when forestland was scarce and that they continue to respect those borders even though available forestland has long since expanded. | 199912_3-RC_1_4 | [
"Okapis were pushed into this forest region by competition with mammals in neighboring forests.",
"Okapis in this forest region forage in the border between forest and savanna.",
"Okapis in this forest region are not threatened by the usual predators of okapis.",
"Okapis moved into this forest region because ... | 4 | Suppose that numerous okapis are discovered living in a remote forest region in northeastern central Africa that zoologists had not previously explored. Based on their current views, which one of the following would the zoologists be most likely to conclude about this discovery? |
The okapi, a forest mammal of central Africa, has presented zoologists with a number of difficult questions since they first learned of its existence in 1900. The first was how to classify it. Because it was horselike in dimension, and bore patches of striped hide similar to a zebra's (a relative of the horse), zoologists first classified it as a member of the horse family. But further studies showed that, despite okapis' coloration and short necks, their closest relatives were giraffes. The okapi's rightful place within the giraffe family is confirmed by its skin-covered horns (in males), two-lobed canine teeth, and long prehensile tongue. The next question was the size of the okapi population. Because okapis were infrequently captured by hunters, some zoologists believed that they were rare; however, others theorized that their habits simply kept them out of sight. It was not until 1985, when zoologists started tracking okapis by affixing collars equipped with radio transmitters to briefly captured specimens, that reliable information about okapi numbers and habits began to be collected. It turns out that while okapis are not as rare as some zoologists suspected, their population is concentrated in an extremely limited chain of forestland in northeastern central Africa, surrounded by savanna. One reason for their seeming scarcity is that their coloration allows okapis to camouflage themselves even at close range. Another is that okapis do not travel in groups or with other large forest mammals, and neither frequent open riverbanks nor forage at the borders of clearings, choosing instead to keep to the forest interior. This is because okapis, unlike any other animal in the central African forest, subsist entirely on leaves: more than one hundred species of plants have been identified as part of their diet, and about twenty of these are preferred. Okapis never eat one plant to the exclusion of others; even where preferred foliage is abundant, okapis will leave much of it uneaten, choosing to move on and sample other leaves. Because of this, and because of the distribution of their food, okapis engage in individual rather than congregated foraging. But other questions about okapi behavior arise. Why for example, do they prefer to remain within forested areas when many of their favorite plants are found in the open border between forest and savanna? One possibility is that this is a defense against predators; another is that the okapi was pushed into the forest by competition with other large, hoofed animals, such as the bushbuck and bongo, that specialize on the forest edges and graze them more efficiently. Another question is why okapis are absent from other nearby forest regions that would seem hospitable to them. Zoologists theorize that okapis are relicts of an era when forestland was scarce and that they continue to respect those borders even though available forestland has long since expanded. | 199912_3-RC_1_5 | [
"why zoologists once believed that okapis were rare",
"why zoologists classified the okapi as a member of the giraffe family",
"why okapis choose to limit themselves to the interiors of forests",
"why okapis engage in individual rather than congregated foraging",
"why okapis leave much preferred foliage une... | 4 | The passage provides information intended to help explain each of the following EXCEPT: |
The okapi, a forest mammal of central Africa, has presented zoologists with a number of difficult questions since they first learned of its existence in 1900. The first was how to classify it. Because it was horselike in dimension, and bore patches of striped hide similar to a zebra's (a relative of the horse), zoologists first classified it as a member of the horse family. But further studies showed that, despite okapis' coloration and short necks, their closest relatives were giraffes. The okapi's rightful place within the giraffe family is confirmed by its skin-covered horns (in males), two-lobed canine teeth, and long prehensile tongue. The next question was the size of the okapi population. Because okapis were infrequently captured by hunters, some zoologists believed that they were rare; however, others theorized that their habits simply kept them out of sight. It was not until 1985, when zoologists started tracking okapis by affixing collars equipped with radio transmitters to briefly captured specimens, that reliable information about okapi numbers and habits began to be collected. It turns out that while okapis are not as rare as some zoologists suspected, their population is concentrated in an extremely limited chain of forestland in northeastern central Africa, surrounded by savanna. One reason for their seeming scarcity is that their coloration allows okapis to camouflage themselves even at close range. Another is that okapis do not travel in groups or with other large forest mammals, and neither frequent open riverbanks nor forage at the borders of clearings, choosing instead to keep to the forest interior. This is because okapis, unlike any other animal in the central African forest, subsist entirely on leaves: more than one hundred species of plants have been identified as part of their diet, and about twenty of these are preferred. Okapis never eat one plant to the exclusion of others; even where preferred foliage is abundant, okapis will leave much of it uneaten, choosing to move on and sample other leaves. Because of this, and because of the distribution of their food, okapis engage in individual rather than congregated foraging. But other questions about okapi behavior arise. Why for example, do they prefer to remain within forested areas when many of their favorite plants are found in the open border between forest and savanna? One possibility is that this is a defense against predators; another is that the okapi was pushed into the forest by competition with other large, hoofed animals, such as the bushbuck and bongo, that specialize on the forest edges and graze them more efficiently. Another question is why okapis are absent from other nearby forest regions that would seem hospitable to them. Zoologists theorize that okapis are relicts of an era when forestland was scarce and that they continue to respect those borders even though available forestland has long since expanded. | 199912_3-RC_1_6 | [
"The number of okapis is many times larger than zoologists had previously believed it to be.",
"Radio-tracking collars have enabled scientists to finally answer all the questions about the okapi.",
"Okapis are captured infrequently because their habits and coloration make it difficult for hunters to find them."... | 2 | Based on the passage, the author would be most likely to agree with which one of the following statements? |
Tragic dramas written in Greece during the fifth century B.C. engender considerable scholarly debate over the relative influence of individual autonomy and the power of the gods on the drama's action. One early scholar, B. Snell, argues that Aeschylus, for example, develops in his tragedies a concept of the autonomy of the individual. In these dramas, the protagonists invariably confront a situation that paralyzes them, so that their prior notions about how to behave or think are dissolved. Faced with a decision on which their fate depends, they must reexamine their deepest motives, and then act with determination. They are given only two alternatives, each with grave consequences, and they make their decision only after a tortured internal debate. According to Snell, this decision is "free" and "personal" and such personal autonomy constitutes the central theme in Aeschylean drama, as if the plays were devised to isolate an abstract model of human action. Drawing psychological conclusions from this interpretation, another scholar, Z. Barbu, suggests that "[Aeschylean] drama is proof of the emergence within ancient Greek civilization of the individual as a free agent." To A. Rivier, Snell's emphasis on the decision made by the protagonist, with its implicit notions of autonomy and responsibility, misrepresents the role of the superhuman forces at work, forces that give the dramas their truly tragic dimension. These forces are not only external to the protagonist; they are also experienced by the protagonist as an internal compulsion, subjecting him or her to constraint even in what are claimed to be his or her "choices." Hence all that the deliberation does is to make the protagonist aware of the impasse, rather than motivating one choice over another. It is finally a necessity imposed by the deities that generates the decision, so that at a particular moment in the drama necessity dictates a path. Thus, the protagonist does not so much "choose" between two possibilities as "recognize" that there is only one real option. A. Lesky, in his discussion of Aeschylus' play Agamemnon, disputes both views. Agamemnon, ruler of Argos, must decide whether to brutally sacrifice his own daughter. A message from the deity Artemis has told him that only the sacrifice will bring a wind to blow his ships to an important battle. Agamemnon is indeed constrained by a divine necessity. But he also deeply desires a victorious battle: "If this sacrifice willloose the winds, it is permitted to desire it fervently," he says. The violence of his passion suggests that Agamemnon chooses a path—chosen by the gods for their own reasons—on the basis of desires that must be condemned by us, because they are his own. In Lesky's view, tragic action is bound by the constant tension between a self and superhuman forces. | 199912_3-RC_2_7 | [
"Agamemnon's motivations are identical to those of the gods.",
"The nature of Agamemnon's character solely determines the course of the tragedy.",
"Agamemnon's decision-making is influenced by his military ambitions.",
"Agamemnon is concerned only with pleasing the deity Artemis.",
"Agamemnon is especially ... | 2 | Based on the information presented in the passage, which one of the following statements best represents Lesky's view of Agamemnon? |
Tragic dramas written in Greece during the fifth century B.C. engender considerable scholarly debate over the relative influence of individual autonomy and the power of the gods on the drama's action. One early scholar, B. Snell, argues that Aeschylus, for example, develops in his tragedies a concept of the autonomy of the individual. In these dramas, the protagonists invariably confront a situation that paralyzes them, so that their prior notions about how to behave or think are dissolved. Faced with a decision on which their fate depends, they must reexamine their deepest motives, and then act with determination. They are given only two alternatives, each with grave consequences, and they make their decision only after a tortured internal debate. According to Snell, this decision is "free" and "personal" and such personal autonomy constitutes the central theme in Aeschylean drama, as if the plays were devised to isolate an abstract model of human action. Drawing psychological conclusions from this interpretation, another scholar, Z. Barbu, suggests that "[Aeschylean] drama is proof of the emergence within ancient Greek civilization of the individual as a free agent." To A. Rivier, Snell's emphasis on the decision made by the protagonist, with its implicit notions of autonomy and responsibility, misrepresents the role of the superhuman forces at work, forces that give the dramas their truly tragic dimension. These forces are not only external to the protagonist; they are also experienced by the protagonist as an internal compulsion, subjecting him or her to constraint even in what are claimed to be his or her "choices." Hence all that the deliberation does is to make the protagonist aware of the impasse, rather than motivating one choice over another. It is finally a necessity imposed by the deities that generates the decision, so that at a particular moment in the drama necessity dictates a path. Thus, the protagonist does not so much "choose" between two possibilities as "recognize" that there is only one real option. A. Lesky, in his discussion of Aeschylus' play Agamemnon, disputes both views. Agamemnon, ruler of Argos, must decide whether to brutally sacrifice his own daughter. A message from the deity Artemis has told him that only the sacrifice will bring a wind to blow his ships to an important battle. Agamemnon is indeed constrained by a divine necessity. But he also deeply desires a victorious battle: "If this sacrifice willloose the winds, it is permitted to desire it fervently," he says. The violence of his passion suggests that Agamemnon chooses a path—chosen by the gods for their own reasons—on the basis of desires that must be condemned by us, because they are his own. In Lesky's view, tragic action is bound by the constant tension between a self and superhuman forces. | 199912_3-RC_2_8 | [
"If the goddess has ordained that the only way I can evade battle is by performing this sacrifice, then it is perfectly appropriate for me to deeply desire this sacrifice.",
"If the goddess has ordained that the only way I can get a wind to move my ships to battle is by performing this sacrifice, then it is perfe... | 2 | Which one of the following paraphrases most accurately restates the quotation from Agamemnon found in lines 48–49 of the passage? |
