Test: Reading Comprehension- 4 - CAT

The original Hellenistic community was idealized, the Greeks‘ own golden dream—a community never achieved but only imagined by the Macedonian Alexander, who was possessed of the true faith of all converts to a larger vision. The evolving system of city-states had produced not only unity with a healthy diversity but also narrow rivalries. No Hellenic empire arose, only scores of squabbling cities pursuing bitter feuds born of ancient wrongs and existing ambitions. It was civil strife made possible by isolation from the great armies and ambitions of Asia.  

Greek history could arguably begin in July of 776 B.C., the First Olympiad, and end with Theodosus‘s ban on the games in 393 A.D. Before this there had been a long era of two tribes, the Dorians and Ionians, scarcely distinguishable to the alien eye, but distinctly separate in their own eyes until 776. After Theodosus' ban most of the Mediterranean world was Greek-like, in fact, but the central core had been rendered impotent by diffusion.  

During the eventful Greek millennium, the Olympics reflected not the high ideals of Hellenes but rather the mean reality of the times. Its founders had created a monster, games that twisted the strategists‘ aspirations to unity to fit the unpleasant reality of the Hellenistic world. The games not only mirrored the central practices of the Greek world that reformers would deny but also imposed the flaws of that world. Like the atomic theory of the Greek philosophers, the Greek gamers‘ theories were far removed from reality; they were elegant, consistent, logical, and irrelevant.

Part religious ritual, part game rite, in the five-day Olympic Games, various athletes coming together under the banner of their cities; winning became paramount, imposing defeat a delight. As Greek society evolved, so, too, did the games, but rarely as a unifying force. Athletes supposedly competing for the laurel of accomplishment in the name of idealism found that dried olive leaves changed to gold. Each local polis (city-state) sought not to contribute to the grandeur of Greece, but to achieve its own glory. As in the real world, in the games no Greek could trust another, and each envied rivals' victories. The Olympic spirit was not one of communal bliss but bitter lasting competition institutionalized in games. 

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q. Considering the arguments made in the passage, with which of the following statements would the author be most likely to agree?  

The original Hellenistic community was idealized, the Greeks‘ own golden dream—a community never achieved but only imagined by the Macedonian Alexander, who was possessed of the true faith of all converts to a larger vision. The evolving system of city-states had produced not only unity with a healthy diversity but also narrow rivalries. No Hellenic empire arose, only scores of squabbling cities pursuing bitter feuds born of ancient wrongs and existing ambitions. It was civil strife made possible by isolation from the great armies and ambitions of Asia.  

Greek history could arguably begin in July of 776 B.C., the First Olympiad, and end with Theodosus‘s ban on the games in 393 A.D. Before this there had been a long era of two tribes, the Dorians and Ionians, scarcely distinguishable to the alien eye, but distinctly separate in their own eyes until 776. After Theodosus' ban most of the Mediterranean world was Greek-like, in fact, but the central core had been rendered impotent by diffusion.  

During the eventful Greek millennium, the Olympics reflected not the high ideals of Hellenes but rather the mean reality of the times. Its founders had created a monster, games that twisted the strategists‘ aspirations to unity to fit the unpleasant reality of the Hellenistic world. The games not only mirrored the central practices of the Greek world that reformers would deny but also imposed the flaws of that world. Like the atomic theory of the Greek philosophers, the Greek gamers‘ theories were far removed from reality; they were elegant, consistent, logical, and irrelevant.

Part religious ritual, part game rite, in the five-day Olympic Games, various athletes coming together under the banner of their cities; winning became paramount, imposing defeat a delight. As Greek society evolved, so, too, did the games, but rarely as a unifying force. Athletes supposedly competing for the laurel of accomplishment in the name of idealism found that dried olive leaves changed to gold. Each local polis (city-state) sought not to contribute to the grandeur of Greece, but to achieve its own glory. As in the real world, in the games no Greek could trust another, and each envied rivals' victories. The Olympic spirit was not one of communal bliss but bitter lasting competition institutionalized in games. 

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q. For which of the following statements does the passage provide some evidence or explanation?  
I. Alexander united ancient Greece through a series of military conquests.  

