Directions: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Back in the 1970s, Raymond Geuss was a young colleague of Richard Rorty in the mighty philosophy department at Princeton. In some ways they were very different: Rorty was a middle-class New Yorker with a talent for reckless generalisation, whereas Geuss was a fastidious scholar-poet from working-class Pennsylvania. But they shared a commitment to left-wing politics, and both of them dissented from the mainstream view of philosophy as a unified discipline advancing majestically towards absolute knowledge. For a while, Rorty and Geuss could bond as the bad boys of Princeton.
The philosophical establishment denounced people like Rorty and Geuss as relativists, bent on destroying the sacred distinction between truth and falsehood. But they defended themselves by pointing out that even if there is such a thing as an almighty final truth, it looks different from diverse points of view, and gets expressed in different words in diverse times and places. They regarded themselves as 'perspectivists' or 'historicists' rather than relativists, and believed that - to borrow a phrase from Thomas Kuhn - philosophy needed to find a 'role for history'.
Geuss seems closest to Lucretius, who despised religion, and maintained that the world has no moral purpose and is utterly indifferent to our existence. Hobbes comes almost as high in Geuss's estimation: he invented the concept of the 'state' as the locus of political sovereignty, and treated it as an 'artificial construct' which pays no regard to such so-called principles as 'natural rights' or 'the common good'. Hegel, as Geuss reads him, was a good disciple of Hobbes because he avoided trying to 'justify' the ways of the world. In the wake of Lucretius, Hobbes, Hegel and Niet-zsche, philosophy seems to be essentially a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by moralistic sentimentality.
There are two different ways of responding to this predicament. Geuss sketches one of them in a scintillating chapter on Theodor Adorno, the twentieth-century aesthete who sought to combine classical Marxism with disdain for the stupidity of the masses. Adorno, you might say, showed signs of intellectual mysophobia, or Platonistic revulsion from impurity, and Geuss - who regards Plato as an 'intellectual bully' - is uneasy about Adorno's 'relentless negativism'. He finds an amiable alternative in Michel de Montaigne who, having no desire to correct the follies of humanity, was 'free of all these pathologies'.
Geuss pays tribute to Montaigne for never 'wagging his finger', but in the end he sides with Adorno. He is a bit of a mysophobe himself, and that seems to be why he never formed a lasting alliance with his old comrade in Princeton. He recalls an occasion when Rorty told him that he found inspiration in the work of Hans-Georg Gadamer, who saw the whole of human existence as a vast 'conversation', in which we should try to include everyone, even those with whom we disagree. Geuss tried to convince Rorty that Gadamer was 'a reactionary, distended windbag', but Rorty continued on his way: he started to call himself, half-jokingly, a 'bourgeois liberal'. Geuss was not amused by Rorty's jokes, and found his casualness hard to forgive.
Geuss concludes by suggesting that philosophy is dead: the excitement, creativity and inventiveness replaced by dutiful recitations and historical re-enactments. But in this bracing and approachable book he gives himself the lie, demonstrating that there is life in philosophy yet.
Q. On the basis of the information in the passage, all of the following are true about Geuss EXCEPT that he:
Directions: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Back in the 1970s, Raymond Geuss was a young colleague of Richard Rorty in the mighty philosophy department at Princeton. In some ways they were very different: Rorty was a middle-class New Yorker with a talent for reckless generalisation, whereas Geuss was a fastidious scholar-poet from working-class Pennsylvania. But they shared a commitment to left-wing politics, and both of them dissented from the mainstream view of philosophy as a unified discipline advancing majestically towards absolute knowledge. For a while, Rorty and Geuss could bond as the bad boys of Princeton.
The philosophical establishment denounced people like Rorty and Geuss as relativists, bent on destroying the sacred distinction between truth and falsehood. But they defended themselves by pointing out that even if there is such a thing as an almighty final truth, it looks different from diverse points of view, and gets expressed in different words in diverse times and places. They regarded themselves as 'perspectivists' or 'historicists' rather than relativists, and believed that - to borrow a phrase from Thomas Kuhn - philosophy needed to find a 'role for history'.
Geuss seems closest to Lucretius, who despised religion, and maintained that the world has no moral purpose and is utterly indifferent to our existence. Hobbes comes almost as high in Geuss's estimation: he invented the concept of the 'state' as the locus of political sovereignty, and treated it as an 'artificial construct' which pays no regard to such so-called principles as 'natural rights' or 'the common good'. Hegel, as Geuss reads him, was a good disciple of Hobbes because he avoided trying to 'justify' the ways of the world. In the wake of Lucretius, Hobbes, Hegel and Niet-zsche, philosophy seems to be essentially a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by moralistic sentimentality.
There are two different ways of responding to this predicament. Geuss sketches one of them in a scintillating chapter on Theodor Adorno, the twentieth-century aesthete who sought to combine classical Marxism with disdain for the stupidity of the masses. Adorno, you might say, showed signs of intellectual mysophobia, or Platonistic revulsion from impurity, and Geuss - who regards Plato as an 'intellectual bully' - is uneasy about Adorno's 'relentless negativism'. He finds an amiable alternative in Michel de Montaigne who, having no desire to correct the follies of humanity, was 'free of all these pathologies'.