Tragic dramas written in Greece during the fifth century B.C. engender considerable scholarly debate over the relative influence of individual autonomy and the power of the gods on the drama's action. One early scholar, B. Snell, argues that Aeschylus, for example, develops in his tragedies a concept of the autonomy of the individual. In these dramas, the protagonists invariably confront a situation that paralyzes them, so that their prior notions about how to behave or think are dissolved. Faced with a decision on which their fate depends, they must reexamine their deepest motives, and then act with determination. They are given only two alternatives, each with grave consequences, and they make their decision only after a tortured internal debate. According to Snell, this decision is "free" and "personal" and such personal autonomy constitutes the central theme in Aeschylean drama, as if the plays were devised to isolate an abstract model of human action. Drawing psychological conclusions from this interpretation, another scholar, Z. Barbu, suggests that "[Aeschylean] drama is proof of the emergence within ancient Greek civilization of the individual as a free agent." To A. Rivier, Snell's emphasis on the decision made by the protagonist, with its implicit notions of autonomy and responsibility, misrepresents the role of the superhuman forces at work, forces that give the dramas their truly tragic dimension. These forces are not only external to the protagonist; they are also experienced by the protagonist as an internal compulsion, subjecting him or her to constraint even in what are claimed to be his or her "choices." Hence all that the deliberation does is to make the protagonist aware of the impasse, rather than motivating one choice over another. It is finally a necessity imposed by the deities that generates the decision, so that at a particular moment in the drama necessity dictates a path. Thus, the protagonist does not so much "choose" between two possibilities as "recognize" that there is only one real option. A. Lesky, in his discussion of Aeschylus' play Agamemnon, disputes both views. Agamemnon, ruler of Argos, must decide whether to brutally sacrifice his own daughter. A message from the deity Artemis has told him that only the sacrifice will bring a wind to blow his ships to an important battle. Agamemnon is indeed constrained by a divine necessity. But he also deeply desires a victorious battle: "If this sacrifice willloose the winds, it is permitted to desire it fervently," he says. The violence of his passion suggests that Agamemnon chooses a path—chosen by the gods for their own reasons—on the basis of desires that must be condemned by us, because they are his own. In Lesky's view, tragic action is bound by the constant tension between a self and superhuman forces. | 199912_3-RC_2_9 | [
"The tragic protagonist is deluded by the gods into thinking he or she is free.",
"The tragic protagonist struggles for a heroism that belongs to the gods.",
"The tragic protagonist wrongly seeks to take responsibility for his or her actions.",
"The tragic protagonist cannot make a decision that is free of di... | 3 | Which one of the following statements best expresses Rivier's view, as presented in the passage, of what makes a drama tragic? |
Tragic dramas written in Greece during the fifth century B.C. engender considerable scholarly debate over the relative influence of individual autonomy and the power of the gods on the drama's action. One early scholar, B. Snell, argues that Aeschylus, for example, develops in his tragedies a concept of the autonomy of the individual. In these dramas, the protagonists invariably confront a situation that paralyzes them, so that their prior notions about how to behave or think are dissolved. Faced with a decision on which their fate depends, they must reexamine their deepest motives, and then act with determination. They are given only two alternatives, each with grave consequences, and they make their decision only after a tortured internal debate. According to Snell, this decision is "free" and "personal" and such personal autonomy constitutes the central theme in Aeschylean drama, as if the plays were devised to isolate an abstract model of human action. Drawing psychological conclusions from this interpretation, another scholar, Z. Barbu, suggests that "[Aeschylean] drama is proof of the emergence within ancient Greek civilization of the individual as a free agent." To A. Rivier, Snell's emphasis on the decision made by the protagonist, with its implicit notions of autonomy and responsibility, misrepresents the role of the superhuman forces at work, forces that give the dramas their truly tragic dimension. These forces are not only external to the protagonist; they are also experienced by the protagonist as an internal compulsion, subjecting him or her to constraint even in what are claimed to be his or her "choices." Hence all that the deliberation does is to make the protagonist aware of the impasse, rather than motivating one choice over another. It is finally a necessity imposed by the deities that generates the decision, so that at a particular moment in the drama necessity dictates a path. Thus, the protagonist does not so much "choose" between two possibilities as "recognize" that there is only one real option. A. Lesky, in his discussion of Aeschylus' play Agamemnon, disputes both views. Agamemnon, ruler of Argos, must decide whether to brutally sacrifice his own daughter. A message from the deity Artemis has told him that only the sacrifice will bring a wind to blow his ships to an important battle. Agamemnon is indeed constrained by a divine necessity. But he also deeply desires a victorious battle: "If this sacrifice willloose the winds, it is permitted to desire it fervently," he says. The violence of his passion suggests that Agamemnon chooses a path—chosen by the gods for their own reasons—on the basis of desires that must be condemned by us, because they are his own. In Lesky's view, tragic action is bound by the constant tension between a self and superhuman forces. | 199912_3-RC_2_10 | [
"whether or not the tragic protagonist is aware of the consequences of his or her actions",
"whether or not the tragic protagonist acknowledges the role of the deities in his or her life",
"whether or not the tragic protagonist's own desires have relevance to the outcome of the drama",
"whether or not the act... | 2 | It can be inferred from the passage that the central difference between the interpretations of Lesky and Rivier is over which one of the following points? |
Tragic dramas written in Greece during the fifth century B.C. engender considerable scholarly debate over the relative influence of individual autonomy and the power of the gods on the drama's action. One early scholar, B. Snell, argues that Aeschylus, for example, develops in his tragedies a concept of the autonomy of the individual. In these dramas, the protagonists invariably confront a situation that paralyzes them, so that their prior notions about how to behave or think are dissolved. Faced with a decision on which their fate depends, they must reexamine their deepest motives, and then act with determination. They are given only two alternatives, each with grave consequences, and they make their decision only after a tortured internal debate. According to Snell, this decision is "free" and "personal" and such personal autonomy constitutes the central theme in Aeschylean drama, as if the plays were devised to isolate an abstract model of human action. Drawing psychological conclusions from this interpretation, another scholar, Z. Barbu, suggests that "[Aeschylean] drama is proof of the emergence within ancient Greek civilization of the individual as a free agent." To A. Rivier, Snell's emphasis on the decision made by the protagonist, with its implicit notions of autonomy and responsibility, misrepresents the role of the superhuman forces at work, forces that give the dramas their truly tragic dimension. These forces are not only external to the protagonist; they are also experienced by the protagonist as an internal compulsion, subjecting him or her to constraint even in what are claimed to be his or her "choices." Hence all that the deliberation does is to make the protagonist aware of the impasse, rather than motivating one choice over another. It is finally a necessity imposed by the deities that generates the decision, so that at a particular moment in the drama necessity dictates a path. Thus, the protagonist does not so much "choose" between two possibilities as "recognize" that there is only one real option. A. Lesky, in his discussion of Aeschylus' play Agamemnon, disputes both views. Agamemnon, ruler of Argos, must decide whether to brutally sacrifice his own daughter. A message from the deity Artemis has told him that only the sacrifice will bring a wind to blow his ships to an important battle. Agamemnon is indeed constrained by a divine necessity. But he also deeply desires a victorious battle: "If this sacrifice willloose the winds, it is permitted to desire it fervently," he says. The violence of his passion suggests that Agamemnon chooses a path—chosen by the gods for their own reasons—on the basis of desires that must be condemned by us, because they are his own. In Lesky's view, tragic action is bound by the constant tension between a self and superhuman forces. | 199912_3-RC_2_11 | [
"Although she knows that she will be punished for violating the law of her city, a tragic figure bravely decides to bury her dead brother over the objections of local authorities.",
"Because of her love for her dead brother, a tragic figure, although aware that she will be punished for violating the law of her ci... | 4 | Which one of the following summaries of the plot of a Greek tragedy best illustrates the view attributed to Rivier in the passage? |
Tragic dramas written in Greece during the fifth century B.C. engender considerable scholarly debate over the relative influence of individual autonomy and the power of the gods on the drama's action. One early scholar, B. Snell, argues that Aeschylus, for example, develops in his tragedies a concept of the autonomy of the individual. In these dramas, the protagonists invariably confront a situation that paralyzes them, so that their prior notions about how to behave or think are dissolved. Faced with a decision on which their fate depends, they must reexamine their deepest motives, and then act with determination. They are given only two alternatives, each with grave consequences, and they make their decision only after a tortured internal debate. According to Snell, this decision is "free" and "personal" and such personal autonomy constitutes the central theme in Aeschylean drama, as if the plays were devised to isolate an abstract model of human action. Drawing psychological conclusions from this interpretation, another scholar, Z. Barbu, suggests that "[Aeschylean] drama is proof of the emergence within ancient Greek civilization of the individual as a free agent." To A. Rivier, Snell's emphasis on the decision made by the protagonist, with its implicit notions of autonomy and responsibility, misrepresents the role of the superhuman forces at work, forces that give the dramas their truly tragic dimension. These forces are not only external to the protagonist; they are also experienced by the protagonist as an internal compulsion, subjecting him or her to constraint even in what are claimed to be his or her "choices." Hence all that the deliberation does is to make the protagonist aware of the impasse, rather than motivating one choice over another. It is finally a necessity imposed by the deities that generates the decision, so that at a particular moment in the drama necessity dictates a path. Thus, the protagonist does not so much "choose" between two possibilities as "recognize" that there is only one real option. A. Lesky, in his discussion of Aeschylus' play Agamemnon, disputes both views. Agamemnon, ruler of Argos, must decide whether to brutally sacrifice his own daughter. A message from the deity Artemis has told him that only the sacrifice will bring a wind to blow his ships to an important battle. Agamemnon is indeed constrained by a divine necessity. But he also deeply desires a victorious battle: "If this sacrifice willloose the winds, it is permitted to desire it fervently," he says. The violence of his passion suggests that Agamemnon chooses a path—chosen by the gods for their own reasons—on the basis of desires that must be condemned by us, because they are his own. In Lesky's view, tragic action is bound by the constant tension between a self and superhuman forces. | 199912_3-RC_2_12 | [
"Aeschylean drama helped to initiate a new understanding of the person in ancient Greek society.",
"Aeschylean drama introduced new ways of understanding the role of the individual in ancient Greek society.",
"Aeschylean drama is the original source of the understanding of human motivation most familiar to the ... | 3 | The quotation in lines 21–23 suggests that Barbu assumes which one of the following about Aeschylean drama? |
Tragic dramas written in Greece during the fifth century B.C. engender considerable scholarly debate over the relative influence of individual autonomy and the power of the gods on the drama's action. One early scholar, B. Snell, argues that Aeschylus, for example, develops in his tragedies a concept of the autonomy of the individual. In these dramas, the protagonists invariably confront a situation that paralyzes them, so that their prior notions about how to behave or think are dissolved. Faced with a decision on which their fate depends, they must reexamine their deepest motives, and then act with determination. They are given only two alternatives, each with grave consequences, and they make their decision only after a tortured internal debate. According to Snell, this decision is "free" and "personal" and such personal autonomy constitutes the central theme in Aeschylean drama, as if the plays were devised to isolate an abstract model of human action. Drawing psychological conclusions from this interpretation, another scholar, Z. Barbu, suggests that "[Aeschylean] drama is proof of the emergence within ancient Greek civilization of the individual as a free agent." To A. Rivier, Snell's emphasis on the decision made by the protagonist, with its implicit notions of autonomy and responsibility, misrepresents the role of the superhuman forces at work, forces that give the dramas their truly tragic dimension. These forces are not only external to the protagonist; they are also experienced by the protagonist as an internal compulsion, subjecting him or her to constraint even in what are claimed to be his or her "choices." Hence all that the deliberation does is to make the protagonist aware of the impasse, rather than motivating one choice over another. It is finally a necessity imposed by the deities that generates the decision, so that at a particular moment in the drama necessity dictates a path. Thus, the protagonist does not so much "choose" between two possibilities as "recognize" that there is only one real option. A. Lesky, in his discussion of Aeschylus' play Agamemnon, disputes both views. Agamemnon, ruler of Argos, must decide whether to brutally sacrifice his own daughter. A message from the deity Artemis has told him that only the sacrifice will bring a wind to blow his ships to an important battle. Agamemnon is indeed constrained by a divine necessity. But he also deeply desires a victorious battle: "If this sacrifice willloose the winds, it is permitted to desire it fervently," he says. The violence of his passion suggests that Agamemnon chooses a path—chosen by the gods for their own reasons—on the basis of desires that must be condemned by us, because they are his own. In Lesky's view, tragic action is bound by the constant tension between a self and superhuman forces. | 199912_3-RC_2_13 | [
