Datasets:

tasksource

/

lsat-rc

like 0

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_13

Which one of the following is most closely analogous to the purported relationship in the passage between incarceration and criminologists' research findings?

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_14

The passage includes information regarding each of the following EXCEPT:

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_15

The primary purpose of the passage is to

Robin D. G. Kelley's book Hammer and Hoe explores the history of communism in the U.S. state of Alabama. Kelley asks not whether the Communist Party was ideologically correct, but how it came to attract a substantial number of African-American workers and how these workers could embrace and use the Communist Party as a vehicle for organizing themselves. He insists on measuring communism not by its abstract tenets but by its ability to interact with a culture to generate bold class organization. Most scholarship that has offered a defense of the Communist Party in the 1930s and 1940s (a period known as the party's Popular Front) has tended to emphasize its attempts to draw on democratic political traditions, and to enter meaningful political alliances with liberal political forces. While this is an understandable viewpoint among historians searching for models of unity between radicals and liberals, Kelley's interest is in African-American organizing. From that point of view the Popular Front appears as much less of a blessing. Indeed Kelley argues that the wild, often sectarian Third Period that preceded the Popular Front better undergirded organization among African-American farmers and industrial workers. The extreme rhetoric of the Third Period communists was not taken seriously by African-American party members, who avoided posturing and confrontation whenever possible. But on another level, rhetoric regarding a "new world" resonated among African-Americans, whose traditions emphasized both a struggle for survival and the transcendent hope of deliverance. Help from a powerful ally, even one as far away as Moscow, seemed a source of power and possibility. The worldwide efforts of the communist-led International Labor Defense in mobilizing against lynch law in the United States helped to establish the party's image as such an ally. The Popular Front saw African-American participation in the Communist Party decline. A retreat from attacks on white chauvinism and a tendency to de-emphasize, however slightly, involvement in local African-American issue-oriented politics made the party seem less an instrument of deliverance. The party's increasing cautiousness, born of a desire to appeal to moderates, doubtless made it a less attractive alternative in interracial conflicts. Even so, Kelley is far from claiming that the change to a Popular Front line was the sole reason for the decline of African-American communism. The Popular Front initially appealed to African-American communists because it seemed to open new strategies for blunting repression. Kelley's rounded portrait of the decline emphasizes not the absence of a "correct line" but the presence of factional battles and of transformations in the agriculture industry caused by market changes and U.S. federal government intervention.

200002_4-RC_3_16

Which one of the following most accurately characterizes the passage's main point?

Robin D. G. Kelley's book Hammer and Hoe explores the history of communism in the U.S. state of Alabama. Kelley asks not whether the Communist Party was ideologically correct, but how it came to attract a substantial number of African-American workers and how these workers could embrace and use the Communist Party as a vehicle for organizing themselves. He insists on measuring communism not by its abstract tenets but by its ability to interact with a culture to generate bold class organization. Most scholarship that has offered a defense of the Communist Party in the 1930s and 1940s (a period known as the party's Popular Front) has tended to emphasize its attempts to draw on democratic political traditions, and to enter meaningful political alliances with liberal political forces. While this is an understandable viewpoint among historians searching for models of unity between radicals and liberals, Kelley's interest is in African-American organizing. From that point of view the Popular Front appears as much less of a blessing. Indeed Kelley argues that the wild, often sectarian Third Period that preceded the Popular Front better undergirded organization among African-American farmers and industrial workers. The extreme rhetoric of the Third Period communists was not taken seriously by African-American party members, who avoided posturing and confrontation whenever possible. But on another level, rhetoric regarding a "new world" resonated among African-Americans, whose traditions emphasized both a struggle for survival and the transcendent hope of deliverance. Help from a powerful ally, even one as far away as Moscow, seemed a source of power and possibility. The worldwide efforts of the communist-led International Labor Defense in mobilizing against lynch law in the United States helped to establish the party's image as such an ally. The Popular Front saw African-American participation in the Communist Party decline. A retreat from attacks on white chauvinism and a tendency to de-emphasize, however slightly, involvement in local African-American issue-oriented politics made the party seem less an instrument of deliverance. The party's increasing cautiousness, born of a desire to appeal to moderates, doubtless made it a less attractive alternative in interracial conflicts. Even so, Kelley is far from claiming that the change to a Popular Front line was the sole reason for the decline of African-American communism. The Popular Front initially appealed to African-American communists because it seemed to open new strategies for blunting repression. Kelley's rounded portrait of the decline emphasizes not the absence of a "correct line" but the presence of factional battles and of transformations in the agriculture industry caused by market changes and U.S. federal government intervention.

200002_4-RC_3_17

The passage's characterization of the Communist Party in Alabama before the 1930s includes each of the following EXCEPT that the party

Robin D. G. Kelley's book Hammer and Hoe explores the history of communism in the U.S. state of Alabama. Kelley asks not whether the Communist Party was ideologically correct, but how it came to attract a substantial number of African-American workers and how these workers could embrace and use the Communist Party as a vehicle for organizing themselves. He insists on measuring communism not by its abstract tenets but by its ability to interact with a culture to generate bold class organization. Most scholarship that has offered a defense of the Communist Party in the 1930s and 1940s (a period known as the party's Popular Front) has tended to emphasize its attempts to draw on democratic political traditions, and to enter meaningful political alliances with liberal political forces. While this is an understandable viewpoint among historians searching for models of unity between radicals and liberals, Kelley's interest is in African-American organizing. From that point of view the Popular Front appears as much less of a blessing. Indeed Kelley argues that the wild, often sectarian Third Period that preceded the Popular Front better undergirded organization among African-American farmers and industrial workers. The extreme rhetoric of the Third Period communists was not taken seriously by African-American party members, who avoided posturing and confrontation whenever possible. But on another level, rhetoric regarding a "new world" resonated among African-Americans, whose traditions emphasized both a struggle for survival and the transcendent hope of deliverance. Help from a powerful ally, even one as far away as Moscow, seemed a source of power and possibility. The worldwide efforts of the communist-led International Labor Defense in mobilizing against lynch law in the United States helped to establish the party's image as such an ally. The Popular Front saw African-American participation in the Communist Party decline. A retreat from attacks on white chauvinism and a tendency to de-emphasize, however slightly, involvement in local African-American issue-oriented politics made the party seem less an instrument of deliverance. The party's increasing cautiousness, born of a desire to appeal to moderates, doubtless made it a less attractive alternative in interracial conflicts. Even so, Kelley is far from claiming that the change to a Popular Front line was the sole reason for the decline of African-American communism. The Popular Front initially appealed to African-American communists because it seemed to open new strategies for blunting repression. Kelley's rounded portrait of the decline emphasizes not the absence of a "correct line" but the presence of factional battles and of transformations in the agriculture industry caused by market changes and U.S. federal government intervention.

200002_4-RC_3_18

The primary purpose of the second paragraph is to

Robin D. G. Kelley's book Hammer and Hoe explores the history of communism in the U.S. state of Alabama. Kelley asks not whether the Communist Party was ideologically correct, but how it came to attract a substantial number of African-American workers and how these workers could embrace and use the Communist Party as a vehicle for organizing themselves. He insists on measuring communism not by its abstract tenets but by its ability to interact with a culture to generate bold class organization. Most scholarship that has offered a defense of the Communist Party in the 1930s and 1940s (a period known as the party's Popular Front) has tended to emphasize its attempts to draw on democratic political traditions, and to enter meaningful political alliances with liberal political forces. While this is an understandable viewpoint among historians searching for models of unity between radicals and liberals, Kelley's interest is in African-American organizing. From that point of view the Popular Front appears as much less of a blessing. Indeed Kelley argues that the wild, often sectarian Third Period that preceded the Popular Front better undergirded organization among African-American farmers and industrial workers. The extreme rhetoric of the Third Period communists was not taken seriously by African-American party members, who avoided posturing and confrontation whenever possible. But on another level, rhetoric regarding a "new world" resonated among African-Americans, whose traditions emphasized both a struggle for survival and the transcendent hope of deliverance. Help from a powerful ally, even one as far away as Moscow, seemed a source of power and possibility. The worldwide efforts of the communist-led International Labor Defense in mobilizing against lynch law in the United States helped to establish the party's image as such an ally. The Popular Front saw African-American participation in the Communist Party decline. A retreat from attacks on white chauvinism and a tendency to de-emphasize, however slightly, involvement in local African-American issue-oriented politics made the party seem less an instrument of deliverance. The party's increasing cautiousness, born of a desire to appeal to moderates, doubtless made it a less attractive alternative in interracial conflicts. Even so, Kelley is far from claiming that the change to a Popular Front line was the sole reason for the decline of African-American communism. The Popular Front initially appealed to African-American communists because it seemed to open new strategies for blunting repression. Kelley's rounded portrait of the decline emphasizes not the absence of a "correct line" but the presence of factional battles and of transformations in the agriculture industry caused by market changes and U.S. federal government intervention.

200002_4-RC_3_19

It can be inferred from the passage that Kelley would most likely agree with which one of the following assertions about the Popular Front?

Robin D. G. Kelley's book Hammer and Hoe explores the history of communism in the U.S. state of Alabama. Kelley asks not whether the Communist Party was ideologically correct, but how it came to attract a substantial number of African-American workers and how these workers could embrace and use the Communist Party as a vehicle for organizing themselves. He insists on measuring communism not by its abstract tenets but by its ability to interact with a culture to generate bold class organization. Most scholarship that has offered a defense of the Communist Party in the 1930s and 1940s (a period known as the party's Popular Front) has tended to emphasize its attempts to draw on democratic political traditions, and to enter meaningful political alliances with liberal political forces. While this is an understandable viewpoint among historians searching for models of unity between radicals and liberals, Kelley's interest is in African-American organizing. From that point of view the Popular Front appears as much less of a blessing. Indeed Kelley argues that the wild, often sectarian Third Period that preceded the Popular Front better undergirded organization among African-American farmers and industrial workers. The extreme rhetoric of the Third Period communists was not taken seriously by African-American party members, who avoided posturing and confrontation whenever possible. But on another level, rhetoric regarding a "new world" resonated among African-Americans, whose traditions emphasized both a struggle for survival and the transcendent hope of deliverance. Help from a powerful ally, even one as far away as Moscow, seemed a source of power and possibility. The worldwide efforts of the communist-led International Labor Defense in mobilizing against lynch law in the United States helped to establish the party's image as such an ally. The Popular Front saw African-American participation in the Communist Party decline. A retreat from attacks on white chauvinism and a tendency to de-emphasize, however slightly, involvement in local African-American issue-oriented politics made the party seem less an instrument of deliverance. The party's increasing cautiousness, born of a desire to appeal to moderates, doubtless made it a less attractive alternative in interracial conflicts. Even so, Kelley is far from claiming that the change to a Popular Front line was the sole reason for the decline of African-American communism. The Popular Front initially appealed to African-American communists because it seemed to open new strategies for blunting repression. Kelley's rounded portrait of the decline emphasizes not the absence of a "correct line" but the presence of factional battles and of transformations in the agriculture industry caused by market changes and U.S. federal government intervention.

200002_4-RC_3_20

Based on the passage, which one of the following statements is more likely to have been made by a Communist Party organizer during the Third Period than during the Popular Front?

Darwin's conception of early prehistoric humans as confident, clever hunter-gatherers has long dominated anthropology. His theory has been reinforced by an accident of history: the human fossil record has been found largely in reverse order. Remains of humans'most recent forebears, who lived 35,000 to 100,000 years ago, were discovered in 1856; over the next century, discoveries yielded fossils of hominids from progressively earlier eras. Because the first-discovered fossil hominids, the Neanderthals, genuinely resembled modern humans, anthropologists from Darwin on have confused the life-styles of today's nonindustrial peoples with those of our distant hominid forebears. These anthropologists have failed to consider both the sophistication of modern hunter-gatherer societies (including their use of fire, clothing, shelter, weapons, tools, language, and complex strategies) and the ways in which their environments differ from prehistoric ones (for example, in containing fewer large animal predators). Recent intellectual developments, such as the new field of taphonomy, have called into question the traditional hypothesis that early hominids outsmarted the predators with whom they competed for meat and that they mastered their world through hunting. Taphonomy investigates the transformation of skeletal remains into fossil—it asks, for example, whether bone piles have been deposited by predators, hunters, or floodwaters, and whether hyenas'teeth scar animal bones differently than do human tools. Taphonomy has been utilized by some researchers in studying a group of animal fossils, hominid fossils, and stone tools that were almost two million years old. By comparing the microscopic features of linear grooves on the fossilized animal bones with similar grooves on modern bones, the researchers found that cut marks made by stone tools differed from the marks of other taphonomic agents, such as carnivores'teeth or sedimentary abrasion. They also found that the markings of stone tools on many of the fossilized animal bones did not occur systematically at the joints and that the toothmarks of animal carnivores often underlay rather than overlay the cut marks. The researchers hypothesized from this evidence that early hominids were scavengers of meat left from carnivore kills, rather than hunters of live prey. From patterns of wear on fossilized hominid teeth, the researchers further deduced that early hominids, like other scavengers, ate fruit primarily and meat only occasionally. Early hominids could have been well adapted for scavenging: agility in climbing trees helped them escape predators and gain superior vantage points, and an upright mode of walking enabled them to scan the ground for carcasses and to carry useful scavenging tools. According to these researchers Darwin's vision of early prehistoric hunters may be familiar and appealing, but the fossil record suggests a revised picture of less-confident early hominids who often perched in trees and who foraged and scavenged alone or in small groups.

200002_4-RC_4_21

Which one of the following most accurately expresses the main idea of the passage?

Darwin's conception of early prehistoric humans as confident, clever hunter-gatherers has long dominated anthropology. His theory has been reinforced by an accident of history: the human fossil record has been found largely in reverse order. Remains of humans'most recent forebears, who lived 35,000 to 100,000 years ago, were discovered in 1856; over the next century, discoveries yielded fossils of hominids from progressively earlier eras. Because the first-discovered fossil hominids, the Neanderthals, genuinely resembled modern humans, anthropologists from Darwin on have confused the life-styles of today's nonindustrial peoples with those of our distant hominid forebears. These anthropologists have failed to consider both the sophistication of modern hunter-gatherer societies (including their use of fire, clothing, shelter, weapons, tools, language, and complex strategies) and the ways in which their environments differ from prehistoric ones (for example, in containing fewer large animal predators). Recent intellectual developments, such as the new field of taphonomy, have called into question the traditional hypothesis that early hominids outsmarted the predators with whom they competed for meat and that they mastered their world through hunting. Taphonomy investigates the transformation of skeletal remains into fossil—it asks, for example, whether bone piles have been deposited by predators, hunters, or floodwaters, and whether hyenas'teeth scar animal bones differently than do human tools. Taphonomy has been utilized by some researchers in studying a group of animal fossils, hominid fossils, and stone tools that were almost two million years old. By comparing the microscopic features of linear grooves on the fossilized animal bones with similar grooves on modern bones, the researchers found that cut marks made by stone tools differed from the marks of other taphonomic agents, such as carnivores'teeth or sedimentary abrasion. They also found that the markings of stone tools on many of the fossilized animal bones did not occur systematically at the joints and that the toothmarks of animal carnivores often underlay rather than overlay the cut marks. The researchers hypothesized from this evidence that early hominids were scavengers of meat left from carnivore kills, rather than hunters of live prey. From patterns of wear on fossilized hominid teeth, the researchers further deduced that early hominids, like other scavengers, ate fruit primarily and meat only occasionally. Early hominids could have been well adapted for scavenging: agility in climbing trees helped them escape predators and gain superior vantage points, and an upright mode of walking enabled them to scan the ground for carcasses and to carry useful scavenging tools. According to these researchers Darwin's vision of early prehistoric hunters may be familiar and appealing, but the fossil record suggests a revised picture of less-confident early hominids who often perched in trees and who foraged and scavenged alone or in small groups.

200002_4-RC_4_22

It can be inferred from the passage that the author would encourage the anthropologists mentioned in line 14 to do which one of the following types of research on modern hunter-gatherer societies?

Darwin's conception of early prehistoric humans as confident, clever hunter-gatherers has long dominated anthropology. His theory has been reinforced by an accident of history: the human fossil record has been found largely in reverse order. Remains of humans'most recent forebears, who lived 35,000 to 100,000 years ago, were discovered in 1856; over the next century, discoveries yielded fossils of hominids from progressively earlier eras. Because the first-discovered fossil hominids, the Neanderthals, genuinely resembled modern humans, anthropologists from Darwin on have confused the life-styles of today's nonindustrial peoples with those of our distant hominid forebears. These anthropologists have failed to consider both the sophistication of modern hunter-gatherer societies (including their use of fire, clothing, shelter, weapons, tools, language, and complex strategies) and the ways in which their environments differ from prehistoric ones (for example, in containing fewer large animal predators). Recent intellectual developments, such as the new field of taphonomy, have called into question the traditional hypothesis that early hominids outsmarted the predators with whom they competed for meat and that they mastered their world through hunting. Taphonomy investigates the transformation of skeletal remains into fossil—it asks, for example, whether bone piles have been deposited by predators, hunters, or floodwaters, and whether hyenas'teeth scar animal bones differently than do human tools. Taphonomy has been utilized by some researchers in studying a group of animal fossils, hominid fossils, and stone tools that were almost two million years old. By comparing the microscopic features of linear grooves on the fossilized animal bones with similar grooves on modern bones, the researchers found that cut marks made by stone tools differed from the marks of other taphonomic agents, such as carnivores'teeth or sedimentary abrasion. They also found that the markings of stone tools on many of the fossilized animal bones did not occur systematically at the joints and that the toothmarks of animal carnivores often underlay rather than overlay the cut marks. The researchers hypothesized from this evidence that early hominids were scavengers of meat left from carnivore kills, rather than hunters of live prey. From patterns of wear on fossilized hominid teeth, the researchers further deduced that early hominids, like other scavengers, ate fruit primarily and meat only occasionally. Early hominids could have been well adapted for scavenging: agility in climbing trees helped them escape predators and gain superior vantage points, and an upright mode of walking enabled them to scan the ground for carcasses and to carry useful scavenging tools. According to these researchers Darwin's vision of early prehistoric hunters may be familiar and appealing, but the fossil record suggests a revised picture of less-confident early hominids who often perched in trees and who foraged and scavenged alone or in small groups.

200002_4-RC_4_23

It can be inferred from the passage that in reaching their conclusions, the researchers mentioned in line 44 interpreted the taphonomic analysis of marks on animal fossils in which one of the following ways?

Darwin's conception of early prehistoric humans as confident, clever hunter-gatherers has long dominated anthropology. His theory has been reinforced by an accident of history: the human fossil record has been found largely in reverse order. Remains of humans'most recent forebears, who lived 35,000 to 100,000 years ago, were discovered in 1856; over the next century, discoveries yielded fossils of hominids from progressively earlier eras. Because the first-discovered fossil hominids, the Neanderthals, genuinely resembled modern humans, anthropologists from Darwin on have confused the life-styles of today's nonindustrial peoples with those of our distant hominid forebears. These anthropologists have failed to consider both the sophistication of modern hunter-gatherer societies (including their use of fire, clothing, shelter, weapons, tools, language, and complex strategies) and the ways in which their environments differ from prehistoric ones (for example, in containing fewer large animal predators). Recent intellectual developments, such as the new field of taphonomy, have called into question the traditional hypothesis that early hominids outsmarted the predators with whom they competed for meat and that they mastered their world through hunting. Taphonomy investigates the transformation of skeletal remains into fossil—it asks, for example, whether bone piles have been deposited by predators, hunters, or floodwaters, and whether hyenas'teeth scar animal bones differently than do human tools. Taphonomy has been utilized by some researchers in studying a group of animal fossils, hominid fossils, and stone tools that were almost two million years old. By comparing the microscopic features of linear grooves on the fossilized animal bones with similar grooves on modern bones, the researchers found that cut marks made by stone tools differed from the marks of other taphonomic agents, such as carnivores'teeth or sedimentary abrasion. They also found that the markings of stone tools on many of the fossilized animal bones did not occur systematically at the joints and that the toothmarks of animal carnivores often underlay rather than overlay the cut marks. The researchers hypothesized from this evidence that early hominids were scavengers of meat left from carnivore kills, rather than hunters of live prey. From patterns of wear on fossilized hominid teeth, the researchers further deduced that early hominids, like other scavengers, ate fruit primarily and meat only occasionally. Early hominids could have been well adapted for scavenging: agility in climbing trees helped them escape predators and gain superior vantage points, and an upright mode of walking enabled them to scan the ground for carcasses and to carry useful scavenging tools. According to these researchers Darwin's vision of early prehistoric hunters may be familiar and appealing, but the fossil record suggests a revised picture of less-confident early hominids who often perched in trees and who foraged and scavenged alone or in small groups.

200002_4-RC_4_24

The author cites the early hominid's "upright mode of walking" (line 53) primarily in order to

Darwin's conception of early prehistoric humans as confident, clever hunter-gatherers has long dominated anthropology. His theory has been reinforced by an accident of history: the human fossil record has been found largely in reverse order. Remains of humans'most recent forebears, who lived 35,000 to 100,000 years ago, were discovered in 1856; over the next century, discoveries yielded fossils of hominids from progressively earlier eras. Because the first-discovered fossil hominids, the Neanderthals, genuinely resembled modern humans, anthropologists from Darwin on have confused the life-styles of today's nonindustrial peoples with those of our distant hominid forebears. These anthropologists have failed to consider both the sophistication of modern hunter-gatherer societies (including their use of fire, clothing, shelter, weapons, tools, language, and complex strategies) and the ways in which their environments differ from prehistoric ones (for example, in containing fewer large animal predators). Recent intellectual developments, such as the new field of taphonomy, have called into question the traditional hypothesis that early hominids outsmarted the predators with whom they competed for meat and that they mastered their world through hunting. Taphonomy investigates the transformation of skeletal remains into fossil—it asks, for example, whether bone piles have been deposited by predators, hunters, or floodwaters, and whether hyenas'teeth scar animal bones differently than do human tools. Taphonomy has been utilized by some researchers in studying a group of animal fossils, hominid fossils, and stone tools that were almost two million years old. By comparing the microscopic features of linear grooves on the fossilized animal bones with similar grooves on modern bones, the researchers found that cut marks made by stone tools differed from the marks of other taphonomic agents, such as carnivores'teeth or sedimentary abrasion. They also found that the markings of stone tools on many of the fossilized animal bones did not occur systematically at the joints and that the toothmarks of animal carnivores often underlay rather than overlay the cut marks. The researchers hypothesized from this evidence that early hominids were scavengers of meat left from carnivore kills, rather than hunters of live prey. From patterns of wear on fossilized hominid teeth, the researchers further deduced that early hominids, like other scavengers, ate fruit primarily and meat only occasionally. Early hominids could have been well adapted for scavenging: agility in climbing trees helped them escape predators and gain superior vantage points, and an upright mode of walking enabled them to scan the ground for carcasses and to carry useful scavenging tools. According to these researchers Darwin's vision of early prehistoric hunters may be familiar and appealing, but the fossil record suggests a revised picture of less-confident early hominids who often perched in trees and who foraged and scavenged alone or in small groups.

200002_4-RC_4_25

Which one of the following situations is most analogous to the discovery of fossil hominids as described in the first paragraph?

Darwin's conception of early prehistoric humans as confident, clever hunter-gatherers has long dominated anthropology. His theory has been reinforced by an accident of history: the human fossil record has been found largely in reverse order. Remains of humans'most recent forebears, who lived 35,000 to 100,000 years ago, were discovered in 1856; over the next century, discoveries yielded fossils of hominids from progressively earlier eras. Because the first-discovered fossil hominids, the Neanderthals, genuinely resembled modern humans, anthropologists from Darwin on have confused the life-styles of today's nonindustrial peoples with those of our distant hominid forebears. These anthropologists have failed to consider both the sophistication of modern hunter-gatherer societies (including their use of fire, clothing, shelter, weapons, tools, language, and complex strategies) and the ways in which their environments differ from prehistoric ones (for example, in containing fewer large animal predators). Recent intellectual developments, such as the new field of taphonomy, have called into question the traditional hypothesis that early hominids outsmarted the predators with whom they competed for meat and that they mastered their world through hunting. Taphonomy investigates the transformation of skeletal remains into fossil—it asks, for example, whether bone piles have been deposited by predators, hunters, or floodwaters, and whether hyenas'teeth scar animal bones differently than do human tools. Taphonomy has been utilized by some researchers in studying a group of animal fossils, hominid fossils, and stone tools that were almost two million years old. By comparing the microscopic features of linear grooves on the fossilized animal bones with similar grooves on modern bones, the researchers found that cut marks made by stone tools differed from the marks of other taphonomic agents, such as carnivores'teeth or sedimentary abrasion. They also found that the markings of stone tools on many of the fossilized animal bones did not occur systematically at the joints and that the toothmarks of animal carnivores often underlay rather than overlay the cut marks. The researchers hypothesized from this evidence that early hominids were scavengers of meat left from carnivore kills, rather than hunters of live prey. From patterns of wear on fossilized hominid teeth, the researchers further deduced that early hominids, like other scavengers, ate fruit primarily and meat only occasionally. Early hominids could have been well adapted for scavenging: agility in climbing trees helped them escape predators and gain superior vantage points, and an upright mode of walking enabled them to scan the ground for carcasses and to carry useful scavenging tools. According to these researchers Darwin's vision of early prehistoric hunters may be familiar and appealing, but the fossil record suggests a revised picture of less-confident early hominids who often perched in trees and who foraged and scavenged alone or in small groups.