II. The divisions among Greek city-states were reflected in the Olympics.  

III. The Olympic Games could not have occurred without a city-state system. 

The original Hellenistic community was idealized, the Greeks‘ own golden dream—a community never achieved but only imagined by the Macedonian Alexander, who was possessed of the true faith of all converts to a larger vision. The evolving system of city-states had produced not only unity with a healthy diversity but also narrow rivalries. No Hellenic empire arose, only scores of squabbling cities pursuing bitter feuds born of ancient wrongs and existing ambitions. It was civil strife made possible by isolation from the great armies and ambitions of Asia.  

Greek history could arguably begin in July of 776 B.C., the First Olympiad, and end with Theodosus‘s ban on the games in 393 A.D. Before this there had been a long era of two tribes, the Dorians and Ionians, scarcely distinguishable to the alien eye, but distinctly separate in their own eyes until 776. After Theodosus' ban most of the Mediterranean world was Greek-like, in fact, but the central core had been rendered impotent by diffusion.  

During the eventful Greek millennium, the Olympics reflected not the high ideals of Hellenes but rather the mean reality of the times. Its founders had created a monster, games that twisted the strategists‘ aspirations to unity to fit the unpleasant reality of the Hellenistic world. The games not only mirrored the central practices of the Greek world that reformers would deny but also imposed the flaws of that world. Like the atomic theory of the Greek philosophers, the Greek gamers‘ theories were far removed from reality; they were elegant, consistent, logical, and irrelevant.

Part religious ritual, part game rite, in the five-day Olympic Games, various athletes coming together under the banner of their cities; winning became paramount, imposing defeat a delight. As Greek society evolved, so, too, did the games, but rarely as a unifying force. Athletes supposedly competing for the laurel of accomplishment in the name of idealism found that dried olive leaves changed to gold. Each local polis (city-state) sought not to contribute to the grandeur of Greece, but to achieve its own glory. As in the real world, in the games no Greek could trust another, and each envied rivals' victories. The Olympic spirit was not one of communal bliss but bitter lasting competition institutionalized in games. 

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q.The statement: ―"The Olympic spirit was not one of communal bliss but bitter lasting competition institutionalized in games" indicates that the author believes that:  

In all battles two things are usually required of the Commander-in-Chief: to make a good plan for his army and to keep a strong reserve. Both of these are also obligatory for the painter. To make a plan, thorough reconnaissance of the country where the battle is to be fought is needed. Its fields, its mountains, its rivers, its bridges, its trees, its flowers, its atmosphere—all require and repay attentive observation from a special point of view.

I think this is one of the chief delights that have come to me through painting. No doubt many people who are lovers of art have acquired it to a high degree without actually practicing. But I expect that nothing will make one observe more quickly or more thoroughly than having to face the difficulty of representing the thing observed. And mind you, if you do observe accurately and with refinement, and if you do record what you have seen with tolerable correspondence, the result follows on the canvas with startling obedience.

But in order to make his plan, the General must not only reconnoitre the battle-ground; he must also study the achievements of the great Captains of the past. He must bring the observations he has collected in the field into comparison with the treatment of similar incidents by famous chiefs.

Considering this fact, the galleries of Europe take on a new—and to me at least — a severely practical interest. You see the difficulty that baffled you yesterday; and you see how easily it has been overcome by a great or even by a skilful painter. Not only is your observation of Nature sensibly improved and developed, but also your comprehension of the masterpieces of art.

But it is in the use and withholding of their reserves that the great commanders have generally excelled. After all, when once the last reserve has been thrown in, the commander‘s part is played. If that does not win the battle, he has nothing else to give. Everything must be left to luck and to the fighting troops. But these last reserves, in the absence of high direction, are apt to get into sad confusion, all mixed together in a nasty mess, without order or plan—and consequently without effect.  

Mere masses count no more. The largest brush, the brightest colours cannot even make an impression. The pictorial battlefield becomes a sea of mud mercifully veiled by the fog of war. Even though the General plunges in himself and emerges bespattered, as he sometimes does, he will not retrieve the day. In painting, the reserves consist in Proportion or Relation. And it is here that the art of the painter marches along the road which is traversed by all the greatest harmonies in thought. At one side of the palette there is white, at the other black; and neither is ever used 'neat.‘ Between these two rigid limits all the action must lie, all the power required must be generated. Black and white themselves placed in juxtaposition make no great impression; and yet they are the most that you can do in pure contrast.  