"They are required to choose a course of action with grave consequences.",
"Their final choices restore harmony with supernatural forces.",
"They cannot rely on their customary notions of appropriate behavior.",
"They are compelled to confront their true motives.",
"They are aware of the available choices."... | 1 | All of the following statements describe Snell's view of Aeschylus' tragic protagonists, as it is presented in the passage, EXCEPT: |
Tragic dramas written in Greece during the fifth century B.C. engender considerable scholarly debate over the relative influence of individual autonomy and the power of the gods on the drama's action. One early scholar, B. Snell, argues that Aeschylus, for example, develops in his tragedies a concept of the autonomy of the individual. In these dramas, the protagonists invariably confront a situation that paralyzes them, so that their prior notions about how to behave or think are dissolved. Faced with a decision on which their fate depends, they must reexamine their deepest motives, and then act with determination. They are given only two alternatives, each with grave consequences, and they make their decision only after a tortured internal debate. According to Snell, this decision is "free" and "personal" and such personal autonomy constitutes the central theme in Aeschylean drama, as if the plays were devised to isolate an abstract model of human action. Drawing psychological conclusions from this interpretation, another scholar, Z. Barbu, suggests that "[Aeschylean] drama is proof of the emergence within ancient Greek civilization of the individual as a free agent." To A. Rivier, Snell's emphasis on the decision made by the protagonist, with its implicit notions of autonomy and responsibility, misrepresents the role of the superhuman forces at work, forces that give the dramas their truly tragic dimension. These forces are not only external to the protagonist; they are also experienced by the protagonist as an internal compulsion, subjecting him or her to constraint even in what are claimed to be his or her "choices." Hence all that the deliberation does is to make the protagonist aware of the impasse, rather than motivating one choice over another. It is finally a necessity imposed by the deities that generates the decision, so that at a particular moment in the drama necessity dictates a path. Thus, the protagonist does not so much "choose" between two possibilities as "recognize" that there is only one real option. A. Lesky, in his discussion of Aeschylus' play Agamemnon, disputes both views. Agamemnon, ruler of Argos, must decide whether to brutally sacrifice his own daughter. A message from the deity Artemis has told him that only the sacrifice will bring a wind to blow his ships to an important battle. Agamemnon is indeed constrained by a divine necessity. But he also deeply desires a victorious battle: "If this sacrifice willloose the winds, it is permitted to desire it fervently," he says. The violence of his passion suggests that Agamemnon chooses a path—chosen by the gods for their own reasons—on the basis of desires that must be condemned by us, because they are his own. In Lesky's view, tragic action is bound by the constant tension between a self and superhuman forces. | 199912_3-RC_2_14 | [
"argue against one particular interpretation of Greek tragedy",
"establish that there are a variety of themes in Greek tragedy",
"present aspects of an ongoing scholarly debate about Greek tragedy",
"point out the relative merits of different scholarly interpretations of Greek tragedy",
"suggest the relevan... | 2 | The primary purpose of the passage is to |
Philosopher Denise Meyerson views the Critical Legal Studies (CLS) movement as seeking to debunk orthodox legal theory by exposing its contradictions. However, Meyerson argues that CLS proponents tend to see contradictions where none exist, and that CLS overrates the threat that conflict poses to orthodox legal theory. According to Meyerson, CLS proponents hold that the existence of conflicting values in the law implies the absence of any uniquely right solution to legal cases. CLS argues that these conflicting values generate equally plausible but opposing answers to any given legal question, and, consequently, that the choice between the conflicting answers must necessarily be arbitrary or irrational. Meyerson denies that the existence of conflicting values makes a case irresolvable, and asserts that at least some such cases can be resolved by ranking the conflicting values. For example, a lawyer's obligation to preserve a client's confidences may entail harming other parties, thus violating moral principle. This conflict can be resolved if it can be shown that in certain cases the professional obligation overrides ordinary moral obligations. In addition, says Meyerson, even when the two solutions are equally compelling, it does not follow that the choice between them must be irrational. On the contrary, a solution that is not rationally required need not be unreasonable. Meyerson concurs with another critic that instead of concentrating on the choice between two compelling alternatives, we should rather reflect on the difference between both of these answers on the one hand, and some utterly unreasonable answer on the other—such as deciding a property dispute on the basis of which claimant is louder. The acknowledgment that conflicting values can exist, then, does not have the far-reaching implications imputed by CLS; even if some answer to a problem is not the only answer, opting for it can still be reasonable. Last, Meyerson takes issue with the CLS charge that legal formalism, the belief that there is a quasi-deductive method capable of giving solutions to problems of legal choice, requires objectivism, the belief that the legal process has moral authority. Meyerson claims that showing the law to be unambiguous does not demonstrate its legitimacy: consider a game in which participants compete to steal the item of highest value from a shop; while a person may easily identify the winner in terms of the rules, it does not follow that the person endorses the rules of the game. A CLS scholar might object that legal cases are unlike games, in that one cannot merely apply the rules without appealing to, and therefore endorsing, external considerations of purpose, policy, and value. But Meyerson replies that such considerations may be viewed as part of, not separate from, the rules of the game. | 199912_3-RC_3_15 | [
"The arguments of the Critical Legal Studies movement are under attack not only by legal theorists, but also by thinkers in related areas such as philosophy.",
"In critiquing the Critical Legal Studies movement, Meyerson charges that the positions articulated by the movement's proponents overlook the complexity o... | 4 | Which one of the following best expresses the main idea of the passage? |
Philosopher Denise Meyerson views the Critical Legal Studies (CLS) movement as seeking to debunk orthodox legal theory by exposing its contradictions. However, Meyerson argues that CLS proponents tend to see contradictions where none exist, and that CLS overrates the threat that conflict poses to orthodox legal theory. According to Meyerson, CLS proponents hold that the existence of conflicting values in the law implies the absence of any uniquely right solution to legal cases. CLS argues that these conflicting values generate equally plausible but opposing answers to any given legal question, and, consequently, that the choice between the conflicting answers must necessarily be arbitrary or irrational. Meyerson denies that the existence of conflicting values makes a case irresolvable, and asserts that at least some such cases can be resolved by ranking the conflicting values. For example, a lawyer's obligation to preserve a client's confidences may entail harming other parties, thus violating moral principle. This conflict can be resolved if it can be shown that in certain cases the professional obligation overrides ordinary moral obligations. In addition, says Meyerson, even when the two solutions are equally compelling, it does not follow that the choice between them must be irrational. On the contrary, a solution that is not rationally required need not be unreasonable. Meyerson concurs with another critic that instead of concentrating on the choice between two compelling alternatives, we should rather reflect on the difference between both of these answers on the one hand, and some utterly unreasonable answer on the other—such as deciding a property dispute on the basis of which claimant is louder. The acknowledgment that conflicting values can exist, then, does not have the far-reaching implications imputed by CLS; even if some answer to a problem is not the only answer, opting for it can still be reasonable. Last, Meyerson takes issue with the CLS charge that legal formalism, the belief that there is a quasi-deductive method capable of giving solutions to problems of legal choice, requires objectivism, the belief that the legal process has moral authority. Meyerson claims that showing the law to be unambiguous does not demonstrate its legitimacy: consider a game in which participants compete to steal the item of highest value from a shop; while a person may easily identify the winner in terms of the rules, it does not follow that the person endorses the rules of the game. A CLS scholar might object that legal cases are unlike games, in that one cannot merely apply the rules without appealing to, and therefore endorsing, external considerations of purpose, policy, and value. But Meyerson replies that such considerations may be viewed as part of, not separate from, the rules of the game. | 199912_3-RC_3_16 | [
"provide an example of how a principle has previously been applied",
"demonstrate a point by means of an analogy",
"emphasize the relative unimportance of an activity",
"contrast two situations by exaggerating their differences",
"dismiss an idea by portraying it as reprehensible"
] | 1 | The primary purpose of the reference to a game in the last paragraph is to |
Philosopher Denise Meyerson views the Critical Legal Studies (CLS) movement as seeking to debunk orthodox legal theory by exposing its contradictions. However, Meyerson argues that CLS proponents tend to see contradictions where none exist, and that CLS overrates the threat that conflict poses to orthodox legal theory. According to Meyerson, CLS proponents hold that the existence of conflicting values in the law implies the absence of any uniquely right solution to legal cases. CLS argues that these conflicting values generate equally plausible but opposing answers to any given legal question, and, consequently, that the choice between the conflicting answers must necessarily be arbitrary or irrational. Meyerson denies that the existence of conflicting values makes a case irresolvable, and asserts that at least some such cases can be resolved by ranking the conflicting values. For example, a lawyer's obligation to preserve a client's confidences may entail harming other parties, thus violating moral principle. This conflict can be resolved if it can be shown that in certain cases the professional obligation overrides ordinary moral obligations. In addition, says Meyerson, even when the two solutions are equally compelling, it does not follow that the choice between them must be irrational. On the contrary, a solution that is not rationally required need not be unreasonable. Meyerson concurs with another critic that instead of concentrating on the choice between two compelling alternatives, we should rather reflect on the difference between both of these answers on the one hand, and some utterly unreasonable answer on the other—such as deciding a property dispute on the basis of which claimant is louder. The acknowledgment that conflicting values can exist, then, does not have the far-reaching implications imputed by CLS; even if some answer to a problem is not the only answer, opting for it can still be reasonable. Last, Meyerson takes issue with the CLS charge that legal formalism, the belief that there is a quasi-deductive method capable of giving solutions to problems of legal choice, requires objectivism, the belief that the legal process has moral authority. Meyerson claims that showing the law to be unambiguous does not demonstrate its legitimacy: consider a game in which participants compete to steal the item of highest value from a shop; while a person may easily identify the winner in terms of the rules, it does not follow that the person endorses the rules of the game. A CLS scholar might object that legal cases are unlike games, in that one cannot merely apply the rules without appealing to, and therefore endorsing, external considerations of purpose, policy, and value. But Meyerson replies that such considerations may be viewed as part of, not separate from, the rules of the game. | 199912_3-RC_3_17 | [
"evaluate divergent legal doctrines",
"explain how a controversy arose",
"advocate a new interpretation of legal tradition",
"describe a challenge to a school of thought",
"refute claims made by various scholars"
] | 3 | The author's primary purpose in the passage is to |