200002_4-RC_4_26

Each of the following is mentioned in the passage as determinable by taphonomic investigation into the marks on fossilized bones EXCEPT the

Darwin's conception of early prehistoric humans as confident, clever hunter-gatherers has long dominated anthropology. His theory has been reinforced by an accident of history: the human fossil record has been found largely in reverse order. Remains of humans'most recent forebears, who lived 35,000 to 100,000 years ago, were discovered in 1856; over the next century, discoveries yielded fossils of hominids from progressively earlier eras. Because the first-discovered fossil hominids, the Neanderthals, genuinely resembled modern humans, anthropologists from Darwin on have confused the life-styles of today's nonindustrial peoples with those of our distant hominid forebears. These anthropologists have failed to consider both the sophistication of modern hunter-gatherer societies (including their use of fire, clothing, shelter, weapons, tools, language, and complex strategies) and the ways in which their environments differ from prehistoric ones (for example, in containing fewer large animal predators). Recent intellectual developments, such as the new field of taphonomy, have called into question the traditional hypothesis that early hominids outsmarted the predators with whom they competed for meat and that they mastered their world through hunting. Taphonomy investigates the transformation of skeletal remains into fossil—it asks, for example, whether bone piles have been deposited by predators, hunters, or floodwaters, and whether hyenas'teeth scar animal bones differently than do human tools. Taphonomy has been utilized by some researchers in studying a group of animal fossils, hominid fossils, and stone tools that were almost two million years old. By comparing the microscopic features of linear grooves on the fossilized animal bones with similar grooves on modern bones, the researchers found that cut marks made by stone tools differed from the marks of other taphonomic agents, such as carnivores'teeth or sedimentary abrasion. They also found that the markings of stone tools on many of the fossilized animal bones did not occur systematically at the joints and that the toothmarks of animal carnivores often underlay rather than overlay the cut marks. The researchers hypothesized from this evidence that early hominids were scavengers of meat left from carnivore kills, rather than hunters of live prey. From patterns of wear on fossilized hominid teeth, the researchers further deduced that early hominids, like other scavengers, ate fruit primarily and meat only occasionally. Early hominids could have been well adapted for scavenging: agility in climbing trees helped them escape predators and gain superior vantage points, and an upright mode of walking enabled them to scan the ground for carcasses and to carry useful scavenging tools. According to these researchers Darwin's vision of early prehistoric hunters may be familiar and appealing, but the fossil record suggests a revised picture of less-confident early hominids who often perched in trees and who foraged and scavenged alone or in small groups.

200002_4-RC_4_27

The author's primary purpose in writing the passage is to

Many political economists believe that the soundest indicator of the economic health of a nation is the nation's gross national product (GNP) per capita—a figure reached by dividing the total value of the goods produced yearly in a nation by its population and taken to be a measure of the welfare of the nation's residents. But there are many factors affecting residents' welfare that are not captured by per capita GNP; human indicators, while sometimes more difficult to calculate or document, provide sounder measures of a nation's progress than does the indicator championed by these economists. These human indicators include nutrition and life expectancy; birth weight and level of infant mortality; ratio of population level to availability of resources; employment opportunities; and the ability of governments to provide services such as education, clean water, medicine, public transportation, and mass communication for their residents. The economists defend their use of per capita GNP as the sole measure of a nation's economic health by claiming that improvements in per capita GNP eventually stimulate improvements in human indicators. But, in actuality, this often fails to occur. Even in nations where economic stimulation has brought about substantial improvements in per capita GNP, economic health as measured by human indicators does not always reach a level commensurate with the per capita GNP. Nations that have achieved a relatively high per capita GNP, for example, sometimes experience levels of infant survival, literacy, nutrition, and life expectancy no greater than levels in nations where per capita GNP is relatively low. In addition, because per capita GNP is an averaged figure, it often presents a distorted picture of the wealth of a nation; for example, in a relatively sparsely populated nation where a small percentage of residents receives most of the economic benefits of production while the majority receives very little benefit, per capita GNP may nevertheless be high. The welfare of a nation's residents is a matter not merely of total economic benefit, but also of the distribution of economic benefits across the entire society. Measuring a nation's economic health only by total wealth frequently obscures a lack of distribution of wealth across the society as a whole. In light of the potential for such imbalances in distribution of economic benefits, some nations have begun to realize that their domestic economic efforts are better directed away from attempting to raise per capita GNP and instead toward ensuring that the conditions measured by human indicators are salutary. They recognize that unless a shift in focus away from using material wealth as the sole indicator of economic success is effected, the well-being of the nation may be endangered, and that nations that do well according to human indicators may thrive even if their per capita GNP remains stable or lags behind that of other nations.

200012_2-RC_1_1

Which one of the following titles most accurately expresses the main point of the passage?

Many political economists believe that the soundest indicator of the economic health of a nation is the nation's gross national product (GNP) per capita—a figure reached by dividing the total value of the goods produced yearly in a nation by its population and taken to be a measure of the welfare of the nation's residents. But there are many factors affecting residents' welfare that are not captured by per capita GNP; human indicators, while sometimes more difficult to calculate or document, provide sounder measures of a nation's progress than does the indicator championed by these economists. These human indicators include nutrition and life expectancy; birth weight and level of infant mortality; ratio of population level to availability of resources; employment opportunities; and the ability of governments to provide services such as education, clean water, medicine, public transportation, and mass communication for their residents. The economists defend their use of per capita GNP as the sole measure of a nation's economic health by claiming that improvements in per capita GNP eventually stimulate improvements in human indicators. But, in actuality, this often fails to occur. Even in nations where economic stimulation has brought about substantial improvements in per capita GNP, economic health as measured by human indicators does not always reach a level commensurate with the per capita GNP. Nations that have achieved a relatively high per capita GNP, for example, sometimes experience levels of infant survival, literacy, nutrition, and life expectancy no greater than levels in nations where per capita GNP is relatively low. In addition, because per capita GNP is an averaged figure, it often presents a distorted picture of the wealth of a nation; for example, in a relatively sparsely populated nation where a small percentage of residents receives most of the economic benefits of production while the majority receives very little benefit, per capita GNP may nevertheless be high. The welfare of a nation's residents is a matter not merely of total economic benefit, but also of the distribution of economic benefits across the entire society. Measuring a nation's economic health only by total wealth frequently obscures a lack of distribution of wealth across the society as a whole. In light of the potential for such imbalances in distribution of economic benefits, some nations have begun to realize that their domestic economic efforts are better directed away from attempting to raise per capita GNP and instead toward ensuring that the conditions measured by human indicators are salutary. They recognize that unless a shift in focus away from using material wealth as the sole indicator of economic success is effected, the well-being of the nation may be endangered, and that nations that do well according to human indicators may thrive even if their per capita GNP remains stable or lags behind that of other nations.

200012_2-RC_1_2

The term "welfare" is used in the first paragraph to refer most specifically to which one of the following?

Many political economists believe that the soundest indicator of the economic health of a nation is the nation's gross national product (GNP) per capita—a figure reached by dividing the total value of the goods produced yearly in a nation by its population and taken to be a measure of the welfare of the nation's residents. But there are many factors affecting residents' welfare that are not captured by per capita GNP; human indicators, while sometimes more difficult to calculate or document, provide sounder measures of a nation's progress than does the indicator championed by these economists. These human indicators include nutrition and life expectancy; birth weight and level of infant mortality; ratio of population level to availability of resources; employment opportunities; and the ability of governments to provide services such as education, clean water, medicine, public transportation, and mass communication for their residents. The economists defend their use of per capita GNP as the sole measure of a nation's economic health by claiming that improvements in per capita GNP eventually stimulate improvements in human indicators. But, in actuality, this often fails to occur. Even in nations where economic stimulation has brought about substantial improvements in per capita GNP, economic health as measured by human indicators does not always reach a level commensurate with the per capita GNP. Nations that have achieved a relatively high per capita GNP, for example, sometimes experience levels of infant survival, literacy, nutrition, and life expectancy no greater than levels in nations where per capita GNP is relatively low. In addition, because per capita GNP is an averaged figure, it often presents a distorted picture of the wealth of a nation; for example, in a relatively sparsely populated nation where a small percentage of residents receives most of the economic benefits of production while the majority receives very little benefit, per capita GNP may nevertheless be high. The welfare of a nation's residents is a matter not merely of total economic benefit, but also of the distribution of economic benefits across the entire society. Measuring a nation's economic health only by total wealth frequently obscures a lack of distribution of wealth across the society as a whole. In light of the potential for such imbalances in distribution of economic benefits, some nations have begun to realize that their domestic economic efforts are better directed away from attempting to raise per capita GNP and instead toward ensuring that the conditions measured by human indicators are salutary. They recognize that unless a shift in focus away from using material wealth as the sole indicator of economic success is effected, the well-being of the nation may be endangered, and that nations that do well according to human indicators may thrive even if their per capita GNP remains stable or lags behind that of other nations.

200012_2-RC_1_3

The passage provides specific information about each of the following EXCEPT:

Many political economists believe that the soundest indicator of the economic health of a nation is the nation's gross national product (GNP) per capita—a figure reached by dividing the total value of the goods produced yearly in a nation by its population and taken to be a measure of the welfare of the nation's residents. But there are many factors affecting residents' welfare that are not captured by per capita GNP; human indicators, while sometimes more difficult to calculate or document, provide sounder measures of a nation's progress than does the indicator championed by these economists. These human indicators include nutrition and life expectancy; birth weight and level of infant mortality; ratio of population level to availability of resources; employment opportunities; and the ability of governments to provide services such as education, clean water, medicine, public transportation, and mass communication for their residents. The economists defend their use of per capita GNP as the sole measure of a nation's economic health by claiming that improvements in per capita GNP eventually stimulate improvements in human indicators. But, in actuality, this often fails to occur. Even in nations where economic stimulation has brought about substantial improvements in per capita GNP, economic health as measured by human indicators does not always reach a level commensurate with the per capita GNP. Nations that have achieved a relatively high per capita GNP, for example, sometimes experience levels of infant survival, literacy, nutrition, and life expectancy no greater than levels in nations where per capita GNP is relatively low. In addition, because per capita GNP is an averaged figure, it often presents a distorted picture of the wealth of a nation; for example, in a relatively sparsely populated nation where a small percentage of residents receives most of the economic benefits of production while the majority receives very little benefit, per capita GNP may nevertheless be high. The welfare of a nation's residents is a matter not merely of total economic benefit, but also of the distribution of economic benefits across the entire society. Measuring a nation's economic health only by total wealth frequently obscures a lack of distribution of wealth across the society as a whole. In light of the potential for such imbalances in distribution of economic benefits, some nations have begun to realize that their domestic economic efforts are better directed away from attempting to raise per capita GNP and instead toward ensuring that the conditions measured by human indicators are salutary. They recognize that unless a shift in focus away from using material wealth as the sole indicator of economic success is effected, the well-being of the nation may be endangered, and that nations that do well according to human indicators may thrive even if their per capita GNP remains stable or lags behind that of other nations.

200012_2-RC_1_4

Which one of the following scenarios, if true, would most clearly be a counterexample to the views expressed in the last paragraph of the passage?

Many political economists believe that the soundest indicator of the economic health of a nation is the nation's gross national product (GNP) per capita—a figure reached by dividing the total value of the goods produced yearly in a nation by its population and taken to be a measure of the welfare of the nation's residents. But there are many factors affecting residents' welfare that are not captured by per capita GNP; human indicators, while sometimes more difficult to calculate or document, provide sounder measures of a nation's progress than does the indicator championed by these economists. These human indicators include nutrition and life expectancy; birth weight and level of infant mortality; ratio of population level to availability of resources; employment opportunities; and the ability of governments to provide services such as education, clean water, medicine, public transportation, and mass communication for their residents. The economists defend their use of per capita GNP as the sole measure of a nation's economic health by claiming that improvements in per capita GNP eventually stimulate improvements in human indicators. But, in actuality, this often fails to occur. Even in nations where economic stimulation has brought about substantial improvements in per capita GNP, economic health as measured by human indicators does not always reach a level commensurate with the per capita GNP. Nations that have achieved a relatively high per capita GNP, for example, sometimes experience levels of infant survival, literacy, nutrition, and life expectancy no greater than levels in nations where per capita GNP is relatively low. In addition, because per capita GNP is an averaged figure, it often presents a distorted picture of the wealth of a nation; for example, in a relatively sparsely populated nation where a small percentage of residents receives most of the economic benefits of production while the majority receives very little benefit, per capita GNP may nevertheless be high. The welfare of a nation's residents is a matter not merely of total economic benefit, but also of the distribution of economic benefits across the entire society. Measuring a nation's economic health only by total wealth frequently obscures a lack of distribution of wealth across the society as a whole. In light of the potential for such imbalances in distribution of economic benefits, some nations have begun to realize that their domestic economic efforts are better directed away from attempting to raise per capita GNP and instead toward ensuring that the conditions measured by human indicators are salutary. They recognize that unless a shift in focus away from using material wealth as the sole indicator of economic success is effected, the well-being of the nation may be endangered, and that nations that do well according to human indicators may thrive even if their per capita GNP remains stable or lags behind that of other nations.

200012_2-RC_1_5

The primary function of the last paragraph of the passage is to

Many political economists believe that the soundest indicator of the economic health of a nation is the nation's gross national product (GNP) per capita—a figure reached by dividing the total value of the goods produced yearly in a nation by its population and taken to be a measure of the welfare of the nation's residents. But there are many factors affecting residents' welfare that are not captured by per capita GNP; human indicators, while sometimes more difficult to calculate or document, provide sounder measures of a nation's progress than does the indicator championed by these economists. These human indicators include nutrition and life expectancy; birth weight and level of infant mortality; ratio of population level to availability of resources; employment opportunities; and the ability of governments to provide services such as education, clean water, medicine, public transportation, and mass communication for their residents. The economists defend their use of per capita GNP as the sole measure of a nation's economic health by claiming that improvements in per capita GNP eventually stimulate improvements in human indicators. But, in actuality, this often fails to occur. Even in nations where economic stimulation has brought about substantial improvements in per capita GNP, economic health as measured by human indicators does not always reach a level commensurate with the per capita GNP. Nations that have achieved a relatively high per capita GNP, for example, sometimes experience levels of infant survival, literacy, nutrition, and life expectancy no greater than levels in nations where per capita GNP is relatively low. In addition, because per capita GNP is an averaged figure, it often presents a distorted picture of the wealth of a nation; for example, in a relatively sparsely populated nation where a small percentage of residents receives most of the economic benefits of production while the majority receives very little benefit, per capita GNP may nevertheless be high. The welfare of a nation's residents is a matter not merely of total economic benefit, but also of the distribution of economic benefits across the entire society. Measuring a nation's economic health only by total wealth frequently obscures a lack of distribution of wealth across the society as a whole. In light of the potential for such imbalances in distribution of economic benefits, some nations have begun to realize that their domestic economic efforts are better directed away from attempting to raise per capita GNP and instead toward ensuring that the conditions measured by human indicators are salutary. They recognize that unless a shift in focus away from using material wealth as the sole indicator of economic success is effected, the well-being of the nation may be endangered, and that nations that do well according to human indicators may thrive even if their per capita GNP remains stable or lags behind that of other nations.

200012_2-RC_1_6

Based on the passage, the political economists discussed in the passage would be most likely to agree with which one of the following statements?

Many political economists believe that the soundest indicator of the economic health of a nation is the nation's gross national product (GNP) per capita—a figure reached by dividing the total value of the goods produced yearly in a nation by its population and taken to be a measure of the welfare of the nation's residents. But there are many factors affecting residents' welfare that are not captured by per capita GNP; human indicators, while sometimes more difficult to calculate or document, provide sounder measures of a nation's progress than does the indicator championed by these economists. These human indicators include nutrition and life expectancy; birth weight and level of infant mortality; ratio of population level to availability of resources; employment opportunities; and the ability of governments to provide services such as education, clean water, medicine, public transportation, and mass communication for their residents. The economists defend their use of per capita GNP as the sole measure of a nation's economic health by claiming that improvements in per capita GNP eventually stimulate improvements in human indicators. But, in actuality, this often fails to occur. Even in nations where economic stimulation has brought about substantial improvements in per capita GNP, economic health as measured by human indicators does not always reach a level commensurate with the per capita GNP. Nations that have achieved a relatively high per capita GNP, for example, sometimes experience levels of infant survival, literacy, nutrition, and life expectancy no greater than levels in nations where per capita GNP is relatively low. In addition, because per capita GNP is an averaged figure, it often presents a distorted picture of the wealth of a nation; for example, in a relatively sparsely populated nation where a small percentage of residents receives most of the economic benefits of production while the majority receives very little benefit, per capita GNP may nevertheless be high. The welfare of a nation's residents is a matter not merely of total economic benefit, but also of the distribution of economic benefits across the entire society. Measuring a nation's economic health only by total wealth frequently obscures a lack of distribution of wealth across the society as a whole. In light of the potential for such imbalances in distribution of economic benefits, some nations have begun to realize that their domestic economic efforts are better directed away from attempting to raise per capita GNP and instead toward ensuring that the conditions measured by human indicators are salutary. They recognize that unless a shift in focus away from using material wealth as the sole indicator of economic success is effected, the well-being of the nation may be endangered, and that nations that do well according to human indicators may thrive even if their per capita GNP remains stable or lags behind that of other nations.

200012_2-RC_1_7

In the passage, the author's primary concern is to

The autobiographical narrative Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself (1861), by Harriet A. Jacobs, a slave of African descent, not only recounts an individual life but also provides, implicitly and explicitly, a perspective on the larger United States culture from the viewpoint of one denied access to it. Jacobs, as a woman and a slave, faced the stigmas to which those statuses were subject. Jacobs crafted her narrative, in accordance with the mainstream literary genre of the sentimental domestic novel, as an embodiment of cherished cultural values such as the desirability of marriage and the sanctity of personal identity, home, and family. She did so because she was writing to the free women of her day—the principal readers of domestic novels—in the hopes that they would sympathize with and come to understand her unique predicament as a female slave. By applying these conventions of the genre to her situation, Jacobs demonstrates to her readers that family and domesticity are no less prized by those forced into slavery, thus leading her free readers to perceive those values within a broader social context. Some critics have argued that, by conforming to convention, Jacobs shortchanged her own experiences; one critic, for example, claims that in Jacobs's work the purposes of the domestic novel overshadow those of the typical slave narrative. But the relationship between the two genres is more complex: Jacobs's attempt to frame her story as a domestic novel creates a tension between the usual portrayal of women in this genre and her actual experience, often calling into question the applicability of the hierarchy of values espoused by the domestic novel to those who are in her situation. Unlike the traditional romantic episodes in domestic novels in which a man and woman meet, fall in love, encounter various obstacles but eventually marry, Jacobs's protagonist must send her lover, a slave, away in order to protect him from the wrath of her jealous master. In addition, by the end of the narrative, Jacobs's protagonist achieves her freedom by escaping to the north, but she does not achieve the domestic novel's ideal of a stable home complete with family, as the price she has had to pay for her freedom is separation from most of her family, including one of her own children. Jacobs points out that slave women view certain events and actions from a perspective different from that of free women, and that they must make difficult choices that free women need not. Her narrative thus becomes an antidomestic novel, for Jacobs accepts readily the goals of the genre, but demonstrates that its hierarchy of values does not apply when examined from the perspective of a female slave, suggesting thereby that her experience, and that of any female slave, cannot be fully understood without shedding conventional perspectives.

200012_2-RC_2_8

The author of the passage displays which one of the following attitudes toward the position of the critics mentioned in line 23?

The autobiographical narrative Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself (1861), by Harriet A. Jacobs, a slave of African descent, not only recounts an individual life but also provides, implicitly and explicitly, a perspective on the larger United States culture from the viewpoint of one denied access to it. Jacobs, as a woman and a slave, faced the stigmas to which those statuses were subject. Jacobs crafted her narrative, in accordance with the mainstream literary genre of the sentimental domestic novel, as an embodiment of cherished cultural values such as the desirability of marriage and the sanctity of personal identity, home, and family. She did so because she was writing to the free women of her day—the principal readers of domestic novels—in the hopes that they would sympathize with and come to understand her unique predicament as a female slave. By applying these conventions of the genre to her situation, Jacobs demonstrates to her readers that family and domesticity are no less prized by those forced into slavery, thus leading her free readers to perceive those values within a broader social context. Some critics have argued that, by conforming to convention, Jacobs shortchanged her own experiences; one critic, for example, claims that in Jacobs's work the purposes of the domestic novel overshadow those of the typical slave narrative. But the relationship between the two genres is more complex: Jacobs's attempt to frame her story as a domestic novel creates a tension between the usual portrayal of women in this genre and her actual experience, often calling into question the applicability of the hierarchy of values espoused by the domestic novel to those who are in her situation. Unlike the traditional romantic episodes in domestic novels in which a man and woman meet, fall in love, encounter various obstacles but eventually marry, Jacobs's protagonist must send her lover, a slave, away in order to protect him from the wrath of her jealous master. In addition, by the end of the narrative, Jacobs's protagonist achieves her freedom by escaping to the north, but she does not achieve the domestic novel's ideal of a stable home complete with family, as the price she has had to pay for her freedom is separation from most of her family, including one of her own children. Jacobs points out that slave women view certain events and actions from a perspective different from that of free women, and that they must make difficult choices that free women need not. Her narrative thus becomes an antidomestic novel, for Jacobs accepts readily the goals of the genre, but demonstrates that its hierarchy of values does not apply when examined from the perspective of a female slave, suggesting thereby that her experience, and that of any female slave, cannot be fully understood without shedding conventional perspectives.

200012_2-RC_2_9

According to the passage, Jacobs's narrative departs from the conventions of a typical domestic novel in which one of the following ways?

The autobiographical narrative Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself (1861), by Harriet A. Jacobs, a slave of African descent, not only recounts an individual life but also provides, implicitly and explicitly, a perspective on the larger United States culture from the viewpoint of one denied access to it. Jacobs, as a woman and a slave, faced the stigmas to which those statuses were subject. Jacobs crafted her narrative, in accordance with the mainstream literary genre of the sentimental domestic novel, as an embodiment of cherished cultural values such as the desirability of marriage and the sanctity of personal identity, home, and family. She did so because she was writing to the free women of her day—the principal readers of domestic novels—in the hopes that they would sympathize with and come to understand her unique predicament as a female slave. By applying these conventions of the genre to her situation, Jacobs demonstrates to her readers that family and domesticity are no less prized by those forced into slavery, thus leading her free readers to perceive those values within a broader social context. Some critics have argued that, by conforming to convention, Jacobs shortchanged her own experiences; one critic, for example, claims that in Jacobs's work the purposes of the domestic novel overshadow those of the typical slave narrative. But the relationship between the two genres is more complex: Jacobs's attempt to frame her story as a domestic novel creates a tension between the usual portrayal of women in this genre and her actual experience, often calling into question the applicability of the hierarchy of values espoused by the domestic novel to those who are in her situation. Unlike the traditional romantic episodes in domestic novels in which a man and woman meet, fall in love, encounter various obstacles but eventually marry, Jacobs's protagonist must send her lover, a slave, away in order to protect him from the wrath of her jealous master. In addition, by the end of the narrative, Jacobs's protagonist achieves her freedom by escaping to the north, but she does not achieve the domestic novel's ideal of a stable home complete with family, as the price she has had to pay for her freedom is separation from most of her family, including one of her own children. Jacobs points out that slave women view certain events and actions from a perspective different from that of free women, and that they must make difficult choices that free women need not. Her narrative thus becomes an antidomestic novel, for Jacobs accepts readily the goals of the genre, but demonstrates that its hierarchy of values does not apply when examined from the perspective of a female slave, suggesting thereby that her experience, and that of any female slave, cannot be fully understood without shedding conventional perspectives.

200012_2-RC_2_10

It can most reasonably be inferred from the passage that the critics mentioned in line 23 hold which one of the following views?

The autobiographical narrative Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself (1861), by Harriet A. Jacobs, a slave of African descent, not only recounts an individual life but also provides, implicitly and explicitly, a perspective on the larger United States culture from the viewpoint of one denied access to it. Jacobs, as a woman and a slave, faced the stigmas to which those statuses were subject. Jacobs crafted her narrative, in accordance with the mainstream literary genre of the sentimental domestic novel, as an embodiment of cherished cultural values such as the desirability of marriage and the sanctity of personal identity, home, and family. She did so because she was writing to the free women of her day—the principal readers of domestic novels—in the hopes that they would sympathize with and come to understand her unique predicament as a female slave. By applying these conventions of the genre to her situation, Jacobs demonstrates to her readers that family and domesticity are no less prized by those forced into slavery, thus leading her free readers to perceive those values within a broader social context. Some critics have argued that, by conforming to convention, Jacobs shortchanged her own experiences; one critic, for example, claims that in Jacobs's work the purposes of the domestic novel overshadow those of the typical slave narrative. But the relationship between the two genres is more complex: Jacobs's attempt to frame her story as a domestic novel creates a tension between the usual portrayal of women in this genre and her actual experience, often calling into question the applicability of the hierarchy of values espoused by the domestic novel to those who are in her situation. Unlike the traditional romantic episodes in domestic novels in which a man and woman meet, fall in love, encounter various obstacles but eventually marry, Jacobs's protagonist must send her lover, a slave, away in order to protect him from the wrath of her jealous master. In addition, by the end of the narrative, Jacobs's protagonist achieves her freedom by escaping to the north, but she does not achieve the domestic novel's ideal of a stable home complete with family, as the price she has had to pay for her freedom is separation from most of her family, including one of her own children. Jacobs points out that slave women view certain events and actions from a perspective different from that of free women, and that they must make difficult choices that free women need not. Her narrative thus becomes an antidomestic novel, for Jacobs accepts readily the goals of the genre, but demonstrates that its hierarchy of values does not apply when examined from the perspective of a female slave, suggesting thereby that her experience, and that of any female slave, cannot be fully understood without shedding conventional perspectives.

200012_2-RC_2_11

Which one of the following, if true, would most support the position of the critics mentioned line 23?

The autobiographical narrative Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself (1861), by Harriet A. Jacobs, a slave of African descent, not only recounts an individual life but also provides, implicitly and explicitly, a perspective on the larger United States culture from the viewpoint of one denied access to it. Jacobs, as a woman and a slave, faced the stigmas to which those statuses were subject. Jacobs crafted her narrative, in accordance with the mainstream literary genre of the sentimental domestic novel, as an embodiment of cherished cultural values such as the desirability of marriage and the sanctity of personal identity, home, and family. She did so because she was writing to the free women of her day—the principal readers of domestic novels—in the hopes that they would sympathize with and come to understand her unique predicament as a female slave. By applying these conventions of the genre to her situation, Jacobs demonstrates to her readers that family and domesticity are no less prized by those forced into slavery, thus leading her free readers to perceive those values within a broader social context. Some critics have argued that, by conforming to convention, Jacobs shortchanged her own experiences; one critic, for example, claims that in Jacobs's work the purposes of the domestic novel overshadow those of the typical slave narrative. But the relationship between the two genres is more complex: Jacobs's attempt to frame her story as a domestic novel creates a tension between the usual portrayal of women in this genre and her actual experience, often calling into question the applicability of the hierarchy of values espoused by the domestic novel to those who are in her situation. Unlike the traditional romantic episodes in domestic novels in which a man and woman meet, fall in love, encounter various obstacles but eventually marry, Jacobs's protagonist must send her lover, a slave, away in order to protect him from the wrath of her jealous master. In addition, by the end of the narrative, Jacobs's protagonist achieves her freedom by escaping to the north, but she does not achieve the domestic novel's ideal of a stable home complete with family, as the price she has had to pay for her freedom is separation from most of her family, including one of her own children. Jacobs points out that slave women view certain events and actions from a perspective different from that of free women, and that they must make difficult choices that free women need not. Her narrative thus becomes an antidomestic novel, for Jacobs accepts readily the goals of the genre, but demonstrates that its hierarchy of values does not apply when examined from the perspective of a female slave, suggesting thereby that her experience, and that of any female slave, cannot be fully understood without shedding conventional perspectives.