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q.As the author creates the analogy between war and painting in the passage, the Commander-in-Chief is to the battleground as the:  

In all battles two things are usually required of the Commander-in-Chief: to make a good plan for his army and to keep a strong reserve. Both of these are also obligatory for the painter. To make a plan, thorough reconnaissance of the country where the battle is to be fought is needed. Its fields, its mountains, its rivers, its bridges, its trees, its flowers, its atmosphere—all require and repay attentive observation from a special point of view.

I think this is one of the chief delights that have come to me through painting. No doubt many people who are lovers of art have acquired it to a high degree without actually practicing. But I expect that nothing will make one observe more quickly or more thoroughly than having to face the difficulty of representing the thing observed. And mind you, if you do observe accurately and with refinement, and if you do record what you have seen with tolerable correspondence, the result follows on the canvas with startling obedience.

But in order to make his plan, the General must not only reconnoitre the battle-ground; he must also study the achievements of the great Captains of the past. He must bring the observations he has collected in the field into comparison with the treatment of similar incidents by famous chiefs.

Considering this fact, the galleries of Europe take on a new—and to me at least — a severely practical interest. You see the difficulty that baffled you yesterday; and you see how easily it has been overcome by a great or even by a skilful painter. Not only is your observation of Nature sensibly improved and developed, but also your comprehension of the masterpieces of art.

But it is in the use and withholding of their reserves that the great commanders have generally excelled. After all, when once the last reserve has been thrown in, the commander‘s part is played. If that does not win the battle, he has nothing else to give. Everything must be left to luck and to the fighting troops. But these last reserves, in the absence of high direction, are apt to get into sad confusion, all mixed together in a nasty mess, without order or plan—and consequently without effect.  

Mere masses count no more. The largest brush, the brightest colours cannot even make an impression. The pictorial battlefield becomes a sea of mud mercifully veiled by the fog of war. Even though the General plunges in himself and emerges bespattered, as he sometimes does, he will not retrieve the day. In painting, the reserves consist in Proportion or Relation. And it is here that the art of the painter marches along the road which is traversed by all the greatest harmonies in thought. At one side of the palette there is white, at the other black; and neither is ever used 'neat.‘ Between these two rigid limits all the action must lie, all the power required must be generated. Black and white themselves placed in juxtaposition make no great impression; and yet they are the most that you can do in pure contrast.  

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q.Following the example of the master Manet, the young Matisse often inserted in his pictures areas of white such as tablecloths or crockery that allowed for striking contrasts with black objects such as a knife or a dark bottle. What is the relevance of this information to the passage?  

In all battles two things are usually required of the Commander-in-Chief: to make a good plan for his army and to keep a strong reserve. Both of these are also obligatory for the painter. To make a plan, thorough reconnaissance of the country where the battle is to be fought is needed. Its fields, its mountains, its rivers, its bridges, its trees, its flowers, its atmosphere—all require and repay attentive observation from a special point of view.

I think this is one of the chief delights that have come to me through painting. No doubt many people who are lovers of art have acquired it to a high degree without actually practicing. But I expect that nothing will make one observe more quickly or more thoroughly than having to face the difficulty of representing the thing observed. And mind you, if you do observe accurately and with refinement, and if you do record what you have seen with tolerable correspondence, the result follows on the canvas with startling obedience.

But in order to make his plan, the General must not only reconnoitre the battle-ground; he must also study the achievements of the great Captains of the past. He must bring the observations he has collected in the field into comparison with the treatment of similar incidents by famous chiefs.

Considering this fact, the galleries of Europe take on a new—and to me at least — a severely practical interest. You see the difficulty that baffled you yesterday; and you see how easily it has been overcome by a great or even by a skilful painter. Not only is your observation of Nature sensibly improved and developed, but also your comprehension of the masterpieces of art.