Philosopher Denise Meyerson views the Critical Legal Studies (CLS) movement as seeking to debunk orthodox legal theory by exposing its contradictions. However, Meyerson argues that CLS proponents tend to see contradictions where none exist, and that CLS overrates the threat that conflict poses to orthodox legal theory. According to Meyerson, CLS proponents hold that the existence of conflicting values in the law implies the absence of any uniquely right solution to legal cases. CLS argues that these conflicting values generate equally plausible but opposing answers to any given legal question, and, consequently, that the choice between the conflicting answers must necessarily be arbitrary or irrational. Meyerson denies that the existence of conflicting values makes a case irresolvable, and asserts that at least some such cases can be resolved by ranking the conflicting values. For example, a lawyer's obligation to preserve a client's confidences may entail harming other parties, thus violating moral principle. This conflict can be resolved if it can be shown that in certain cases the professional obligation overrides ordinary moral obligations. In addition, says Meyerson, even when the two solutions are equally compelling, it does not follow that the choice between them must be irrational. On the contrary, a solution that is not rationally required need not be unreasonable. Meyerson concurs with another critic that instead of concentrating on the choice between two compelling alternatives, we should rather reflect on the difference between both of these answers on the one hand, and some utterly unreasonable answer on the other—such as deciding a property dispute on the basis of which claimant is louder. The acknowledgment that conflicting values can exist, then, does not have the far-reaching implications imputed by CLS; even if some answer to a problem is not the only answer, opting for it can still be reasonable. Last, Meyerson takes issue with the CLS charge that legal formalism, the belief that there is a quasi-deductive method capable of giving solutions to problems of legal choice, requires objectivism, the belief that the legal process has moral authority. Meyerson claims that showing the law to be unambiguous does not demonstrate its legitimacy: consider a game in which participants compete to steal the item of highest value from a shop; while a person may easily identify the winner in terms of the rules, it does not follow that the person endorses the rules of the game. A CLS scholar might object that legal cases are unlike games, in that one cannot merely apply the rules without appealing to, and therefore endorsing, external considerations of purpose, policy, and value. But Meyerson replies that such considerations may be viewed as part of, not separate from, the rules of the game. | 199912_3-RC_3_18 | [
"How one determines the extent to which these considerations are relevant depends on one's degree of belief in the legal process.",
"The extent to which these considerations are part of the legal process depends on the extent to which the policies and values can be endorsed.",
"When these considerations have mo... | 4 | It can be inferred from the passage that Meyerson would be most likely to agree with which one of the following statements about "external considerations" (line 53)? |
Philosopher Denise Meyerson views the Critical Legal Studies (CLS) movement as seeking to debunk orthodox legal theory by exposing its contradictions. However, Meyerson argues that CLS proponents tend to see contradictions where none exist, and that CLS overrates the threat that conflict poses to orthodox legal theory. According to Meyerson, CLS proponents hold that the existence of conflicting values in the law implies the absence of any uniquely right solution to legal cases. CLS argues that these conflicting values generate equally plausible but opposing answers to any given legal question, and, consequently, that the choice between the conflicting answers must necessarily be arbitrary or irrational. Meyerson denies that the existence of conflicting values makes a case irresolvable, and asserts that at least some such cases can be resolved by ranking the conflicting values. For example, a lawyer's obligation to preserve a client's confidences may entail harming other parties, thus violating moral principle. This conflict can be resolved if it can be shown that in certain cases the professional obligation overrides ordinary moral obligations. In addition, says Meyerson, even when the two solutions are equally compelling, it does not follow that the choice between them must be irrational. On the contrary, a solution that is not rationally required need not be unreasonable. Meyerson concurs with another critic that instead of concentrating on the choice between two compelling alternatives, we should rather reflect on the difference between both of these answers on the one hand, and some utterly unreasonable answer on the other—such as deciding a property dispute on the basis of which claimant is louder. The acknowledgment that conflicting values can exist, then, does not have the far-reaching implications imputed by CLS; even if some answer to a problem is not the only answer, opting for it can still be reasonable. Last, Meyerson takes issue with the CLS charge that legal formalism, the belief that there is a quasi-deductive method capable of giving solutions to problems of legal choice, requires objectivism, the belief that the legal process has moral authority. Meyerson claims that showing the law to be unambiguous does not demonstrate its legitimacy: consider a game in which participants compete to steal the item of highest value from a shop; while a person may easily identify the winner in terms of the rules, it does not follow that the person endorses the rules of the game. A CLS scholar might object that legal cases are unlike games, in that one cannot merely apply the rules without appealing to, and therefore endorsing, external considerations of purpose, policy, and value. But Meyerson replies that such considerations may be viewed as part of, not separate from, the rules of the game. | 199912_3-RC_3_19 | [
"any choice made between conflicting solutions to a legal question will be arbitrary",
"every legal question will involve the consideration of a set of values",
"two or more alternative solutions to a legal question may carry equal moral weight",
"no legal question will have a single correct answer",
"the m... | 0 | The phrase "far-reaching implications" (line 36) refers to the idea that |
Philosopher Denise Meyerson views the Critical Legal Studies (CLS) movement as seeking to debunk orthodox legal theory by exposing its contradictions. However, Meyerson argues that CLS proponents tend to see contradictions where none exist, and that CLS overrates the threat that conflict poses to orthodox legal theory. According to Meyerson, CLS proponents hold that the existence of conflicting values in the law implies the absence of any uniquely right solution to legal cases. CLS argues that these conflicting values generate equally plausible but opposing answers to any given legal question, and, consequently, that the choice between the conflicting answers must necessarily be arbitrary or irrational. Meyerson denies that the existence of conflicting values makes a case irresolvable, and asserts that at least some such cases can be resolved by ranking the conflicting values. For example, a lawyer's obligation to preserve a client's confidences may entail harming other parties, thus violating moral principle. This conflict can be resolved if it can be shown that in certain cases the professional obligation overrides ordinary moral obligations. In addition, says Meyerson, even when the two solutions are equally compelling, it does not follow that the choice between them must be irrational. On the contrary, a solution that is not rationally required need not be unreasonable. Meyerson concurs with another critic that instead of concentrating on the choice between two compelling alternatives, we should rather reflect on the difference between both of these answers on the one hand, and some utterly unreasonable answer on the other—such as deciding a property dispute on the basis of which claimant is louder. The acknowledgment that conflicting values can exist, then, does not have the far-reaching implications imputed by CLS; even if some answer to a problem is not the only answer, opting for it can still be reasonable. Last, Meyerson takes issue with the CLS charge that legal formalism, the belief that there is a quasi-deductive method capable of giving solutions to problems of legal choice, requires objectivism, the belief that the legal process has moral authority. Meyerson claims that showing the law to be unambiguous does not demonstrate its legitimacy: consider a game in which participants compete to steal the item of highest value from a shop; while a person may easily identify the winner in terms of the rules, it does not follow that the person endorses the rules of the game. A CLS scholar might object that legal cases are unlike games, in that one cannot merely apply the rules without appealing to, and therefore endorsing, external considerations of purpose, policy, and value. But Meyerson replies that such considerations may be viewed as part of, not separate from, the rules of the game. | 199912_3-RC_3_20 | [
"A criticism is identified and its plausibility is investigated.",
"The different arguments made by two opponents of a certain viewpoint are advanced.",
"The arguments for and against a certain position are outlined, then a new position is offered to reconcile them.",
"A belief is presented and its worth is d... | 0 | Which one of the following most accurately describes the organization of the final paragraph in the passage? |
Philosopher Denise Meyerson views the Critical Legal Studies (CLS) movement as seeking to debunk orthodox legal theory by exposing its contradictions. However, Meyerson argues that CLS proponents tend to see contradictions where none exist, and that CLS overrates the threat that conflict poses to orthodox legal theory. According to Meyerson, CLS proponents hold that the existence of conflicting values in the law implies the absence of any uniquely right solution to legal cases. CLS argues that these conflicting values generate equally plausible but opposing answers to any given legal question, and, consequently, that the choice between the conflicting answers must necessarily be arbitrary or irrational. Meyerson denies that the existence of conflicting values makes a case irresolvable, and asserts that at least some such cases can be resolved by ranking the conflicting values. For example, a lawyer's obligation to preserve a client's confidences may entail harming other parties, thus violating moral principle. This conflict can be resolved if it can be shown that in certain cases the professional obligation overrides ordinary moral obligations. In addition, says Meyerson, even when the two solutions are equally compelling, it does not follow that the choice between them must be irrational. On the contrary, a solution that is not rationally required need not be unreasonable. Meyerson concurs with another critic that instead of concentrating on the choice between two compelling alternatives, we should rather reflect on the difference between both of these answers on the one hand, and some utterly unreasonable answer on the other—such as deciding a property dispute on the basis of which claimant is louder. The acknowledgment that conflicting values can exist, then, does not have the far-reaching implications imputed by CLS; even if some answer to a problem is not the only answer, opting for it can still be reasonable. Last, Meyerson takes issue with the CLS charge that legal formalism, the belief that there is a quasi-deductive method capable of giving solutions to problems of legal choice, requires objectivism, the belief that the legal process has moral authority. Meyerson claims that showing the law to be unambiguous does not demonstrate its legitimacy: consider a game in which participants compete to steal the item of highest value from a shop; while a person may easily identify the winner in terms of the rules, it does not follow that the person endorses the rules of the game. A CLS scholar might object that legal cases are unlike games, in that one cannot merely apply the rules without appealing to, and therefore endorsing, external considerations of purpose, policy, and value. But Meyerson replies that such considerations may be viewed as part of, not separate from, the rules of the game. | 199912_3-RC_3_21 | [
"It incorporates moral principles in order to yield definitive solutions to legal problems.",
"It does not necessarily imply approval of any policies or values.",
"It is insufficient in itself to determine the answer to a legal question.",
"It is comparable to the application of rules in a game.",
"It can b... | 2 | It can be inferred from the passage that proponents of the Critical Legal Studies movement would be most likely to hold which one of the following views about the law? |
While historians once propagated the myth that Africans who were brought to the New World as slaves contributed little of value but their labor, a recent study by Amelia Wallace Vernon helps to dispel this notion by showing that Africans introduced rice and the methods of cultivating it into what is now the United States in the early eighteenth century. She uncovered, for example, an 1876 document that details that in 1718 starving French settlers instructed the captain of a slave ship bound for Africa to trade for 400 Africans including some "who know how to cultivate rice." This discovery is especially compelling because the introduction of rice into what is now the United States had previously been attributed to French Acadians, who did not arrive until the 1760s. Vernon interviewed elderly African Americans who helped her discover the locations where until about 1920 their forebears had cultivated rice. At the heart of Vernon's research is the question of why, in an economy dedicated to maximizing cotton production, African Americans grew rice. She proposes two intriguing answers, depending on whether the time is before of after the end of slavery. During the period of slavery, plantation owners also ate rice and therefore tolerated or demanded its "after-hours" cultivation on patches of land not suited to cotton. In addition, growing the rice gave the slaves some relief from a system of regimented labor under a field supervisor, in that they were left alone to work independently. After the abolition of slavery, however, rice cultivation is more difficult to explain: African Americans had acquired a preference for eating corn, there was no market for the small amounts of rice they produced, and under the tenant system—in which farmers surrendered a portion of their crops to the owners of the land they farmed—owners wanted only cotton as payment. The labor required to transform unused land to productive ground would thus seem completely out of proportion to the reward—except that, according to Vernon, the transforming of the land itself was the point. Vernon suggests that these African Americans did not transform the land as a means to an end, but rather as an end in itself. In other words, they did not transform the land in order to grow rice—for the resulting rice was scarcely worth the effort required to clear the land—but instead transformed the land because they viewed land as an extension of self and home and so wished to nurture it and make it their own. In addition to this cultural explanation, Vernon speculates that rice cultivation might also have been a political act, a next step after the emancipation of the slaves: the symbolic claiming of plantation land that the U.S. government had promised but failed to parcel off and deed to newly freed African Americans. | 199912_3-RC_4_22 | [