200012_2-RC_2_12

The author describes Jacobs's narrative as an "antidomesic novel" (line 49) for which one of the following reasons?

The autobiographical narrative Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself (1861), by Harriet A. Jacobs, a slave of African descent, not only recounts an individual life but also provides, implicitly and explicitly, a perspective on the larger United States culture from the viewpoint of one denied access to it. Jacobs, as a woman and a slave, faced the stigmas to which those statuses were subject. Jacobs crafted her narrative, in accordance with the mainstream literary genre of the sentimental domestic novel, as an embodiment of cherished cultural values such as the desirability of marriage and the sanctity of personal identity, home, and family. She did so because she was writing to the free women of her day—the principal readers of domestic novels—in the hopes that they would sympathize with and come to understand her unique predicament as a female slave. By applying these conventions of the genre to her situation, Jacobs demonstrates to her readers that family and domesticity are no less prized by those forced into slavery, thus leading her free readers to perceive those values within a broader social context. Some critics have argued that, by conforming to convention, Jacobs shortchanged her own experiences; one critic, for example, claims that in Jacobs's work the purposes of the domestic novel overshadow those of the typical slave narrative. But the relationship between the two genres is more complex: Jacobs's attempt to frame her story as a domestic novel creates a tension between the usual portrayal of women in this genre and her actual experience, often calling into question the applicability of the hierarchy of values espoused by the domestic novel to those who are in her situation. Unlike the traditional romantic episodes in domestic novels in which a man and woman meet, fall in love, encounter various obstacles but eventually marry, Jacobs's protagonist must send her lover, a slave, away in order to protect him from the wrath of her jealous master. In addition, by the end of the narrative, Jacobs's protagonist achieves her freedom by escaping to the north, but she does not achieve the domestic novel's ideal of a stable home complete with family, as the price she has had to pay for her freedom is separation from most of her family, including one of her own children. Jacobs points out that slave women view certain events and actions from a perspective different from that of free women, and that they must make difficult choices that free women need not. Her narrative thus becomes an antidomestic novel, for Jacobs accepts readily the goals of the genre, but demonstrates that its hierarchy of values does not apply when examined from the perspective of a female slave, suggesting thereby that her experience, and that of any female slave, cannot be fully understood without shedding conventional perspectives.

200012_2-RC_2_13

With which one of the following statements would the author of the passage be most likely to agree?

The autobiographical narrative Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself (1861), by Harriet A. Jacobs, a slave of African descent, not only recounts an individual life but also provides, implicitly and explicitly, a perspective on the larger United States culture from the viewpoint of one denied access to it. Jacobs, as a woman and a slave, faced the stigmas to which those statuses were subject. Jacobs crafted her narrative, in accordance with the mainstream literary genre of the sentimental domestic novel, as an embodiment of cherished cultural values such as the desirability of marriage and the sanctity of personal identity, home, and family. She did so because she was writing to the free women of her day—the principal readers of domestic novels—in the hopes that they would sympathize with and come to understand her unique predicament as a female slave. By applying these conventions of the genre to her situation, Jacobs demonstrates to her readers that family and domesticity are no less prized by those forced into slavery, thus leading her free readers to perceive those values within a broader social context. Some critics have argued that, by conforming to convention, Jacobs shortchanged her own experiences; one critic, for example, claims that in Jacobs's work the purposes of the domestic novel overshadow those of the typical slave narrative. But the relationship between the two genres is more complex: Jacobs's attempt to frame her story as a domestic novel creates a tension between the usual portrayal of women in this genre and her actual experience, often calling into question the applicability of the hierarchy of values espoused by the domestic novel to those who are in her situation. Unlike the traditional romantic episodes in domestic novels in which a man and woman meet, fall in love, encounter various obstacles but eventually marry, Jacobs's protagonist must send her lover, a slave, away in order to protect him from the wrath of her jealous master. In addition, by the end of the narrative, Jacobs's protagonist achieves her freedom by escaping to the north, but she does not achieve the domestic novel's ideal of a stable home complete with family, as the price she has had to pay for her freedom is separation from most of her family, including one of her own children. Jacobs points out that slave women view certain events and actions from a perspective different from that of free women, and that they must make difficult choices that free women need not. Her narrative thus becomes an antidomestic novel, for Jacobs accepts readily the goals of the genre, but demonstrates that its hierarchy of values does not apply when examined from the perspective of a female slave, suggesting thereby that her experience, and that of any female slave, cannot be fully understood without shedding conventional perspectives.

200012_2-RC_2_14

Which one of the following principles most likely governs the author's evaluation of Jacobs's narrative?

Experts anticipate that global atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide (CO ) will have doubled by the end of the twenty-first century. It is known that CO can contribute to global warming by trapping solar energy that is being reradiated as heat from the Earth's surface. However, some research has suggested that elevated CO levels could enhance the photosynthetic rates of plants, resulting in a lush world of agricultural abundance, and that this CO fertilization effect might eventually decrease the rate of global warming. The increased vegetation in such an environment could be counted on to draw more CO from the atmosphere. The level of CO would thus increase at a lower rate than many experts have predicted. However, while a number of recent studies confirm that plant growth would be generally enhanced in an atmosphere rich in CO , they also suggest that increased CO would differentially increase the growth rate of different species of plants, which couldeventually result in decreased agricultural yields.Certain important crops such as corn and sugarcanethat currently have higher photosynthetic efficiencies than other plants may lose that edge in an atmosphererich in CO.Patterson and Flint have shown that theseimportant crops may experience yield reductions because of the increased performance of certain weeds. Such differences in growth rates between plant species could also alter ecosystem stability. Studies have shown that within rangeland regions, for example, a weedy grass grows much better with plentiful CO than do three other grasses. Because this weedy grass predisposes land to burning, its potential increase may lead to greater numbers of and more severe wildfires in future rangeland communities. It is clear that the CO fertilization effect does not guarantee the lush world of agricultural abundance that once seemed likely, but what about the potential for the increased uptake of CO to decrease the rate of global warming? Some studies suggest that the changes accompanying global warming will not improve the ability of terrestrial ecosystems to absorb CO . Billings' simulation of global warming conditions in wet tundra grasslands showed that the level of CO actually increased. Plant growth did increase under these conditions because of warmer temperatures and increased CO levels. But as the permafrost melted, more peat (accumulated dead plant material) began to decompose. This process in turn liberated more CO to the atmosphere. Billings estimated that if summer temperatures rose four degrees Celsius, the tundra would liberate 50 percent more CO than it does currently. In a warmer world, increased plant growth, which could absorb CO from the atmosphere, would not compensate for this rapid increase in decomposition rates. This observation is particularly important because high-latitude habitats such as the tundra are expected to experience the greatest temperature increase.

200012_2-RC_3_15

Which one of the following best states the main point of the passage?

Experts anticipate that global atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide (CO ) will have doubled by the end of the twenty-first century. It is known that CO can contribute to global warming by trapping solar energy that is being reradiated as heat from the Earth's surface. However, some research has suggested that elevated CO levels could enhance the photosynthetic rates of plants, resulting in a lush world of agricultural abundance, and that this CO fertilization effect might eventually decrease the rate of global warming. The increased vegetation in such an environment could be counted on to draw more CO from the atmosphere. The level of CO would thus increase at a lower rate than many experts have predicted. However, while a number of recent studies confirm that plant growth would be generally enhanced in an atmosphere rich in CO , they also suggest that increased CO would differentially increase the growth rate of different species of plants, which couldeventually result in decreased agricultural yields.Certain important crops such as corn and sugarcanethat currently have higher photosynthetic efficiencies than other plants may lose that edge in an atmosphererich in CO.Patterson and Flint have shown that theseimportant crops may experience yield reductions because of the increased performance of certain weeds. Such differences in growth rates between plant species could also alter ecosystem stability. Studies have shown that within rangeland regions, for example, a weedy grass grows much better with plentiful CO than do three other grasses. Because this weedy grass predisposes land to burning, its potential increase may lead to greater numbers of and more severe wildfires in future rangeland communities. It is clear that the CO fertilization effect does not guarantee the lush world of agricultural abundance that once seemed likely, but what about the potential for the increased uptake of CO to decrease the rate of global warming? Some studies suggest that the changes accompanying global warming will not improve the ability of terrestrial ecosystems to absorb CO . Billings' simulation of global warming conditions in wet tundra grasslands showed that the level of CO actually increased. Plant growth did increase under these conditions because of warmer temperatures and increased CO levels. But as the permafrost melted, more peat (accumulated dead plant material) began to decompose. This process in turn liberated more CO to the atmosphere. Billings estimated that if summer temperatures rose four degrees Celsius, the tundra would liberate 50 percent more CO than it does currently. In a warmer world, increased plant growth, which could absorb CO from the atmosphere, would not compensate for this rapid increase in decomposition rates. This observation is particularly important because high-latitude habitats such as the tundra are expected to experience the greatest temperature increase.

200012_2-RC_3_16

The passage suggests that the hypothesis mentioned in the first paragraph is not entirely accurate because it fails to take into account which one of the following in predicting the effects of increased vegetation on the rate of global warming?

Experts anticipate that global atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide (CO ) will have doubled by the end of the twenty-first century. It is known that CO can contribute to global warming by trapping solar energy that is being reradiated as heat from the Earth's surface. However, some research has suggested that elevated CO levels could enhance the photosynthetic rates of plants, resulting in a lush world of agricultural abundance, and that this CO fertilization effect might eventually decrease the rate of global warming. The increased vegetation in such an environment could be counted on to draw more CO from the atmosphere. The level of CO would thus increase at a lower rate than many experts have predicted. However, while a number of recent studies confirm that plant growth would be generally enhanced in an atmosphere rich in CO , they also suggest that increased CO would differentially increase the growth rate of different species of plants, which couldeventually result in decreased agricultural yields.Certain important crops such as corn and sugarcanethat currently have higher photosynthetic efficiencies than other plants may lose that edge in an atmosphererich in CO.Patterson and Flint have shown that theseimportant crops may experience yield reductions because of the increased performance of certain weeds. Such differences in growth rates between plant species could also alter ecosystem stability. Studies have shown that within rangeland regions, for example, a weedy grass grows much better with plentiful CO than do three other grasses. Because this weedy grass predisposes land to burning, its potential increase may lead to greater numbers of and more severe wildfires in future rangeland communities. It is clear that the CO fertilization effect does not guarantee the lush world of agricultural abundance that once seemed likely, but what about the potential for the increased uptake of CO to decrease the rate of global warming? Some studies suggest that the changes accompanying global warming will not improve the ability of terrestrial ecosystems to absorb CO . Billings' simulation of global warming conditions in wet tundra grasslands showed that the level of CO actually increased. Plant growth did increase under these conditions because of warmer temperatures and increased CO levels. But as the permafrost melted, more peat (accumulated dead plant material) began to decompose. This process in turn liberated more CO to the atmosphere. Billings estimated that if summer temperatures rose four degrees Celsius, the tundra would liberate 50 percent more CO than it does currently. In a warmer world, increased plant growth, which could absorb CO from the atmosphere, would not compensate for this rapid increase in decomposition rates. This observation is particularly important because high-latitude habitats such as the tundra are expected to experience the greatest temperature increase.

200012_2-RC_3_17

Which one of the following best describes the function of the last paragraph of the passage?

Experts anticipate that global atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide (CO ) will have doubled by the end of the twenty-first century. It is known that CO can contribute to global warming by trapping solar energy that is being reradiated as heat from the Earth's surface. However, some research has suggested that elevated CO levels could enhance the photosynthetic rates of plants, resulting in a lush world of agricultural abundance, and that this CO fertilization effect might eventually decrease the rate of global warming. The increased vegetation in such an environment could be counted on to draw more CO from the atmosphere. The level of CO would thus increase at a lower rate than many experts have predicted. However, while a number of recent studies confirm that plant growth would be generally enhanced in an atmosphere rich in CO , they also suggest that increased CO would differentially increase the growth rate of different species of plants, which couldeventually result in decreased agricultural yields.Certain important crops such as corn and sugarcanethat currently have higher photosynthetic efficiencies than other plants may lose that edge in an atmosphererich in CO.Patterson and Flint have shown that theseimportant crops may experience yield reductions because of the increased performance of certain weeds. Such differences in growth rates between plant species could also alter ecosystem stability. Studies have shown that within rangeland regions, for example, a weedy grass grows much better with plentiful CO than do three other grasses. Because this weedy grass predisposes land to burning, its potential increase may lead to greater numbers of and more severe wildfires in future rangeland communities. It is clear that the CO fertilization effect does not guarantee the lush world of agricultural abundance that once seemed likely, but what about the potential for the increased uptake of CO to decrease the rate of global warming? Some studies suggest that the changes accompanying global warming will not improve the ability of terrestrial ecosystems to absorb CO . Billings' simulation of global warming conditions in wet tundra grasslands showed that the level of CO actually increased. Plant growth did increase under these conditions because of warmer temperatures and increased CO levels. But as the permafrost melted, more peat (accumulated dead plant material) began to decompose. This process in turn liberated more CO to the atmosphere. Billings estimated that if summer temperatures rose four degrees Celsius, the tundra would liberate 50 percent more CO than it does currently. In a warmer world, increased plant growth, which could absorb CO from the atmosphere, would not compensate for this rapid increase in decomposition rates. This observation is particularly important because high-latitude habitats such as the tundra are expected to experience the greatest temperature increase.

200012_2-RC_3_18

The passage suggests that Patterson and Flint would be most likely to agree with which one of the following statements about increased levels of CO in the Earth's atmosphere?

Experts anticipate that global atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide (CO ) will have doubled by the end of the twenty-first century. It is known that CO can contribute to global warming by trapping solar energy that is being reradiated as heat from the Earth's surface. However, some research has suggested that elevated CO levels could enhance the photosynthetic rates of plants, resulting in a lush world of agricultural abundance, and that this CO fertilization effect might eventually decrease the rate of global warming. The increased vegetation in such an environment could be counted on to draw more CO from the atmosphere. The level of CO would thus increase at a lower rate than many experts have predicted. However, while a number of recent studies confirm that plant growth would be generally enhanced in an atmosphere rich in CO , they also suggest that increased CO would differentially increase the growth rate of different species of plants, which couldeventually result in decreased agricultural yields.Certain important crops such as corn and sugarcanethat currently have higher photosynthetic efficiencies than other plants may lose that edge in an atmosphererich in CO.Patterson and Flint have shown that theseimportant crops may experience yield reductions because of the increased performance of certain weeds. Such differences in growth rates between plant species could also alter ecosystem stability. Studies have shown that within rangeland regions, for example, a weedy grass grows much better with plentiful CO than do three other grasses. Because this weedy grass predisposes land to burning, its potential increase may lead to greater numbers of and more severe wildfires in future rangeland communities. It is clear that the CO fertilization effect does not guarantee the lush world of agricultural abundance that once seemed likely, but what about the potential for the increased uptake of CO to decrease the rate of global warming? Some studies suggest that the changes accompanying global warming will not improve the ability of terrestrial ecosystems to absorb CO . Billings' simulation of global warming conditions in wet tundra grasslands showed that the level of CO actually increased. Plant growth did increase under these conditions because of warmer temperatures and increased CO levels. But as the permafrost melted, more peat (accumulated dead plant material) began to decompose. This process in turn liberated more CO to the atmosphere. Billings estimated that if summer temperatures rose four degrees Celsius, the tundra would liberate 50 percent more CO than it does currently. In a warmer world, increased plant growth, which could absorb CO from the atmosphere, would not compensate for this rapid increase in decomposition rates. This observation is particularly important because high-latitude habitats such as the tundra are expected to experience the greatest temperature increase.

200012_2-RC_3_19

The author would be most likely to agree with which one of the following statements about the conclusions drawn on the basis of the research on plant growth mentioned in the first paragraph of the passage?

Experts anticipate that global atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide (CO ) will have doubled by the end of the twenty-first century. It is known that CO can contribute to global warming by trapping solar energy that is being reradiated as heat from the Earth's surface. However, some research has suggested that elevated CO levels could enhance the photosynthetic rates of plants, resulting in a lush world of agricultural abundance, and that this CO fertilization effect might eventually decrease the rate of global warming. The increased vegetation in such an environment could be counted on to draw more CO from the atmosphere. The level of CO would thus increase at a lower rate than many experts have predicted. However, while a number of recent studies confirm that plant growth would be generally enhanced in an atmosphere rich in CO , they also suggest that increased CO would differentially increase the growth rate of different species of plants, which couldeventually result in decreased agricultural yields.Certain important crops such as corn and sugarcanethat currently have higher photosynthetic efficiencies than other plants may lose that edge in an atmosphererich in CO.Patterson and Flint have shown that theseimportant crops may experience yield reductions because of the increased performance of certain weeds. Such differences in growth rates between plant species could also alter ecosystem stability. Studies have shown that within rangeland regions, for example, a weedy grass grows much better with plentiful CO than do three other grasses. Because this weedy grass predisposes land to burning, its potential increase may lead to greater numbers of and more severe wildfires in future rangeland communities. It is clear that the CO fertilization effect does not guarantee the lush world of agricultural abundance that once seemed likely, but what about the potential for the increased uptake of CO to decrease the rate of global warming? Some studies suggest that the changes accompanying global warming will not improve the ability of terrestrial ecosystems to absorb CO . Billings' simulation of global warming conditions in wet tundra grasslands showed that the level of CO actually increased. Plant growth did increase under these conditions because of warmer temperatures and increased CO levels. But as the permafrost melted, more peat (accumulated dead plant material) began to decompose. This process in turn liberated more CO to the atmosphere. Billings estimated that if summer temperatures rose four degrees Celsius, the tundra would liberate 50 percent more CO than it does currently. In a warmer world, increased plant growth, which could absorb CO from the atmosphere, would not compensate for this rapid increase in decomposition rates. This observation is particularly important because high-latitude habitats such as the tundra are expected to experience the greatest temperature increase.

200012_2-RC_3_20

The passage supports which one of the following statements about peat in wet tundra grasslands?

Experts anticipate that global atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide (CO ) will have doubled by the end of the twenty-first century. It is known that CO can contribute to global warming by trapping solar energy that is being reradiated as heat from the Earth's surface. However, some research has suggested that elevated CO levels could enhance the photosynthetic rates of plants, resulting in a lush world of agricultural abundance, and that this CO fertilization effect might eventually decrease the rate of global warming. The increased vegetation in such an environment could be counted on to draw more CO from the atmosphere. The level of CO would thus increase at a lower rate than many experts have predicted. However, while a number of recent studies confirm that plant growth would be generally enhanced in an atmosphere rich in CO , they also suggest that increased CO would differentially increase the growth rate of different species of plants, which couldeventually result in decreased agricultural yields.Certain important crops such as corn and sugarcanethat currently have higher photosynthetic efficiencies than other plants may lose that edge in an atmosphererich in CO.Patterson and Flint have shown that theseimportant crops may experience yield reductions because of the increased performance of certain weeds. Such differences in growth rates between plant species could also alter ecosystem stability. Studies have shown that within rangeland regions, for example, a weedy grass grows much better with plentiful CO than do three other grasses. Because this weedy grass predisposes land to burning, its potential increase may lead to greater numbers of and more severe wildfires in future rangeland communities. It is clear that the CO fertilization effect does not guarantee the lush world of agricultural abundance that once seemed likely, but what about the potential for the increased uptake of CO to decrease the rate of global warming? Some studies suggest that the changes accompanying global warming will not improve the ability of terrestrial ecosystems to absorb CO . Billings' simulation of global warming conditions in wet tundra grasslands showed that the level of CO actually increased. Plant growth did increase under these conditions because of warmer temperatures and increased CO levels. But as the permafrost melted, more peat (accumulated dead plant material) began to decompose. This process in turn liberated more CO to the atmosphere. Billings estimated that if summer temperatures rose four degrees Celsius, the tundra would liberate 50 percent more CO than it does currently. In a warmer world, increased plant growth, which could absorb CO from the atmosphere, would not compensate for this rapid increase in decomposition rates. This observation is particularly important because high-latitude habitats such as the tundra are expected to experience the greatest temperature increase.

200012_2-RC_3_21

Which one of the following, if true, is LEAST consistent with the hypothesis mentioned in lines 22–25 of the passage?

Experts anticipate that global atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide (CO ) will have doubled by the end of the twenty-first century. It is known that CO can contribute to global warming by trapping solar energy that is being reradiated as heat from the Earth's surface. However, some research has suggested that elevated CO levels could enhance the photosynthetic rates of plants, resulting in a lush world of agricultural abundance, and that this CO fertilization effect might eventually decrease the rate of global warming. The increased vegetation in such an environment could be counted on to draw more CO from the atmosphere. The level of CO would thus increase at a lower rate than many experts have predicted. However, while a number of recent studies confirm that plant growth would be generally enhanced in an atmosphere rich in CO , they also suggest that increased CO would differentially increase the growth rate of different species of plants, which couldeventually result in decreased agricultural yields.Certain important crops such as corn and sugarcanethat currently have higher photosynthetic efficiencies than other plants may lose that edge in an atmosphererich in CO.Patterson and Flint have shown that theseimportant crops may experience yield reductions because of the increased performance of certain weeds. Such differences in growth rates between plant species could also alter ecosystem stability. Studies have shown that within rangeland regions, for example, a weedy grass grows much better with plentiful CO than do three other grasses. Because this weedy grass predisposes land to burning, its potential increase may lead to greater numbers of and more severe wildfires in future rangeland communities. It is clear that the CO fertilization effect does not guarantee the lush world of agricultural abundance that once seemed likely, but what about the potential for the increased uptake of CO to decrease the rate of global warming? Some studies suggest that the changes accompanying global warming will not improve the ability of terrestrial ecosystems to absorb CO . Billings' simulation of global warming conditions in wet tundra grasslands showed that the level of CO actually increased. Plant growth did increase under these conditions because of warmer temperatures and increased CO levels. But as the permafrost melted, more peat (accumulated dead plant material) began to decompose. This process in turn liberated more CO to the atmosphere. Billings estimated that if summer temperatures rose four degrees Celsius, the tundra would liberate 50 percent more CO than it does currently. In a warmer world, increased plant growth, which could absorb CO from the atmosphere, would not compensate for this rapid increase in decomposition rates. This observation is particularly important because high-latitude habitats such as the tundra are expected to experience the greatest temperature increase.

200012_2-RC_3_22

According to the passage, Billings' research addresses which one of the following questions?

By the time Bentham turned his interest to the subject, late in the eighteenth century, most components of modern evidence law had been assembled. Among common-law doctrines regarding evidence there were, however, principles that today are regarded as bizarre; thus, a well-established (but now abandoned) rule forbade the parties to a case from testifying. Well into the nineteenth century, even defendants in criminal cases were denied the right to testify to facts that would prove their innocence. Although extreme in its irrationality, this proscription was in other respects quite typical of the law of evidence. Much of that law consisted of rules excluding relevant evidence, usually on some rational grounds. Hearsay evidence was generally excluded because absent persons could not be cross-examined. Yet such evidence was mechanically excluded even where out-of-court statements were both relevant and reliable, but the absent persons could not appear in court (for example, because they were dead). The morass of evidentiary technicalities often made it unlikely that the truth would emerge in a judicial contest, no matter how expensive and protracted. Reform was frustrated both by the vested interests of lawyers and by the profession's reverence for tradition and precedent. Bentham's prescription was revolutionary: virtually all evidence tending to prove or disprove the issue in dispute should be admissible. Narrow exceptions were envisioned: instances in which the trouble or expense of presenting or considering proof outweighed its value, confessions to a Catholic priest, and a few other instances. One difficulty with Bentham's nonexclusion principle is that some kinds of evidence are inherently unreliable or misleading. Such was the argument underlying the exclusions of interested-party testimony and hearsay evidence. Bentham argued that the character of evidence should be weighed by the jury: the alternative was to prefer ignorance to knowledge. Yet some evidence, although relevant, is actually more likely to produce a false jury verdict than a true one. To use a modern example, evidence of a defendant's past bank robberies is excluded, since the prejudicial character of the evidence substantially outweighs its value in helping the jury decide correctly. Further, in granting exclusions such as sacramental confessions, Bentham conceded that competing social interests or values might override the desire for relevant evidence. But then, why not protect conversations between social workers and their clients, or parents and children? Despite concerns such as these, the approach underlying modern evidence law began to prevail soon after Bentham's death: relevant evidence should be admitted unless there are clear grounds of policy for excluding it. This clear-grounds proviso allows more exclusions than Bentham would have liked, but the main thrust of the current outlook is Bentham's own nonexclusion principle, demoted from a rule to a presumption.

200012_2-RC_4_23

Which one of the following is the main idea of the passage?

By the time Bentham turned his interest to the subject, late in the eighteenth century, most components of modern evidence law had been assembled. Among common-law doctrines regarding evidence there were, however, principles that today are regarded as bizarre; thus, a well-established (but now abandoned) rule forbade the parties to a case from testifying. Well into the nineteenth century, even defendants in criminal cases were denied the right to testify to facts that would prove their innocence. Although extreme in its irrationality, this proscription was in other respects quite typical of the law of evidence. Much of that law consisted of rules excluding relevant evidence, usually on some rational grounds. Hearsay evidence was generally excluded because absent persons could not be cross-examined. Yet such evidence was mechanically excluded even where out-of-court statements were both relevant and reliable, but the absent persons could not appear in court (for example, because they were dead). The morass of evidentiary technicalities often made it unlikely that the truth would emerge in a judicial contest, no matter how expensive and protracted. Reform was frustrated both by the vested interests of lawyers and by the profession's reverence for tradition and precedent. Bentham's prescription was revolutionary: virtually all evidence tending to prove or disprove the issue in dispute should be admissible. Narrow exceptions were envisioned: instances in which the trouble or expense of presenting or considering proof outweighed its value, confessions to a Catholic priest, and a few other instances. One difficulty with Bentham's nonexclusion principle is that some kinds of evidence are inherently unreliable or misleading. Such was the argument underlying the exclusions of interested-party testimony and hearsay evidence. Bentham argued that the character of evidence should be weighed by the jury: the alternative was to prefer ignorance to knowledge. Yet some evidence, although relevant, is actually more likely to produce a false jury verdict than a true one. To use a modern example, evidence of a defendant's past bank robberies is excluded, since the prejudicial character of the evidence substantially outweighs its value in helping the jury decide correctly. Further, in granting exclusions such as sacramental confessions, Bentham conceded that competing social interests or values might override the desire for relevant evidence. But then, why not protect conversations between social workers and their clients, or parents and children? Despite concerns such as these, the approach underlying modern evidence law began to prevail soon after Bentham's death: relevant evidence should be admitted unless there are clear grounds of policy for excluding it. This clear-grounds proviso allows more exclusions than Bentham would have liked, but the main thrust of the current outlook is Bentham's own nonexclusion principle, demoted from a rule to a presumption.