But it is in the use and withholding of their reserves that the great commanders have generally excelled. After all, when once the last reserve has been thrown in, the commander‘s part is played. If that does not win the battle, he has nothing else to give. Everything must be left to luck and to the fighting troops. But these last reserves, in the absence of high direction, are apt to get into sad confusion, all mixed together in a nasty mess, without order or plan—and consequently without effect.  

Mere masses count no more. The largest brush, the brightest colours cannot even make an impression. The pictorial battlefield becomes a sea of mud mercifully veiled by the fog of war. Even though the General plunges in himself and emerges bespattered, as he sometimes does, he will not retrieve the day. In painting, the reserves consist in Proportion or Relation. And it is here that the art of the painter marches along the road which is traversed by all the greatest harmonies in thought. At one side of the palette there is white, at the other black; and neither is ever used 'neat.‘ Between these two rigid limits all the action must lie, all the power required must be generated. Black and white themselves placed in juxtaposition make no great impression; and yet they are the most that you can do in pure contrast.  

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q.The author‘s statement ―"But [the fighting troops], in the absence of high direction, are apt to get into sad confusion, all mixed together in a nasty mess, without order or plan—and consequently without effect" assumes that

In public Greek life, a man had to make his way at every step through the immediate persuasion of the spoken word. Whether it be addressing an assembly, a law-court or a more restricted body, his oratory would be a public affair rather than under the purview of a quiet committee, without the support of circulated commentary, and with no backcloth of daily reportage to make his own or others‘ views familiar to his hearers. The oratory's immediate effect was all-important; it would be naive to expect that mere reasonableness or an inherently good case would equate to a satisfactory appeal. Therefore, it was early realized that persuasion was an art, up to a point teachable, and a variety of specific pedagogy was well established in the second half of the fifth century. When the sophists claimed to teach their pupils how to succeed in public life, rhetoric was a large part of what they meant, though, to do them justice, it was not the whole.

Skill naturally bred mistrust. If a man of good will had need of expression advanced of mere twaddle, to learn how to expound his contention effectively, the truculent or pugnacious could be taught to dress their case in well-seeming guise. It was a standing charge against the sophists that they ‗made the worse appear the better cause,‘ and it was this immoral lesson which the hero of Aristophanes‘ Clouds went to learn from, of all people, Socrates. Again, the charge is often made in court that the opponent is an adroit orator and the jury must be circumspect so as not to let him delude them. From the frequency with which this crops up, it is patent that the accusation of cleverness might damage a man. In Greece, juries, of course, were familiar with the style, and would recognize the more evident artifices, but it was worth a litigant‘s while to get his speech written for him by an expert. Persuasive oratory was certainly one of the pressures that would be effective in an Athenian law-court.

A more insidious danger was the inevitable desire to display this art as an art. It is not easy to define the point at which a legitimate concern with style shades off into preoccupation with manner at the expense of matter, but it is easy to perceive that many Greek writers of the fourth and later centuries passed that danger point. The most influential was Isocrates, who polished for long years his pamphlets, written in the form of speeches, and taught to many pupils the smooth and easy periods he had perfected. Isocrates took to the written word in compensation for his inadequacy in live oratory; the tough and nervous tones of a Demosthenes were far removed from his, though they, too, were based on study and practice. The exaltation of virtuosity did palpable harm. The balance was always delicate, between style as a vehicle and style as an end in itself.

 We must not try to pinpoint a specific moment when it, once and for all, tipped over; but certainly, as time went on, virtuosity weighed heavier. While Greek freedom lasted, and it mattered what course of action a Greek city decided to take, rhetoric was a necessary preparation for public life, whatever its side effects. It had been a source of strength for Greek civilization that its problems, of all kinds, were thrashed out very much in public. The shallowness which the study of rhetoric might (not must) encourage was the corresponding weakness.  