Geuss pays tribute to Montaigne for never 'wagging his finger', but in the end he sides with Adorno. He is a bit of a mysophobe himself, and that seems to be why he never formed a lasting alliance with his old comrade in Princeton. He recalls an occasion when Rorty told him that he found inspiration in the work of Hans-Georg Gadamer, who saw the whole of human existence as a vast 'conversation', in which we should try to include everyone, even those with whom we disagree. Geuss tried to convince Rorty that Gadamer was 'a reactionary, distended windbag', but Rorty continued on his way: he started to call himself, half-jokingly, a 'bourgeois liberal'. Geuss was not amused by Rorty's jokes, and found his casualness hard to forgive.
Geuss concludes by suggesting that philosophy is dead: the excitement, creativity and inventiveness replaced by dutiful recitations and historical re-enactments. But in this bracing and approachable book he gives himself the lie, demonstrating that there is life in philosophy yet.
Q. According to the passage, why were philosophers like Rorty and Geuss called 'relativists'?
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Directions: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Back in the 1970s, Raymond Geuss was a young colleague of Richard Rorty in the mighty philosophy department at Princeton. In some ways they were very different: Rorty was a middle-class New Yorker with a talent for reckless generalisation, whereas Geuss was a fastidious scholar-poet from working-class Pennsylvania. But they shared a commitment to left-wing politics, and both of them dissented from the mainstream view of philosophy as a unified discipline advancing majestically towards absolute knowledge. For a while, Rorty and Geuss could bond as the bad boys of Princeton.
The philosophical establishment denounced people like Rorty and Geuss as relativists, bent on destroying the sacred distinction between truth and falsehood. But they defended themselves by pointing out that even if there is such a thing as an almighty final truth, it looks different from diverse points of view, and gets expressed in different words in diverse times and places. They regarded themselves as 'perspectivists' or 'historicists' rather than relativists, and believed that - to borrow a phrase from Thomas Kuhn - philosophy needed to find a 'role for history'.
Geuss seems closest to Lucretius, who despised religion, and maintained that the world has no moral purpose and is utterly indifferent to our existence. Hobbes comes almost as high in Geuss's estimation: he invented the concept of the 'state' as the locus of political sovereignty, and treated it as an 'artificial construct' which pays no regard to such so-called principles as 'natural rights' or 'the common good'. Hegel, as Geuss reads him, was a good disciple of Hobbes because he avoided trying to 'justify' the ways of the world. In the wake of Lucretius, Hobbes, Hegel and Niet-zsche, philosophy seems to be essentially a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by moralistic sentimentality.
There are two different ways of responding to this predicament. Geuss sketches one of them in a scintillating chapter on Theodor Adorno, the twentieth-century aesthete who sought to combine classical Marxism with disdain for the stupidity of the masses. Adorno, you might say, showed signs of intellectual mysophobia, or Platonistic revulsion from impurity, and Geuss - who regards Plato as an 'intellectual bully' - is uneasy about Adorno's 'relentless negativism'. He finds an amiable alternative in Michel de Montaigne who, having no desire to correct the follies of humanity, was 'free of all these pathologies'.
Geuss pays tribute to Montaigne for never 'wagging his finger', but in the end he sides with Adorno. He is a bit of a mysophobe himself, and that seems to be why he never formed a lasting alliance with his old comrade in Princeton. He recalls an occasion when Rorty told him that he found inspiration in the work of Hans-Georg Gadamer, who saw the whole of human existence as a vast 'conversation', in which we should try to include everyone, even those with whom we disagree. Geuss tried to convince Rorty that Gadamer was 'a reactionary, distended windbag', but Rorty continued on his way: he started to call himself, half-jokingly, a 'bourgeois liberal'. Geuss was not amused by Rorty's jokes, and found his casualness hard to forgive.
Geuss concludes by suggesting that philosophy is dead: the excitement, creativity and inventiveness replaced by dutiful recitations and historical re-enactments. But in this bracing and approachable book he gives himself the lie, demonstrating that there is life in philosophy yet.
Q. How does the author draw a comparison between the thoughts of Rorty and Geuss?
Directions: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Back in the 1970s, Raymond Geuss was a young colleague of Richard Rorty in the mighty philosophy department at Princeton. In some ways they were very different: Rorty was a middle-class New Yorker with a talent for reckless generalisation, whereas Geuss was a fastidious scholar-poet from working-class Pennsylvania. But they shared a commitment to left-wing politics, and both of them dissented from the mainstream view of philosophy as a unified discipline advancing majestically towards absolute knowledge. For a while, Rorty and Geuss could bond as the bad boys of Princeton.
The philosophical establishment denounced people like Rorty and Geuss as relativists, bent on destroying the sacred distinction between truth and falsehood. But they defended themselves by pointing out that even if there is such a thing as an almighty final truth, it looks different from diverse points of view, and gets expressed in different words in diverse times and places. They regarded themselves as 'perspectivists' or 'historicists' rather than relativists, and believed that - to borrow a phrase from Thomas Kuhn - philosophy needed to find a 'role for history'.
Geuss seems closest to Lucretius, who despised religion, and maintained that the world has no moral purpose and is utterly indifferent to our existence. Hobbes comes almost as high in Geuss's estimation: he invented the concept of the 'state' as the locus of political sovereignty, and treated it as an 'artificial construct' which pays no regard to such so-called principles as 'natural rights' or 'the common good'. Hegel, as Geuss reads him, was a good disciple of Hobbes because he avoided trying to 'justify' the ways of the world. In the wake of Lucretius, Hobbes, Hegel and Niet-zsche, philosophy seems to be essentially a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by moralistic sentimentality.