200012_2-RC_4_24

The author's attitude toward eighteenth-century lawyers can best be described as

By the time Bentham turned his interest to the subject, late in the eighteenth century, most components of modern evidence law had been assembled. Among common-law doctrines regarding evidence there were, however, principles that today are regarded as bizarre; thus, a well-established (but now abandoned) rule forbade the parties to a case from testifying. Well into the nineteenth century, even defendants in criminal cases were denied the right to testify to facts that would prove their innocence. Although extreme in its irrationality, this proscription was in other respects quite typical of the law of evidence. Much of that law consisted of rules excluding relevant evidence, usually on some rational grounds. Hearsay evidence was generally excluded because absent persons could not be cross-examined. Yet such evidence was mechanically excluded even where out-of-court statements were both relevant and reliable, but the absent persons could not appear in court (for example, because they were dead). The morass of evidentiary technicalities often made it unlikely that the truth would emerge in a judicial contest, no matter how expensive and protracted. Reform was frustrated both by the vested interests of lawyers and by the profession's reverence for tradition and precedent. Bentham's prescription was revolutionary: virtually all evidence tending to prove or disprove the issue in dispute should be admissible. Narrow exceptions were envisioned: instances in which the trouble or expense of presenting or considering proof outweighed its value, confessions to a Catholic priest, and a few other instances. One difficulty with Bentham's nonexclusion principle is that some kinds of evidence are inherently unreliable or misleading. Such was the argument underlying the exclusions of interested-party testimony and hearsay evidence. Bentham argued that the character of evidence should be weighed by the jury: the alternative was to prefer ignorance to knowledge. Yet some evidence, although relevant, is actually more likely to produce a false jury verdict than a true one. To use a modern example, evidence of a defendant's past bank robberies is excluded, since the prejudicial character of the evidence substantially outweighs its value in helping the jury decide correctly. Further, in granting exclusions such as sacramental confessions, Bentham conceded that competing social interests or values might override the desire for relevant evidence. But then, why not protect conversations between social workers and their clients, or parents and children? Despite concerns such as these, the approach underlying modern evidence law began to prevail soon after Bentham's death: relevant evidence should be admitted unless there are clear grounds of policy for excluding it. This clear-grounds proviso allows more exclusions than Bentham would have liked, but the main thrust of the current outlook is Bentham's own nonexclusion principle, demoted from a rule to a presumption.

200012_2-RC_4_25

The author mentions "conversations between social workers and their clients" (lines 49–50) most probably in order to

By the time Bentham turned his interest to the subject, late in the eighteenth century, most components of modern evidence law had been assembled. Among common-law doctrines regarding evidence there were, however, principles that today are regarded as bizarre; thus, a well-established (but now abandoned) rule forbade the parties to a case from testifying. Well into the nineteenth century, even defendants in criminal cases were denied the right to testify to facts that would prove their innocence. Although extreme in its irrationality, this proscription was in other respects quite typical of the law of evidence. Much of that law consisted of rules excluding relevant evidence, usually on some rational grounds. Hearsay evidence was generally excluded because absent persons could not be cross-examined. Yet such evidence was mechanically excluded even where out-of-court statements were both relevant and reliable, but the absent persons could not appear in court (for example, because they were dead). The morass of evidentiary technicalities often made it unlikely that the truth would emerge in a judicial contest, no matter how expensive and protracted. Reform was frustrated both by the vested interests of lawyers and by the profession's reverence for tradition and precedent. Bentham's prescription was revolutionary: virtually all evidence tending to prove or disprove the issue in dispute should be admissible. Narrow exceptions were envisioned: instances in which the trouble or expense of presenting or considering proof outweighed its value, confessions to a Catholic priest, and a few other instances. One difficulty with Bentham's nonexclusion principle is that some kinds of evidence are inherently unreliable or misleading. Such was the argument underlying the exclusions of interested-party testimony and hearsay evidence. Bentham argued that the character of evidence should be weighed by the jury: the alternative was to prefer ignorance to knowledge. Yet some evidence, although relevant, is actually more likely to produce a false jury verdict than a true one. To use a modern example, evidence of a defendant's past bank robberies is excluded, since the prejudicial character of the evidence substantially outweighs its value in helping the jury decide correctly. Further, in granting exclusions such as sacramental confessions, Bentham conceded that competing social interests or values might override the desire for relevant evidence. But then, why not protect conversations between social workers and their clients, or parents and children? Despite concerns such as these, the approach underlying modern evidence law began to prevail soon after Bentham's death: relevant evidence should be admitted unless there are clear grounds of policy for excluding it. This clear-grounds proviso allows more exclusions than Bentham would have liked, but the main thrust of the current outlook is Bentham's own nonexclusion principle, demoted from a rule to a presumption.

200012_2-RC_4_26

Which one of the following statements concerning the history of the law of evidence is supported by information in the passage?

By the time Bentham turned his interest to the subject, late in the eighteenth century, most components of modern evidence law had been assembled. Among common-law doctrines regarding evidence there were, however, principles that today are regarded as bizarre; thus, a well-established (but now abandoned) rule forbade the parties to a case from testifying. Well into the nineteenth century, even defendants in criminal cases were denied the right to testify to facts that would prove their innocence. Although extreme in its irrationality, this proscription was in other respects quite typical of the law of evidence. Much of that law consisted of rules excluding relevant evidence, usually on some rational grounds. Hearsay evidence was generally excluded because absent persons could not be cross-examined. Yet such evidence was mechanically excluded even where out-of-court statements were both relevant and reliable, but the absent persons could not appear in court (for example, because they were dead). The morass of evidentiary technicalities often made it unlikely that the truth would emerge in a judicial contest, no matter how expensive and protracted. Reform was frustrated both by the vested interests of lawyers and by the profession's reverence for tradition and precedent. Bentham's prescription was revolutionary: virtually all evidence tending to prove or disprove the issue in dispute should be admissible. Narrow exceptions were envisioned: instances in which the trouble or expense of presenting or considering proof outweighed its value, confessions to a Catholic priest, and a few other instances. One difficulty with Bentham's nonexclusion principle is that some kinds of evidence are inherently unreliable or misleading. Such was the argument underlying the exclusions of interested-party testimony and hearsay evidence. Bentham argued that the character of evidence should be weighed by the jury: the alternative was to prefer ignorance to knowledge. Yet some evidence, although relevant, is actually more likely to produce a false jury verdict than a true one. To use a modern example, evidence of a defendant's past bank robberies is excluded, since the prejudicial character of the evidence substantially outweighs its value in helping the jury decide correctly. Further, in granting exclusions such as sacramental confessions, Bentham conceded that competing social interests or values might override the desire for relevant evidence. But then, why not protect conversations between social workers and their clients, or parents and children? Despite concerns such as these, the approach underlying modern evidence law began to prevail soon after Bentham's death: relevant evidence should be admitted unless there are clear grounds of policy for excluding it. This clear-grounds proviso allows more exclusions than Bentham would have liked, but the main thrust of the current outlook is Bentham's own nonexclusion principle, demoted from a rule to a presumption.

200012_2-RC_4_27

The passage is primarily concerned with which one of the following?

By the time Bentham turned his interest to the subject, late in the eighteenth century, most components of modern evidence law had been assembled. Among common-law doctrines regarding evidence there were, however, principles that today are regarded as bizarre; thus, a well-established (but now abandoned) rule forbade the parties to a case from testifying. Well into the nineteenth century, even defendants in criminal cases were denied the right to testify to facts that would prove their innocence. Although extreme in its irrationality, this proscription was in other respects quite typical of the law of evidence. Much of that law consisted of rules excluding relevant evidence, usually on some rational grounds. Hearsay evidence was generally excluded because absent persons could not be cross-examined. Yet such evidence was mechanically excluded even where out-of-court statements were both relevant and reliable, but the absent persons could not appear in court (for example, because they were dead). The morass of evidentiary technicalities often made it unlikely that the truth would emerge in a judicial contest, no matter how expensive and protracted. Reform was frustrated both by the vested interests of lawyers and by the profession's reverence for tradition and precedent. Bentham's prescription was revolutionary: virtually all evidence tending to prove or disprove the issue in dispute should be admissible. Narrow exceptions were envisioned: instances in which the trouble or expense of presenting or considering proof outweighed its value, confessions to a Catholic priest, and a few other instances. One difficulty with Bentham's nonexclusion principle is that some kinds of evidence are inherently unreliable or misleading. Such was the argument underlying the exclusions of interested-party testimony and hearsay evidence. Bentham argued that the character of evidence should be weighed by the jury: the alternative was to prefer ignorance to knowledge. Yet some evidence, although relevant, is actually more likely to produce a false jury verdict than a true one. To use a modern example, evidence of a defendant's past bank robberies is excluded, since the prejudicial character of the evidence substantially outweighs its value in helping the jury decide correctly. Further, in granting exclusions such as sacramental confessions, Bentham conceded that competing social interests or values might override the desire for relevant evidence. But then, why not protect conversations between social workers and their clients, or parents and children? Despite concerns such as these, the approach underlying modern evidence law began to prevail soon after Bentham's death: relevant evidence should be admitted unless there are clear grounds of policy for excluding it. This clear-grounds proviso allows more exclusions than Bentham would have liked, but the main thrust of the current outlook is Bentham's own nonexclusion principle, demoted from a rule to a presumption.

200012_2-RC_4_28

According to the fourth paragraph of the passage, what specifically does Bentham characterize as preference of ignorance to knowledge?

Most authoritarian rulers who undertake democratic reforms do so not out of any intrinsic commitment or conversion to democratic ideals, but rather because they foresee or recognize that certain changes and mobilizations in civil society make it impossible for them to hold on indefinitely to absolute power. Three major types of changes can contribute to a society's no longer condoning the continuation of authoritarian rule. First, the values and norms in the society alter over time, reducing citizens' tolerance for repression and concentration of power and thus stimulating their demands for freedom. In some Latin American countries during the 1970s and 1980s, for example, this change in values came about partly as a result of the experience of repression, which brought in its wake a resurgence of democratic values. As people come to place more value on political freedom and civil liberties they also become more inclined to speak out, protest, and organize for democracy, frequently beginning with the denunciation of human rights abuses. In addition to changing norms and values, the alignment of economic interests in a society can shift. As one scholar notes, an important turning point in the transition to democracy comes when privileged people in society—landowners, industrialists, merchants, bankers—who had been part of a regime's support base come to the conclusion that the authoritarian regime is dispensable and that its continuation might damage their long-term interests. Such a large-scale shift in the economic interests of these elites was crucial in bringing about the transition to democracy in the Philippines and has also begun occurring incrementally in other authoritarian nations. A third change derives from the expanding resources, autonomy, and self-confidence of various segments of society and of newly formed organizations both formal and informal. Students march in the streets demanding change; workers paralyze key industries; lawyers refuse to cooperate any longer in legal charades; alternative sources of information pierce and then shatter the veil of secrecy and disinformation; informal networks of production and exchange emerge that circumvent the state's resources and control. This profound development can radically alter the balance of power in a country, as an authoritarian regime that could once easily dominate and control its citizens is placed on the defensive. Authoritarian rule tends in the long run to generate all three types of changes. Ironically, all three types can be accelerated by the authoritarian regime's initial success at producing economic growth and maintaining social order—success that, by creating a period of stability, gives citizens the opportunity to reflect on the circumstances in which they live. The more astute or calculating of authoritarian rulers will recognize this and realize that their only hope of retaining some power in the future is to match these democratic social changes with democratic political changes.

200106_1-RC_1_1

Which one of the following most accurately expresses the main point of the passage?

Most authoritarian rulers who undertake democratic reforms do so not out of any intrinsic commitment or conversion to democratic ideals, but rather because they foresee or recognize that certain changes and mobilizations in civil society make it impossible for them to hold on indefinitely to absolute power. Three major types of changes can contribute to a society's no longer condoning the continuation of authoritarian rule. First, the values and norms in the society alter over time, reducing citizens' tolerance for repression and concentration of power and thus stimulating their demands for freedom. In some Latin American countries during the 1970s and 1980s, for example, this change in values came about partly as a result of the experience of repression, which brought in its wake a resurgence of democratic values. As people come to place more value on political freedom and civil liberties they also become more inclined to speak out, protest, and organize for democracy, frequently beginning with the denunciation of human rights abuses. In addition to changing norms and values, the alignment of economic interests in a society can shift. As one scholar notes, an important turning point in the transition to democracy comes when privileged people in society—landowners, industrialists, merchants, bankers—who had been part of a regime's support base come to the conclusion that the authoritarian regime is dispensable and that its continuation might damage their long-term interests. Such a large-scale shift in the economic interests of these elites was crucial in bringing about the transition to democracy in the Philippines and has also begun occurring incrementally in other authoritarian nations. A third change derives from the expanding resources, autonomy, and self-confidence of various segments of society and of newly formed organizations both formal and informal. Students march in the streets demanding change; workers paralyze key industries; lawyers refuse to cooperate any longer in legal charades; alternative sources of information pierce and then shatter the veil of secrecy and disinformation; informal networks of production and exchange emerge that circumvent the state's resources and control. This profound development can radically alter the balance of power in a country, as an authoritarian regime that could once easily dominate and control its citizens is placed on the defensive. Authoritarian rule tends in the long run to generate all three types of changes. Ironically, all three types can be accelerated by the authoritarian regime's initial success at producing economic growth and maintaining social order—success that, by creating a period of stability, gives citizens the opportunity to reflect on the circumstances in which they live. The more astute or calculating of authoritarian rulers will recognize this and realize that their only hope of retaining some power in the future is to match these democratic social changes with democratic political changes.

200106_1-RC_1_2

The author's attitude toward authoritarian regimes is most accurately described as which one of the following?

Most authoritarian rulers who undertake democratic reforms do so not out of any intrinsic commitment or conversion to democratic ideals, but rather because they foresee or recognize that certain changes and mobilizations in civil society make it impossible for them to hold on indefinitely to absolute power. Three major types of changes can contribute to a society's no longer condoning the continuation of authoritarian rule. First, the values and norms in the society alter over time, reducing citizens' tolerance for repression and concentration of power and thus stimulating their demands for freedom. In some Latin American countries during the 1970s and 1980s, for example, this change in values came about partly as a result of the experience of repression, which brought in its wake a resurgence of democratic values. As people come to place more value on political freedom and civil liberties they also become more inclined to speak out, protest, and organize for democracy, frequently beginning with the denunciation of human rights abuses. In addition to changing norms and values, the alignment of economic interests in a society can shift. As one scholar notes, an important turning point in the transition to democracy comes when privileged people in society—landowners, industrialists, merchants, bankers—who had been part of a regime's support base come to the conclusion that the authoritarian regime is dispensable and that its continuation might damage their long-term interests. Such a large-scale shift in the economic interests of these elites was crucial in bringing about the transition to democracy in the Philippines and has also begun occurring incrementally in other authoritarian nations. A third change derives from the expanding resources, autonomy, and self-confidence of various segments of society and of newly formed organizations both formal and informal. Students march in the streets demanding change; workers paralyze key industries; lawyers refuse to cooperate any longer in legal charades; alternative sources of information pierce and then shatter the veil of secrecy and disinformation; informal networks of production and exchange emerge that circumvent the state's resources and control. This profound development can radically alter the balance of power in a country, as an authoritarian regime that could once easily dominate and control its citizens is placed on the defensive. Authoritarian rule tends in the long run to generate all three types of changes. Ironically, all three types can be accelerated by the authoritarian regime's initial success at producing economic growth and maintaining social order—success that, by creating a period of stability, gives citizens the opportunity to reflect on the circumstances in which they live. The more astute or calculating of authoritarian rulers will recognize this and realize that their only hope of retaining some power in the future is to match these democratic social changes with democratic political changes.

200106_1-RC_1_3

Which one of the following titles most completely summarizes the content of the passage?

Most authoritarian rulers who undertake democratic reforms do so not out of any intrinsic commitment or conversion to democratic ideals, but rather because they foresee or recognize that certain changes and mobilizations in civil society make it impossible for them to hold on indefinitely to absolute power. Three major types of changes can contribute to a society's no longer condoning the continuation of authoritarian rule. First, the values and norms in the society alter over time, reducing citizens' tolerance for repression and concentration of power and thus stimulating their demands for freedom. In some Latin American countries during the 1970s and 1980s, for example, this change in values came about partly as a result of the experience of repression, which brought in its wake a resurgence of democratic values. As people come to place more value on political freedom and civil liberties they also become more inclined to speak out, protest, and organize for democracy, frequently beginning with the denunciation of human rights abuses. In addition to changing norms and values, the alignment of economic interests in a society can shift. As one scholar notes, an important turning point in the transition to democracy comes when privileged people in society—landowners, industrialists, merchants, bankers—who had been part of a regime's support base come to the conclusion that the authoritarian regime is dispensable and that its continuation might damage their long-term interests. Such a large-scale shift in the economic interests of these elites was crucial in bringing about the transition to democracy in the Philippines and has also begun occurring incrementally in other authoritarian nations. A third change derives from the expanding resources, autonomy, and self-confidence of various segments of society and of newly formed organizations both formal and informal. Students march in the streets demanding change; workers paralyze key industries; lawyers refuse to cooperate any longer in legal charades; alternative sources of information pierce and then shatter the veil of secrecy and disinformation; informal networks of production and exchange emerge that circumvent the state's resources and control. This profound development can radically alter the balance of power in a country, as an authoritarian regime that could once easily dominate and control its citizens is placed on the defensive. Authoritarian rule tends in the long run to generate all three types of changes. Ironically, all three types can be accelerated by the authoritarian regime's initial success at producing economic growth and maintaining social order—success that, by creating a period of stability, gives citizens the opportunity to reflect on the circumstances in which they live. The more astute or calculating of authoritarian rulers will recognize this and realize that their only hope of retaining some power in the future is to match these democratic social changes with democratic political changes.

200106_1-RC_1_4

Which one of the following most accurately describes the organization of the passage?

Most authoritarian rulers who undertake democratic reforms do so not out of any intrinsic commitment or conversion to democratic ideals, but rather because they foresee or recognize that certain changes and mobilizations in civil society make it impossible for them to hold on indefinitely to absolute power. Three major types of changes can contribute to a society's no longer condoning the continuation of authoritarian rule. First, the values and norms in the society alter over time, reducing citizens' tolerance for repression and concentration of power and thus stimulating their demands for freedom. In some Latin American countries during the 1970s and 1980s, for example, this change in values came about partly as a result of the experience of repression, which brought in its wake a resurgence of democratic values. As people come to place more value on political freedom and civil liberties they also become more inclined to speak out, protest, and organize for democracy, frequently beginning with the denunciation of human rights abuses. In addition to changing norms and values, the alignment of economic interests in a society can shift. As one scholar notes, an important turning point in the transition to democracy comes when privileged people in society—landowners, industrialists, merchants, bankers—who had been part of a regime's support base come to the conclusion that the authoritarian regime is dispensable and that its continuation might damage their long-term interests. Such a large-scale shift in the economic interests of these elites was crucial in bringing about the transition to democracy in the Philippines and has also begun occurring incrementally in other authoritarian nations. A third change derives from the expanding resources, autonomy, and self-confidence of various segments of society and of newly formed organizations both formal and informal. Students march in the streets demanding change; workers paralyze key industries; lawyers refuse to cooperate any longer in legal charades; alternative sources of information pierce and then shatter the veil of secrecy and disinformation; informal networks of production and exchange emerge that circumvent the state's resources and control. This profound development can radically alter the balance of power in a country, as an authoritarian regime that could once easily dominate and control its citizens is placed on the defensive. Authoritarian rule tends in the long run to generate all three types of changes. Ironically, all three types can be accelerated by the authoritarian regime's initial success at producing economic growth and maintaining social order—success that, by creating a period of stability, gives citizens the opportunity to reflect on the circumstances in which they live. The more astute or calculating of authoritarian rulers will recognize this and realize that their only hope of retaining some power in the future is to match these democratic social changes with democratic political changes.

200106_1-RC_1_5

It can most reasonably be inferred from the passage that

Most authoritarian rulers who undertake democratic reforms do so not out of any intrinsic commitment or conversion to democratic ideals, but rather because they foresee or recognize that certain changes and mobilizations in civil society make it impossible for them to hold on indefinitely to absolute power. Three major types of changes can contribute to a society's no longer condoning the continuation of authoritarian rule. First, the values and norms in the society alter over time, reducing citizens' tolerance for repression and concentration of power and thus stimulating their demands for freedom. In some Latin American countries during the 1970s and 1980s, for example, this change in values came about partly as a result of the experience of repression, which brought in its wake a resurgence of democratic values. As people come to place more value on political freedom and civil liberties they also become more inclined to speak out, protest, and organize for democracy, frequently beginning with the denunciation of human rights abuses. In addition to changing norms and values, the alignment of economic interests in a society can shift. As one scholar notes, an important turning point in the transition to democracy comes when privileged people in society—landowners, industrialists, merchants, bankers—who had been part of a regime's support base come to the conclusion that the authoritarian regime is dispensable and that its continuation might damage their long-term interests. Such a large-scale shift in the economic interests of these elites was crucial in bringing about the transition to democracy in the Philippines and has also begun occurring incrementally in other authoritarian nations. A third change derives from the expanding resources, autonomy, and self-confidence of various segments of society and of newly formed organizations both formal and informal. Students march in the streets demanding change; workers paralyze key industries; lawyers refuse to cooperate any longer in legal charades; alternative sources of information pierce and then shatter the veil of secrecy and disinformation; informal networks of production and exchange emerge that circumvent the state's resources and control. This profound development can radically alter the balance of power in a country, as an authoritarian regime that could once easily dominate and control its citizens is placed on the defensive. Authoritarian rule tends in the long run to generate all three types of changes. Ironically, all three types can be accelerated by the authoritarian regime's initial success at producing economic growth and maintaining social order—success that, by creating a period of stability, gives citizens the opportunity to reflect on the circumstances in which they live. The more astute or calculating of authoritarian rulers will recognize this and realize that their only hope of retaining some power in the future is to match these democratic social changes with democratic political changes.

200106_1-RC_1_6

Given the information in the passage, authoritarian rulers who institute democratic reforms decide to do so on the basis of which one of the following principles?

The term "blues" is conventionally used to refer to a state of sadness or melancholy, but to conclude from this that the musical genre of the same name is merely an expression of unrelieved sorrow is to miss its deeper meaning. Despite its frequent focus on such themes as suffering and self-pity, and despite the censure that it has sometimes received from church communities, the blues, understood more fully, actually has much in common with the traditional religious music known as spirituals. Each genre, in its own way, aims to bring about what could be called a spiritual transformation: spirituals produce a religious experience and the blues elicits an analogous response. In fact the blues has even been characterized as a form of "secular spiritual." The implication of this apparently contradictory terminology is clear: the blues shares an essential aspect of spirituals. Indeed, the blues and spirituals may well arise from a common reservoir of experience, tapping into an aesthetic that underlies many aspects of African American culture. Critics have noted that African American folk tradition, in its earliest manifestations, does not sharply differentiate reality into sacred and secular strains or into irreconcilable dichotomies between good and evil, misery and joy. This is consistent with the apparently dual aspect of the blues and spirituals. Spirituals, like the blues, often express longing or sorrow, but these plaintive tones are indicative of neither genre's full scope: both aim at transforming their participants' spirits to elation and exaltation. In this regard, both musical forms may be linked to traditional African American culture in North America and to its ancestral cultures in West Africa, in whose traditional religions worshippers play an active role in invoking the divine—in creating the psychological conditions that are conducive to religious experience. These conditions are often referred to as "ecstasy," which is to be understood here with its etymological connotation of standing out from oneself, or rather from one's background psychological state and from one's centered concept of self. Working in this tradition, blues songs serve to transcend negative experiences by invoking the negative so that it can be transformed through the virtuosity and ecstatic mastery of the performer. This process produces a double-edged irony that is often evident in blues lyrics themselves; consider, for example the lines "If the blues was money, I'd be a millionaire," in which the singer reconfigures the experience of sorrow into a paradoxical asset through a kind of boasting bravado. One critic has observed that the impulse behind the blues is the desire to keep painful experiences alive in the performer and audience not just for their own sake, but also in order to coax from these experiences a lyricism that is both tragic and comic.

200106_1-RC_2_7

Based on the passage, with which one of the following statements would the author be most likely to agree?

The term "blues" is conventionally used to refer to a state of sadness or melancholy, but to conclude from this that the musical genre of the same name is merely an expression of unrelieved sorrow is to miss its deeper meaning. Despite its frequent focus on such themes as suffering and self-pity, and despite the censure that it has sometimes received from church communities, the blues, understood more fully, actually has much in common with the traditional religious music known as spirituals. Each genre, in its own way, aims to bring about what could be called a spiritual transformation: spirituals produce a religious experience and the blues elicits an analogous response. In fact the blues has even been characterized as a form of "secular spiritual." The implication of this apparently contradictory terminology is clear: the blues shares an essential aspect of spirituals. Indeed, the blues and spirituals may well arise from a common reservoir of experience, tapping into an aesthetic that underlies many aspects of African American culture. Critics have noted that African American folk tradition, in its earliest manifestations, does not sharply differentiate reality into sacred and secular strains or into irreconcilable dichotomies between good and evil, misery and joy. This is consistent with the apparently dual aspect of the blues and spirituals. Spirituals, like the blues, often express longing or sorrow, but these plaintive tones are indicative of neither genre's full scope: both aim at transforming their participants' spirits to elation and exaltation. In this regard, both musical forms may be linked to traditional African American culture in North America and to its ancestral cultures in West Africa, in whose traditional religions worshippers play an active role in invoking the divine—in creating the psychological conditions that are conducive to religious experience. These conditions are often referred to as "ecstasy," which is to be understood here with its etymological connotation of standing out from oneself, or rather from one's background psychological state and from one's centered concept of self. Working in this tradition, blues songs serve to transcend negative experiences by invoking the negative so that it can be transformed through the virtuosity and ecstatic mastery of the performer. This process produces a double-edged irony that is often evident in blues lyrics themselves; consider, for example the lines "If the blues was money, I'd be a millionaire," in which the singer reconfigures the experience of sorrow into a paradoxical asset through a kind of boasting bravado. One critic has observed that the impulse behind the blues is the desire to keep painful experiences alive in the performer and audience not just for their own sake, but also in order to coax from these experiences a lyricism that is both tragic and comic.