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q.If the author of the passage travelled to a political convention and saw various candidates speak he would most likely have the highest regard for an orator who:  

In public Greek life, a man had to make his way at every step through the immediate persuasion of the spoken word. Whether it be addressing an assembly, a law-court or a more restricted body, his oratory would be a public affair rather than under the purview of a quiet committee, without the support of circulated commentary, and with no backcloth of daily reportage to make his own or others‘ views familiar to his hearers. The oratory's immediate effect was all-important; it would be naive to expect that mere reasonableness or an inherently good case would equate to a satisfactory appeal. Therefore, it was early realized that persuasion was an art, up to a point teachable, and a variety of specific pedagogy was well established in the second half of the fifth century. When the sophists claimed to teach their pupils how to succeed in public life, rhetoric was a large part of what they meant, though, to do them justice, it was not the whole.

Skill naturally bred mistrust. If a man of good will had need of expression advanced of mere twaddle, to learn how to expound his contention effectively, the truculent or pugnacious could be taught to dress their case in well-seeming guise. It was a standing charge against the sophists that they 'made the worse appear the better cause,‘ and it was this immoral lesson which the hero of Aristophanes‘ Clouds went to learn from, of all people, Socrates. Again, the charge is often made in court that the opponent is an adroit orator and the jury must be circumspect so as not to let him delude them. From the frequency with which this crops up, it is patent that the accusation of cleverness might damage a man. In Greece, juries, of course, were familiar with the style, and would recognize the more evident artifices, but it was worth a litigant‘s while to get his speech written for him by an expert. Persuasive oratory was certainly one of the pressures that would be effective in an Athenian law-court.

A more insidious danger was the inevitable desire to display this art as an art. It is not easy to define the point at which a legitimate concern with style shades off into preoccupation with manner at the expense of matter, but it is easy to perceive that many Greek writers of the fourth and later centuries passed that danger point. The most influential was Isocrates, who polished for long years his pamphlets, written in the form of speeches, and taught to many pupils the smooth and easy periods he had perfected. Isocrates took to the written word in compensation for his inadequacy in live oratory; the tough and nervous tones of a Demosthenes were far removed from his, though they, too, were based on study and practice. The exaltation of virtuosity did palpable harm. The balance was always delicate, between style as a vehicle and style as an end in itself.

 We must not try to pinpoint a specific moment when it, once and for all, tipped over; but certainly, as time went on, virtuosity weighed heavier. While Greek freedom lasted, and it mattered what course of action a Greek city decided to take, rhetoric was a necessary preparation for public life, whatever its side effects. It had been a source of strength for Greek civilization that its problems, of all kinds, were thrashed out very much in public. The shallowness which the study of rhetoric might (not must) encourage was the corresponding weakness.  

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q.Historians agree that those seeking public office in modern America make far fewer speeches in the course of their campaign than those seeking a public position in ancient Greece did. The author would most likely explain this by pointing out that: 

In public Greek life, a man had to make his way at every step through the immediate persuasion of the spoken word. Whether it be addressing an assembly, a law-court or a more restricted body, his oratory would be a public affair rather than under the purview of a quiet committee, without the support of circulated commentary, and with no backcloth of daily reportage to make his own or others‘ views familiar to his hearers. The oratory's immediate effect was all-important; it would be naive to expect that mere reasonableness or an inherently good case would equate to a satisfactory appeal. Therefore, it was early realized that persuasion was an art, up to a point teachable, and a variety of specific pedagogy was well established in the second half of the fifth century. When the sophists claimed to teach their pupils how to succeed in public life, rhetoric was a large part of what they meant, though, to do them justice, it was not the whole.

Skill naturally bred mistrust. If a man of good will had need of expression advanced of mere twaddle, to learn how to expound his contention effectively, the truculent or pugnacious could be taught to dress their case in well-seeming guise. It was a standing charge against the sophists that they 'made the worse appear the better cause,‘ and it was this immoral lesson which the hero of Aristophanes‘ Clouds went to learn from, of all people, Socrates. Again, the charge is often made in court that the opponent is an adroit orator and the jury must be circumspect so as not to let him delude them. From the frequency with which this crops up, it is patent that the accusation of cleverness might damage a man. In Greece, juries, of course, were familiar with the style, and would recognize the more evident artifices, but it was worth a litigant‘s while to get his speech written for him by an expert. Persuasive oratory was certainly one of the pressures that would be effective in an Athenian law-court.

