영어 모의고사 (자동 편성)

Social unrest does not always emerge from the poorest conditions; it frequently erupts when circumstances ①are improving but not quickly enough to satisfy rising expectations. This paradox lies at the heart of relative deprivation theory, which ②holds that discontent arises less from objective hardship than from a perceived gap between what people expect and what they actually receive. Political scientist Ted Gurr illustrated the pattern with what is often called the J-curve: revolutions tend to follow a period of sustained improvement that is then followed by a sudden reversal, ③left citizens who had grown accustomed to progress feeling suddenly cheated of gains they had come to regard as their due. Because the theory centers on perception rather than raw statistics, it helps explain why relatively prosperous societies can experience intense protest while societies ④mired in long-standing poverty sometimes remain comparatively quiet, ⑤having adjusted their expectations to match a bleak and unchanging reality.

A hamburger patty need not come from a slaughtered animal at all if a small sample of muscle cells ①can be persuaded to multiply inside a steel tank. Cultured meat begins with a biopsy of animal muscle tissue, from which scientists isolate cells ②capable of dividing repeatedly, then feed those cells a nutrient broth that supplies the sugars, proteins, and minerals an animal's bloodstream would normally provide. Inside a bioreactor, the cells multiply across scaffolding ③designed to encourage them to align into fibers, gradually thickening into something that begins to resemble muscle tissue rather than a shapeless clump of cells. Supporters argue that because the process never requires raising and slaughtering a whole animal, it could ④shrink the land, water, and greenhouse gas emissions associated with conventional meat production. Skeptics counter that producing the specialized broth at a large enough scale remains prohibitively expensive, meaning cultured meat is unlikely ⑤competing with conventional meat in price until the technology matures considerably further.

As efforts to curb greenhouse gas emissions intensify, industries unable to eliminate carbon dioxide from their processes have turned to a technology ①known as carbon capture and storage. This technology involves ②separating carbon dioxide from the exhaust of power plants before it is released into the atmosphere, then transporting the captured gas for underground injection. Once injected into porous rock formations, the gas is trapped beneath layers of impermeable rock that ③prevents it from escaping into the air. Proponents argue that carbon capture and storage functions as a bridge technology, allowing heavy industries to keep operating while more sustainable alternatives are developed. For instance, cement and steel production, both of which ④release carbon dioxide as an unavoidable byproduct of chemical reactions, are considered prime candidates for this approach. However, critics contend that the technology remains prohibitively expensive and that building pipelines requires investments few companies make voluntarily. Despite such concerns, many governments continue ⑤funding pilot projects, convinced that this technology will play an indispensable role in reaching emission targets.

A few years ago, spotting a manipulated video ①required a trained eye and specialized software. Today, freely available applications allow almost anyone ②to swap a face or fabricate a voice convincingly enough to fool casual viewers within minutes. This shift has quietly undermined one of the oldest assumptions in human communication: that seeing and hearing something ③are a reasonably reliable way to confirm it happened. Journalists now face the burden of ④verifying footage that once would have been accepted as self-evident proof. Perhaps more troubling than any single fake video is the broader effect on public trust, in which genuine footage can ⑤be dismissed as fabricated simply because deepfakes exist.

As private companies develop the technology to mine asteroids for rare metals and water, a legal question once confined to science fiction has suddenly ①become urgent: who, if anyone, owns the resources of outer space? Existing international treaties state that no nation may claim sovereignty over celestial bodies, but they say remarkably little about ②whether a private company may extract and sell what it finds there. Some governments have already passed domestic laws ③granting their own companies rights to material mined in space, a move that other nations view as a unilateral attempt to settle a question that should ④decide collectively. Supporters of space mining argue that new resources could ease shortages on Earth and fund further exploration, while critics warn that treating space as an open frontier for extraction risks ⑤repeating the same environmental and political mistakes that colonization caused on Earth.