200106_1-RC_2_8

Each of the following is indicated by the passage as a shared aspect of the blues and spirituals EXCEPT:

The term "blues" is conventionally used to refer to a state of sadness or melancholy, but to conclude from this that the musical genre of the same name is merely an expression of unrelieved sorrow is to miss its deeper meaning. Despite its frequent focus on such themes as suffering and self-pity, and despite the censure that it has sometimes received from church communities, the blues, understood more fully, actually has much in common with the traditional religious music known as spirituals. Each genre, in its own way, aims to bring about what could be called a spiritual transformation: spirituals produce a religious experience and the blues elicits an analogous response. In fact the blues has even been characterized as a form of "secular spiritual." The implication of this apparently contradictory terminology is clear: the blues shares an essential aspect of spirituals. Indeed, the blues and spirituals may well arise from a common reservoir of experience, tapping into an aesthetic that underlies many aspects of African American culture. Critics have noted that African American folk tradition, in its earliest manifestations, does not sharply differentiate reality into sacred and secular strains or into irreconcilable dichotomies between good and evil, misery and joy. This is consistent with the apparently dual aspect of the blues and spirituals. Spirituals, like the blues, often express longing or sorrow, but these plaintive tones are indicative of neither genre's full scope: both aim at transforming their participants' spirits to elation and exaltation. In this regard, both musical forms may be linked to traditional African American culture in North America and to its ancestral cultures in West Africa, in whose traditional religions worshippers play an active role in invoking the divine—in creating the psychological conditions that are conducive to religious experience. These conditions are often referred to as "ecstasy," which is to be understood here with its etymological connotation of standing out from oneself, or rather from one's background psychological state and from one's centered concept of self. Working in this tradition, blues songs serve to transcend negative experiences by invoking the negative so that it can be transformed through the virtuosity and ecstatic mastery of the performer. This process produces a double-edged irony that is often evident in blues lyrics themselves; consider, for example the lines "If the blues was money, I'd be a millionaire," in which the singer reconfigures the experience of sorrow into a paradoxical asset through a kind of boasting bravado. One critic has observed that the impulse behind the blues is the desire to keep painful experiences alive in the performer and audience not just for their own sake, but also in order to coax from these experiences a lyricism that is both tragic and comic.

200106_1-RC_2_9

Which one of the following most accurately expresses what the author intends "a common reservoir of experience" (line 18) to refer to?

The term "blues" is conventionally used to refer to a state of sadness or melancholy, but to conclude from this that the musical genre of the same name is merely an expression of unrelieved sorrow is to miss its deeper meaning. Despite its frequent focus on such themes as suffering and self-pity, and despite the censure that it has sometimes received from church communities, the blues, understood more fully, actually has much in common with the traditional religious music known as spirituals. Each genre, in its own way, aims to bring about what could be called a spiritual transformation: spirituals produce a religious experience and the blues elicits an analogous response. In fact the blues has even been characterized as a form of "secular spiritual." The implication of this apparently contradictory terminology is clear: the blues shares an essential aspect of spirituals. Indeed, the blues and spirituals may well arise from a common reservoir of experience, tapping into an aesthetic that underlies many aspects of African American culture. Critics have noted that African American folk tradition, in its earliest manifestations, does not sharply differentiate reality into sacred and secular strains or into irreconcilable dichotomies between good and evil, misery and joy. This is consistent with the apparently dual aspect of the blues and spirituals. Spirituals, like the blues, often express longing or sorrow, but these plaintive tones are indicative of neither genre's full scope: both aim at transforming their participants' spirits to elation and exaltation. In this regard, both musical forms may be linked to traditional African American culture in North America and to its ancestral cultures in West Africa, in whose traditional religions worshippers play an active role in invoking the divine—in creating the psychological conditions that are conducive to religious experience. These conditions are often referred to as "ecstasy," which is to be understood here with its etymological connotation of standing out from oneself, or rather from one's background psychological state and from one's centered concept of self. Working in this tradition, blues songs serve to transcend negative experiences by invoking the negative so that it can be transformed through the virtuosity and ecstatic mastery of the performer. This process produces a double-edged irony that is often evident in blues lyrics themselves; consider, for example the lines "If the blues was money, I'd be a millionaire," in which the singer reconfigures the experience of sorrow into a paradoxical asset through a kind of boasting bravado. One critic has observed that the impulse behind the blues is the desire to keep painful experiences alive in the performer and audience not just for their own sake, but also in order to coax from these experiences a lyricism that is both tragic and comic.

200106_1-RC_2_10

The primary purpose of the second paragraph is to

The term "blues" is conventionally used to refer to a state of sadness or melancholy, but to conclude from this that the musical genre of the same name is merely an expression of unrelieved sorrow is to miss its deeper meaning. Despite its frequent focus on such themes as suffering and self-pity, and despite the censure that it has sometimes received from church communities, the blues, understood more fully, actually has much in common with the traditional religious music known as spirituals. Each genre, in its own way, aims to bring about what could be called a spiritual transformation: spirituals produce a religious experience and the blues elicits an analogous response. In fact the blues has even been characterized as a form of "secular spiritual." The implication of this apparently contradictory terminology is clear: the blues shares an essential aspect of spirituals. Indeed, the blues and spirituals may well arise from a common reservoir of experience, tapping into an aesthetic that underlies many aspects of African American culture. Critics have noted that African American folk tradition, in its earliest manifestations, does not sharply differentiate reality into sacred and secular strains or into irreconcilable dichotomies between good and evil, misery and joy. This is consistent with the apparently dual aspect of the blues and spirituals. Spirituals, like the blues, often express longing or sorrow, but these plaintive tones are indicative of neither genre's full scope: both aim at transforming their participants' spirits to elation and exaltation. In this regard, both musical forms may be linked to traditional African American culture in North America and to its ancestral cultures in West Africa, in whose traditional religions worshippers play an active role in invoking the divine—in creating the psychological conditions that are conducive to religious experience. These conditions are often referred to as "ecstasy," which is to be understood here with its etymological connotation of standing out from oneself, or rather from one's background psychological state and from one's centered concept of self. Working in this tradition, blues songs serve to transcend negative experiences by invoking the negative so that it can be transformed through the virtuosity and ecstatic mastery of the performer. This process produces a double-edged irony that is often evident in blues lyrics themselves; consider, for example the lines "If the blues was money, I'd be a millionaire," in which the singer reconfigures the experience of sorrow into a paradoxical asset through a kind of boasting bravado. One critic has observed that the impulse behind the blues is the desire to keep painful experiences alive in the performer and audience not just for their own sake, but also in order to coax from these experiences a lyricism that is both tragic and comic.

200106_1-RC_2_11

The reference to "standing out from oneself" in line 39 primarily serves to

The term "blues" is conventionally used to refer to a state of sadness or melancholy, but to conclude from this that the musical genre of the same name is merely an expression of unrelieved sorrow is to miss its deeper meaning. Despite its frequent focus on such themes as suffering and self-pity, and despite the censure that it has sometimes received from church communities, the blues, understood more fully, actually has much in common with the traditional religious music known as spirituals. Each genre, in its own way, aims to bring about what could be called a spiritual transformation: spirituals produce a religious experience and the blues elicits an analogous response. In fact the blues has even been characterized as a form of "secular spiritual." The implication of this apparently contradictory terminology is clear: the blues shares an essential aspect of spirituals. Indeed, the blues and spirituals may well arise from a common reservoir of experience, tapping into an aesthetic that underlies many aspects of African American culture. Critics have noted that African American folk tradition, in its earliest manifestations, does not sharply differentiate reality into sacred and secular strains or into irreconcilable dichotomies between good and evil, misery and joy. This is consistent with the apparently dual aspect of the blues and spirituals. Spirituals, like the blues, often express longing or sorrow, but these plaintive tones are indicative of neither genre's full scope: both aim at transforming their participants' spirits to elation and exaltation. In this regard, both musical forms may be linked to traditional African American culture in North America and to its ancestral cultures in West Africa, in whose traditional religions worshippers play an active role in invoking the divine—in creating the psychological conditions that are conducive to religious experience. These conditions are often referred to as "ecstasy," which is to be understood here with its etymological connotation of standing out from oneself, or rather from one's background psychological state and from one's centered concept of self. Working in this tradition, blues songs serve to transcend negative experiences by invoking the negative so that it can be transformed through the virtuosity and ecstatic mastery of the performer. This process produces a double-edged irony that is often evident in blues lyrics themselves; consider, for example the lines "If the blues was money, I'd be a millionaire," in which the singer reconfigures the experience of sorrow into a paradoxical asset through a kind of boasting bravado. One critic has observed that the impulse behind the blues is the desire to keep painful experiences alive in the performer and audience not just for their own sake, but also in order to coax from these experiences a lyricism that is both tragic and comic.

200106_1-RC_2_12

Which one of the following is most closely analogous to the author's account of the connections among the blues, spirituals, and certain West African religious practices?

In the eighteenth century the French naturalist Jean Baptiste de Lamarck believed that an animal's use or disuse of an organ affected that organ's development in the animal's offspring. Lamarck claimed that the giraffe's long neck, for example, resulted from its ancestors stretching to reach distant leaves. But because biologists could find no genetic mechanism to make the transmission of environmentally induced adaptations seem plausible, they have long held that inheritance of acquired characteristics never occurs. Yet new research has uncovered numerous examples of the phenomenon. In bacteria, for instance, enzymes synthesize and break down rigid cell walls as necessary to accommodate the bacteria's growth. But if an experimenter completely removes the cell wall from a bacterium, the process of wall synthesis and breakdown is disrupted, and the bacterium continues to grow—and multiply indefinitely—without walls. This inherited absence of cell walls in bacteria results from changes in the interactions among genes, without any attendant changes in the genes themselves. A fundamentally different kind of environmentally induced heritable characteristic occurs when specific genes are added to or eliminated from an organism. For example, a certain virus introduces a gene into fruit flies that causes the flies to be vulnerable to carbon dioxide poisoning, and fruit flies infected with the virus will pass the gene to their offspring. But if infected flies are kept warm while they are producing eggs, the virus is eliminated from the eggs and the offspring are resistant to carbon dioxide. Similarly, if an Escherichia coli bacterium carrying a certain plasmid—a small ring of genetic material—comes into contact with an E. coli bacterium lacking the plasmid, the plasmid will enter the second bacterium and become part of its genetic makeup, which it then passes to its offspring. The case of the E. coli is especially noteworthy for its suggestion that inheritance of acquired characteristics may have helped to speed up evolution: for example, many complex cells may have first acquired the ability to carry out photosynthesis by coming into contact with a bacterium possessing the gene for that trait, an ability that normally would have taken eons to develop through random mutation and natural selection. The new evidence suggests that genes can be divided into two groups. Most are inherited "vertically," from ancestors. Some however, seem to have been acquired "horizontally," from viruses, plasmids, bacteria, or other environmental agents. The evidence even appears to show that genes can be transmitted horizontally between organisms that are considered to be unrelated: from bacteria to plants, for example, or from bacteria to yeast. Some horizontal transmission may well be the mechanism for inheritance of acquired characteristics that has long eluded biologists, and that may eventually prove Lamarck's hypothesis to be correct.

200106_1-RC_3_13

The passage suggests that many biologists no longer believe which one of the following?

In the eighteenth century the French naturalist Jean Baptiste de Lamarck believed that an animal's use or disuse of an organ affected that organ's development in the animal's offspring. Lamarck claimed that the giraffe's long neck, for example, resulted from its ancestors stretching to reach distant leaves. But because biologists could find no genetic mechanism to make the transmission of environmentally induced adaptations seem plausible, they have long held that inheritance of acquired characteristics never occurs. Yet new research has uncovered numerous examples of the phenomenon. In bacteria, for instance, enzymes synthesize and break down rigid cell walls as necessary to accommodate the bacteria's growth. But if an experimenter completely removes the cell wall from a bacterium, the process of wall synthesis and breakdown is disrupted, and the bacterium continues to grow—and multiply indefinitely—without walls. This inherited absence of cell walls in bacteria results from changes in the interactions among genes, without any attendant changes in the genes themselves. A fundamentally different kind of environmentally induced heritable characteristic occurs when specific genes are added to or eliminated from an organism. For example, a certain virus introduces a gene into fruit flies that causes the flies to be vulnerable to carbon dioxide poisoning, and fruit flies infected with the virus will pass the gene to their offspring. But if infected flies are kept warm while they are producing eggs, the virus is eliminated from the eggs and the offspring are resistant to carbon dioxide. Similarly, if an Escherichia coli bacterium carrying a certain plasmid—a small ring of genetic material—comes into contact with an E. coli bacterium lacking the plasmid, the plasmid will enter the second bacterium and become part of its genetic makeup, which it then passes to its offspring. The case of the E. coli is especially noteworthy for its suggestion that inheritance of acquired characteristics may have helped to speed up evolution: for example, many complex cells may have first acquired the ability to carry out photosynthesis by coming into contact with a bacterium possessing the gene for that trait, an ability that normally would have taken eons to develop through random mutation and natural selection. The new evidence suggests that genes can be divided into two groups. Most are inherited "vertically," from ancestors. Some however, seem to have been acquired "horizontally," from viruses, plasmids, bacteria, or other environmental agents. The evidence even appears to show that genes can be transmitted horizontally between organisms that are considered to be unrelated: from bacteria to plants, for example, or from bacteria to yeast. Some horizontal transmission may well be the mechanism for inheritance of acquired characteristics that has long eluded biologists, and that may eventually prove Lamarck's hypothesis to be correct.

200106_1-RC_3_14

According to the passage, which one of the following is an acquired characteristic transmitted by altering the interaction among genes rather than be adding or eliminating a gene?

In the eighteenth century the French naturalist Jean Baptiste de Lamarck believed that an animal's use or disuse of an organ affected that organ's development in the animal's offspring. Lamarck claimed that the giraffe's long neck, for example, resulted from its ancestors stretching to reach distant leaves. But because biologists could find no genetic mechanism to make the transmission of environmentally induced adaptations seem plausible, they have long held that inheritance of acquired characteristics never occurs. Yet new research has uncovered numerous examples of the phenomenon. In bacteria, for instance, enzymes synthesize and break down rigid cell walls as necessary to accommodate the bacteria's growth. But if an experimenter completely removes the cell wall from a bacterium, the process of wall synthesis and breakdown is disrupted, and the bacterium continues to grow—and multiply indefinitely—without walls. This inherited absence of cell walls in bacteria results from changes in the interactions among genes, without any attendant changes in the genes themselves. A fundamentally different kind of environmentally induced heritable characteristic occurs when specific genes are added to or eliminated from an organism. For example, a certain virus introduces a gene into fruit flies that causes the flies to be vulnerable to carbon dioxide poisoning, and fruit flies infected with the virus will pass the gene to their offspring. But if infected flies are kept warm while they are producing eggs, the virus is eliminated from the eggs and the offspring are resistant to carbon dioxide. Similarly, if an Escherichia coli bacterium carrying a certain plasmid—a small ring of genetic material—comes into contact with an E. coli bacterium lacking the plasmid, the plasmid will enter the second bacterium and become part of its genetic makeup, which it then passes to its offspring. The case of the E. coli is especially noteworthy for its suggestion that inheritance of acquired characteristics may have helped to speed up evolution: for example, many complex cells may have first acquired the ability to carry out photosynthesis by coming into contact with a bacterium possessing the gene for that trait, an ability that normally would have taken eons to develop through random mutation and natural selection. The new evidence suggests that genes can be divided into two groups. Most are inherited "vertically," from ancestors. Some however, seem to have been acquired "horizontally," from viruses, plasmids, bacteria, or other environmental agents. The evidence even appears to show that genes can be transmitted horizontally between organisms that are considered to be unrelated: from bacteria to plants, for example, or from bacteria to yeast. Some horizontal transmission may well be the mechanism for inheritance of acquired characteristics that has long eluded biologists, and that may eventually prove Lamarck's hypothesis to be correct.

200106_1-RC_3_15

The primary purpose of the last paragraph it to

In the eighteenth century the French naturalist Jean Baptiste de Lamarck believed that an animal's use or disuse of an organ affected that organ's development in the animal's offspring. Lamarck claimed that the giraffe's long neck, for example, resulted from its ancestors stretching to reach distant leaves. But because biologists could find no genetic mechanism to make the transmission of environmentally induced adaptations seem plausible, they have long held that inheritance of acquired characteristics never occurs. Yet new research has uncovered numerous examples of the phenomenon. In bacteria, for instance, enzymes synthesize and break down rigid cell walls as necessary to accommodate the bacteria's growth. But if an experimenter completely removes the cell wall from a bacterium, the process of wall synthesis and breakdown is disrupted, and the bacterium continues to grow—and multiply indefinitely—without walls. This inherited absence of cell walls in bacteria results from changes in the interactions among genes, without any attendant changes in the genes themselves. A fundamentally different kind of environmentally induced heritable characteristic occurs when specific genes are added to or eliminated from an organism. For example, a certain virus introduces a gene into fruit flies that causes the flies to be vulnerable to carbon dioxide poisoning, and fruit flies infected with the virus will pass the gene to their offspring. But if infected flies are kept warm while they are producing eggs, the virus is eliminated from the eggs and the offspring are resistant to carbon dioxide. Similarly, if an Escherichia coli bacterium carrying a certain plasmid—a small ring of genetic material—comes into contact with an E. coli bacterium lacking the plasmid, the plasmid will enter the second bacterium and become part of its genetic makeup, which it then passes to its offspring. The case of the E. coli is especially noteworthy for its suggestion that inheritance of acquired characteristics may have helped to speed up evolution: for example, many complex cells may have first acquired the ability to carry out photosynthesis by coming into contact with a bacterium possessing the gene for that trait, an ability that normally would have taken eons to develop through random mutation and natural selection. The new evidence suggests that genes can be divided into two groups. Most are inherited "vertically," from ancestors. Some however, seem to have been acquired "horizontally," from viruses, plasmids, bacteria, or other environmental agents. The evidence even appears to show that genes can be transmitted horizontally between organisms that are considered to be unrelated: from bacteria to plants, for example, or from bacteria to yeast. Some horizontal transmission may well be the mechanism for inheritance of acquired characteristics that has long eluded biologists, and that may eventually prove Lamarck's hypothesis to be correct.

200106_1-RC_3_16

Which one of the following, if true, offers the most support for Lamarck's hypothesis?

In the eighteenth century the French naturalist Jean Baptiste de Lamarck believed that an animal's use or disuse of an organ affected that organ's development in the animal's offspring. Lamarck claimed that the giraffe's long neck, for example, resulted from its ancestors stretching to reach distant leaves. But because biologists could find no genetic mechanism to make the transmission of environmentally induced adaptations seem plausible, they have long held that inheritance of acquired characteristics never occurs. Yet new research has uncovered numerous examples of the phenomenon. In bacteria, for instance, enzymes synthesize and break down rigid cell walls as necessary to accommodate the bacteria's growth. But if an experimenter completely removes the cell wall from a bacterium, the process of wall synthesis and breakdown is disrupted, and the bacterium continues to grow—and multiply indefinitely—without walls. This inherited absence of cell walls in bacteria results from changes in the interactions among genes, without any attendant changes in the genes themselves. A fundamentally different kind of environmentally induced heritable characteristic occurs when specific genes are added to or eliminated from an organism. For example, a certain virus introduces a gene into fruit flies that causes the flies to be vulnerable to carbon dioxide poisoning, and fruit flies infected with the virus will pass the gene to their offspring. But if infected flies are kept warm while they are producing eggs, the virus is eliminated from the eggs and the offspring are resistant to carbon dioxide. Similarly, if an Escherichia coli bacterium carrying a certain plasmid—a small ring of genetic material—comes into contact with an E. coli bacterium lacking the plasmid, the plasmid will enter the second bacterium and become part of its genetic makeup, which it then passes to its offspring. The case of the E. coli is especially noteworthy for its suggestion that inheritance of acquired characteristics may have helped to speed up evolution: for example, many complex cells may have first acquired the ability to carry out photosynthesis by coming into contact with a bacterium possessing the gene for that trait, an ability that normally would have taken eons to develop through random mutation and natural selection. The new evidence suggests that genes can be divided into two groups. Most are inherited "vertically," from ancestors. Some however, seem to have been acquired "horizontally," from viruses, plasmids, bacteria, or other environmental agents. The evidence even appears to show that genes can be transmitted horizontally between organisms that are considered to be unrelated: from bacteria to plants, for example, or from bacteria to yeast. Some horizontal transmission may well be the mechanism for inheritance of acquired characteristics that has long eluded biologists, and that may eventually prove Lamarck's hypothesis to be correct.

200106_1-RC_3_17

According to the passage, the inheritance of acquired characteristics is particularly significant because this phenomenon

In the eighteenth century the French naturalist Jean Baptiste de Lamarck believed that an animal's use or disuse of an organ affected that organ's development in the animal's offspring. Lamarck claimed that the giraffe's long neck, for example, resulted from its ancestors stretching to reach distant leaves. But because biologists could find no genetic mechanism to make the transmission of environmentally induced adaptations seem plausible, they have long held that inheritance of acquired characteristics never occurs. Yet new research has uncovered numerous examples of the phenomenon. In bacteria, for instance, enzymes synthesize and break down rigid cell walls as necessary to accommodate the bacteria's growth. But if an experimenter completely removes the cell wall from a bacterium, the process of wall synthesis and breakdown is disrupted, and the bacterium continues to grow—and multiply indefinitely—without walls. This inherited absence of cell walls in bacteria results from changes in the interactions among genes, without any attendant changes in the genes themselves. A fundamentally different kind of environmentally induced heritable characteristic occurs when specific genes are added to or eliminated from an organism. For example, a certain virus introduces a gene into fruit flies that causes the flies to be vulnerable to carbon dioxide poisoning, and fruit flies infected with the virus will pass the gene to their offspring. But if infected flies are kept warm while they are producing eggs, the virus is eliminated from the eggs and the offspring are resistant to carbon dioxide. Similarly, if an Escherichia coli bacterium carrying a certain plasmid—a small ring of genetic material—comes into contact with an E. coli bacterium lacking the plasmid, the plasmid will enter the second bacterium and become part of its genetic makeup, which it then passes to its offspring. The case of the E. coli is especially noteworthy for its suggestion that inheritance of acquired characteristics may have helped to speed up evolution: for example, many complex cells may have first acquired the ability to carry out photosynthesis by coming into contact with a bacterium possessing the gene for that trait, an ability that normally would have taken eons to develop through random mutation and natural selection. The new evidence suggests that genes can be divided into two groups. Most are inherited "vertically," from ancestors. Some however, seem to have been acquired "horizontally," from viruses, plasmids, bacteria, or other environmental agents. The evidence even appears to show that genes can be transmitted horizontally between organisms that are considered to be unrelated: from bacteria to plants, for example, or from bacteria to yeast. Some horizontal transmission may well be the mechanism for inheritance of acquired characteristics that has long eluded biologists, and that may eventually prove Lamarck's hypothesis to be correct.

200106_1-RC_3_18

Which one of the following can be inferred from the passage about the absence of cell walls in some bacteria?

When women are persecuted on account of their gender, they are likely to be eligible for asylum. Persecution is the linchpin of the definition of a refugee set out in the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. In this document, a refugee is defined as any person facing persecution "for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion." While persecution on the basis of gender is not explicitly listed, this omission does not preclude victims of gender-based persecution from qualifying as refugees, nor does it reflect an intention that such persons be excluded from international protection. Rather, women persecuted on account of gender are eligible for asylum under the category of "social group." The history of the inclusion of the social-group category in the definition of a refugee indicates that this category was intended to cover groups, such as women facing gender-based persecution, who are otherwise not covered by the definition's specific categories. The original definition of refugee, which came from the constitution of the International Refugee Organization, did not include social group. However, the above-mentioned United Nations Convention added the category in order to provide a "safety net" for asylum-seekers who should qualify for refugee status but who fail to fall neatly into one of the enumerated categories. The drafters of the Convention intentionally left the precise boundaries of the social-group category undefined to ensure that the category would retain the flexibility necessary to address unanticipated situations. A broad interpretation of social group is supported by the Handbook on Procedures and Criteria for Determining Refugee Status (1979) published by the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The Handbook describes a social group as persons of similar background, habits, or social status. This expansive interpretation of the category is resonant with the intentions of the Convention drafters—a malleable category created for future asylum determinations. Since many women fleeing gender-based persecution share a common background and social status, they should fall within the Handbook's definition of a social group. Furthermore, a 1985 UNHCR Executive Committee report counseled member states to use the social-group category to classify women asylum-seekers "who face harsh or inhuman treatment due to their having transgressed the social mores of the society in which they live." Such a pronouncement is particularly significant. A position taken by an organization such as the UNHCR is likely to exert a strong influence on the international community. In particular, the UNHCR's position is likely to have an impact on the interpretation of national asylum laws, since the terms and definitions used in many national laws have been developed under the international consensus that UNHCR represents.

200106_1-RC_4_19

According to the passage, which one of the following is true about both the United Nations Convention and the UNHCR Handbook?

When women are persecuted on account of their gender, they are likely to be eligible for asylum. Persecution is the linchpin of the definition of a refugee set out in the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. In this document, a refugee is defined as any person facing persecution "for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion." While persecution on the basis of gender is not explicitly listed, this omission does not preclude victims of gender-based persecution from qualifying as refugees, nor does it reflect an intention that such persons be excluded from international protection. Rather, women persecuted on account of gender are eligible for asylum under the category of "social group." The history of the inclusion of the social-group category in the definition of a refugee indicates that this category was intended to cover groups, such as women facing gender-based persecution, who are otherwise not covered by the definition's specific categories. The original definition of refugee, which came from the constitution of the International Refugee Organization, did not include social group. However, the above-mentioned United Nations Convention added the category in order to provide a "safety net" for asylum-seekers who should qualify for refugee status but who fail to fall neatly into one of the enumerated categories. The drafters of the Convention intentionally left the precise boundaries of the social-group category undefined to ensure that the category would retain the flexibility necessary to address unanticipated situations. A broad interpretation of social group is supported by the Handbook on Procedures and Criteria for Determining Refugee Status (1979) published by the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The Handbook describes a social group as persons of similar background, habits, or social status. This expansive interpretation of the category is resonant with the intentions of the Convention drafters—a malleable category created for future asylum determinations. Since many women fleeing gender-based persecution share a common background and social status, they should fall within the Handbook's definition of a social group. Furthermore, a 1985 UNHCR Executive Committee report counseled member states to use the social-group category to classify women asylum-seekers "who face harsh or inhuman treatment due to their having transgressed the social mores of the society in which they live." Such a pronouncement is particularly significant. A position taken by an organization such as the UNHCR is likely to exert a strong influence on the international community. In particular, the UNHCR's position is likely to have an impact on the interpretation of national asylum laws, since the terms and definitions used in many national laws have been developed under the international consensus that UNHCR represents.