There are two different ways of responding to this predicament. Geuss sketches one of them in a scintillating chapter on Theodor Adorno, the twentieth-century aesthete who sought to combine classical Marxism with disdain for the stupidity of the masses. Adorno, you might say, showed signs of intellectual mysophobia, or Platonistic revulsion from impurity, and Geuss - who regards Plato as an 'intellectual bully' - is uneasy about Adorno's 'relentless negativism'. He finds an amiable alternative in Michel de Montaigne who, having no desire to correct the follies of humanity, was 'free of all these pathologies'.
Geuss pays tribute to Montaigne for never 'wagging his finger', but in the end he sides with Adorno. He is a bit of a mysophobe himself, and that seems to be why he never formed a lasting alliance with his old comrade in Princeton. He recalls an occasion when Rorty told him that he found inspiration in the work of Hans-Georg Gadamer, who saw the whole of human existence as a vast 'conversation', in which we should try to include everyone, even those with whom we disagree. Geuss tried to convince Rorty that Gadamer was 'a reactionary, distended windbag', but Rorty continued on his way: he started to call himself, half-jokingly, a 'bourgeois liberal'. Geuss was not amused by Rorty's jokes, and found his casualness hard to forgive.
Geuss concludes by suggesting that philosophy is dead: the excitement, creativity and inventiveness replaced by dutiful recitations and historical re-enactments. But in this bracing and approachable book he gives himself the lie, demonstrating that there is life in philosophy yet.
Q. None of the following can be inferred as the author's opinion from the passage EXCEPT that:
Directions: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Until relatively recently, Shakespeare's contact with the scientific world has gone largely unnoticed among both scholars and general audiences. Perhaps Shakespeare scholars and audiences don't notice the way he takes up science because they are unfamiliar with much of the science he was exposed to, while most scientists don't see Shakespeare as valuable for reflecting on science because they assume he was unfamiliar with it. Usually, even when readers are made aware of Shakespeare's references to this or that scientific subject - perhaps Hamlet's reference to infinity or Lear's allusions to atomism - these are treated as little more than interesting artefacts, window-dressing to Shakespeare's broader human concerns.
A small but growing number of scholars are now taking up the connection between Shakespeare and science. And, spurred perhaps by science fiction, by the ways that science factors in the works of key late-modern writers such as Nabokov, Pynchon, and Wallace, and by the rise of scientific themes in contemporary literary fiction, a growing number of readers are aware that writers can and do take up science, and many are interested in what they do with it.
When we familiarise ourselves with the history of science, we see the imaginative worlds Shakespeare creates to demonstrate science's power to shape our self-understanding, and the power of the literary arts to shape our response to science. We also see that Shakespeare was remarkably prescient about the questions that science would raise for our lives. He explores, for example, how we are personally affected by the uncertainties that cosmological science can introduce, or what it means when scientists claim that our first-hand experience is illusory, or how we respond when science probes into matters of the heart.
Shakespeare takes up references to the morbid art, and to other new discoveries, to show that when scientific investigations yield new ideas about nature, what ensues is an altered relation to ourselves. In fact, Shakespeare explores the philosophical, psychological, and cultural impact of many more scientific fields besides human anatomy, reflecting poetically on theories about germs, atoms, matter, falling bodies, planetary motion, heliocentrism, alchemy, the humours, algebra, Arabic numerals, Pythagorean geometry, the number zero, and the infinite. The inquiries that drove Renaissance science, and the universe it disclosed, are deeply integrated into Shakespeare's poetic worlds.
By the example of his own plays, Shakespeare suggests that one of the poet's most important tasks in an age dominated by science is to survey the full extent of science's power to shape our minds and souls, and then to turn to the poetic imagination in response. He introduces us to new scientific ways of thinking and encourages us to reflect upon the uncertainties and paradoxes that science presents to us. And he shows us how to create the language and poetic ideas that might help us to counteract science's reductionist tendencies.
Yet Shakespeare does so without dismissing the validity of science; instead, he seeks to understand it. Far from creating a bifurcation by which science and poetry are in separate domains, he embraces the world of science and creates poetic worlds that reflect deeply and philosophically on scientific insights and their human implications, recognising that science will become deeply enmeshed in our lives. For Shakespeare, poetry has the power to help us to live with the revelations of science, and so science must make way for poetry.
Q. The passage is primarily concerned with which of the following?
Directions: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Until relatively recently, Shakespeare's contact with the scientific world has gone largely unnoticed among both scholars and general audiences. Perhaps Shakespeare scholars and audiences don't notice the way he takes up science because they are unfamiliar with much of the science he was exposed to, while most scientists don't see Shakespeare as valuable for reflecting on science because they assume he was unfamiliar with it. Usually, even when readers are made aware of Shakespeare's references to this or that scientific subject - perhaps Hamlet's reference to infinity or Lear's allusions to atomism - these are treated as little more than interesting artefacts, window-dressing to Shakespeare's broader human concerns.
A small but growing number of scholars are now taking up the connection between Shakespeare and science. And, spurred perhaps by science fiction, by the ways that science factors in the works of key late-modern writers such as Nabokov, Pynchon, and Wallace, and by the rise of scientific themes in contemporary literary fiction, a growing number of readers are aware that writers can and do take up science, and many are interested in what they do with it.