The ecological footprint, a widely cited measure of how much biologically productive land and water a population requires to sustain its consumption, has become one of the most ①familiar tools for communicating humanity's environmental impact. By converting diverse activities, from driving to eating meat, into a single unit of land area, the measure allows policymakers to grasp whether a lifestyle exceeds what the planet can regenerate. This simplicity, however, is also the source of its most ②occasional criticism. Because the footprint aggregates dissimilar impacts, such as carbon emissions and water scarcity, into one composite figure, it can ③obscure important differences among problems that require distinct policy responses. A region might reduce its footprint by lowering carbon emissions while simultaneously depleting a local aquifer, yet the aggregate number could still appear to improve, ④concealing damage that demands urgent attention. Furthermore, the method assumes that all bio-productive land is roughly ⑤interchangeable, treating a hectare of forest as equivalent to a hectare of farmland, even though the two provide markedly different ecological functions.

Classical economic theory long assumed that decision makers gather all relevant information, calculate every possible outcome, and select the single option that maximizes their benefit. Herbert Simon, however, questioned this assumption, arguing that human beings operate under real constraints of time, knowledge, and mental capacity that make such ①exhaustive calculation practically impossible. Instead of searching ②endlessly for the theoretically perfect choice, people typically stop once they find an option that seems good enough to meet their immediate needs, a strategy Simon termed satisficing. A shopper comparing refrigerators, for example, rarely examines every model available; she instead sets a few practical criteria, such as price and size, and selects the first appliance that satisfies them ③adequately. This approach is not a failure of reasoning but rather a sensible adaptation to a world where information is ④costly and time is genuinely limited. Consequently, models assuming unlimited rationality often fail to predict actual behavior, while frameworks acknowledging these cognitive boundaries offer a far more ⑤unrealistic account of how ordinary decisions are actually made.

Anyone designing a presentation, a curriculum, or a grocery list should attend to a well-documented pattern in human memory known as the serial position effect. When people are asked to recall items from a list right after studying it, they consistently remember the items presented at the beginning and end far better than those buried in the middle. The advantage for early items, called the primacy effect, arises because those items receive more rehearsal and are more likely to be transferred into long-term storage before subsequent items compete for attention. The advantage for final items, known as the recency effect, occurs because those items remain accessible in short-term memory at the moment of recall. Middle items suffer because they must compete for limited rehearsal opportunities while lacking the stability afforded by extended processing. Communicators who ignore this pattern risk burying their most important point where it will predictably be forgotten. A more effective strategy, therefore, _______________.

Imagine two travelers preparing for the same trip: one refuses to fly after watching news coverage of a recent plane crash, while the other books a flight without hesitation. (A) This tendency, in which people estimate how likely an event is based on how easily examples come to mind rather than on actual data, quietly shapes countless everyday decisions. (B) Statistically, air travel remains far safer than driving the same distance by car, yet vivid, emotionally charged images tend to dominate human judgment more powerfully than dry statistics ever could. (C) News broadcasts that repeatedly feature rare disasters can leave viewers convinced that such events are common, even though official records clearly show the opposite. Advertisers and politicians alike exploit this pattern, knowing that a single striking anecdote often persuades audiences more effectively than pages of careful statistics ever manage to. Recognizing why memorable examples overshadow objective probability therefore matters, both for making sound personal choices and for noticing when public fear has drifted far from measurable reality.

Consider a large heap containing ten thousand grains of sand. (A) Something has clearly gone wrong along the way, since no reasonable person would call one grain of sand a heap, but pinpointing exactly which single removal transformed a heap into a non-heap seems impossible. (B) Nearly everyone agrees that removing a single grain from such a heap leaves another heap behind, since surely one grain could never make the difference between a heap and a non-heap. (C) Yet if this principle is applied repeatedly, grain by grain, the heap eventually shrinks to a single lonely grain, or even to no grains at all, and logic alone seems to force us to accept that this final result still counts as a heap.