200106_1-RC_4_20

The passage suggests that which one of the following is true about the drafters of the United Nations Convention?

When women are persecuted on account of their gender, they are likely to be eligible for asylum. Persecution is the linchpin of the definition of a refugee set out in the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. In this document, a refugee is defined as any person facing persecution "for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion." While persecution on the basis of gender is not explicitly listed, this omission does not preclude victims of gender-based persecution from qualifying as refugees, nor does it reflect an intention that such persons be excluded from international protection. Rather, women persecuted on account of gender are eligible for asylum under the category of "social group." The history of the inclusion of the social-group category in the definition of a refugee indicates that this category was intended to cover groups, such as women facing gender-based persecution, who are otherwise not covered by the definition's specific categories. The original definition of refugee, which came from the constitution of the International Refugee Organization, did not include social group. However, the above-mentioned United Nations Convention added the category in order to provide a "safety net" for asylum-seekers who should qualify for refugee status but who fail to fall neatly into one of the enumerated categories. The drafters of the Convention intentionally left the precise boundaries of the social-group category undefined to ensure that the category would retain the flexibility necessary to address unanticipated situations. A broad interpretation of social group is supported by the Handbook on Procedures and Criteria for Determining Refugee Status (1979) published by the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The Handbook describes a social group as persons of similar background, habits, or social status. This expansive interpretation of the category is resonant with the intentions of the Convention drafters—a malleable category created for future asylum determinations. Since many women fleeing gender-based persecution share a common background and social status, they should fall within the Handbook's definition of a social group. Furthermore, a 1985 UNHCR Executive Committee report counseled member states to use the social-group category to classify women asylum-seekers "who face harsh or inhuman treatment due to their having transgressed the social mores of the society in which they live." Such a pronouncement is particularly significant. A position taken by an organization such as the UNHCR is likely to exert a strong influence on the international community. In particular, the UNHCR's position is likely to have an impact on the interpretation of national asylum laws, since the terms and definitions used in many national laws have been developed under the international consensus that UNHCR represents.

200106_1-RC_4_21

Which one of the following asylum-seekers would be most likely to qualify for refugee status under the social-group category as it is described in the passage?

When women are persecuted on account of their gender, they are likely to be eligible for asylum. Persecution is the linchpin of the definition of a refugee set out in the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. In this document, a refugee is defined as any person facing persecution "for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion." While persecution on the basis of gender is not explicitly listed, this omission does not preclude victims of gender-based persecution from qualifying as refugees, nor does it reflect an intention that such persons be excluded from international protection. Rather, women persecuted on account of gender are eligible for asylum under the category of "social group." The history of the inclusion of the social-group category in the definition of a refugee indicates that this category was intended to cover groups, such as women facing gender-based persecution, who are otherwise not covered by the definition's specific categories. The original definition of refugee, which came from the constitution of the International Refugee Organization, did not include social group. However, the above-mentioned United Nations Convention added the category in order to provide a "safety net" for asylum-seekers who should qualify for refugee status but who fail to fall neatly into one of the enumerated categories. The drafters of the Convention intentionally left the precise boundaries of the social-group category undefined to ensure that the category would retain the flexibility necessary to address unanticipated situations. A broad interpretation of social group is supported by the Handbook on Procedures and Criteria for Determining Refugee Status (1979) published by the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The Handbook describes a social group as persons of similar background, habits, or social status. This expansive interpretation of the category is resonant with the intentions of the Convention drafters—a malleable category created for future asylum determinations. Since many women fleeing gender-based persecution share a common background and social status, they should fall within the Handbook's definition of a social group. Furthermore, a 1985 UNHCR Executive Committee report counseled member states to use the social-group category to classify women asylum-seekers "who face harsh or inhuman treatment due to their having transgressed the social mores of the society in which they live." Such a pronouncement is particularly significant. A position taken by an organization such as the UNHCR is likely to exert a strong influence on the international community. In particular, the UNHCR's position is likely to have an impact on the interpretation of national asylum laws, since the terms and definitions used in many national laws have been developed under the international consensus that UNHCR represents.

200106_1-RC_4_22

The author describes the definition of social group in the UNHCR Handbook as

When women are persecuted on account of their gender, they are likely to be eligible for asylum. Persecution is the linchpin of the definition of a refugee set out in the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. In this document, a refugee is defined as any person facing persecution "for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion." While persecution on the basis of gender is not explicitly listed, this omission does not preclude victims of gender-based persecution from qualifying as refugees, nor does it reflect an intention that such persons be excluded from international protection. Rather, women persecuted on account of gender are eligible for asylum under the category of "social group." The history of the inclusion of the social-group category in the definition of a refugee indicates that this category was intended to cover groups, such as women facing gender-based persecution, who are otherwise not covered by the definition's specific categories. The original definition of refugee, which came from the constitution of the International Refugee Organization, did not include social group. However, the above-mentioned United Nations Convention added the category in order to provide a "safety net" for asylum-seekers who should qualify for refugee status but who fail to fall neatly into one of the enumerated categories. The drafters of the Convention intentionally left the precise boundaries of the social-group category undefined to ensure that the category would retain the flexibility necessary to address unanticipated situations. A broad interpretation of social group is supported by the Handbook on Procedures and Criteria for Determining Refugee Status (1979) published by the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The Handbook describes a social group as persons of similar background, habits, or social status. This expansive interpretation of the category is resonant with the intentions of the Convention drafters—a malleable category created for future asylum determinations. Since many women fleeing gender-based persecution share a common background and social status, they should fall within the Handbook's definition of a social group. Furthermore, a 1985 UNHCR Executive Committee report counseled member states to use the social-group category to classify women asylum-seekers "who face harsh or inhuman treatment due to their having transgressed the social mores of the society in which they live." Such a pronouncement is particularly significant. A position taken by an organization such as the UNHCR is likely to exert a strong influence on the international community. In particular, the UNHCR's position is likely to have an impact on the interpretation of national asylum laws, since the terms and definitions used in many national laws have been developed under the international consensus that UNHCR represents.

200106_1-RC_4_23

The author of the passage would most likely agree with which one of the following statements about the definition of a refugee in the constitution of the International Refugee Organization?

When women are persecuted on account of their gender, they are likely to be eligible for asylum. Persecution is the linchpin of the definition of a refugee set out in the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. In this document, a refugee is defined as any person facing persecution "for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion." While persecution on the basis of gender is not explicitly listed, this omission does not preclude victims of gender-based persecution from qualifying as refugees, nor does it reflect an intention that such persons be excluded from international protection. Rather, women persecuted on account of gender are eligible for asylum under the category of "social group." The history of the inclusion of the social-group category in the definition of a refugee indicates that this category was intended to cover groups, such as women facing gender-based persecution, who are otherwise not covered by the definition's specific categories. The original definition of refugee, which came from the constitution of the International Refugee Organization, did not include social group. However, the above-mentioned United Nations Convention added the category in order to provide a "safety net" for asylum-seekers who should qualify for refugee status but who fail to fall neatly into one of the enumerated categories. The drafters of the Convention intentionally left the precise boundaries of the social-group category undefined to ensure that the category would retain the flexibility necessary to address unanticipated situations. A broad interpretation of social group is supported by the Handbook on Procedures and Criteria for Determining Refugee Status (1979) published by the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The Handbook describes a social group as persons of similar background, habits, or social status. This expansive interpretation of the category is resonant with the intentions of the Convention drafters—a malleable category created for future asylum determinations. Since many women fleeing gender-based persecution share a common background and social status, they should fall within the Handbook's definition of a social group. Furthermore, a 1985 UNHCR Executive Committee report counseled member states to use the social-group category to classify women asylum-seekers "who face harsh or inhuman treatment due to their having transgressed the social mores of the society in which they live." Such a pronouncement is particularly significant. A position taken by an organization such as the UNHCR is likely to exert a strong influence on the international community. In particular, the UNHCR's position is likely to have an impact on the interpretation of national asylum laws, since the terms and definitions used in many national laws have been developed under the international consensus that UNHCR represents.

200106_1-RC_4_24

The author describes persecution as the "linchpin of the definition of a refugee" (line 3) in order to indicate that

When women are persecuted on account of their gender, they are likely to be eligible for asylum. Persecution is the linchpin of the definition of a refugee set out in the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. In this document, a refugee is defined as any person facing persecution "for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion." While persecution on the basis of gender is not explicitly listed, this omission does not preclude victims of gender-based persecution from qualifying as refugees, nor does it reflect an intention that such persons be excluded from international protection. Rather, women persecuted on account of gender are eligible for asylum under the category of "social group." The history of the inclusion of the social-group category in the definition of a refugee indicates that this category was intended to cover groups, such as women facing gender-based persecution, who are otherwise not covered by the definition's specific categories. The original definition of refugee, which came from the constitution of the International Refugee Organization, did not include social group. However, the above-mentioned United Nations Convention added the category in order to provide a "safety net" for asylum-seekers who should qualify for refugee status but who fail to fall neatly into one of the enumerated categories. The drafters of the Convention intentionally left the precise boundaries of the social-group category undefined to ensure that the category would retain the flexibility necessary to address unanticipated situations. A broad interpretation of social group is supported by the Handbook on Procedures and Criteria for Determining Refugee Status (1979) published by the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The Handbook describes a social group as persons of similar background, habits, or social status. This expansive interpretation of the category is resonant with the intentions of the Convention drafters—a malleable category created for future asylum determinations. Since many women fleeing gender-based persecution share a common background and social status, they should fall within the Handbook's definition of a social group. Furthermore, a 1985 UNHCR Executive Committee report counseled member states to use the social-group category to classify women asylum-seekers "who face harsh or inhuman treatment due to their having transgressed the social mores of the society in which they live." Such a pronouncement is particularly significant. A position taken by an organization such as the UNHCR is likely to exert a strong influence on the international community. In particular, the UNHCR's position is likely to have an impact on the interpretation of national asylum laws, since the terms and definitions used in many national laws have been developed under the international consensus that UNHCR represents.

200106_1-RC_4_25

The passage suggests that which one of the following is most likely to be true of the relationship between UNHCR documents concerning refugees and many nations' asylum laws?

When women are persecuted on account of their gender, they are likely to be eligible for asylum. Persecution is the linchpin of the definition of a refugee set out in the United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. In this document, a refugee is defined as any person facing persecution "for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion." While persecution on the basis of gender is not explicitly listed, this omission does not preclude victims of gender-based persecution from qualifying as refugees, nor does it reflect an intention that such persons be excluded from international protection. Rather, women persecuted on account of gender are eligible for asylum under the category of "social group." The history of the inclusion of the social-group category in the definition of a refugee indicates that this category was intended to cover groups, such as women facing gender-based persecution, who are otherwise not covered by the definition's specific categories. The original definition of refugee, which came from the constitution of the International Refugee Organization, did not include social group. However, the above-mentioned United Nations Convention added the category in order to provide a "safety net" for asylum-seekers who should qualify for refugee status but who fail to fall neatly into one of the enumerated categories. The drafters of the Convention intentionally left the precise boundaries of the social-group category undefined to ensure that the category would retain the flexibility necessary to address unanticipated situations. A broad interpretation of social group is supported by the Handbook on Procedures and Criteria for Determining Refugee Status (1979) published by the office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The Handbook describes a social group as persons of similar background, habits, or social status. This expansive interpretation of the category is resonant with the intentions of the Convention drafters—a malleable category created for future asylum determinations. Since many women fleeing gender-based persecution share a common background and social status, they should fall within the Handbook's definition of a social group. Furthermore, a 1985 UNHCR Executive Committee report counseled member states to use the social-group category to classify women asylum-seekers "who face harsh or inhuman treatment due to their having transgressed the social mores of the society in which they live." Such a pronouncement is particularly significant. A position taken by an organization such as the UNHCR is likely to exert a strong influence on the international community. In particular, the UNHCR's position is likely to have an impact on the interpretation of national asylum laws, since the terms and definitions used in many national laws have been developed under the international consensus that UNHCR represents.

200106_1-RC_4_26

The primary purpose of the passage is to

Of the more than one thousand people who published memoirs of the French Revolution of 1789, about eighty were women. And of these eighty women memoirists, two thirds were members of the upper class, a proportion that might be attributed solely to privilege—at the time of the Revolution, only half of all French citizens could read, and only members of the upper class were able to write easily. But there were also political reasons. Most of the memoirs were published decades after the Revolution, during the restored monarchy that came to power in 1815. Those written by royalists, who opposed the Revolution, were published under the monarchy's aegis; in contrast, republican memoirists, who supported the Revolution, risked political sanctions against their work. Because the memoirs were written so long after the events they describe, some historians question their reliability. Certainly, memory is subject to the loss or confusion of facts and, more to the point in these partisan accounts, to the distortions of a mind intent on preserving its particular picture of the past. But other scholars have shown that close inspection of these documents resolves such doubts on two scores. First, for major public happenings, there are often multiple accounts, allowing for cross-verification. Second, regarding the truth of personal events known only to the author, more subjective guidelines must be used: Are there internal verifications with a text that suggest the author is describing a plausible sequence of events, and acting in accord with what is known of the writer's character? Or is the narrative voice so pervaded by self-justifications that it forfeits credibility? Denis Bertholet, in a study of nineteenth-century French autobiography, states that the women memoirists of this period defined themselves "in relationship to their sex" —i.e., they conformed to socially prescribed feminine roles of the time, fulfilling obligations as daughters, wives or mothers. Nonetheless, instances of social activism by women abounded during the Revolution. On the whole, women's memoirs during this period exhibit a variety of personalities and experiences, and describe how women participated, individually and collectively, in the events of the Revolution. For example, the imprisoned royalist Madame de La Villirouët details how she managed to liberate not only herself but her co-prisoners through an epistolary campaign, and how she subsequently saved her husband's life by pleading his case in court. In addition, in both royalist and republican camps, several women defied the ban against women serving as soldiers and bore arms for their causes. Bertholet's study attests to the credibility of these accounts on both factual and subjective grounds, making the memoirs written by women particularly significant because they embody a clearly feminist mode of discourse and experience that one would not expect to find until the French Feminist movement more than a century later.

200110_2-RC_1_1

Which one of the following most completely and accurately states the main idea of the passage?

Of the more than one thousand people who published memoirs of the French Revolution of 1789, about eighty were women. And of these eighty women memoirists, two thirds were members of the upper class, a proportion that might be attributed solely to privilege—at the time of the Revolution, only half of all French citizens could read, and only members of the upper class were able to write easily. But there were also political reasons. Most of the memoirs were published decades after the Revolution, during the restored monarchy that came to power in 1815. Those written by royalists, who opposed the Revolution, were published under the monarchy's aegis; in contrast, republican memoirists, who supported the Revolution, risked political sanctions against their work. Because the memoirs were written so long after the events they describe, some historians question their reliability. Certainly, memory is subject to the loss or confusion of facts and, more to the point in these partisan accounts, to the distortions of a mind intent on preserving its particular picture of the past. But other scholars have shown that close inspection of these documents resolves such doubts on two scores. First, for major public happenings, there are often multiple accounts, allowing for cross-verification. Second, regarding the truth of personal events known only to the author, more subjective guidelines must be used: Are there internal verifications with a text that suggest the author is describing a plausible sequence of events, and acting in accord with what is known of the writer's character? Or is the narrative voice so pervaded by self-justifications that it forfeits credibility? Denis Bertholet, in a study of nineteenth-century French autobiography, states that the women memoirists of this period defined themselves "in relationship to their sex" —i.e., they conformed to socially prescribed feminine roles of the time, fulfilling obligations as daughters, wives or mothers. Nonetheless, instances of social activism by women abounded during the Revolution. On the whole, women's memoirs during this period exhibit a variety of personalities and experiences, and describe how women participated, individually and collectively, in the events of the Revolution. For example, the imprisoned royalist Madame de La Villirouët details how she managed to liberate not only herself but her co-prisoners through an epistolary campaign, and how she subsequently saved her husband's life by pleading his case in court. In addition, in both royalist and republican camps, several women defied the ban against women serving as soldiers and bore arms for their causes. Bertholet's study attests to the credibility of these accounts on both factual and subjective grounds, making the memoirs written by women particularly significant because they embody a clearly feminist mode of discourse and experience that one would not expect to find until the French Feminist movement more than a century later.

200110_2-RC_1_2

Based on the passage, which one of the following can most reasonably be inferred about the majority of the published memoirs of the French Revolution that were written by men?

Of the more than one thousand people who published memoirs of the French Revolution of 1789, about eighty were women. And of these eighty women memoirists, two thirds were members of the upper class, a proportion that might be attributed solely to privilege—at the time of the Revolution, only half of all French citizens could read, and only members of the upper class were able to write easily. But there were also political reasons. Most of the memoirs were published decades after the Revolution, during the restored monarchy that came to power in 1815. Those written by royalists, who opposed the Revolution, were published under the monarchy's aegis; in contrast, republican memoirists, who supported the Revolution, risked political sanctions against their work. Because the memoirs were written so long after the events they describe, some historians question their reliability. Certainly, memory is subject to the loss or confusion of facts and, more to the point in these partisan accounts, to the distortions of a mind intent on preserving its particular picture of the past. But other scholars have shown that close inspection of these documents resolves such doubts on two scores. First, for major public happenings, there are often multiple accounts, allowing for cross-verification. Second, regarding the truth of personal events known only to the author, more subjective guidelines must be used: Are there internal verifications with a text that suggest the author is describing a plausible sequence of events, and acting in accord with what is known of the writer's character? Or is the narrative voice so pervaded by self-justifications that it forfeits credibility? Denis Bertholet, in a study of nineteenth-century French autobiography, states that the women memoirists of this period defined themselves "in relationship to their sex" —i.e., they conformed to socially prescribed feminine roles of the time, fulfilling obligations as daughters, wives or mothers. Nonetheless, instances of social activism by women abounded during the Revolution. On the whole, women's memoirs during this period exhibit a variety of personalities and experiences, and describe how women participated, individually and collectively, in the events of the Revolution. For example, the imprisoned royalist Madame de La Villirouët details how she managed to liberate not only herself but her co-prisoners through an epistolary campaign, and how she subsequently saved her husband's life by pleading his case in court. In addition, in both royalist and republican camps, several women defied the ban against women serving as soldiers and bore arms for their causes. Bertholet's study attests to the credibility of these accounts on both factual and subjective grounds, making the memoirs written by women particularly significant because they embody a clearly feminist mode of discourse and experience that one would not expect to find until the French Feminist movement more than a century later.

200110_2-RC_1_3

The passage's reference to Madame de La Villirouët is most likely intended to

Of the more than one thousand people who published memoirs of the French Revolution of 1789, about eighty were women. And of these eighty women memoirists, two thirds were members of the upper class, a proportion that might be attributed solely to privilege—at the time of the Revolution, only half of all French citizens could read, and only members of the upper class were able to write easily. But there were also political reasons. Most of the memoirs were published decades after the Revolution, during the restored monarchy that came to power in 1815. Those written by royalists, who opposed the Revolution, were published under the monarchy's aegis; in contrast, republican memoirists, who supported the Revolution, risked political sanctions against their work. Because the memoirs were written so long after the events they describe, some historians question their reliability. Certainly, memory is subject to the loss or confusion of facts and, more to the point in these partisan accounts, to the distortions of a mind intent on preserving its particular picture of the past. But other scholars have shown that close inspection of these documents resolves such doubts on two scores. First, for major public happenings, there are often multiple accounts, allowing for cross-verification. Second, regarding the truth of personal events known only to the author, more subjective guidelines must be used: Are there internal verifications with a text that suggest the author is describing a plausible sequence of events, and acting in accord with what is known of the writer's character? Or is the narrative voice so pervaded by self-justifications that it forfeits credibility? Denis Bertholet, in a study of nineteenth-century French autobiography, states that the women memoirists of this period defined themselves "in relationship to their sex" —i.e., they conformed to socially prescribed feminine roles of the time, fulfilling obligations as daughters, wives or mothers. Nonetheless, instances of social activism by women abounded during the Revolution. On the whole, women's memoirs during this period exhibit a variety of personalities and experiences, and describe how women participated, individually and collectively, in the events of the Revolution. For example, the imprisoned royalist Madame de La Villirouët details how she managed to liberate not only herself but her co-prisoners through an epistolary campaign, and how she subsequently saved her husband's life by pleading his case in court. In addition, in both royalist and republican camps, several women defied the ban against women serving as soldiers and bore arms for their causes. Bertholet's study attests to the credibility of these accounts on both factual and subjective grounds, making the memoirs written by women particularly significant because they embody a clearly feminist mode of discourse and experience that one would not expect to find until the French Feminist movement more than a century later.

200110_2-RC_1_4

According to the passage, more of the published women's memoirs of the French Revolution were written by royalists than by republicans because

Of the more than one thousand people who published memoirs of the French Revolution of 1789, about eighty were women. And of these eighty women memoirists, two thirds were members of the upper class, a proportion that might be attributed solely to privilege—at the time of the Revolution, only half of all French citizens could read, and only members of the upper class were able to write easily. But there were also political reasons. Most of the memoirs were published decades after the Revolution, during the restored monarchy that came to power in 1815. Those written by royalists, who opposed the Revolution, were published under the monarchy's aegis; in contrast, republican memoirists, who supported the Revolution, risked political sanctions against their work. Because the memoirs were written so long after the events they describe, some historians question their reliability. Certainly, memory is subject to the loss or confusion of facts and, more to the point in these partisan accounts, to the distortions of a mind intent on preserving its particular picture of the past. But other scholars have shown that close inspection of these documents resolves such doubts on two scores. First, for major public happenings, there are often multiple accounts, allowing for cross-verification. Second, regarding the truth of personal events known only to the author, more subjective guidelines must be used: Are there internal verifications with a text that suggest the author is describing a plausible sequence of events, and acting in accord with what is known of the writer's character? Or is the narrative voice so pervaded by self-justifications that it forfeits credibility? Denis Bertholet, in a study of nineteenth-century French autobiography, states that the women memoirists of this period defined themselves "in relationship to their sex" —i.e., they conformed to socially prescribed feminine roles of the time, fulfilling obligations as daughters, wives or mothers. Nonetheless, instances of social activism by women abounded during the Revolution. On the whole, women's memoirs during this period exhibit a variety of personalities and experiences, and describe how women participated, individually and collectively, in the events of the Revolution. For example, the imprisoned royalist Madame de La Villirouët details how she managed to liberate not only herself but her co-prisoners through an epistolary campaign, and how she subsequently saved her husband's life by pleading his case in court. In addition, in both royalist and republican camps, several women defied the ban against women serving as soldiers and bore arms for their causes. Bertholet's study attests to the credibility of these accounts on both factual and subjective grounds, making the memoirs written by women particularly significant because they embody a clearly feminist mode of discourse and experience that one would not expect to find until the French Feminist movement more than a century later.

200110_2-RC_1_5

Based on the passage, which one of the following views can most reasonably be attributed to the historians mentioned in line 17?

Of the more than one thousand people who published memoirs of the French Revolution of 1789, about eighty were women. And of these eighty women memoirists, two thirds were members of the upper class, a proportion that might be attributed solely to privilege—at the time of the Revolution, only half of all French citizens could read, and only members of the upper class were able to write easily. But there were also political reasons. Most of the memoirs were published decades after the Revolution, during the restored monarchy that came to power in 1815. Those written by royalists, who opposed the Revolution, were published under the monarchy's aegis; in contrast, republican memoirists, who supported the Revolution, risked political sanctions against their work. Because the memoirs were written so long after the events they describe, some historians question their reliability. Certainly, memory is subject to the loss or confusion of facts and, more to the point in these partisan accounts, to the distortions of a mind intent on preserving its particular picture of the past. But other scholars have shown that close inspection of these documents resolves such doubts on two scores. First, for major public happenings, there are often multiple accounts, allowing for cross-verification. Second, regarding the truth of personal events known only to the author, more subjective guidelines must be used: Are there internal verifications with a text that suggest the author is describing a plausible sequence of events, and acting in accord with what is known of the writer's character? Or is the narrative voice so pervaded by self-justifications that it forfeits credibility? Denis Bertholet, in a study of nineteenth-century French autobiography, states that the women memoirists of this period defined themselves "in relationship to their sex" —i.e., they conformed to socially prescribed feminine roles of the time, fulfilling obligations as daughters, wives or mothers. Nonetheless, instances of social activism by women abounded during the Revolution. On the whole, women's memoirs during this period exhibit a variety of personalities and experiences, and describe how women participated, individually and collectively, in the events of the Revolution. For example, the imprisoned royalist Madame de La Villirouët details how she managed to liberate not only herself but her co-prisoners through an epistolary campaign, and how she subsequently saved her husband's life by pleading his case in court. In addition, in both royalist and republican camps, several women defied the ban against women serving as soldiers and bore arms for their causes. Bertholet's study attests to the credibility of these accounts on both factual and subjective grounds, making the memoirs written by women particularly significant because they embody a clearly feminist mode of discourse and experience that one would not expect to find until the French Feminist movement more than a century later.

200110_2-RC_1_6

Based on the passage, which one of the following most accurately states a criterion that the scholars referred to in line 22 use to judge the credibility of a memoir's depiction of events known only to its author?