"\"The Introduction of Rice Cultivation into what is now the United States by Africans and Its Continued Practice in the Years During and After Slavery\"",
"\"The Origin of Rice Cultivation in what is now the United States and Its Impact on the Economy from 1760 to 1920\"",
"\"Widespread Rice Cultivation by Afr... | 0 | Which one of the following titles most completely and accurately summarizes the contents of the passage? |
While historians once propagated the myth that Africans who were brought to the New World as slaves contributed little of value but their labor, a recent study by Amelia Wallace Vernon helps to dispel this notion by showing that Africans introduced rice and the methods of cultivating it into what is now the United States in the early eighteenth century. She uncovered, for example, an 1876 document that details that in 1718 starving French settlers instructed the captain of a slave ship bound for Africa to trade for 400 Africans including some "who know how to cultivate rice." This discovery is especially compelling because the introduction of rice into what is now the United States had previously been attributed to French Acadians, who did not arrive until the 1760s. Vernon interviewed elderly African Americans who helped her discover the locations where until about 1920 their forebears had cultivated rice. At the heart of Vernon's research is the question of why, in an economy dedicated to maximizing cotton production, African Americans grew rice. She proposes two intriguing answers, depending on whether the time is before of after the end of slavery. During the period of slavery, plantation owners also ate rice and therefore tolerated or demanded its "after-hours" cultivation on patches of land not suited to cotton. In addition, growing the rice gave the slaves some relief from a system of regimented labor under a field supervisor, in that they were left alone to work independently. After the abolition of slavery, however, rice cultivation is more difficult to explain: African Americans had acquired a preference for eating corn, there was no market for the small amounts of rice they produced, and under the tenant system—in which farmers surrendered a portion of their crops to the owners of the land they farmed—owners wanted only cotton as payment. The labor required to transform unused land to productive ground would thus seem completely out of proportion to the reward—except that, according to Vernon, the transforming of the land itself was the point. Vernon suggests that these African Americans did not transform the land as a means to an end, but rather as an end in itself. In other words, they did not transform the land in order to grow rice—for the resulting rice was scarcely worth the effort required to clear the land—but instead transformed the land because they viewed land as an extension of self and home and so wished to nurture it and make it their own. In addition to this cultural explanation, Vernon speculates that rice cultivation might also have been a political act, a next step after the emancipation of the slaves: the symbolic claiming of plantation land that the U.S. government had promised but failed to parcel off and deed to newly freed African Americans. | 199912_3-RC_4_23 | [
"respectful of its author and skeptical toward its theories",
"admiring of its accomplishments and generally receptive to its theories",
"appreciative of the effort it required and neutral toward its theories",
"enthusiastic about its goals but skeptical of its theories",
"accepting of its author's motives ... | 1 | Which one of the following most completely and accurately describes the author's attitude toward Vernon's study? |
While historians once propagated the myth that Africans who were brought to the New World as slaves contributed little of value but their labor, a recent study by Amelia Wallace Vernon helps to dispel this notion by showing that Africans introduced rice and the methods of cultivating it into what is now the United States in the early eighteenth century. She uncovered, for example, an 1876 document that details that in 1718 starving French settlers instructed the captain of a slave ship bound for Africa to trade for 400 Africans including some "who know how to cultivate rice." This discovery is especially compelling because the introduction of rice into what is now the United States had previously been attributed to French Acadians, who did not arrive until the 1760s. Vernon interviewed elderly African Americans who helped her discover the locations where until about 1920 their forebears had cultivated rice. At the heart of Vernon's research is the question of why, in an economy dedicated to maximizing cotton production, African Americans grew rice. She proposes two intriguing answers, depending on whether the time is before of after the end of slavery. During the period of slavery, plantation owners also ate rice and therefore tolerated or demanded its "after-hours" cultivation on patches of land not suited to cotton. In addition, growing the rice gave the slaves some relief from a system of regimented labor under a field supervisor, in that they were left alone to work independently. After the abolition of slavery, however, rice cultivation is more difficult to explain: African Americans had acquired a preference for eating corn, there was no market for the small amounts of rice they produced, and under the tenant system—in which farmers surrendered a portion of their crops to the owners of the land they farmed—owners wanted only cotton as payment. The labor required to transform unused land to productive ground would thus seem completely out of proportion to the reward—except that, according to Vernon, the transforming of the land itself was the point. Vernon suggests that these African Americans did not transform the land as a means to an end, but rather as an end in itself. In other words, they did not transform the land in order to grow rice—for the resulting rice was scarcely worth the effort required to clear the land—but instead transformed the land because they viewed land as an extension of self and home and so wished to nurture it and make it their own. In addition to this cultural explanation, Vernon speculates that rice cultivation might also have been a political act, a next step after the emancipation of the slaves: the symbolic claiming of plantation land that the U.S. government had promised but failed to parcel off and deed to newly freed African Americans. | 199912_3-RC_4_24 | [
"A group of neighbors plants flower gardens on common land adjoining their properties in order to beautify their neighborhood and to create more of a natural boundary between properties.",
"A group of neighbors plants a vegetable garden for their common use and to compete with the local market's high-priced produ... | 3 | As described in the last paragraph of the passage, rice cultivation after slavery is most analogous to which one of the following? |
While historians once propagated the myth that Africans who were brought to the New World as slaves contributed little of value but their labor, a recent study by Amelia Wallace Vernon helps to dispel this notion by showing that Africans introduced rice and the methods of cultivating it into what is now the United States in the early eighteenth century. She uncovered, for example, an 1876 document that details that in 1718 starving French settlers instructed the captain of a slave ship bound for Africa to trade for 400 Africans including some "who know how to cultivate rice." This discovery is especially compelling because the introduction of rice into what is now the United States had previously been attributed to French Acadians, who did not arrive until the 1760s. Vernon interviewed elderly African Americans who helped her discover the locations where until about 1920 their forebears had cultivated rice. At the heart of Vernon's research is the question of why, in an economy dedicated to maximizing cotton production, African Americans grew rice. She proposes two intriguing answers, depending on whether the time is before of after the end of slavery. During the period of slavery, plantation owners also ate rice and therefore tolerated or demanded its "after-hours" cultivation on patches of land not suited to cotton. In addition, growing the rice gave the slaves some relief from a system of regimented labor under a field supervisor, in that they were left alone to work independently. After the abolition of slavery, however, rice cultivation is more difficult to explain: African Americans had acquired a preference for eating corn, there was no market for the small amounts of rice they produced, and under the tenant system—in which farmers surrendered a portion of their crops to the owners of the land they farmed—owners wanted only cotton as payment. The labor required to transform unused land to productive ground would thus seem completely out of proportion to the reward—except that, according to Vernon, the transforming of the land itself was the point. Vernon suggests that these African Americans did not transform the land as a means to an end, but rather as an end in itself. In other words, they did not transform the land in order to grow rice—for the resulting rice was scarcely worth the effort required to clear the land—but instead transformed the land because they viewed land as an extension of self and home and so wished to nurture it and make it their own. In addition to this cultural explanation, Vernon speculates that rice cultivation might also have been a political act, a next step after the emancipation of the slaves: the symbolic claiming of plantation land that the U.S. government had promised but failed to parcel off and deed to newly freed African Americans. | 199912_3-RC_4_25 | [
"A historical phenomenon is presented, several competing theories about the phenomenon are described, and one theory having the most support is settled upon.",
"A historical discovery is presented, the method leading to the discovery is provided, and two questions left unanswered by the discovery are identified."... | 2 | Which one of the following most completely and accurately describes the organization of the passage? |
While historians once propagated the myth that Africans who were brought to the New World as slaves contributed little of value but their labor, a recent study by Amelia Wallace Vernon helps to dispel this notion by showing that Africans introduced rice and the methods of cultivating it into what is now the United States in the early eighteenth century. She uncovered, for example, an 1876 document that details that in 1718 starving French settlers instructed the captain of a slave ship bound for Africa to trade for 400 Africans including some "who know how to cultivate rice." This discovery is especially compelling because the introduction of rice into what is now the United States had previously been attributed to French Acadians, who did not arrive until the 1760s. Vernon interviewed elderly African Americans who helped her discover the locations where until about 1920 their forebears had cultivated rice. At the heart of Vernon's research is the question of why, in an economy dedicated to maximizing cotton production, African Americans grew rice. She proposes two intriguing answers, depending on whether the time is before of after the end of slavery. During the period of slavery, plantation owners also ate rice and therefore tolerated or demanded its "after-hours" cultivation on patches of land not suited to cotton. In addition, growing the rice gave the slaves some relief from a system of regimented labor under a field supervisor, in that they were left alone to work independently. After the abolition of slavery, however, rice cultivation is more difficult to explain: African Americans had acquired a preference for eating corn, there was no market for the small amounts of rice they produced, and under the tenant system—in which farmers surrendered a portion of their crops to the owners of the land they farmed—owners wanted only cotton as payment. The labor required to transform unused land to productive ground would thus seem completely out of proportion to the reward—except that, according to Vernon, the transforming of the land itself was the point. Vernon suggests that these African Americans did not transform the land as a means to an end, but rather as an end in itself. In other words, they did not transform the land in order to grow rice—for the resulting rice was scarcely worth the effort required to clear the land—but instead transformed the land because they viewed land as an extension of self and home and so wished to nurture it and make it their own. In addition to this cultural explanation, Vernon speculates that rice cultivation might also have been a political act, a next step after the emancipation of the slaves: the symbolic claiming of plantation land that the U.S. government had promised but failed to parcel off and deed to newly freed African Americans. | 199912_3-RC_4_26 | [
"Landowners did not eat rice and thus would not tolerate its cultivation on tenant lands.",
