영어 모의고사 (자동 편성)

Eyewitness testimony ①has long carried weight in courtrooms, yet decades of research reveal that memories of witnessed events are more malleable than most people assume. When individuals who observe an event ②are later exposed to misleading information about what they saw, whether through a leading question or a conversation with another witness, their recollections frequently incorporate details that never occurred, a phenomenon known as the misinformation effect. In one classic paradigm, participants who watched a video of a traffic accident and ③were then asked how fast the cars were going when they smashed into each other reported higher speed estimates and were more likely to falsely recall broken glass than participants asked the identical question using the milder verb hit. Crucially, these distorted memories often feel genuine to the person experiencing them, since the original memory trace ④become blended with the newly introduced information rather than existing as a separate, contradictory record. Such findings ⑤have prompted legal systems to adopt cautious interviewing protocols designed to minimize suggestive questioning during investigations.

Modern consumer culture often assumes that expanding the range of available options ①will automatically makes people freer and happier, yet a growing body of research suggests the opposite may sometimes be true. When individuals select from an enormous set of alternatives, satisfaction with the final choice frequently declines rather than rises, even when the chosen item ②is objectively excellent. This decline stems not from the difficulty of deciding but from what happens afterward, once a decision ③has already been made. Having considered so many possibilities, a person naturally imagines the specific advantages that a different, unchosen option ④might have offered, and this imagined comparison quietly erodes contentment with what was actually selected. The paradox, therefore, is that abundance can free people from external constraint while simultaneously ⑤trapping them in a private cycle of comparison and regret.

Social unrest does not always emerge from the poorest conditions; it frequently erupts when circumstances are improving but not quickly enough to satisfy ①rising expectations. This paradox lies at the heart of relative deprivation theory, which holds that discontent arises less from objective hardship than from a ②perceived 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 ③reversal, leaving citizens 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 ④intense protest while societies mired in long-standing poverty sometimes remain comparatively ⑤turbulent, having adjusted their expectations to match a bleak and unchanging reality.

Imagine two travelers preparing for the same trip: one ①agrees to fly after watching news coverage of a recent plane crash, while the other books a flight without hesitation. Statistically, air travel remains far ②safer than driving the same distance by car, yet vivid, emotionally charged images tend to ③dominate human judgment more powerfully than dry statistics ever could. 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. News broadcasts that repeatedly feature rare disasters can leave viewers convinced that such events are ④common, even though official records clearly show the opposite. Advertisers and politicians alike ⑤exploit this pattern, knowing that a single striking anecdote often persuades audiences more effectively than pages of careful statistics ever manage to.

Suppose you meet a quiet, ①gentle man who speaks softly, tends a small garden, and organizes his bookshelf with meticulous care. Asked whether he is more likely a florist or a truck driver, most people ②instinctively choose florist, since his personality matches the stereotype so neatly. This judgment, however, ignores a crucial fact: truck drivers vastly ③trail florists in almost every country, which means that, statistically, he is far more likely to belong to the larger group regardless of how well he fits the flower-shop image. Relying on resemblance to a familiar category rather than on underlying numerical proportions, known among researchers as representativeness, leads people to overlook these base rates almost ④automatically. Even trained professionals, who should know better, often fall into the same trap when a vivid description feels more ⑤convincing than plain statistics.

When people face a difficult decision, they often weigh how painful it would feel to discover later that a different choice had been better. This anticipation of future regret frequently becomes the dominant factor shaping the final decision. Researchers have found that people feel sharper regret over losses that resulted from taking action than over identical losses that resulted from doing nothing, _______________. Ironically, this strategy of avoiding regret can itself produce outcomes that are later regretted even more deeply than the ones it was originally designed to prevent.

When engineers design the software that controls a self-driving car, they inevitably face a question that philosophers have debated for decades: who should the vehicle protect in an unavoidable crash? (A) This gap between the ideal and the personal choice suggests that ethical programming cannot be settled by public opinion alone. (B) Surveys reveal an uncomfortable contradiction: most people say a car should minimize total harm, yet the same people admit they would never buy a vehicle designed to sacrifice its own owner. (C) Manufacturers, regulators, and philosophers must instead agree on transparent rules before autonomous vehicles are allowed to make such decisions on the road.

People often recognize, in calm reflection, that their future selves will be tempted to abandon a goal they currently value. Rather than relying solely on willpower at the critical moment, they may choose to restrict their own future options in advance, a strategy known as precommitment. (A) What unites these examples is a simple insight: because future desires cannot always be trusted, the wisest moment to act may be now, while judgment remains clear and temptation has not yet taken hold. (B) By making certain choices costly, inconvenient, or impossible to reverse, individuals can protect a long-term goal from a short-term impulse that has not yet arisen. (C) A person hoping to save money might lock funds into an account that penalizes early withdrawal, removing the very temptation that would otherwise be difficult to resist. Similarly, someone determined to finish a project might publicly announce a deadline, transforming private intentions into a commitment that carries social consequences if broken.

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

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