The paintings of Roman Bearden (1914–1988) represent a double triumph. At the same time that Bearden's work reflects a lifelong commitment to perfecting the innovative painting techniques he pioneered, it also reveals an artist engaged in a search for ways to explore the varieties of African-American experience. By presenting scene, character, and atmosphere using a unique layered and fragmented style that combines elements of painting with elements of collage, Bearden suggested some of the ways in which commonplace subjects could be forced to undergo a metamorphosis when filtered through the techniques available to the resourceful artist. Bearden knew that regardless of individual painters' personal histories, tastes, or points of view, they must pay their craft the respect of approaching it through an acute awareness of the resources and limitations of the form to which they have dedicated their creative energies. But how did Bearden, so passionately dedicated to solving the more advanced problems of his painting technique, also succeed so well at portraying the realities of African-American life? During the Great Depression of the 1930's, Bearden painted scenes of the hardships of the period; the work was powerful, the scenes grim and brooding. Through his depiction of the unemployed in New York's Harlem he was able to move beyond the usual "protest painting" of the period to reveal instances of individual human suffering. His human figures, placed in abstract yet mysteriously familiar urban settings, managed to express the complex social reality lying beyond the borders of the canvas without compromising their integrity as elements in an artistic composition. Another important element of Bearden's compositions was his use of muted colors, such as dark blues and purples, to suggest moods of melancholy or despair. While functioning as part of the overall design, these colors also served as symbols of the psychological effects of debilitating social processes. During the same period, he also painted happier scenes—depictions of religious ceremony, musical performance, and family life—and instilled them with the same vividness that he applied to his scenes of suffering. Bearden sought in his work to reveal in all its fullness a world long hidden by the clichés of sociology and rendered cloudy by the simplifications of journalism and documentary photography. Where any number of painters have tried to project the "prose" of Harlem, Bearden concentrated on releasing its poetry— its family rituals and its ceremonies of affirmation and celebration. His work insists that we truly see the African-American experience in depth, using the fresh light of his creative vision. Through an act of artistic will, he created strange visual harmonies out of the mosaic of the African-American experience, and in doing so reflected the multiple rhythms, textures, and mysteries of life.

200110_2-RC_2_7

Which one of the following best summarizes the main idea of the passage?

The paintings of Roman Bearden (1914–1988) represent a double triumph. At the same time that Bearden's work reflects a lifelong commitment to perfecting the innovative painting techniques he pioneered, it also reveals an artist engaged in a search for ways to explore the varieties of African-American experience. By presenting scene, character, and atmosphere using a unique layered and fragmented style that combines elements of painting with elements of collage, Bearden suggested some of the ways in which commonplace subjects could be forced to undergo a metamorphosis when filtered through the techniques available to the resourceful artist. Bearden knew that regardless of individual painters' personal histories, tastes, or points of view, they must pay their craft the respect of approaching it through an acute awareness of the resources and limitations of the form to which they have dedicated their creative energies. But how did Bearden, so passionately dedicated to solving the more advanced problems of his painting technique, also succeed so well at portraying the realities of African-American life? During the Great Depression of the 1930's, Bearden painted scenes of the hardships of the period; the work was powerful, the scenes grim and brooding. Through his depiction of the unemployed in New York's Harlem he was able to move beyond the usual "protest painting" of the period to reveal instances of individual human suffering. His human figures, placed in abstract yet mysteriously familiar urban settings, managed to express the complex social reality lying beyond the borders of the canvas without compromising their integrity as elements in an artistic composition. Another important element of Bearden's compositions was his use of muted colors, such as dark blues and purples, to suggest moods of melancholy or despair. While functioning as part of the overall design, these colors also served as symbols of the psychological effects of debilitating social processes. During the same period, he also painted happier scenes—depictions of religious ceremony, musical performance, and family life—and instilled them with the same vividness that he applied to his scenes of suffering. Bearden sought in his work to reveal in all its fullness a world long hidden by the clichés of sociology and rendered cloudy by the simplifications of journalism and documentary photography. Where any number of painters have tried to project the "prose" of Harlem, Bearden concentrated on releasing its poetry— its family rituals and its ceremonies of affirmation and celebration. His work insists that we truly see the African-American experience in depth, using the fresh light of his creative vision. Through an act of artistic will, he created strange visual harmonies out of the mosaic of the African-American experience, and in doing so reflected the multiple rhythms, textures, and mysteries of life.

200110_2-RC_2_8

According to the passage, Bearden's innovative painting techniques illustrate

The paintings of Roman Bearden (1914–1988) represent a double triumph. At the same time that Bearden's work reflects a lifelong commitment to perfecting the innovative painting techniques he pioneered, it also reveals an artist engaged in a search for ways to explore the varieties of African-American experience. By presenting scene, character, and atmosphere using a unique layered and fragmented style that combines elements of painting with elements of collage, Bearden suggested some of the ways in which commonplace subjects could be forced to undergo a metamorphosis when filtered through the techniques available to the resourceful artist. Bearden knew that regardless of individual painters' personal histories, tastes, or points of view, they must pay their craft the respect of approaching it through an acute awareness of the resources and limitations of the form to which they have dedicated their creative energies. But how did Bearden, so passionately dedicated to solving the more advanced problems of his painting technique, also succeed so well at portraying the realities of African-American life? During the Great Depression of the 1930's, Bearden painted scenes of the hardships of the period; the work was powerful, the scenes grim and brooding. Through his depiction of the unemployed in New York's Harlem he was able to move beyond the usual "protest painting" of the period to reveal instances of individual human suffering. His human figures, placed in abstract yet mysteriously familiar urban settings, managed to express the complex social reality lying beyond the borders of the canvas without compromising their integrity as elements in an artistic composition. Another important element of Bearden's compositions was his use of muted colors, such as dark blues and purples, to suggest moods of melancholy or despair. While functioning as part of the overall design, these colors also served as symbols of the psychological effects of debilitating social processes. During the same period, he also painted happier scenes—depictions of religious ceremony, musical performance, and family life—and instilled them with the same vividness that he applied to his scenes of suffering. Bearden sought in his work to reveal in all its fullness a world long hidden by the clichés of sociology and rendered cloudy by the simplifications of journalism and documentary photography. Where any number of painters have tried to project the "prose" of Harlem, Bearden concentrated on releasing its poetry— its family rituals and its ceremonies of affirmation and celebration. His work insists that we truly see the African-American experience in depth, using the fresh light of his creative vision. Through an act of artistic will, he created strange visual harmonies out of the mosaic of the African-American experience, and in doing so reflected the multiple rhythms, textures, and mysteries of life.

200110_2-RC_2_9

As it is used in the passage, the phrase "protest painting" (line 28) appears to refer to painting that

The paintings of Roman Bearden (1914–1988) represent a double triumph. At the same time that Bearden's work reflects a lifelong commitment to perfecting the innovative painting techniques he pioneered, it also reveals an artist engaged in a search for ways to explore the varieties of African-American experience. By presenting scene, character, and atmosphere using a unique layered and fragmented style that combines elements of painting with elements of collage, Bearden suggested some of the ways in which commonplace subjects could be forced to undergo a metamorphosis when filtered through the techniques available to the resourceful artist. Bearden knew that regardless of individual painters' personal histories, tastes, or points of view, they must pay their craft the respect of approaching it through an acute awareness of the resources and limitations of the form to which they have dedicated their creative energies. But how did Bearden, so passionately dedicated to solving the more advanced problems of his painting technique, also succeed so well at portraying the realities of African-American life? During the Great Depression of the 1930's, Bearden painted scenes of the hardships of the period; the work was powerful, the scenes grim and brooding. Through his depiction of the unemployed in New York's Harlem he was able to move beyond the usual "protest painting" of the period to reveal instances of individual human suffering. His human figures, placed in abstract yet mysteriously familiar urban settings, managed to express the complex social reality lying beyond the borders of the canvas without compromising their integrity as elements in an artistic composition. Another important element of Bearden's compositions was his use of muted colors, such as dark blues and purples, to suggest moods of melancholy or despair. While functioning as part of the overall design, these colors also served as symbols of the psychological effects of debilitating social processes. During the same period, he also painted happier scenes—depictions of religious ceremony, musical performance, and family life—and instilled them with the same vividness that he applied to his scenes of suffering. Bearden sought in his work to reveal in all its fullness a world long hidden by the clichés of sociology and rendered cloudy by the simplifications of journalism and documentary photography. Where any number of painters have tried to project the "prose" of Harlem, Bearden concentrated on releasing its poetry— its family rituals and its ceremonies of affirmation and celebration. His work insists that we truly see the African-American experience in depth, using the fresh light of his creative vision. Through an act of artistic will, he created strange visual harmonies out of the mosaic of the African-American experience, and in doing so reflected the multiple rhythms, textures, and mysteries of life.

200110_2-RC_2_10

Based on the passage, with which one of the following statements would Bearden have been most likely to agree?

The paintings of Roman Bearden (1914–1988) represent a double triumph. At the same time that Bearden's work reflects a lifelong commitment to perfecting the innovative painting techniques he pioneered, it also reveals an artist engaged in a search for ways to explore the varieties of African-American experience. By presenting scene, character, and atmosphere using a unique layered and fragmented style that combines elements of painting with elements of collage, Bearden suggested some of the ways in which commonplace subjects could be forced to undergo a metamorphosis when filtered through the techniques available to the resourceful artist. Bearden knew that regardless of individual painters' personal histories, tastes, or points of view, they must pay their craft the respect of approaching it through an acute awareness of the resources and limitations of the form to which they have dedicated their creative energies. But how did Bearden, so passionately dedicated to solving the more advanced problems of his painting technique, also succeed so well at portraying the realities of African-American life? During the Great Depression of the 1930's, Bearden painted scenes of the hardships of the period; the work was powerful, the scenes grim and brooding. Through his depiction of the unemployed in New York's Harlem he was able to move beyond the usual "protest painting" of the period to reveal instances of individual human suffering. His human figures, placed in abstract yet mysteriously familiar urban settings, managed to express the complex social reality lying beyond the borders of the canvas without compromising their integrity as elements in an artistic composition. Another important element of Bearden's compositions was his use of muted colors, such as dark blues and purples, to suggest moods of melancholy or despair. While functioning as part of the overall design, these colors also served as symbols of the psychological effects of debilitating social processes. During the same period, he also painted happier scenes—depictions of religious ceremony, musical performance, and family life—and instilled them with the same vividness that he applied to his scenes of suffering. Bearden sought in his work to reveal in all its fullness a world long hidden by the clichés of sociology and rendered cloudy by the simplifications of journalism and documentary photography. Where any number of painters have tried to project the "prose" of Harlem, Bearden concentrated on releasing its poetry— its family rituals and its ceremonies of affirmation and celebration. His work insists that we truly see the African-American experience in depth, using the fresh light of his creative vision. Through an act of artistic will, he created strange visual harmonies out of the mosaic of the African-American experience, and in doing so reflected the multiple rhythms, textures, and mysteries of life.

200110_2-RC_2_11

It can be inferred from the passage that journalistic and photographic records of Depression-era Harlem generally do not

The paintings of Roman Bearden (1914–1988) represent a double triumph. At the same time that Bearden's work reflects a lifelong commitment to perfecting the innovative painting techniques he pioneered, it also reveals an artist engaged in a search for ways to explore the varieties of African-American experience. By presenting scene, character, and atmosphere using a unique layered and fragmented style that combines elements of painting with elements of collage, Bearden suggested some of the ways in which commonplace subjects could be forced to undergo a metamorphosis when filtered through the techniques available to the resourceful artist. Bearden knew that regardless of individual painters' personal histories, tastes, or points of view, they must pay their craft the respect of approaching it through an acute awareness of the resources and limitations of the form to which they have dedicated their creative energies. But how did Bearden, so passionately dedicated to solving the more advanced problems of his painting technique, also succeed so well at portraying the realities of African-American life? During the Great Depression of the 1930's, Bearden painted scenes of the hardships of the period; the work was powerful, the scenes grim and brooding. Through his depiction of the unemployed in New York's Harlem he was able to move beyond the usual "protest painting" of the period to reveal instances of individual human suffering. His human figures, placed in abstract yet mysteriously familiar urban settings, managed to express the complex social reality lying beyond the borders of the canvas without compromising their integrity as elements in an artistic composition. Another important element of Bearden's compositions was his use of muted colors, such as dark blues and purples, to suggest moods of melancholy or despair. While functioning as part of the overall design, these colors also served as symbols of the psychological effects of debilitating social processes. During the same period, he also painted happier scenes—depictions of religious ceremony, musical performance, and family life—and instilled them with the same vividness that he applied to his scenes of suffering. Bearden sought in his work to reveal in all its fullness a world long hidden by the clichés of sociology and rendered cloudy by the simplifications of journalism and documentary photography. Where any number of painters have tried to project the "prose" of Harlem, Bearden concentrated on releasing its poetry— its family rituals and its ceremonies of affirmation and celebration. His work insists that we truly see the African-American experience in depth, using the fresh light of his creative vision. Through an act of artistic will, he created strange visual harmonies out of the mosaic of the African-American experience, and in doing so reflected the multiple rhythms, textures, and mysteries of life.

200110_2-RC_2_12

The passage gives information that helps answer all of the following questions EXCEPT:

The paintings of Roman Bearden (1914–1988) represent a double triumph. At the same time that Bearden's work reflects a lifelong commitment to perfecting the innovative painting techniques he pioneered, it also reveals an artist engaged in a search for ways to explore the varieties of African-American experience. By presenting scene, character, and atmosphere using a unique layered and fragmented style that combines elements of painting with elements of collage, Bearden suggested some of the ways in which commonplace subjects could be forced to undergo a metamorphosis when filtered through the techniques available to the resourceful artist. Bearden knew that regardless of individual painters' personal histories, tastes, or points of view, they must pay their craft the respect of approaching it through an acute awareness of the resources and limitations of the form to which they have dedicated their creative energies. But how did Bearden, so passionately dedicated to solving the more advanced problems of his painting technique, also succeed so well at portraying the realities of African-American life? During the Great Depression of the 1930's, Bearden painted scenes of the hardships of the period; the work was powerful, the scenes grim and brooding. Through his depiction of the unemployed in New York's Harlem he was able to move beyond the usual "protest painting" of the period to reveal instances of individual human suffering. His human figures, placed in abstract yet mysteriously familiar urban settings, managed to express the complex social reality lying beyond the borders of the canvas without compromising their integrity as elements in an artistic composition. Another important element of Bearden's compositions was his use of muted colors, such as dark blues and purples, to suggest moods of melancholy or despair. While functioning as part of the overall design, these colors also served as symbols of the psychological effects of debilitating social processes. During the same period, he also painted happier scenes—depictions of religious ceremony, musical performance, and family life—and instilled them with the same vividness that he applied to his scenes of suffering. Bearden sought in his work to reveal in all its fullness a world long hidden by the clichés of sociology and rendered cloudy by the simplifications of journalism and documentary photography. Where any number of painters have tried to project the "prose" of Harlem, Bearden concentrated on releasing its poetry— its family rituals and its ceremonies of affirmation and celebration. His work insists that we truly see the African-American experience in depth, using the fresh light of his creative vision. Through an act of artistic will, he created strange visual harmonies out of the mosaic of the African-American experience, and in doing so reflected the multiple rhythms, textures, and mysteries of life.

200110_2-RC_2_13

According to the passage, human figures in Bearden's paintings do all of the following EXCEPT:

The paintings of Roman Bearden (1914–1988) represent a double triumph. At the same time that Bearden's work reflects a lifelong commitment to perfecting the innovative painting techniques he pioneered, it also reveals an artist engaged in a search for ways to explore the varieties of African-American experience. By presenting scene, character, and atmosphere using a unique layered and fragmented style that combines elements of painting with elements of collage, Bearden suggested some of the ways in which commonplace subjects could be forced to undergo a metamorphosis when filtered through the techniques available to the resourceful artist. Bearden knew that regardless of individual painters' personal histories, tastes, or points of view, they must pay their craft the respect of approaching it through an acute awareness of the resources and limitations of the form to which they have dedicated their creative energies. But how did Bearden, so passionately dedicated to solving the more advanced problems of his painting technique, also succeed so well at portraying the realities of African-American life? During the Great Depression of the 1930's, Bearden painted scenes of the hardships of the period; the work was powerful, the scenes grim and brooding. Through his depiction of the unemployed in New York's Harlem he was able to move beyond the usual "protest painting" of the period to reveal instances of individual human suffering. His human figures, placed in abstract yet mysteriously familiar urban settings, managed to express the complex social reality lying beyond the borders of the canvas without compromising their integrity as elements in an artistic composition. Another important element of Bearden's compositions was his use of muted colors, such as dark blues and purples, to suggest moods of melancholy or despair. While functioning as part of the overall design, these colors also served as symbols of the psychological effects of debilitating social processes. During the same period, he also painted happier scenes—depictions of religious ceremony, musical performance, and family life—and instilled them with the same vividness that he applied to his scenes of suffering. Bearden sought in his work to reveal in all its fullness a world long hidden by the clichés of sociology and rendered cloudy by the simplifications of journalism and documentary photography. Where any number of painters have tried to project the "prose" of Harlem, Bearden concentrated on releasing its poetry— its family rituals and its ceremonies of affirmation and celebration. His work insists that we truly see the African-American experience in depth, using the fresh light of his creative vision. Through an act of artistic will, he created strange visual harmonies out of the mosaic of the African-American experience, and in doing so reflected the multiple rhythms, textures, and mysteries of life.

200110_2-RC_2_14

The passage suggests that the author's attitude toward Bearden's innovative painting techniques is one of

Philosophers of science have long been uneasy with biology, preferring instead to focus on physics. At the heart of this preference is a mistrust of uncertainty. Science is supposed to be the study of what is true everywhere and for all times, and the phenomena of science are supposed to be repeatable, arising from universal laws, rather than historically contingent. After all, if something pops up only on occasional Tuesdays or Thursdays, it is not classified as science but as history. Philosophers of science have thus been fascinated with the fact that elephants and mice would fall at the same rate if dropped from the Tower of Pisa, but not much interested in how elephants and mice got to be such different sizes in the first place. Philosophers of science have not been alone in claiming that science must consist of universal laws. Some evolutionary biologists have also acceded to the general intellectual disdain for the merely particular and tried to emulate physicists, constructing their science as a set of universal laws. In formulating the notion of a universal "struggle for existence" that is the engine of biological history or in asserting that virtually all DNA evolves at a constant clocklike rate, they have attempted to find their own versions of the law of gravity. Recently, however, some biologists have questioned whether biological history is really the necessary unfolding of universal laws of life, and they have raised the possibility that historical contingency is an integral factor in biology. To illustrate the difference between biologists favoring universal, deterministic laws of evolutionary development and those leaving room for historical contingency, consider two favorite statements of philosophers (both of which appear, at first sight, to be universal assertions): "All planets move in ellipses" and "All swans are white." The former is truly universal because it applies not only to those planets that actually do exist, but also to those that could exist—for the shape of planetary orbits is a necessary consequence of the laws governing the motion of objects in a gravitational field. Biological determinists would say that "All swans are white" is universal in the same way, since, if all swans were white, it would be because the laws of natural selection make it impossible for swans to be otherwise: natural selection favors those characteristics that increase the average rate of offspring production, and so traits that maximize flexibility and the ability to manipulate nature will eventually appear. Nondeterminist biologists would deny this, saying that "swans" is merely the name of a finite collection of historical objects that may happen all to be white, but not of necessity. The history of evolutionary theory has been the history of the struggle between these two views of swans.

200110_2-RC_3_15

Which one of the following best summarizes the main idea of the passage?

Philosophers of science have long been uneasy with biology, preferring instead to focus on physics. At the heart of this preference is a mistrust of uncertainty. Science is supposed to be the study of what is true everywhere and for all times, and the phenomena of science are supposed to be repeatable, arising from universal laws, rather than historically contingent. After all, if something pops up only on occasional Tuesdays or Thursdays, it is not classified as science but as history. Philosophers of science have thus been fascinated with the fact that elephants and mice would fall at the same rate if dropped from the Tower of Pisa, but not much interested in how elephants and mice got to be such different sizes in the first place. Philosophers of science have not been alone in claiming that science must consist of universal laws. Some evolutionary biologists have also acceded to the general intellectual disdain for the merely particular and tried to emulate physicists, constructing their science as a set of universal laws. In formulating the notion of a universal "struggle for existence" that is the engine of biological history or in asserting that virtually all DNA evolves at a constant clocklike rate, they have attempted to find their own versions of the law of gravity. Recently, however, some biologists have questioned whether biological history is really the necessary unfolding of universal laws of life, and they have raised the possibility that historical contingency is an integral factor in biology. To illustrate the difference between biologists favoring universal, deterministic laws of evolutionary development and those leaving room for historical contingency, consider two favorite statements of philosophers (both of which appear, at first sight, to be universal assertions): "All planets move in ellipses" and "All swans are white." The former is truly universal because it applies not only to those planets that actually do exist, but also to those that could exist—for the shape of planetary orbits is a necessary consequence of the laws governing the motion of objects in a gravitational field. Biological determinists would say that "All swans are white" is universal in the same way, since, if all swans were white, it would be because the laws of natural selection make it impossible for swans to be otherwise: natural selection favors those characteristics that increase the average rate of offspring production, and so traits that maximize flexibility and the ability to manipulate nature will eventually appear. Nondeterminist biologists would deny this, saying that "swans" is merely the name of a finite collection of historical objects that may happen all to be white, but not of necessity. The history of evolutionary theory has been the history of the struggle between these two views of swans.

200110_2-RC_3_16

The reference to the formulation of the notion of a universal "struggle for existence" (line 21) serves primarily to

Philosophers of science have long been uneasy with biology, preferring instead to focus on physics. At the heart of this preference is a mistrust of uncertainty. Science is supposed to be the study of what is true everywhere and for all times, and the phenomena of science are supposed to be repeatable, arising from universal laws, rather than historically contingent. After all, if something pops up only on occasional Tuesdays or Thursdays, it is not classified as science but as history. Philosophers of science have thus been fascinated with the fact that elephants and mice would fall at the same rate if dropped from the Tower of Pisa, but not much interested in how elephants and mice got to be such different sizes in the first place. Philosophers of science have not been alone in claiming that science must consist of universal laws. Some evolutionary biologists have also acceded to the general intellectual disdain for the merely particular and tried to emulate physicists, constructing their science as a set of universal laws. In formulating the notion of a universal "struggle for existence" that is the engine of biological history or in asserting that virtually all DNA evolves at a constant clocklike rate, they have attempted to find their own versions of the law of gravity. Recently, however, some biologists have questioned whether biological history is really the necessary unfolding of universal laws of life, and they have raised the possibility that historical contingency is an integral factor in biology. To illustrate the difference between biologists favoring universal, deterministic laws of evolutionary development and those leaving room for historical contingency, consider two favorite statements of philosophers (both of which appear, at first sight, to be universal assertions): "All planets move in ellipses" and "All swans are white." The former is truly universal because it applies not only to those planets that actually do exist, but also to those that could exist—for the shape of planetary orbits is a necessary consequence of the laws governing the motion of objects in a gravitational field. Biological determinists would say that "All swans are white" is universal in the same way, since, if all swans were white, it would be because the laws of natural selection make it impossible for swans to be otherwise: natural selection favors those characteristics that increase the average rate of offspring production, and so traits that maximize flexibility and the ability to manipulate nature will eventually appear. Nondeterminist biologists would deny this, saying that "swans" is merely the name of a finite collection of historical objects that may happen all to be white, but not of necessity. The history of evolutionary theory has been the history of the struggle between these two views of swans.

200110_2-RC_3_17

Which one of the following statements about biology is most consistent with the view held by determinist biologists, as that view is presented in the passage?

Philosophers of science have long been uneasy with biology, preferring instead to focus on physics. At the heart of this preference is a mistrust of uncertainty. Science is supposed to be the study of what is true everywhere and for all times, and the phenomena of science are supposed to be repeatable, arising from universal laws, rather than historically contingent. After all, if something pops up only on occasional Tuesdays or Thursdays, it is not classified as science but as history. Philosophers of science have thus been fascinated with the fact that elephants and mice would fall at the same rate if dropped from the Tower of Pisa, but not much interested in how elephants and mice got to be such different sizes in the first place. Philosophers of science have not been alone in claiming that science must consist of universal laws. Some evolutionary biologists have also acceded to the general intellectual disdain for the merely particular and tried to emulate physicists, constructing their science as a set of universal laws. In formulating the notion of a universal "struggle for existence" that is the engine of biological history or in asserting that virtually all DNA evolves at a constant clocklike rate, they have attempted to find their own versions of the law of gravity. Recently, however, some biologists have questioned whether biological history is really the necessary unfolding of universal laws of life, and they have raised the possibility that historical contingency is an integral factor in biology. To illustrate the difference between biologists favoring universal, deterministic laws of evolutionary development and those leaving room for historical contingency, consider two favorite statements of philosophers (both of which appear, at first sight, to be universal assertions): "All planets move in ellipses" and "All swans are white." The former is truly universal because it applies not only to those planets that actually do exist, but also to those that could exist—for the shape of planetary orbits is a necessary consequence of the laws governing the motion of objects in a gravitational field. Biological determinists would say that "All swans are white" is universal in the same way, since, if all swans were white, it would be because the laws of natural selection make it impossible for swans to be otherwise: natural selection favors those characteristics that increase the average rate of offspring production, and so traits that maximize flexibility and the ability to manipulate nature will eventually appear. Nondeterminist biologists would deny this, saying that "swans" is merely the name of a finite collection of historical objects that may happen all to be white, but not of necessity. The history of evolutionary theory has been the history of the struggle between these two views of swans.

200110_2-RC_3_18

It can be inferred from the passage that philosophers of science view the laws of physics as

Philosophers of science have long been uneasy with biology, preferring instead to focus on physics. At the heart of this preference is a mistrust of uncertainty. Science is supposed to be the study of what is true everywhere and for all times, and the phenomena of science are supposed to be repeatable, arising from universal laws, rather than historically contingent. After all, if something pops up only on occasional Tuesdays or Thursdays, it is not classified as science but as history. Philosophers of science have thus been fascinated with the fact that elephants and mice would fall at the same rate if dropped from the Tower of Pisa, but not much interested in how elephants and mice got to be such different sizes in the first place. Philosophers of science have not been alone in claiming that science must consist of universal laws. Some evolutionary biologists have also acceded to the general intellectual disdain for the merely particular and tried to emulate physicists, constructing their science as a set of universal laws. In formulating the notion of a universal "struggle for existence" that is the engine of biological history or in asserting that virtually all DNA evolves at a constant clocklike rate, they have attempted to find their own versions of the law of gravity. Recently, however, some biologists have questioned whether biological history is really the necessary unfolding of universal laws of life, and they have raised the possibility that historical contingency is an integral factor in biology. To illustrate the difference between biologists favoring universal, deterministic laws of evolutionary development and those leaving room for historical contingency, consider two favorite statements of philosophers (both of which appear, at first sight, to be universal assertions): "All planets move in ellipses" and "All swans are white." The former is truly universal because it applies not only to those planets that actually do exist, but also to those that could exist—for the shape of planetary orbits is a necessary consequence of the laws governing the motion of objects in a gravitational field. Biological determinists would say that "All swans are white" is universal in the same way, since, if all swans were white, it would be because the laws of natural selection make it impossible for swans to be otherwise: natural selection favors those characteristics that increase the average rate of offspring production, and so traits that maximize flexibility and the ability to manipulate nature will eventually appear. Nondeterminist biologists would deny this, saying that "swans" is merely the name of a finite collection of historical objects that may happen all to be white, but not of necessity. The history of evolutionary theory has been the history of the struggle between these two views of swans.