When we familiarise ourselves with the history of science, we see the imaginative worlds Shakespeare creates to demonstrate science's power to shape our self-understanding, and the power of the literary arts to shape our response to science. We also see that Shakespeare was remarkably prescient about the questions that science would raise for our lives. He explores, for example, how we are personally affected by the uncertainties that cosmological science can introduce, or what it means when scientists claim that our first-hand experience is illusory, or how we respond when science probes into matters of the heart.
Shakespeare takes up references to the morbid art, and to other new discoveries, to show that when scientific investigations yield new ideas about nature, what ensues is an altered relation to ourselves. In fact, Shakespeare explores the philosophical, psychological, and cultural impact of many more scientific fields besides human anatomy, reflecting poetically on theories about germs, atoms, matter, falling bodies, planetary motion, heliocentrism, alchemy, the humours, algebra, Arabic numerals, Pythagorean geometry, the number zero, and the infinite. The inquiries that drove Renaissance science, and the universe it disclosed, are deeply integrated into Shakespeare's poetic worlds.
By the example of his own plays, Shakespeare suggests that one of the poet's most important tasks in an age dominated by science is to survey the full extent of science's power to shape our minds and souls, and then to turn to the poetic imagination in response. He introduces us to new scientific ways of thinking and encourages us to reflect upon the uncertainties and paradoxes that science presents to us. And he shows us how to create the language and poetic ideas that might help us to counteract science's reductionist tendencies.
Yet Shakespeare does so without dismissing the validity of science; instead, he seeks to understand it. Far from creating a bifurcation by which science and poetry are in separate domains, he embraces the world of science and creates poetic worlds that reflect deeply and philosophically on scientific insights and their human implications, recognising that science will become deeply enmeshed in our lives. For Shakespeare, poetry has the power to help us to live with the revelations of science, and so science must make way for poetry.
Q. The author quotes the examples of Hamlet and Lear to
Directions: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Until relatively recently, Shakespeare's contact with the scientific world has gone largely unnoticed among both scholars and general audiences. Perhaps Shakespeare scholars and audiences don't notice the way he takes up science because they are unfamiliar with much of the science he was exposed to, while most scientists don't see Shakespeare as valuable for reflecting on science because they assume he was unfamiliar with it. Usually, even when readers are made aware of Shakespeare's references to this or that scientific subject - perhaps Hamlet's reference to infinity or Lear's allusions to atomism - these are treated as little more than interesting artefacts, window-dressing to Shakespeare's broader human concerns.
A small but growing number of scholars are now taking up the connection between Shakespeare and science. And, spurred perhaps by science fiction, by the ways that science factors in the works of key late-modern writers such as Nabokov, Pynchon, and Wallace, and by the rise of scientific themes in contemporary literary fiction, a growing number of readers are aware that writers can and do take up science, and many are interested in what they do with it.
When we familiarise ourselves with the history of science, we see the imaginative worlds Shakespeare creates to demonstrate science's power to shape our self-understanding, and the power of the literary arts to shape our response to science. We also see that Shakespeare was remarkably prescient about the questions that science would raise for our lives. He explores, for example, how we are personally affected by the uncertainties that cosmological science can introduce, or what it means when scientists claim that our first-hand experience is illusory, or how we respond when science probes into matters of the heart.
Shakespeare takes up references to the morbid art, and to other new discoveries, to show that when scientific investigations yield new ideas about nature, what ensues is an altered relation to ourselves. In fact, Shakespeare explores the philosophical, psychological, and cultural impact of many more scientific fields besides human anatomy, reflecting poetically on theories about germs, atoms, matter, falling bodies, planetary motion, heliocentrism, alchemy, the humours, algebra, Arabic numerals, Pythagorean geometry, the number zero, and the infinite. The inquiries that drove Renaissance science, and the universe it disclosed, are deeply integrated into Shakespeare's poetic worlds.
By the example of his own plays, Shakespeare suggests that one of the poet's most important tasks in an age dominated by science is to survey the full extent of science's power to shape our minds and souls, and then to turn to the poetic imagination in response. He introduces us to new scientific ways of thinking and encourages us to reflect upon the uncertainties and paradoxes that science presents to us. And he shows us how to create the language and poetic ideas that might help us to counteract science's reductionist tendencies.
Yet Shakespeare does so without dismissing the validity of science; instead, he seeks to understand it. Far from creating a bifurcation by which science and poetry are in separate domains, he embraces the world of science and creates poetic worlds that reflect deeply and philosophically on scientific insights and their human implications, recognising that science will become deeply enmeshed in our lives. For Shakespeare, poetry has the power to help us to live with the revelations of science, and so science must make way for poetry.
Q. What is the author's opinion about Shakespeare's attitude towards Renaissance science?
Directions: Read the passage and answer the question based on it.
Until relatively recently, Shakespeare's contact with the scientific world has gone largely unnoticed among both scholars and general audiences. Perhaps Shakespeare scholars and audiences don't notice the way he takes up science because they are unfamiliar with much of the science he was exposed to, while most scientists don't see Shakespeare as valuable for reflecting on science because they assume he was unfamiliar with it. Usually, even when readers are made aware of Shakespeare's references to this or that scientific subject - perhaps Hamlet's reference to infinity or Lear's allusions to atomism - these are treated as little more than interesting artefacts, window-dressing to Shakespeare's broader human concerns.
A small but growing number of scholars are now taking up the connection between Shakespeare and science. And, spurred perhaps by science fiction, by the ways that science factors in the works of key late-modern writers such as Nabokov, Pynchon, and Wallace, and by the rise of scientific themes in contemporary literary fiction, a growing number of readers are aware that writers can and do take up science, and many are interested in what they do with it.