A more insidious danger was the inevitable desire to display this art as an art. It is not easy to define the point at which a legitimate concern with style shades off into preoccupation with manner at the expense of matter, but it is easy to perceive that many Greek writers of the fourth and later centuries passed that danger point. The most influential was Isocrates, who polished for long years his pamphlets, written in the form of speeches, and taught to many pupils the smooth and easy periods he had perfected. Isocrates took to the written word in compensation for his inadequacy in live oratory; the tough and nervous tones of a Demosthenes were far removed from his, though they, too, were based on study and practice. The exaltation of virtuosity did palpable harm. The balance was always delicate, between style as a vehicle and style as an end in itself.

 We must not try to pinpoint a specific moment when it, once and for all, tipped over; but certainly, as time went on, virtuosity weighed heavier. While Greek freedom lasted, and it mattered what course of action a Greek city decided to take, rhetoric was a necessary preparation for public life, whatever its side effects. It had been a source of strength for Greek civilization that its problems, of all kinds, were thrashed out very much in public. The shallowness which the study of rhetoric might (not must) encourage was the corresponding weakness.  

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q.Implicit in the statement that the exaltation of virtuosity was not due mainly to Isocrates because public display was normal in a world that talked far more than it read is the assumption that:  

Those who opine lose their impunity when the circumstances in which they pontificate are such that generate from their expression a positive instigation of some mischievous act. An opinion that corn dealers are starvers of the poor, or that owning private property is robbery, ought to be unmolested when simply circulated through the press, but may justly incur punishment when delivered orally to an excited mob assembled before the house of a corn dealer, or when handed about among the same mob in the form of a placard. Acts, of whatever kind, which without justifiable cause do harm to others, may be, and in the more important cases are absolutely required to be, controlled by the unfavourable sentiments, and, when needful, by the active interference of mankind. The liberty of the individual must be thus far limited; he must not make himself a nuisance to other people. But if he refrains from molesting others in matters that concern them, and merely acts according to his own inclination and judgment in matters which concern himself he should be allowed, without molestation, to carry his opinions into practice at his own cost. As it is useful that while mankind are imperfect there should be different opinions, so it is that there should be different experiments of living, that free scope should be given to varieties of character, short of injury to others, and that the worth of different modes of life should be proved practically, when anyone thinks fit to try them. Where not the person‘s own character but the traditions and customs of other people are the rule of conduct, there is wanting one of the principal ingredients of individual and social progress.  

It would be absurd to pretend that people ought to live as if nothing whatever had been known in the world before they came into it; as if experience had as yet done nothing toward showing that one mode of existence, or of conduct, is preferable to another. Nobody denies that people should be so taught and trained in youth as to know and benefit by the ascertained results of human experience. But it is the privilege and proper condition of a human being, arrived at the maturity of his faculties, to use and interpret experience in his own way. It is for him to find out what part of recorded experience is properly applicable to his own circumstances and character. The traditions and customs of other people are, to a certain extent, evidence of what their experience has taught them—presumptive evidence, and as such, have a claim to his deference—but, in the first place, their experience may be too narrow, or they may have not interpreted it rightly. Secondly, their interpretation of experience may be correct, but unsuited to him. Customs are made for customary circumstances and customary characters, and his circumstances or his character may be uncustomary. Thirdly, though the customs be both good as customs and suitable to him, yet to conform to custom merely as custom does not educate him or develop in him any of the qualities which are the distinctive endowments of a human being. He gains no practice either in discerning or desiring what is best. 

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q.Based on information in the passage, with which of the following statements about opinions would the author most likely NOT disagree?  

Those who opine lose their impunity when the circumstances in which they pontificate are such that generate from their expression a positive instigation of some mischievous act. An opinion that corn dealers are starvers of the poor, or that owning private property is robbery, ought to be unmolested when simply circulated through the press, but may justly incur punishment when delivered orally to an excited mob assembled before the house of a corn dealer, or when handed about among the same mob in the form of a placard. Acts, of whatever kind, which without justifiable cause do harm to others, may be, and in the more important cases are absolutely required to be, controlled by the unfavourable sentiments, and, when needful, by the active interference of mankind. The liberty of the individual must be thus far limited; he must not make himself a nuisance to other people. But if he refrains from molesting others in matters that concern them, and merely acts according to his own inclination and judgment in matters which concern himself he should be allowed, without molestation, to carry his opinions into practice at his own cost. As it is useful that while mankind are imperfect there should be different opinions, so it is that there should be different experiments of living, that free scope should be given to varieties of character, short of injury to others, and that the worth of different modes of life should be proved practically, when anyone thinks fit to try them. Where not the person‘s own character but the traditions and customs of other people are the rule of conduct, there is wanting one of the principal ingredients of individual and social progress.  