"Rice was not considered acceptable payment to landowners for the use of tenant lands.",
"Tenant farmers did not have enough time \"after hours\" to cultivate the rice properly.",
"The labor required to cultivate rice ... | 1 | The passage cites which one of the following as a reason that rice cultivation in the context of the tenant system was difficult to explain? |
While historians once propagated the myth that Africans who were brought to the New World as slaves contributed little of value but their labor, a recent study by Amelia Wallace Vernon helps to dispel this notion by showing that Africans introduced rice and the methods of cultivating it into what is now the United States in the early eighteenth century. She uncovered, for example, an 1876 document that details that in 1718 starving French settlers instructed the captain of a slave ship bound for Africa to trade for 400 Africans including some "who know how to cultivate rice." This discovery is especially compelling because the introduction of rice into what is now the United States had previously been attributed to French Acadians, who did not arrive until the 1760s. Vernon interviewed elderly African Americans who helped her discover the locations where until about 1920 their forebears had cultivated rice. At the heart of Vernon's research is the question of why, in an economy dedicated to maximizing cotton production, African Americans grew rice. She proposes two intriguing answers, depending on whether the time is before of after the end of slavery. During the period of slavery, plantation owners also ate rice and therefore tolerated or demanded its "after-hours" cultivation on patches of land not suited to cotton. In addition, growing the rice gave the slaves some relief from a system of regimented labor under a field supervisor, in that they were left alone to work independently. After the abolition of slavery, however, rice cultivation is more difficult to explain: African Americans had acquired a preference for eating corn, there was no market for the small amounts of rice they produced, and under the tenant system—in which farmers surrendered a portion of their crops to the owners of the land they farmed—owners wanted only cotton as payment. The labor required to transform unused land to productive ground would thus seem completely out of proportion to the reward—except that, according to Vernon, the transforming of the land itself was the point. Vernon suggests that these African Americans did not transform the land as a means to an end, but rather as an end in itself. In other words, they did not transform the land in order to grow rice—for the resulting rice was scarcely worth the effort required to clear the land—but instead transformed the land because they viewed land as an extension of self and home and so wished to nurture it and make it their own. In addition to this cultural explanation, Vernon speculates that rice cultivation might also have been a political act, a next step after the emancipation of the slaves: the symbolic claiming of plantation land that the U.S. government had promised but failed to parcel off and deed to newly freed African Americans. | 199912_3-RC_4_27 | [
"describe the efforts of a historian to uncover evidence for a puzzling phenomenon",
"illustrate the historical background of a puzzling phenomenon",
"present a historian's theories about a puzzling phenomenon",
"criticize the work of previous historians regarding a puzzling phenomenon",
"analyze the effect... | 2 | The author's primary purpose in the passage is to |
Naturalists have long studied the ability of North American forest birds to survive extremely cold overnight temperatures in winter. For example, nuthatches sleep in cavities such as tree hollows or holes dug into snowdrifts, retaining heat closer to the body and thus saving energy by reducing the need for shivering. Chickadees induce torpor, saving energy by allowing their body temperatures to decline drastically. Grosbeaks stay close to trees whose seeds contain sufficient fat to fuel shivering. But the survival of one species, the kinglet, remains something of a mystery. There are two reasons for this. First, although kinglets are tiny—about 9 cm long including the tail— they maintain extremely high body temperatures at conditions well below freezing. According to the physical laws of heating and cooling, kinglets would lose heat at a rate about 75 percent faster than birds twice their mass—chickadees, for example—and so would have to consume and burn 75 percent more food per unit of body mass than the larger birds to maintain the same body temperature. The insulation provided by feathers, which, similarly to other northern birds, make up about 25 percent of the kinglet's mass, accounts for some of its heat-retaining capability but does not explain how kinglets manage to survive as well in cold climates as do the larger birds. Because smaller birds have a lesser absolute amount of insulation than larger birds, they would cool even faster than predicted by body mass alone. The second reason kinglet survival is so remarkable is that, unlike most bird species that remain in cold climates during winter, their diet consists exclusively of insects. Researchers wonder how it is possible for kinglets, birds that do not cache food and are known not to forage at night, to gather and consume the necessary amount of insects each short winter day. The question is more vexing considering that a kinglet's stomach when filled to capacity contains only enough food to keep it warm for one hour. A partial explanation is that kinglets store fat; kinglet body fat can triple in the course of a day. Nevertheless, this increase accounts for only about half the energy needed to maintain the kinglet's body temperature overnight. Researchers once theorized that torpor might make up the difference, but found no evidence of torpor in kinglets. Another theory, which is still untested but which may be borne out by a recent study of goldcrests, a related species, is that kinglets cluster together at night. Kinglets flock in groups of twos and threes during the day; while such small groups alone could not maintain such high body temperatures, it is hypothesized that after nightfall several groups in a region may find each other by means of calling and consolidate in a central location. | 200002_4-RC_1_1 | [
"Kinglets are able to survive the coldest winter nights despite a size, physiology, and behavior that should make them vulnerable to low temperatures.",
"Researchers have tested several theories in their attempts to answer the question of how kinglets survive very low temperatures.",
"Kinglets are unique among ... | 4 | Which one of the following most accurately states the central idea of the passage? |
Naturalists have long studied the ability of North American forest birds to survive extremely cold overnight temperatures in winter. For example, nuthatches sleep in cavities such as tree hollows or holes dug into snowdrifts, retaining heat closer to the body and thus saving energy by reducing the need for shivering. Chickadees induce torpor, saving energy by allowing their body temperatures to decline drastically. Grosbeaks stay close to trees whose seeds contain sufficient fat to fuel shivering. But the survival of one species, the kinglet, remains something of a mystery. There are two reasons for this. First, although kinglets are tiny—about 9 cm long including the tail— they maintain extremely high body temperatures at conditions well below freezing. According to the physical laws of heating and cooling, kinglets would lose heat at a rate about 75 percent faster than birds twice their mass—chickadees, for example—and so would have to consume and burn 75 percent more food per unit of body mass than the larger birds to maintain the same body temperature. The insulation provided by feathers, which, similarly to other northern birds, make up about 25 percent of the kinglet's mass, accounts for some of its heat-retaining capability but does not explain how kinglets manage to survive as well in cold climates as do the larger birds. Because smaller birds have a lesser absolute amount of insulation than larger birds, they would cool even faster than predicted by body mass alone. The second reason kinglet survival is so remarkable is that, unlike most bird species that remain in cold climates during winter, their diet consists exclusively of insects. Researchers wonder how it is possible for kinglets, birds that do not cache food and are known not to forage at night, to gather and consume the necessary amount of insects each short winter day. The question is more vexing considering that a kinglet's stomach when filled to capacity contains only enough food to keep it warm for one hour. A partial explanation is that kinglets store fat; kinglet body fat can triple in the course of a day. Nevertheless, this increase accounts for only about half the energy needed to maintain the kinglet's body temperature overnight. Researchers once theorized that torpor might make up the difference, but found no evidence of torpor in kinglets. Another theory, which is still untested but which may be borne out by a recent study of goldcrests, a related species, is that kinglets cluster together at night. Kinglets flock in groups of twos and threes during the day; while such small groups alone could not maintain such high body temperatures, it is hypothesized that after nightfall several groups in a region may find each other by means of calling and consolidate in a central location. | 200002_4-RC_1_2 | [
"Absence of evidence for a behavior can be taken as evidence for absence of the behavior.",
"Dissimilar species tend to exhibit dissimilar behaviors.",
"The existence of evidence for a theory is not enough to establish the theory as true.",
"A theory can be taken as false if several initial tests fail to prod... | 0 | Which one of the following generalizations best captures the reasoning behind the rejection of the theory that torpor explains the kinglet's ability to survive extremely cold overnight temperatures? |
Naturalists have long studied the ability of North American forest birds to survive extremely cold overnight temperatures in winter. For example, nuthatches sleep in cavities such as tree hollows or holes dug into snowdrifts, retaining heat closer to the body and thus saving energy by reducing the need for shivering. Chickadees induce torpor, saving energy by allowing their body temperatures to decline drastically. Grosbeaks stay close to trees whose seeds contain sufficient fat to fuel shivering. But the survival of one species, the kinglet, remains something of a mystery. There are two reasons for this. First, although kinglets are tiny—about 9 cm long including the tail— they maintain extremely high body temperatures at conditions well below freezing. According to the physical laws of heating and cooling, kinglets would lose heat at a rate about 75 percent faster than birds twice their mass—chickadees, for example—and so would have to consume and burn 75 percent more food per unit of body mass than the larger birds to maintain the same body temperature. The insulation provided by feathers, which, similarly to other northern birds, make up about 25 percent of the kinglet's mass, accounts for some of its heat-retaining capability but does not explain how kinglets manage to survive as well in cold climates as do the larger birds. Because smaller birds have a lesser absolute amount of insulation than larger birds, they would cool even faster than predicted by body mass alone. The second reason kinglet survival is so remarkable is that, unlike most bird species that remain in cold climates during winter, their diet consists exclusively of insects. Researchers wonder how it is possible for kinglets, birds that do not cache food and are known not to forage at night, to gather and consume the necessary amount of insects each short winter day. The question is more vexing considering that a kinglet's stomach when filled to capacity contains only enough food to keep it warm for one hour. A partial explanation is that kinglets store fat; kinglet body fat can triple in the course of a day. Nevertheless, this increase accounts for only about half the energy needed to maintain the kinglet's body temperature overnight. Researchers once theorized that torpor might make up the difference, but found no evidence of torpor in kinglets. Another theory, which is still untested but which may be borne out by a recent study of goldcrests, a related species, is that kinglets cluster together at night. Kinglets flock in groups of twos and threes during the day; while such small groups alone could not maintain such high body temperatures, it is hypothesized that after nightfall several groups in a region may find each other by means of calling and consolidate in a central location. | 200002_4-RC_1_3 | [
"consume more food per unit of body mass than any other bird of equivalent mass does",
"consume enough food to keep their stomachs continuously filled to capacity",
"consume more food than larger birds do",
"consume more food per unit of body mass than birds twice their mass do",
"consume less food per unit... | 3 | According to the passage, the physical laws of heating and cooling suggest that in order to maintain body temperature in winter, kinglets must |