When we familiarise ourselves with the history of science, we see the imaginative worlds Shakespeare creates to demonstrate science's power to shape our self-understanding, and the power of the literary arts to shape our response to science. We also see that Shakespeare was remarkably prescient about the questions that science would raise for our lives. He explores, for example, how we are personally affected by the uncertainties that cosmological science can introduce, or what it means when scientists claim that our first-hand experience is illusory, or how we respond when science probes into matters of the heart.
Shakespeare takes up references to the morbid art, and to other new discoveries, to show that when scientific investigations yield new ideas about nature, what ensues is an altered relation to ourselves. In fact, Shakespeare explores the philosophical, psychological, and cultural impact of many more scientific fields besides human anatomy, reflecting poetically on theories about germs, atoms, matter, falling bodies, planetary motion, heliocentrism, alchemy, the humours, algebra, Arabic numerals, Pythagorean geometry, the number zero, and the infinite. The inquiries that drove Renaissance science, and the universe it disclosed, are deeply integrated into Shakespeare's poetic worlds.
By the example of his own plays, Shakespeare suggests that one of the poet's most important tasks in an age dominated by science is to survey the full extent of science's power to shape our minds and souls, and then to turn to the poetic imagination in response. He introduces us to new scientific ways of thinking and encourages us to reflect upon the uncertainties and paradoxes that science presents to us. And he shows us how to create the language and poetic ideas that might help us to counteract science's reductionist tendencies.
Yet Shakespeare does so without dismissing the validity of science; instead, he seeks to understand it. Far from creating a bifurcation by which science and poetry are in separate domains, he embraces the world of science and creates poetic worlds that reflect deeply and philosophically on scientific insights and their human implications, recognising that science will become deeply enmeshed in our lives. For Shakespeare, poetry has the power to help us to live with the revelations of science, and so science must make way for poetry.
Q. Which of the following is true according to the passage?
Directions: The passage below is accompanied by a set of questions. Choose the best answer to each question.
Conflict had existed between Spain and England since the 1570s. England wanted a share of the wealth that Spain had been taking from the lands it had claimed in the Americas.
Elizabeth I, Queen of England, encouraged her staunch admiral of the navy, Sir Francis Drake, to raid Spanish ships and towns. Though these raids were on a small scale, Drake achieved dramatic success, adding gold and silver to England's treasury and diminishing Spain's supremacy.
Religious differences also caused conflict between the two countries. Whereas Spain was Roman Catholic, most of England had become Protestant. King Philip II of Spain wanted to claim the throne and make England a Catholic country again. To satisfy his ambition and also to retaliate against England's theft of his gold and silver, King Philip began to build his fleet of warships, the Spanish Armada, in January 1586.
Philip intended his fleet to be indestructible. In addition to building new warships, he marshalled 130 sailing vessels of all types and recruited more than 19,000 robust soldiers and 8,000 sailors. Although some of his ships lacked guns and others lacked ammunition, Philip was convinced that his Armada could withstand any battle with England.
The martial Armada set sail from Lisbon, Portugal, on May 9, 1588, but bad weather forced it back to port. The voyage resumed on July 22 after the weather became more stable.
The Spanish fleet met the smaller, faster, and more manoeuvrable English ships in battle off the coast of Plymouth, England, first on July 31 and again on August 2. The two battles left Spain vulnerable, having lost several ships and with its ammunition depleted. On August 7, while the Armada lay at anchor on the French side of the Strait of Dover, England sent eight burning ships into the midst of the Spanish fleet to set it on fire. Blocked on one side, the Spanish ships could only drift away, their crews in panic and disorder. Before the Armada could regroup, the English attacked again on August 8.
Although the Spaniards made a valiant effort to fight back, the fleet suffered extensive damage. During the eight hours of battle, the Armada drifted perilously close to the rocky coastline. At the moment when it seemed that the Spanish ships would be driven onto the English shore, the wind shifted, and the Armada drifted out into the North Sea. The Spaniards recognised the superiority of the English fleet and returned home, defeated.
The defeat of the Armada provided valuable seafaring experience for English oceanic mariners. While the English were able to persist in their privateering (with legalized pirates) against the Spanish and continue sending troops to assist Philip II's enemies in the Netherlands and France, these efforts brought few tangible rewards. One of the most important effects of the event was that the Armada's failure was seen as a sign that God supported the Protestant Reformation in England. One of the medals struck to celebrate the English victory bore the inscription: "He blew with His winds, and they were scattered".
Q. What was the main reason for the conflict between Spain and England?
Directions: The passage below is accompanied by a set of questions. Choose the best answer to each question.
Conflict had existed between Spain and England since the 1570s. England wanted a share of the wealth that Spain had been taking from the lands it had claimed in the Americas.
Elizabeth I, Queen of England, encouraged her staunch admiral of the navy, Sir Francis Drake, to raid Spanish ships and towns. Though these raids were on a small scale, Drake achieved dramatic success, adding gold and silver to England's treasury and diminishing Spain's supremacy.
Religious differences also caused conflict between the two countries. Whereas Spain was Roman Catholic, most of England had become Protestant. King Philip II of Spain wanted to claim the throne and make England a Catholic country again. To satisfy his ambition and also to retaliate against England's theft of his gold and silver, King Philip began to build his fleet of warships, the Spanish Armada, in January 1586.