200110_2-RC_3_19

It can be inferred from the passage that determinist biologists have tried to emulate physicists because these biologists believe that

Philosophers of science have long been uneasy with biology, preferring instead to focus on physics. At the heart of this preference is a mistrust of uncertainty. Science is supposed to be the study of what is true everywhere and for all times, and the phenomena of science are supposed to be repeatable, arising from universal laws, rather than historically contingent. After all, if something pops up only on occasional Tuesdays or Thursdays, it is not classified as science but as history. Philosophers of science have thus been fascinated with the fact that elephants and mice would fall at the same rate if dropped from the Tower of Pisa, but not much interested in how elephants and mice got to be such different sizes in the first place. Philosophers of science have not been alone in claiming that science must consist of universal laws. Some evolutionary biologists have also acceded to the general intellectual disdain for the merely particular and tried to emulate physicists, constructing their science as a set of universal laws. In formulating the notion of a universal "struggle for existence" that is the engine of biological history or in asserting that virtually all DNA evolves at a constant clocklike rate, they have attempted to find their own versions of the law of gravity. Recently, however, some biologists have questioned whether biological history is really the necessary unfolding of universal laws of life, and they have raised the possibility that historical contingency is an integral factor in biology. To illustrate the difference between biologists favoring universal, deterministic laws of evolutionary development and those leaving room for historical contingency, consider two favorite statements of philosophers (both of which appear, at first sight, to be universal assertions): "All planets move in ellipses" and "All swans are white." The former is truly universal because it applies not only to those planets that actually do exist, but also to those that could exist—for the shape of planetary orbits is a necessary consequence of the laws governing the motion of objects in a gravitational field. Biological determinists would say that "All swans are white" is universal in the same way, since, if all swans were white, it would be because the laws of natural selection make it impossible for swans to be otherwise: natural selection favors those characteristics that increase the average rate of offspring production, and so traits that maximize flexibility and the ability to manipulate nature will eventually appear. Nondeterminist biologists would deny this, saying that "swans" is merely the name of a finite collection of historical objects that may happen all to be white, but not of necessity. The history of evolutionary theory has been the history of the struggle between these two views of swans.

200110_2-RC_3_20

The passage suggests that the preference of many philosophers of science for the field of physics depends primarily upon the

Ronald Dworkin argues that judges are in danger of uncritically embracing an erroneous theory known as legal positivism because they think that the only alternative is a theory that they (and Dworkin) see as clearly unacceptable—natural law. The latter theory holds that judges ought to interpret the law by consulting their own moral convictions, even if this means ignoring the letter of the law and the legal precedents for its interpretation. Dworkin regards this as an impermissible form of judicial activism that arrogates to judges powers properly reserved for legislators. Legal positivism, the more popular of the two theories, holds that law and morality are wholly distinct. The meaning of the law rests on social convention in the same way as does the meaning of a word. Dworkin's view is that legal positivists regard disagreement among jurists as legitimate only if it arises over what the underlying convention is, and it is to be resolved by registering a consensus, not by deciding what is morally right. In the same way, disagreement about the meaning of a word is settled by determining how people actually use it, and not by deciding what it ought to mean. Where there is no consensus, there is no legal fact of the matter. The judge's interpretive role is limited to discerning this consensus, or the absence thereof. According to Dworkin, this account is incompatible with the actual practice of judges and lawyers, who act as if there is a fact of the matter even in cases where there is no consensus. The theory he proposes seeks to validate this practice without falling into what Dworkin correctly sees as the error of natural law theory. It represents a kind of middle ground between the latter and legal positivism. Dworkin stresses the fact that there is an internal logic to a society's laws and the general principles they typically embody. An interpretation that conforms to these principles may be correct even if it is not supported by a consensus. Since these general principles may involve such moral concepts as justice and fairness, judges may be called upon to consult their own moral intuitions in arriving at an interpretation. But this is not to say that judges are free to impose their own morality at will, without regard to the internal logic of the laws. The positivist's mistake, as Dworkin points out, is assuming that the meaning of the law can only consist in what people think it means, whether these people be the original authors of the law or a majority of the interpreter's peers. Once we realize, as Dworkin does, that the law has an internal logic of its own that constrains interpretation, we open up the possibility of improving upon the interpretations not only of our contemporaries but of the original authors.

200110_2-RC_4_21

Which one of the following most accurately expresses the main point of the passage?

Ronald Dworkin argues that judges are in danger of uncritically embracing an erroneous theory known as legal positivism because they think that the only alternative is a theory that they (and Dworkin) see as clearly unacceptable—natural law. The latter theory holds that judges ought to interpret the law by consulting their own moral convictions, even if this means ignoring the letter of the law and the legal precedents for its interpretation. Dworkin regards this as an impermissible form of judicial activism that arrogates to judges powers properly reserved for legislators. Legal positivism, the more popular of the two theories, holds that law and morality are wholly distinct. The meaning of the law rests on social convention in the same way as does the meaning of a word. Dworkin's view is that legal positivists regard disagreement among jurists as legitimate only if it arises over what the underlying convention is, and it is to be resolved by registering a consensus, not by deciding what is morally right. In the same way, disagreement about the meaning of a word is settled by determining how people actually use it, and not by deciding what it ought to mean. Where there is no consensus, there is no legal fact of the matter. The judge's interpretive role is limited to discerning this consensus, or the absence thereof. According to Dworkin, this account is incompatible with the actual practice of judges and lawyers, who act as if there is a fact of the matter even in cases where there is no consensus. The theory he proposes seeks to validate this practice without falling into what Dworkin correctly sees as the error of natural law theory. It represents a kind of middle ground between the latter and legal positivism. Dworkin stresses the fact that there is an internal logic to a society's laws and the general principles they typically embody. An interpretation that conforms to these principles may be correct even if it is not supported by a consensus. Since these general principles may involve such moral concepts as justice and fairness, judges may be called upon to consult their own moral intuitions in arriving at an interpretation. But this is not to say that judges are free to impose their own morality at will, without regard to the internal logic of the laws. The positivist's mistake, as Dworkin points out, is assuming that the meaning of the law can only consist in what people think it means, whether these people be the original authors of the law or a majority of the interpreter's peers. Once we realize, as Dworkin does, that the law has an internal logic of its own that constrains interpretation, we open up the possibility of improving upon the interpretations not only of our contemporaries but of the original authors.

200110_2-RC_4_22

What is the main purpose of the second paragraph?

Ronald Dworkin argues that judges are in danger of uncritically embracing an erroneous theory known as legal positivism because they think that the only alternative is a theory that they (and Dworkin) see as clearly unacceptable—natural law. The latter theory holds that judges ought to interpret the law by consulting their own moral convictions, even if this means ignoring the letter of the law and the legal precedents for its interpretation. Dworkin regards this as an impermissible form of judicial activism that arrogates to judges powers properly reserved for legislators. Legal positivism, the more popular of the two theories, holds that law and morality are wholly distinct. The meaning of the law rests on social convention in the same way as does the meaning of a word. Dworkin's view is that legal positivists regard disagreement among jurists as legitimate only if it arises over what the underlying convention is, and it is to be resolved by registering a consensus, not by deciding what is morally right. In the same way, disagreement about the meaning of a word is settled by determining how people actually use it, and not by deciding what it ought to mean. Where there is no consensus, there is no legal fact of the matter. The judge's interpretive role is limited to discerning this consensus, or the absence thereof. According to Dworkin, this account is incompatible with the actual practice of judges and lawyers, who act as if there is a fact of the matter even in cases where there is no consensus. The theory he proposes seeks to validate this practice without falling into what Dworkin correctly sees as the error of natural law theory. It represents a kind of middle ground between the latter and legal positivism. Dworkin stresses the fact that there is an internal logic to a society's laws and the general principles they typically embody. An interpretation that conforms to these principles may be correct even if it is not supported by a consensus. Since these general principles may involve such moral concepts as justice and fairness, judges may be called upon to consult their own moral intuitions in arriving at an interpretation. But this is not to say that judges are free to impose their own morality at will, without regard to the internal logic of the laws. The positivist's mistake, as Dworkin points out, is assuming that the meaning of the law can only consist in what people think it means, whether these people be the original authors of the law or a majority of the interpreter's peers. Once we realize, as Dworkin does, that the law has an internal logic of its own that constrains interpretation, we open up the possibility of improving upon the interpretations not only of our contemporaries but of the original authors.

200110_2-RC_4_23

Which one of the following most accurately characterizes the author's attitude toward Dworkin's theory?

Ronald Dworkin argues that judges are in danger of uncritically embracing an erroneous theory known as legal positivism because they think that the only alternative is a theory that they (and Dworkin) see as clearly unacceptable—natural law. The latter theory holds that judges ought to interpret the law by consulting their own moral convictions, even if this means ignoring the letter of the law and the legal precedents for its interpretation. Dworkin regards this as an impermissible form of judicial activism that arrogates to judges powers properly reserved for legislators. Legal positivism, the more popular of the two theories, holds that law and morality are wholly distinct. The meaning of the law rests on social convention in the same way as does the meaning of a word. Dworkin's view is that legal positivists regard disagreement among jurists as legitimate only if it arises over what the underlying convention is, and it is to be resolved by registering a consensus, not by deciding what is morally right. In the same way, disagreement about the meaning of a word is settled by determining how people actually use it, and not by deciding what it ought to mean. Where there is no consensus, there is no legal fact of the matter. The judge's interpretive role is limited to discerning this consensus, or the absence thereof. According to Dworkin, this account is incompatible with the actual practice of judges and lawyers, who act as if there is a fact of the matter even in cases where there is no consensus. The theory he proposes seeks to validate this practice without falling into what Dworkin correctly sees as the error of natural law theory. It represents a kind of middle ground between the latter and legal positivism. Dworkin stresses the fact that there is an internal logic to a society's laws and the general principles they typically embody. An interpretation that conforms to these principles may be correct even if it is not supported by a consensus. Since these general principles may involve such moral concepts as justice and fairness, judges may be called upon to consult their own moral intuitions in arriving at an interpretation. But this is not to say that judges are free to impose their own morality at will, without regard to the internal logic of the laws. The positivist's mistake, as Dworkin points out, is assuming that the meaning of the law can only consist in what people think it means, whether these people be the original authors of the law or a majority of the interpreter's peers. Once we realize, as Dworkin does, that the law has an internal logic of its own that constrains interpretation, we open up the possibility of improving upon the interpretations not only of our contemporaries but of the original authors.

200110_2-RC_4_24

According to the passage, which one of the following is a goal of Dworkin's theory of legal interpretation?

Ronald Dworkin argues that judges are in danger of uncritically embracing an erroneous theory known as legal positivism because they think that the only alternative is a theory that they (and Dworkin) see as clearly unacceptable—natural law. The latter theory holds that judges ought to interpret the law by consulting their own moral convictions, even if this means ignoring the letter of the law and the legal precedents for its interpretation. Dworkin regards this as an impermissible form of judicial activism that arrogates to judges powers properly reserved for legislators. Legal positivism, the more popular of the two theories, holds that law and morality are wholly distinct. The meaning of the law rests on social convention in the same way as does the meaning of a word. Dworkin's view is that legal positivists regard disagreement among jurists as legitimate only if it arises over what the underlying convention is, and it is to be resolved by registering a consensus, not by deciding what is morally right. In the same way, disagreement about the meaning of a word is settled by determining how people actually use it, and not by deciding what it ought to mean. Where there is no consensus, there is no legal fact of the matter. The judge's interpretive role is limited to discerning this consensus, or the absence thereof. According to Dworkin, this account is incompatible with the actual practice of judges and lawyers, who act as if there is a fact of the matter even in cases where there is no consensus. The theory he proposes seeks to validate this practice without falling into what Dworkin correctly sees as the error of natural law theory. It represents a kind of middle ground between the latter and legal positivism. Dworkin stresses the fact that there is an internal logic to a society's laws and the general principles they typically embody. An interpretation that conforms to these principles may be correct even if it is not supported by a consensus. Since these general principles may involve such moral concepts as justice and fairness, judges may be called upon to consult their own moral intuitions in arriving at an interpretation. But this is not to say that judges are free to impose their own morality at will, without regard to the internal logic of the laws. The positivist's mistake, as Dworkin points out, is assuming that the meaning of the law can only consist in what people think it means, whether these people be the original authors of the law or a majority of the interpreter's peers. Once we realize, as Dworkin does, that the law has an internal logic of its own that constrains interpretation, we open up the possibility of improving upon the interpretations not only of our contemporaries but of the original authors.

200110_2-RC_4_25

The passage suggests that Dworkin would be most likely to agree with which one of the following statements?

Ronald Dworkin argues that judges are in danger of uncritically embracing an erroneous theory known as legal positivism because they think that the only alternative is a theory that they (and Dworkin) see as clearly unacceptable—natural law. The latter theory holds that judges ought to interpret the law by consulting their own moral convictions, even if this means ignoring the letter of the law and the legal precedents for its interpretation. Dworkin regards this as an impermissible form of judicial activism that arrogates to judges powers properly reserved for legislators. Legal positivism, the more popular of the two theories, holds that law and morality are wholly distinct. The meaning of the law rests on social convention in the same way as does the meaning of a word. Dworkin's view is that legal positivists regard disagreement among jurists as legitimate only if it arises over what the underlying convention is, and it is to be resolved by registering a consensus, not by deciding what is morally right. In the same way, disagreement about the meaning of a word is settled by determining how people actually use it, and not by deciding what it ought to mean. Where there is no consensus, there is no legal fact of the matter. The judge's interpretive role is limited to discerning this consensus, or the absence thereof. According to Dworkin, this account is incompatible with the actual practice of judges and lawyers, who act as if there is a fact of the matter even in cases where there is no consensus. The theory he proposes seeks to validate this practice without falling into what Dworkin correctly sees as the error of natural law theory. It represents a kind of middle ground between the latter and legal positivism. Dworkin stresses the fact that there is an internal logic to a society's laws and the general principles they typically embody. An interpretation that conforms to these principles may be correct even if it is not supported by a consensus. Since these general principles may involve such moral concepts as justice and fairness, judges may be called upon to consult their own moral intuitions in arriving at an interpretation. But this is not to say that judges are free to impose their own morality at will, without regard to the internal logic of the laws. The positivist's mistake, as Dworkin points out, is assuming that the meaning of the law can only consist in what people think it means, whether these people be the original authors of the law or a majority of the interpreter's peers. Once we realize, as Dworkin does, that the law has an internal logic of its own that constrains interpretation, we open up the possibility of improving upon the interpretations not only of our contemporaries but of the original authors.

200110_2-RC_4_26

It can be inferred that legal positivists, as described in the passage, agree with which one of the following statements?

Traditionally, members of a community such as a town or neighborhood share a common location and a sense of necessary interdependence that includes, for example, mutual respect and emotional support. But as modern societies grow more technological and sometimes more alienating, people tend to spend less time in the kinds of interactions that their communities require in order to thrive. Meanwhile, technology has made it possible for individuals to interact via personal computer with others who are geographically distant. Advocates claim that these computer conferences, in which large numbers of participants communicate by typing comments that are immediately read by other participants and responding immediately to those comments they read, function as communities that can substitute for traditional interactions with neighbors. What are the characteristics that advocates claim allow computer conferences to function as communities? For one, participants often share common interests or concerns; conferences are frequently organized around specific topics such as music or parenting. Second, because these conferences are conversations, participants have adopted certain conventions in recognition of the importance of respecting each others' sensibilities. Abbreviations are used to convey commonly expressed sentiments of courtesy such as "pardon me for cutting in" ( "pmfci" ) or "in my humble opinion" ( "imho" ). Because a humorous tone can be difficult to communicate in writing, participants will often end an intentionally humorous comment with a set of characters that, when looked at sideways, resembles a smiling or winking face. Typing messages entirely in capital letters is avoided, because its tendency to demand the attention of a reader's eye is considered the computer equivalent of shouting. These conventions, advocates claim, constitute a form of etiquette, and with this etiquette as a foundation, people often form genuine, trusting relationships, even offering advice and support during personal crises such as illness or the loss of a loved one. But while it is true that conferences can be both respectful and supportive, they nonetheless fall short of communities. For example, conferences discriminate along educational and economic lines because participation requires a basic knowledge of computers and the ability to afford access to conferences. Further, while advocates claim that a shared interest makes computer conferences similar to traditional communities—insofar as the shared interest is analogous to a traditional community's shared location—this analogy simply does not work. Conference participants are a self-selecting group; they are drawn together by their shared interest in the topic of the conference. Actual communities, on the other hand, are "nonintentional" : the people who inhabit towns or neighborhoods are thus more likely to exhibit genuine diversity—of age, career, or personal interests—than are conference participants. It might be easier to find common ground in a computer conference than in today's communities, but in so doing it would be unfortunate if conference participants cut themselves off further from valuable interactions in their own towns or neighborhoods.

200112_2-RC_1_1

Which one of the following most accurately expresses the central idea of the passage?

Traditionally, members of a community such as a town or neighborhood share a common location and a sense of necessary interdependence that includes, for example, mutual respect and emotional support. But as modern societies grow more technological and sometimes more alienating, people tend to spend less time in the kinds of interactions that their communities require in order to thrive. Meanwhile, technology has made it possible for individuals to interact via personal computer with others who are geographically distant. Advocates claim that these computer conferences, in which large numbers of participants communicate by typing comments that are immediately read by other participants and responding immediately to those comments they read, function as communities that can substitute for traditional interactions with neighbors. What are the characteristics that advocates claim allow computer conferences to function as communities? For one, participants often share common interests or concerns; conferences are frequently organized around specific topics such as music or parenting. Second, because these conferences are conversations, participants have adopted certain conventions in recognition of the importance of respecting each others' sensibilities. Abbreviations are used to convey commonly expressed sentiments of courtesy such as "pardon me for cutting in" ( "pmfci" ) or "in my humble opinion" ( "imho" ). Because a humorous tone can be difficult to communicate in writing, participants will often end an intentionally humorous comment with a set of characters that, when looked at sideways, resembles a smiling or winking face. Typing messages entirely in capital letters is avoided, because its tendency to demand the attention of a reader's eye is considered the computer equivalent of shouting. These conventions, advocates claim, constitute a form of etiquette, and with this etiquette as a foundation, people often form genuine, trusting relationships, even offering advice and support during personal crises such as illness or the loss of a loved one. But while it is true that conferences can be both respectful and supportive, they nonetheless fall short of communities. For example, conferences discriminate along educational and economic lines because participation requires a basic knowledge of computers and the ability to afford access to conferences. Further, while advocates claim that a shared interest makes computer conferences similar to traditional communities—insofar as the shared interest is analogous to a traditional community's shared location—this analogy simply does not work. Conference participants are a self-selecting group; they are drawn together by their shared interest in the topic of the conference. Actual communities, on the other hand, are "nonintentional" : the people who inhabit towns or neighborhoods are thus more likely to exhibit genuine diversity—of age, career, or personal interests—than are conference participants. It might be easier to find common ground in a computer conference than in today's communities, but in so doing it would be unfortunate if conference participants cut themselves off further from valuable interactions in their own towns or neighborhoods.

200112_2-RC_1_2

Based on the passage, the author would be LEAST likely to consider which one of the following a community?

Traditionally, members of a community such as a town or neighborhood share a common location and a sense of necessary interdependence that includes, for example, mutual respect and emotional support. But as modern societies grow more technological and sometimes more alienating, people tend to spend less time in the kinds of interactions that their communities require in order to thrive. Meanwhile, technology has made it possible for individuals to interact via personal computer with others who are geographically distant. Advocates claim that these computer conferences, in which large numbers of participants communicate by typing comments that are immediately read by other participants and responding immediately to those comments they read, function as communities that can substitute for traditional interactions with neighbors. What are the characteristics that advocates claim allow computer conferences to function as communities? For one, participants often share common interests or concerns; conferences are frequently organized around specific topics such as music or parenting. Second, because these conferences are conversations, participants have adopted certain conventions in recognition of the importance of respecting each others' sensibilities. Abbreviations are used to convey commonly expressed sentiments of courtesy such as "pardon me for cutting in" ( "pmfci" ) or "in my humble opinion" ( "imho" ). Because a humorous tone can be difficult to communicate in writing, participants will often end an intentionally humorous comment with a set of characters that, when looked at sideways, resembles a smiling or winking face. Typing messages entirely in capital letters is avoided, because its tendency to demand the attention of a reader's eye is considered the computer equivalent of shouting. These conventions, advocates claim, constitute a form of etiquette, and with this etiquette as a foundation, people often form genuine, trusting relationships, even offering advice and support during personal crises such as illness or the loss of a loved one. But while it is true that conferences can be both respectful and supportive, they nonetheless fall short of communities. For example, conferences discriminate along educational and economic lines because participation requires a basic knowledge of computers and the ability to afford access to conferences. Further, while advocates claim that a shared interest makes computer conferences similar to traditional communities—insofar as the shared interest is analogous to a traditional community's shared location—this analogy simply does not work. Conference participants are a self-selecting group; they are drawn together by their shared interest in the topic of the conference. Actual communities, on the other hand, are "nonintentional" : the people who inhabit towns or neighborhoods are thus more likely to exhibit genuine diversity—of age, career, or personal interests—than are conference participants. It might be easier to find common ground in a computer conference than in today's communities, but in so doing it would be unfortunate if conference participants cut themselves off further from valuable interactions in their own towns or neighborhoods.

200112_2-RC_1_3

The author's statement that "conferences can be both respectful and supportive" (lines 42–43) serves primarily to

Traditionally, members of a community such as a town or neighborhood share a common location and a sense of necessary interdependence that includes, for example, mutual respect and emotional support. But as modern societies grow more technological and sometimes more alienating, people tend to spend less time in the kinds of interactions that their communities require in order to thrive. Meanwhile, technology has made it possible for individuals to interact via personal computer with others who are geographically distant. Advocates claim that these computer conferences, in which large numbers of participants communicate by typing comments that are immediately read by other participants and responding immediately to those comments they read, function as communities that can substitute for traditional interactions with neighbors. What are the characteristics that advocates claim allow computer conferences to function as communities? For one, participants often share common interests or concerns; conferences are frequently organized around specific topics such as music or parenting. Second, because these conferences are conversations, participants have adopted certain conventions in recognition of the importance of respecting each others' sensibilities. Abbreviations are used to convey commonly expressed sentiments of courtesy such as "pardon me for cutting in" ( "pmfci" ) or "in my humble opinion" ( "imho" ). Because a humorous tone can be difficult to communicate in writing, participants will often end an intentionally humorous comment with a set of characters that, when looked at sideways, resembles a smiling or winking face. Typing messages entirely in capital letters is avoided, because its tendency to demand the attention of a reader's eye is considered the computer equivalent of shouting. These conventions, advocates claim, constitute a form of etiquette, and with this etiquette as a foundation, people often form genuine, trusting relationships, even offering advice and support during personal crises such as illness or the loss of a loved one. But while it is true that conferences can be both respectful and supportive, they nonetheless fall short of communities. For example, conferences discriminate along educational and economic lines because participation requires a basic knowledge of computers and the ability to afford access to conferences. Further, while advocates claim that a shared interest makes computer conferences similar to traditional communities—insofar as the shared interest is analogous to a traditional community's shared location—this analogy simply does not work. Conference participants are a self-selecting group; they are drawn together by their shared interest in the topic of the conference. Actual communities, on the other hand, are "nonintentional" : the people who inhabit towns or neighborhoods are thus more likely to exhibit genuine diversity—of age, career, or personal interests—than are conference participants. It might be easier to find common ground in a computer conference than in today's communities, but in so doing it would be unfortunate if conference participants cut themselves off further from valuable interactions in their own towns or neighborhoods.

200112_2-RC_1_4

Given the information in the passage, the author can most reasonably be said to use which one of the following principles to refute the advocates' claim that computer conferences can function as communities (line 15)?

Traditionally, members of a community such as a town or neighborhood share a common location and a sense of necessary interdependence that includes, for example, mutual respect and emotional support. But as modern societies grow more technological and sometimes more alienating, people tend to spend less time in the kinds of interactions that their communities require in order to thrive. Meanwhile, technology has made it possible for individuals to interact via personal computer with others who are geographically distant. Advocates claim that these computer conferences, in which large numbers of participants communicate by typing comments that are immediately read by other participants and responding immediately to those comments they read, function as communities that can substitute for traditional interactions with neighbors. What are the characteristics that advocates claim allow computer conferences to function as communities? For one, participants often share common interests or concerns; conferences are frequently organized around specific topics such as music or parenting. Second, because these conferences are conversations, participants have adopted certain conventions in recognition of the importance of respecting each others' sensibilities. Abbreviations are used to convey commonly expressed sentiments of courtesy such as "pardon me for cutting in" ( "pmfci" ) or "in my humble opinion" ( "imho" ). Because a humorous tone can be difficult to communicate in writing, participants will often end an intentionally humorous comment with a set of characters that, when looked at sideways, resembles a smiling or winking face. Typing messages entirely in capital letters is avoided, because its tendency to demand the attention of a reader's eye is considered the computer equivalent of shouting. These conventions, advocates claim, constitute a form of etiquette, and with this etiquette as a foundation, people often form genuine, trusting relationships, even offering advice and support during personal crises such as illness or the loss of a loved one. But while it is true that conferences can be both respectful and supportive, they nonetheless fall short of communities. For example, conferences discriminate along educational and economic lines because participation requires a basic knowledge of computers and the ability to afford access to conferences. Further, while advocates claim that a shared interest makes computer conferences similar to traditional communities—insofar as the shared interest is analogous to a traditional community's shared location—this analogy simply does not work. Conference participants are a self-selecting group; they are drawn together by their shared interest in the topic of the conference. Actual communities, on the other hand, are "nonintentional" : the people who inhabit towns or neighborhoods are thus more likely to exhibit genuine diversity—of age, career, or personal interests—than are conference participants. It might be easier to find common ground in a computer conference than in today's communities, but in so doing it would be unfortunate if conference participants cut themselves off further from valuable interactions in their own towns or neighborhoods.

200112_2-RC_1_5

What is the primary function of the second paragraph of the passage?