Naturalists have long studied the ability of North American forest birds to survive extremely cold overnight temperatures in winter. For example, nuthatches sleep in cavities such as tree hollows or holes dug into snowdrifts, retaining heat closer to the body and thus saving energy by reducing the need for shivering. Chickadees induce torpor, saving energy by allowing their body temperatures to decline drastically. Grosbeaks stay close to trees whose seeds contain sufficient fat to fuel shivering. But the survival of one species, the kinglet, remains something of a mystery. There are two reasons for this. First, although kinglets are tiny—about 9 cm long including the tail— they maintain extremely high body temperatures at conditions well below freezing. According to the physical laws of heating and cooling, kinglets would lose heat at a rate about 75 percent faster than birds twice their mass—chickadees, for example—and so would have to consume and burn 75 percent more food per unit of body mass than the larger birds to maintain the same body temperature. The insulation provided by feathers, which, similarly to other northern birds, make up about 25 percent of the kinglet's mass, accounts for some of its heat-retaining capability but does not explain how kinglets manage to survive as well in cold climates as do the larger birds. Because smaller birds have a lesser absolute amount of insulation than larger birds, they would cool even faster than predicted by body mass alone. The second reason kinglet survival is so remarkable is that, unlike most bird species that remain in cold climates during winter, their diet consists exclusively of insects. Researchers wonder how it is possible for kinglets, birds that do not cache food and are known not to forage at night, to gather and consume the necessary amount of insects each short winter day. The question is more vexing considering that a kinglet's stomach when filled to capacity contains only enough food to keep it warm for one hour. A partial explanation is that kinglets store fat; kinglet body fat can triple in the course of a day. Nevertheless, this increase accounts for only about half the energy needed to maintain the kinglet's body temperature overnight. Researchers once theorized that torpor might make up the difference, but found no evidence of torpor in kinglets. Another theory, which is still untested but which may be borne out by a recent study of goldcrests, a related species, is that kinglets cluster together at night. Kinglets flock in groups of twos and threes during the day; while such small groups alone could not maintain such high body temperatures, it is hypothesized that after nightfall several groups in a region may find each other by means of calling and consolidate in a central location. | 200002_4-RC_1_4 | [
"almost certainly true since all other explanations have been eliminated",
"feasible given that kinglets flock in groups during the day",
"a possibility that, though unlikely, is the only option left to explore",
"well established by a recent study of goldcrests",
"the hypothesis most widely discussed in th... | 1 | The passage suggests that the author most likely regards the hypothesis that groups of kinglets cluster together on cold winter nights as |
Naturalists have long studied the ability of North American forest birds to survive extremely cold overnight temperatures in winter. For example, nuthatches sleep in cavities such as tree hollows or holes dug into snowdrifts, retaining heat closer to the body and thus saving energy by reducing the need for shivering. Chickadees induce torpor, saving energy by allowing their body temperatures to decline drastically. Grosbeaks stay close to trees whose seeds contain sufficient fat to fuel shivering. But the survival of one species, the kinglet, remains something of a mystery. There are two reasons for this. First, although kinglets are tiny—about 9 cm long including the tail— they maintain extremely high body temperatures at conditions well below freezing. According to the physical laws of heating and cooling, kinglets would lose heat at a rate about 75 percent faster than birds twice their mass—chickadees, for example—and so would have to consume and burn 75 percent more food per unit of body mass than the larger birds to maintain the same body temperature. The insulation provided by feathers, which, similarly to other northern birds, make up about 25 percent of the kinglet's mass, accounts for some of its heat-retaining capability but does not explain how kinglets manage to survive as well in cold climates as do the larger birds. Because smaller birds have a lesser absolute amount of insulation than larger birds, they would cool even faster than predicted by body mass alone. The second reason kinglet survival is so remarkable is that, unlike most bird species that remain in cold climates during winter, their diet consists exclusively of insects. Researchers wonder how it is possible for kinglets, birds that do not cache food and are known not to forage at night, to gather and consume the necessary amount of insects each short winter day. The question is more vexing considering that a kinglet's stomach when filled to capacity contains only enough food to keep it warm for one hour. A partial explanation is that kinglets store fat; kinglet body fat can triple in the course of a day. Nevertheless, this increase accounts for only about half the energy needed to maintain the kinglet's body temperature overnight. Researchers once theorized that torpor might make up the difference, but found no evidence of torpor in kinglets. Another theory, which is still untested but which may be borne out by a recent study of goldcrests, a related species, is that kinglets cluster together at night. Kinglets flock in groups of twos and threes during the day; while such small groups alone could not maintain such high body temperatures, it is hypothesized that after nightfall several groups in a region may find each other by means of calling and consolidate in a central location. | 200002_4-RC_1_5 | [
"the kinglet's stomach capacity",
"the kinglet's relation to goldcrests",
"the kinglet's limited diet",
"the kinglet's small body mass",
"the kinglet's lack of night foraging"
] | 1 | The author cites all of the following as contributing to the mystery of kinglet survival in extremely cold overnight winter temperatures EXCEPT: |
Naturalists have long studied the ability of North American forest birds to survive extremely cold overnight temperatures in winter. For example, nuthatches sleep in cavities such as tree hollows or holes dug into snowdrifts, retaining heat closer to the body and thus saving energy by reducing the need for shivering. Chickadees induce torpor, saving energy by allowing their body temperatures to decline drastically. Grosbeaks stay close to trees whose seeds contain sufficient fat to fuel shivering. But the survival of one species, the kinglet, remains something of a mystery. There are two reasons for this. First, although kinglets are tiny—about 9 cm long including the tail— they maintain extremely high body temperatures at conditions well below freezing. According to the physical laws of heating and cooling, kinglets would lose heat at a rate about 75 percent faster than birds twice their mass—chickadees, for example—and so would have to consume and burn 75 percent more food per unit of body mass than the larger birds to maintain the same body temperature. The insulation provided by feathers, which, similarly to other northern birds, make up about 25 percent of the kinglet's mass, accounts for some of its heat-retaining capability but does not explain how kinglets manage to survive as well in cold climates as do the larger birds. Because smaller birds have a lesser absolute amount of insulation than larger birds, they would cool even faster than predicted by body mass alone. The second reason kinglet survival is so remarkable is that, unlike most bird species that remain in cold climates during winter, their diet consists exclusively of insects. Researchers wonder how it is possible for kinglets, birds that do not cache food and are known not to forage at night, to gather and consume the necessary amount of insects each short winter day. The question is more vexing considering that a kinglet's stomach when filled to capacity contains only enough food to keep it warm for one hour. A partial explanation is that kinglets store fat; kinglet body fat can triple in the course of a day. Nevertheless, this increase accounts for only about half the energy needed to maintain the kinglet's body temperature overnight. Researchers once theorized that torpor might make up the difference, but found no evidence of torpor in kinglets. Another theory, which is still untested but which may be borne out by a recent study of goldcrests, a related species, is that kinglets cluster together at night. Kinglets flock in groups of twos and threes during the day; while such small groups alone could not maintain such high body temperatures, it is hypothesized that after nightfall several groups in a region may find each other by means of calling and consolidate in a central location. | 200002_4-RC_1_6 | [
"introduce various methods of surviving extremely cold overnight temperatures employed by North American forest birds",
"identify which North American forest birds successfully cope with extremely low overnight temperatures",
"show that adaptation to extremely cold overnight temperatures is found only among Nor... | 0 | The author mentions nuthatches, chickadees, and grosbeaks primarily to |
Naturalists have long studied the ability of North American forest birds to survive extremely cold overnight temperatures in winter. For example, nuthatches sleep in cavities such as tree hollows or holes dug into snowdrifts, retaining heat closer to the body and thus saving energy by reducing the need for shivering. Chickadees induce torpor, saving energy by allowing their body temperatures to decline drastically. Grosbeaks stay close to trees whose seeds contain sufficient fat to fuel shivering. But the survival of one species, the kinglet, remains something of a mystery. There are two reasons for this. First, although kinglets are tiny—about 9 cm long including the tail— they maintain extremely high body temperatures at conditions well below freezing. According to the physical laws of heating and cooling, kinglets would lose heat at a rate about 75 percent faster than birds twice their mass—chickadees, for example—and so would have to consume and burn 75 percent more food per unit of body mass than the larger birds to maintain the same body temperature. The insulation provided by feathers, which, similarly to other northern birds, make up about 25 percent of the kinglet's mass, accounts for some of its heat-retaining capability but does not explain how kinglets manage to survive as well in cold climates as do the larger birds. Because smaller birds have a lesser absolute amount of insulation than larger birds, they would cool even faster than predicted by body mass alone. The second reason kinglet survival is so remarkable is that, unlike most bird species that remain in cold climates during winter, their diet consists exclusively of insects. Researchers wonder how it is possible for kinglets, birds that do not cache food and are known not to forage at night, to gather and consume the necessary amount of insects each short winter day. The question is more vexing considering that a kinglet's stomach when filled to capacity contains only enough food to keep it warm for one hour. A partial explanation is that kinglets store fat; kinglet body fat can triple in the course of a day. Nevertheless, this increase accounts for only about half the energy needed to maintain the kinglet's body temperature overnight. Researchers once theorized that torpor might make up the difference, but found no evidence of torpor in kinglets. Another theory, which is still untested but which may be borne out by a recent study of goldcrests, a related species, is that kinglets cluster together at night. Kinglets flock in groups of twos and threes during the day; while such small groups alone could not maintain such high body temperatures, it is hypothesized that after nightfall several groups in a region may find each other by means of calling and consolidate in a central location. | 200002_4-RC_1_7 | [
"Naturalists have yet to achieve much understanding of the ability of small birds to survive extremely cold temperatures overnight.",
"The kinglet's diet may be found to be high enough in fat to provide sufficient energy to account for its survival.",
"The behavior of kinglets includes calls that trigger the im... | 3 | The passage suggests that the author would most likely agree with which one of the following? |
Much of mainstream thinking concerning juvenile delinquency in Canada and the United States is based on the assumption that if uncorrected it automatically leads to adult crime and should thus be severely punished, usually by some form of incarceration, before it becomes an ingrained behavior pattern. While there is some connection between juvenile delinquency and adult criminality, some criminologists argue that this can actually be explained by the actions of the justice system itself: research by these criminologists suggests that incarceration may have the perverse effect of ensuring that the young offenders will continue to perform delinquent acts. This is an interesting point, but a difficult one to translate into policy—and the criminologists do not make an attempt to do so, in part because taken to its extreme their research suggests that the best form of law enforcement intervention might be none. The criminologists' unwillingness to attempt to articulate a policy also stems from their failure— perhaps mirroring that of law enforcement—to distinguish sufficiently between what the young adults themselves think of as criminal behavior and what they consider merely "fun" even while acknowledging that it is illegal. Many of the subjects of the criminologists' research used just this word to explain why they indulged in delinquent behavior as juveniles. This suggests that while young adults who engage in occasional delinquent activity think of that activity as illegal, they do not think of themselves as criminals— and that once they become officially recognized by law enforcement as criminals deserving incarceration the young adults may change their opinion of themselves. The strongest support for this view is that most youthful offenders who escape detection by law enforcement stop their delinquent behavior by age 18, and that only 8 percent of these report that they did so out of the fear of getting caught. Perhaps a policy that encourages maturation, rather than routinely imposing incarceration, may be the most effective form of rehabilitation for young offenders. The problem of juvenile delinquency certainly ought to be dealt with, but the question is one of approach. The conventional wisdom has held that it is essential to make youthful offenders understand that their actions are absolutely impermissible, even if this requires incarceration. However, we do not need to remove delinquents from the community, but rather rehabilitate them when they do wrong. Might it not make a difference, for instance, if a young adult caught stealing from a store is made to return the merchandise and apologize to the store owner rather than being incarcerated as a thief? We should be trying to ensure that youthful offenders learn the values of the larger society by the time they reach maturity. This should be the goal when dealing with juvenile delinquency, and it can be achieved without either inflicting incarceration or allowing young offenders to escape penalty. | 200002_4-RC_2_8 | [