Philip intended his fleet to be indestructible. In addition to building new warships, he marshalled 130 sailing vessels of all types and recruited more than 19,000 robust soldiers and 8,000 sailors. Although some of his ships lacked guns and others lacked ammunition, Philip was convinced that his Armada could withstand any battle with England.
The martial Armada set sail from Lisbon, Portugal, on May 9, 1588, but bad weather forced it back to port. The voyage resumed on July 22 after the weather became more stable.
The Spanish fleet met the smaller, faster, and more manoeuvrable English ships in battle off the coast of Plymouth, England, first on July 31 and again on August 2. The two battles left Spain vulnerable, having lost several ships and with its ammunition depleted. On August 7, while the Armada lay at anchor on the French side of the Strait of Dover, England sent eight burning ships into the midst of the Spanish fleet to set it on fire. Blocked on one side, the Spanish ships could only drift away, their crews in panic and disorder. Before the Armada could regroup, the English attacked again on August 8.
Although the Spaniards made a valiant effort to fight back, the fleet suffered extensive damage. During the eight hours of battle, the Armada drifted perilously close to the rocky coastline. At the moment when it seemed that the Spanish ships would be driven onto the English shore, the wind shifted, and the Armada drifted out into the North Sea. The Spaniards recognised the superiority of the English fleet and returned home, defeated.
The defeat of the Armada provided valuable seafaring experience for English oceanic mariners. While the English were able to persist in their privateering (with legalized pirates) against the Spanish and continue sending troops to assist Philip II's enemies in the Netherlands and France, these efforts brought few tangible rewards. One of the most important effects of the event was that the Armada's failure was seen as a sign that God supported the Protestant Reformation in England. One of the medals struck to celebrate the English victory bore the inscription: "He blew with His winds, and they were scattered".
Q. How does the passage give evidence of Britain's military might against the Spanish Armada?
Directions: The passage below is accompanied by a set of questions. Choose the best answer to each question.
Conflict had existed between Spain and England since the 1570s. England wanted a share of the wealth that Spain had been taking from the lands it had claimed in the Americas.
Elizabeth I, Queen of England, encouraged her staunch admiral of the navy, Sir Francis Drake, to raid Spanish ships and towns. Though these raids were on a small scale, Drake achieved dramatic success, adding gold and silver to England's treasury and diminishing Spain's supremacy.
Religious differences also caused conflict between the two countries. Whereas Spain was Roman Catholic, most of England had become Protestant. King Philip II of Spain wanted to claim the throne and make England a Catholic country again. To satisfy his ambition and also to retaliate against England's theft of his gold and silver, King Philip began to build his fleet of warships, the Spanish Armada, in January 1586.
Philip intended his fleet to be indestructible. In addition to building new warships, he marshalled 130 sailing vessels of all types and recruited more than 19,000 robust soldiers and 8,000 sailors. Although some of his ships lacked guns and others lacked ammunition, Philip was convinced that his Armada could withstand any battle with England.
The martial Armada set sail from Lisbon, Portugal, on May 9, 1588, but bad weather forced it back to port. The voyage resumed on July 22 after the weather became more stable.
The Spanish fleet met the smaller, faster, and more manoeuvrable English ships in battle off the coast of Plymouth, England, first on July 31 and again on August 2. The two battles left Spain vulnerable, having lost several ships and with its ammunition depleted. On August 7, while the Armada lay at anchor on the French side of the Strait of Dover, England sent eight burning ships into the midst of the Spanish fleet to set it on fire. Blocked on one side, the Spanish ships could only drift away, their crews in panic and disorder. Before the Armada could regroup, the English attacked again on August 8.
Although the Spaniards made a valiant effort to fight back, the fleet suffered extensive damage. During the eight hours of battle, the Armada drifted perilously close to the rocky coastline. At the moment when it seemed that the Spanish ships would be driven onto the English shore, the wind shifted, and the Armada drifted out into the North Sea. The Spaniards recognised the superiority of the English fleet and returned home, defeated.
The defeat of the Armada provided valuable seafaring experience for English oceanic mariners. While the English were able to persist in their privateering (with legalized pirates) against the Spanish and continue sending troops to assist Philip II's enemies in the Netherlands and France, these efforts brought few tangible rewards. One of the most important effects of the event was that the Armada's failure was seen as a sign that God supported the Protestant Reformation in England. One of the medals struck to celebrate the English victory bore the inscription: "He blew with His winds, and they were scattered".
Q. According to the passage, King Philip did all the following to make sure his fleet was indestructible, EXCEPT:
Directions: The passage below is accompanied by a set of questions. Choose the best answer to each question.
Conflict had existed between Spain and England since the 1570s. England wanted a share of the wealth that Spain had been taking from the lands it had claimed in the Americas.
Elizabeth I, Queen of England, encouraged her staunch admiral of the navy, Sir Francis Drake, to raid Spanish ships and towns. Though these raids were on a small scale, Drake achieved dramatic success, adding gold and silver to England's treasury and diminishing Spain's supremacy.
Religious differences also caused conflict between the two countries. Whereas Spain was Roman Catholic, most of England had become Protestant. King Philip II of Spain wanted to claim the throne and make England a Catholic country again. To satisfy his ambition and also to retaliate against England's theft of his gold and silver, King Philip began to build his fleet of warships, the Spanish Armada, in January 1586.
