영어 모의고사 (자동 편성)

Classical economic theory long assumed that decision makers ①gather all relevant information, calculate every possible outcome, and select the single option that maximizes their benefit. Herbert Simon, however, questioned this assumption, ②arguing that human beings operate under real constraints of time, knowledge, and mental capacity that make such exhaustive calculation practically impossible. Instead of searching endlessly 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 ③termed 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 adequately. This approach is not a failure of reasoning but rather a sensible adaptation to a world where information is costly and time is genuinely limited. Consequently, models assuming unlimited rationality often fail to predict actual behavior, while frameworks ④acknowledge these cognitive boundaries offer a far more realistic account of how ordinary decisions are ⑤made.

Only a decade ago, translation apps produced sentences so awkward that users often laughed at the results rather than trusting them. Today, many of these apps rely on neural networks ①that analyze entire sentences at once, capturing context instead of translating word by word. This shift has made everyday tasks such as reading a foreign menu or chatting with an overseas friend remarkably smooth. Frequent travelers now point their phone cameras at street signs and ②receiving an instant translation overlaid on the screen. Even so, the technology still struggles with humor, sarcasm, and cultural nuance, areas ③where a single wrong word can completely change the intended meaning. A joke that depends on wordplay in one language may become confusing once it ④is translated literally into another. For this reason, professional translators argue that these apps are best treated as a helpful starting point rather than a final, polished result that no human ⑤needs to review.

Every spring, our school holds an art exhibition in the main hallway, and this year I finally submitted a painting of my own. For weeks, I compared my work to my classmates' drawings and felt ①sure that mine was not good enough to hang beside theirs. My art teacher noticed my ②hesitation and said something I did not expect: an exhibition is not a contest to find the single best picture, but a chance to show how differently people see the same world. On the morning the paintings went up, I walked past dozens of styles, from careful realistic portraits to ③boring, colorful abstractions, and none of them looked like mine. Instead of feeling embarrassed, I found myself ④curious about why each artist had made certain choices. Standing in that crowded hallway, I finally understood that the exhibition's real purpose was not to rank the paintings, but to let students discover how many different perspectives could exist in a single ⑤shared space.

In the late nineteenth century, the psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus undertook a rigorous investigation of forgetting by serving as his own experimental subject. He memorized thousands of ①meaningless three-letter syllables so that prior knowledge could not skew his results. After learning each list to perfection, he tested his retention at intervals ranging from twenty minutes to a month later. He ②ignored how many repetitions were required to relearn the material each time. The resulting curve revealed a consistent pattern. Forgetting proceeds rapidly during the initial hours following learning, then gradually decelerates until the rate of loss becomes almost imperceptible. Roughly half of the acquired information ③vanished within the first hour alone. Yet whatever survived that initial plunge tended to ④persist for much longer periods. Ebbinghaus further found that distributing study sessions across several days produced better retention than cramming the same repetition into one sitting. This finding, now central to modern learning theory, implies that revisiting material shortly before it would otherwise be forgotten ⑤interrupts the decline of the forgetting curve.

When people face a difficult decision, they often weigh not only the expected outcome of each option but also how ①pleasant it would feel to discover later that a different choice had been better. This anticipation of future regret, rather than the size of the potential loss itself, frequently becomes the ②dominant factor shaping the final decision. Investors, for example, sometimes continue holding a declining stock rather than selling it, not because they expect the price to recover, but because selling would force them to confront the possibility of having made a clear mistake. Researchers have found that people feel ③sharper regret over losses that resulted from taking action than over identical losses that resulted from doing nothing, which helps explain why so many individuals default to inaction whenever a decision feels ④uncertain. Ironically, this strategy of avoiding regret can itself produce outcomes that are later regretted even more ⑤deeply than the ones it was originally designed to prevent.

When people recall precisely where they were and what they were doing at the moment they learned of some momentous public event, the resulting memory often feels extraordinarily ①vivid, as though it had been etched into the mind with photographic precision; researchers have termed such recollections flashbulb memories. Proponents of this concept once argued that the emotional intensity and surprise accompanying such events trigger a distinct neural mechanism that preserves details with unusual ②fidelity, effectively exempting them from the ③gradual decay that afflicts ordinary memories. Subsequent longitudinal studies, however, have complicated this picture considerably: when researchers compared accounts gathered within days of an event to accounts gathered years later, they discovered that details had frequently been altered, omitted, or even fabricated, even though the individuals reporting them expressed ④unwavering confidence in their accuracy. This persistent mismatch between subjective certainty and objective consistency implies that flashbulb memories, far from being flawless recordings, are ⑤accurate narratives shaped by rehearsal, media exposure, and the passage of time.

Speed-reading courses promise a simple result: read several times faster while understanding just as much as before. Some students do learn to move their eyes faster after a short course. However, researchers who study reading have found a serious problem with these claims. Understanding a text depends not just on how quickly your eyes move across it, but on how deeply your brain processes each sentence and connects new ideas to what you already know. In careful studies, speed-reading graduates often score no better on comprehension tests than ordinary readers who read at a normal pace. This suggests that _______________.

Our class field trip to the national art museum began with a worksheet that I initially found annoying, since it asked us to stand in front of a single painting for a full five minutes before moving on. (A) Our teacher later explained that most museum visitors spend under fifteen seconds per artwork on average, which means they experience galleries as a blur of images rather than as individual works. (B) Forcing myself to stay, however, I began noticing details that a quick glance would have missed entirely, and my initial impression of the painting slowly became something closer to fascination. (C) Five minutes felt unbearably long for one picture, and I nearly skipped ahead to the next room.

Our film club spent an entire semester making a five-minute short film, and I was startled to learn just how little of that time was actually spent filming. (A) By the time our short film premiered at the school festival, I understood that the visible five minutes represented only a small fraction of the invisible work that had shaped it. (B) We wrote and rewrote the script for nearly a month, then spent another two weeks drawing simple storyboards to plan every camera angle before a single scene was recorded. (C) Filming itself took only two Saturday afternoons, yet editing the footage afterward consumed nearly six additional weeks, as we combed through hours of raw clips to choose the handful of seconds that made it into the final version.

Something has clearly gone wrong along the way, since no reasonable person would call one grain of sand a heap. Consider a large heap containing ten thousand grains of sand. ( ① ) Nearly everyone agrees that removing a single grain from such a heap leaves another heap behind; surely one grain could never make the difference between a heap and a non-heap. ( ② ) 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. ( ③ ) Logic alone seems to force us to accept that this final result still counts as a heap. ( ④ ) Pinpointing exactly which single removal transformed a heap into a non-heap seems impossible. ( ⑤ ) The puzzle exposes a deep discomfort with vague terms like "heap," "tall," or "bald," concepts that seem to admit no sharp boundary yet are used confidently in everyday language.