"The prevailing law enforcement view of illegal juvenile behavior differs from the way in which many young offenders view their own behavior.",
"Criminologists should refocus their research methodology so as to gain a better idea of the causes of juvenile delinquency.",
"Criminologists and law enforcement perso... | 4 | Which one of the following most accurately expresses the main idea of the passage? |
Much of mainstream thinking concerning juvenile delinquency in Canada and the United States is based on the assumption that if uncorrected it automatically leads to adult crime and should thus be severely punished, usually by some form of incarceration, before it becomes an ingrained behavior pattern. While there is some connection between juvenile delinquency and adult criminality, some criminologists argue that this can actually be explained by the actions of the justice system itself: research by these criminologists suggests that incarceration may have the perverse effect of ensuring that the young offenders will continue to perform delinquent acts. This is an interesting point, but a difficult one to translate into policy—and the criminologists do not make an attempt to do so, in part because taken to its extreme their research suggests that the best form of law enforcement intervention might be none. The criminologists' unwillingness to attempt to articulate a policy also stems from their failure— perhaps mirroring that of law enforcement—to distinguish sufficiently between what the young adults themselves think of as criminal behavior and what they consider merely "fun" even while acknowledging that it is illegal. Many of the subjects of the criminologists' research used just this word to explain why they indulged in delinquent behavior as juveniles. This suggests that while young adults who engage in occasional delinquent activity think of that activity as illegal, they do not think of themselves as criminals— and that once they become officially recognized by law enforcement as criminals deserving incarceration the young adults may change their opinion of themselves. The strongest support for this view is that most youthful offenders who escape detection by law enforcement stop their delinquent behavior by age 18, and that only 8 percent of these report that they did so out of the fear of getting caught. Perhaps a policy that encourages maturation, rather than routinely imposing incarceration, may be the most effective form of rehabilitation for young offenders. The problem of juvenile delinquency certainly ought to be dealt with, but the question is one of approach. The conventional wisdom has held that it is essential to make youthful offenders understand that their actions are absolutely impermissible, even if this requires incarceration. However, we do not need to remove delinquents from the community, but rather rehabilitate them when they do wrong. Might it not make a difference, for instance, if a young adult caught stealing from a store is made to return the merchandise and apologize to the store owner rather than being incarcerated as a thief? We should be trying to ensure that youthful offenders learn the values of the larger society by the time they reach maturity. This should be the goal when dealing with juvenile delinquency, and it can be achieved without either inflicting incarceration or allowing young offenders to escape penalty. | 200002_4-RC_2_9 | [
"They advocate the right policies despite errors in their research.",
"Their advocacy of mistaken policies has led them to distort their research findings.",
"Their research findings are useful, but they advocate policies that are incompatible with them.",
"Their research findings are useful, but they have fa... | 3 | The author's opinion about the work of the criminologists discussed in the first paragraph can most accurately be described by which one of the following? |
Much of mainstream thinking concerning juvenile delinquency in Canada and the United States is based on the assumption that if uncorrected it automatically leads to adult crime and should thus be severely punished, usually by some form of incarceration, before it becomes an ingrained behavior pattern. While there is some connection between juvenile delinquency and adult criminality, some criminologists argue that this can actually be explained by the actions of the justice system itself: research by these criminologists suggests that incarceration may have the perverse effect of ensuring that the young offenders will continue to perform delinquent acts. This is an interesting point, but a difficult one to translate into policy—and the criminologists do not make an attempt to do so, in part because taken to its extreme their research suggests that the best form of law enforcement intervention might be none. The criminologists' unwillingness to attempt to articulate a policy also stems from their failure— perhaps mirroring that of law enforcement—to distinguish sufficiently between what the young adults themselves think of as criminal behavior and what they consider merely "fun" even while acknowledging that it is illegal. Many of the subjects of the criminologists' research used just this word to explain why they indulged in delinquent behavior as juveniles. This suggests that while young adults who engage in occasional delinquent activity think of that activity as illegal, they do not think of themselves as criminals— and that once they become officially recognized by law enforcement as criminals deserving incarceration the young adults may change their opinion of themselves. The strongest support for this view is that most youthful offenders who escape detection by law enforcement stop their delinquent behavior by age 18, and that only 8 percent of these report that they did so out of the fear of getting caught. Perhaps a policy that encourages maturation, rather than routinely imposing incarceration, may be the most effective form of rehabilitation for young offenders. The problem of juvenile delinquency certainly ought to be dealt with, but the question is one of approach. The conventional wisdom has held that it is essential to make youthful offenders understand that their actions are absolutely impermissible, even if this requires incarceration. However, we do not need to remove delinquents from the community, but rather rehabilitate them when they do wrong. Might it not make a difference, for instance, if a young adult caught stealing from a store is made to return the merchandise and apologize to the store owner rather than being incarcerated as a thief? We should be trying to ensure that youthful offenders learn the values of the larger society by the time they reach maturity. This should be the goal when dealing with juvenile delinquency, and it can be achieved without either inflicting incarceration or allowing young offenders to escape penalty. | 200002_4-RC_2_10 | [
"They believe that there is never a moral difference between so-called right and wrong behavior.",
"They have not sufficiently learned some of the values of society.",
"They do so primarily because of the policy of treating delinquency as serious criminal behavior.",
"They should be sentenced to the same puni... | 1 | It can be inferred from the passage that the author holds which one of the following views regarding juveniles who view their delinquent activities as "fun" ? |
Much of mainstream thinking concerning juvenile delinquency in Canada and the United States is based on the assumption that if uncorrected it automatically leads to adult crime and should thus be severely punished, usually by some form of incarceration, before it becomes an ingrained behavior pattern. While there is some connection between juvenile delinquency and adult criminality, some criminologists argue that this can actually be explained by the actions of the justice system itself: research by these criminologists suggests that incarceration may have the perverse effect of ensuring that the young offenders will continue to perform delinquent acts. This is an interesting point, but a difficult one to translate into policy—and the criminologists do not make an attempt to do so, in part because taken to its extreme their research suggests that the best form of law enforcement intervention might be none. The criminologists' unwillingness to attempt to articulate a policy also stems from their failure— perhaps mirroring that of law enforcement—to distinguish sufficiently between what the young adults themselves think of as criminal behavior and what they consider merely "fun" even while acknowledging that it is illegal. Many of the subjects of the criminologists' research used just this word to explain why they indulged in delinquent behavior as juveniles. This suggests that while young adults who engage in occasional delinquent activity think of that activity as illegal, they do not think of themselves as criminals— and that once they become officially recognized by law enforcement as criminals deserving incarceration the young adults may change their opinion of themselves. The strongest support for this view is that most youthful offenders who escape detection by law enforcement stop their delinquent behavior by age 18, and that only 8 percent of these report that they did so out of the fear of getting caught. Perhaps a policy that encourages maturation, rather than routinely imposing incarceration, may be the most effective form of rehabilitation for young offenders. The problem of juvenile delinquency certainly ought to be dealt with, but the question is one of approach. The conventional wisdom has held that it is essential to make youthful offenders understand that their actions are absolutely impermissible, even if this requires incarceration. However, we do not need to remove delinquents from the community, but rather rehabilitate them when they do wrong. Might it not make a difference, for instance, if a young adult caught stealing from a store is made to return the merchandise and apologize to the store owner rather than being incarcerated as a thief? We should be trying to ensure that youthful offenders learn the values of the larger society by the time they reach maturity. This should be the goal when dealing with juvenile delinquency, and it can be achieved without either inflicting incarceration or allowing young offenders to escape penalty. | 200002_4-RC_2_11 | [
"optimistic that these policies result in high detection rates",
"certain that these policies cause further juvenile delinquent acts",
"confident that these policies promote the good of society",
"convinced that these policies should be revised",
"confident that these policies have no effect on juvenile del... | 3 | The author's attitude toward current law enforcement policies dealing with juvenile delinquency can most accurately be described as |
Much of mainstream thinking concerning juvenile delinquency in Canada and the United States is based on the assumption that if uncorrected it automatically leads to adult crime and should thus be severely punished, usually by some form of incarceration, before it becomes an ingrained behavior pattern. While there is some connection between juvenile delinquency and adult criminality, some criminologists argue that this can actually be explained by the actions of the justice system itself: research by these criminologists suggests that incarceration may have the perverse effect of ensuring that the young offenders will continue to perform delinquent acts. This is an interesting point, but a difficult one to translate into policy—and the criminologists do not make an attempt to do so, in part because taken to its extreme their research suggests that the best form of law enforcement intervention might be none. The criminologists' unwillingness to attempt to articulate a policy also stems from their failure— perhaps mirroring that of law enforcement—to distinguish sufficiently between what the young adults themselves think of as criminal behavior and what they consider merely "fun" even while acknowledging that it is illegal. Many of the subjects of the criminologists' research used just this word to explain why they indulged in delinquent behavior as juveniles. This suggests that while young adults who engage in occasional delinquent activity think of that activity as illegal, they do not think of themselves as criminals— and that once they become officially recognized by law enforcement as criminals deserving incarceration the young adults may change their opinion of themselves. The strongest support for this view is that most youthful offenders who escape detection by law enforcement stop their delinquent behavior by age 18, and that only 8 percent of these report that they did so out of the fear of getting caught. Perhaps a policy that encourages maturation, rather than routinely imposing incarceration, may be the most effective form of rehabilitation for young offenders. The problem of juvenile delinquency certainly ought to be dealt with, but the question is one of approach. The conventional wisdom has held that it is essential to make youthful offenders understand that their actions are absolutely impermissible, even if this requires incarceration. However, we do not need to remove delinquents from the community, but rather rehabilitate them when they do wrong. Might it not make a difference, for instance, if a young adult caught stealing from a store is made to return the merchandise and apologize to the store owner rather than being incarcerated as a thief? We should be trying to ensure that youthful offenders learn the values of the larger society by the time they reach maturity. This should be the goal when dealing with juvenile delinquency, and it can be achieved without either inflicting incarceration or allowing young offenders to escape penalty. | 200002_4-RC_2_12 | [
"describe a policy with which the author wishes to take issue",
"illustrate and support a proposal that is motivated partly by the point made in lines",
"provide an example that confirms what the author refers to as mainstream thinking regarding juvenile delinquency",
"show an interpretation of data that is o... | 1 | In relation to lines 10–13 of the passage, the author's purpose in lines 49– 53 is to |
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