Philip intended his fleet to be indestructible. In addition to building new warships, he marshalled 130 sailing vessels of all types and recruited more than 19,000 robust soldiers and 8,000 sailors. Although some of his ships lacked guns and others lacked ammunition, Philip was convinced that his Armada could withstand any battle with England.
The martial Armada set sail from Lisbon, Portugal, on May 9, 1588, but bad weather forced it back to port. The voyage resumed on July 22 after the weather became more stable.
The Spanish fleet met the smaller, faster, and more manoeuvrable English ships in battle off the coast of Plymouth, England, first on July 31 and again on August 2. The two battles left Spain vulnerable, having lost several ships and with its ammunition depleted. On August 7, while the Armada lay at anchor on the French side of the Strait of Dover, England sent eight burning ships into the midst of the Spanish fleet to set it on fire. Blocked on one side, the Spanish ships could only drift away, their crews in panic and disorder. Before the Armada could regroup, the English attacked again on August 8.
Although the Spaniards made a valiant effort to fight back, the fleet suffered extensive damage. During the eight hours of battle, the Armada drifted perilously close to the rocky coastline. At the moment when it seemed that the Spanish ships would be driven onto the English shore, the wind shifted, and the Armada drifted out into the North Sea. The Spaniards recognised the superiority of the English fleet and returned home, defeated.
The defeat of the Armada provided valuable seafaring experience for English oceanic mariners. While the English were able to persist in their privateering (with legalized pirates) against the Spanish and continue sending troops to assist Philip II's enemies in the Netherlands and France, these efforts brought few tangible rewards. One of the most important effects of the event was that the Armada's failure was seen as a sign that God supported the Protestant Reformation in England. One of the medals struck to celebrate the English victory bore the inscription: "He blew with His winds, and they were scattered".
Q. Which of the following aptly summarises the passage?
Directions: The passage below is accompanied by a set of questions. Choose the best answer to each question.
We've all heard about the search for life on other planets, but what about looking on other moons?
In a paper published June 13 in The Astrophysical Journal, researchers at the University of California, Riverside and the University of Southern Queensland have identified more than 100 giant planets that potentially host moons capable of supporting life. Their work will guide the design of future telescopes that can detect these potential moons and look for tell-tale signs of life, called 'biosignatures', in their atmospheres.
Since the 2009 launch of NASA's Kepler telescope, scientists have identified thousands of planets outside our solar system, which are called exoplanets. A primary goal of the Kepler mission is to identify planets that are in the habitable zones of their stars, meaning they're neither too hot nor too cold for liquid water – and potentially life – to exist.
Terrestrial (rocky) planets are prime targets in the quest to find life because some of them might be geologically and atmospherically similar to Earth. Another place to look is the many gas giants identified during the Kepler mission. While not a candidate for life themselves, Jupiter-like planets in the habitable zone may harbour rocky moons, called exomoons, that could sustain life.
''There are currently 175 known moons orbiting the eight planets in our solar system. While most of these moons orbit Saturn and Jupiter, which are outside the Sun's habitable zone, that may not be the case in other solar systems,'' said Stephen Kane, an associate professor of planetary astrophysics and a member of the UCR's Alternative Earths Astrobiology Center. ''Including rocky exomoons in our search for life in space will greatly expand the places we can look.''
The researchers identified 121 giant planets that have orbits within the habitable zones of their stars. At more than three times the radii of the Earth, these gaseous planets are less common than terrestrial planets, but each is expected to host several large moons.
Scientists have speculated that exomoons might provide a favourable environment for life, perhaps even better than Earth. That's because they receive energy not only from their star, but also from radiation reflected from their planet. Until now, no exomoons have been confirmed
''Now that we have created a database of the known giant planets in the habitable zone of their star, observations of the best candidates for hosting potential exomoons will be made to help refine the expected exomoon properties. Our follow-up studies will help inform future telescope design so that we can detect these moons, study their properties, and look for signs of life,'' said Michelle Hill, an undergraduate student at the University of Southern Queensland who is working with Kane and will join UCR's graduate program in the fall.
Q. None of the following about exomoons can be inferred from the statements given in the passage EXCEPT:
Directions: The passage below is accompanied by a set of questions. Choose the best answer to each question.
We've all heard about the search for life on other planets, but what about looking on other moons?
In a paper published June 13 in The Astrophysical Journal, researchers at the University of California, Riverside and the University of Southern Queensland have identified more than 100 giant planets that potentially host moons capable of supporting life. Their work will guide the design of future telescopes that can detect these potential moons and look for tell-tale signs of life, called 'biosignatures', in their atmospheres.
Since the 2009 launch of NASA's Kepler telescope, scientists have identified thousands of planets outside our solar system, which are called exoplanets. A primary goal of the Kepler mission is to identify planets that are in the habitable zones of their stars, meaning they're neither too hot nor too cold for liquid water – and potentially life – to exist.
Terrestrial (rocky) planets are prime targets in the quest to find life because some of them might be geologically and atmospherically similar to Earth. Another place to look is the many gas giants identified during the Kepler mission. While not a candidate for life themselves, Jupiter-like planets in the habitable zone may harbour rocky moons, called exomoons, that could sustain life.
''There are currently 175 known moons orbiting the eight planets in our solar system. While most of these moons orbit Saturn and Jupiter, which are outside the Sun's habitable zone, that may not be the case in other solar systems,'' said Stephen Kane, an associate professor of planetary astrophysics and a member of the UCR's Alternative Earths Astrobiology Center. ''Including rocky exomoons in our search for life in space will greatly expand the places we can look.''
The researchers identified 121 giant planets that have orbits within the habitable zones of their stars. At more than three times the radii of the Earth, these gaseous planets are less common than terrestrial planets, but each is expected to host several large moons.
Scientists have speculated that exomoons might provide a favourable environment for life, perhaps even better than Earth. That's because they receive energy not only from their star, but also from radiation reflected from their planet. Until now, no exomoons have been confirmed
''Now that we have created a database of the known giant planets in the habitable zone of their star, observations of the best candidates for hosting potential exomoons will be made to help refine the expected exomoon properties. Our follow-up studies will help inform future telescope design so that we can detect these moons, study their properties, and look for signs of life,'' said Michelle Hill, an undergraduate student at the University of Southern Queensland who is working with Kane and will join UCR's graduate program in the fall.
Q. Which of the following statements best states the main idea contained in the last paragraph of the passage?
Directions: The passage below is accompanied by a set of questions. Choose the best answer to each question.
We've all heard about the search for life on other planets, but what about looking on other moons?
In a paper published June 13 in The Astrophysical Journal, researchers at the University of California, Riverside and the University of Southern Queensland have identified more than 100 giant planets that potentially host moons capable of supporting life. Their work will guide the design of future telescopes that can detect these potential moons and look for tell-tale signs of life, called 'biosignatures', in their atmospheres.
Since the 2009 launch of NASA's Kepler telescope, scientists have identified thousands of planets outside our solar system, which are called exoplanets. A primary goal of the Kepler mission is to identify planets that are in the habitable zones of their stars, meaning they're neither too hot nor too cold for liquid water – and potentially life – to exist.
Terrestrial (rocky) planets are prime targets in the quest to find life because some of them might be geologically and atmospherically similar to Earth. Another place to look is the many gas giants identified during the Kepler mission. While not a candidate for life themselves, Jupiter-like planets in the habitable zone may harbour rocky moons, called exomoons, that could sustain life.
''There are currently 175 known moons orbiting the eight planets in our solar system. While most of these moons orbit Saturn and Jupiter, which are outside the Sun's habitable zone, that may not be the case in other solar systems,'' said Stephen Kane, an associate professor of planetary astrophysics and a member of the UCR's Alternative Earths Astrobiology Center. ''Including rocky exomoons in our search for life in space will greatly expand the places we can look.''
The researchers identified 121 giant planets that have orbits within the habitable zones of their stars. At more than three times the radii of the Earth, these gaseous planets are less common than terrestrial planets, but each is expected to host several large moons.
Scientists have speculated that exomoons might provide a favourable environment for life, perhaps even better than Earth. That's because they receive energy not only from their star, but also from radiation reflected from their planet. Until now, no exomoons have been confirmed
''Now that we have created a database of the known giant planets in the habitable zone of their star, observations of the best candidates for hosting potential exomoons will be made to help refine the expected exomoon properties. Our follow-up studies will help inform future telescope design so that we can detect these moons, study their properties, and look for signs of life,'' said Michelle Hill, an undergraduate student at the University of Southern Queensland who is working with Kane and will join UCR's graduate program in the fall.
Q. Which of the following statements can be inferred from the information provided in the passage?
Directions: The passage below is accompanied by a set of questions. Choose the best answer to each question.
We've all heard about the search for life on other planets, but what about looking on other moons?
In a paper published June 13 in The Astrophysical Journal, researchers at the University of California, Riverside and the University of Southern Queensland have identified more than 100 giant planets that potentially host moons capable of supporting life. Their work will guide the design of future telescopes that can detect these potential moons and look for tell-tale signs of life, called 'biosignatures', in their atmospheres.
Since the 2009 launch of NASA's Kepler telescope, scientists have identified thousands of planets outside our solar system, which are called exoplanets. A primary goal of the Kepler mission is to identify planets that are in the habitable zones of their stars, meaning they're neither too hot nor too cold for liquid water – and potentially life – to exist.
Terrestrial (rocky) planets are prime targets in the quest to find life because some of them might be geologically and atmospherically similar to Earth. Another place to look is the many gas giants identified during the Kepler mission. While not a candidate for life themselves, Jupiter-like planets in the habitable zone may harbour rocky moons, called exomoons, that could sustain life.
''There are currently 175 known moons orbiting the eight planets in our solar system. While most of these moons orbit Saturn and Jupiter, which are outside the Sun's habitable zone, that may not be the case in other solar systems,'' said Stephen Kane, an associate professor of planetary astrophysics and a member of the UCR's Alternative Earths Astrobiology Center. ''Including rocky exomoons in our search for life in space will greatly expand the places we can look.''
The researchers identified 121 giant planets that have orbits within the habitable zones of their stars. At more than three times the radii of the Earth, these gaseous planets are less common than terrestrial planets, but each is expected to host several large moons.
Scientists have speculated that exomoons might provide a favourable environment for life, perhaps even better than Earth. That's because they receive energy not only from their star, but also from radiation reflected from their planet. Until now, no exomoons have been confirmed
''Now that we have created a database of the known giant planets in the habitable zone of their star, observations of the best candidates for hosting potential exomoons will be made to help refine the expected exomoon properties. Our follow-up studies will help inform future telescope design so that we can detect these moons, study their properties, and look for signs of life,'' said Michelle Hill, an undergraduate student at the University of Southern Queensland who is working with Kane and will join UCR's graduate program in the fall.
Q. The author of the passage is most likely to agree with which of the following statements?
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