It would be absurd to pretend that people ought to live as if nothing whatever had been known in the world before they came into it; as if experience had as yet done nothing toward showing that one mode of existence, or of conduct, is preferable to another. Nobody denies that people should be so taught and trained in youth as to know and benefit by the ascertained results of human experience. But it is the privilege and proper condition of a human being, arrived at the maturity of his faculties, to use and interpret experience in his own way. It is for him to find out what part of recorded experience is properly applicable to his own circumstances and character. The traditions and customs of other people are, to a certain extent, evidence of what their experience has taught them—presumptive evidence, and as such, have a claim to his deference—but, in the first place, their experience may be too narrow, or they may have not interpreted it rightly. Secondly, their interpretation of experience may be correct, but unsuited to him. Customs are made for customary circumstances and customary characters, and his circumstances or his character may be uncustomary. Thirdly, though the customs be both good as customs and suitable to him, yet to conform to custom merely as custom does not educate him or develop in him any of the qualities which are the distinctive endowments of a human being. He gains no practice either in discerning or desiring what is best. 

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q.The author holds that one should not necessarily defer to the traditions and customs of other people. The author supports his position by arguing that:  

I. traditions and customs are usually the result of misinterpreted experiences.  

II. customs are based on experiences in the past, which are different from modern experiences.

III. customs can stifle one‘s individual development. 

Those who opine lose their impunity when the circumstances in which they pontificate are such that generate from their expression a positive instigation of some mischievous act. An opinion that corn dealers are starvers of the poor, or that owning private property is robbery, ought to be unmolested when simply circulated through the press, but may justly incur punishment when delivered orally to an excited mob assembled before the house of a corn dealer, or when handed about among the same mob in the form of a placard. Acts, of whatever kind, which without justifiable cause do harm to others, may be, and in the more important cases are absolutely required to be, controlled by the unfavourable sentiments, and, when needful, by the active interference of mankind. The liberty of the individual must be thus far limited; he must not make himself a nuisance to other people. But if he refrains from molesting others in matters that concern them, and merely acts according to his own inclination and judgment in matters which concern himself he should be allowed, without molestation, to carry his opinions into practice at his own cost. As it is useful that while mankind are imperfect there should be different opinions, so it is that there should be different experiments of living, that free scope should be given to varieties of character, short of injury to others, and that the worth of different modes of life should be proved practically, when anyone thinks fit to try them. Where not the person‘s own character but the traditions and customs of other people are the rule of conduct, there is wanting one of the principal ingredients of individual and social progress.  

It would be absurd to pretend that people ought to live as if nothing whatever had been known in the world before they came into it; as if experience had as yet done nothing toward showing that one mode of existence, or of conduct, is preferable to another. Nobody denies that people should be so taught and trained in youth as to know and benefit by the ascertained results of human experience. But it is the privilege and proper condition of a human being, arrived at the maturity of his faculties, to use and interpret experience in his own way. It is for him to find out what part of recorded experience is properly applicable to his own circumstances and character. The traditions and customs of other people are, to a certain extent, evidence of what their experience has taught them—presumptive evidence, and as such, have a claim to his deference—but, in the first place, their experience may be too narrow, or they may have not interpreted it rightly. Secondly, their interpretation of experience may be correct, but unsuited to him. Customs are made for customary circumstances and customary characters, and his circumstances or his character may be uncustomary. Thirdly, though the customs be both good as customs and suitable to him, yet to conform to custom merely as custom does not educate him or develop in him any of the qualities which are the distinctive endowments of a human being. He gains no practice either in discerning or desiring what is best. 

Directions: Read the above paragraph and answer the following

Q. The existence of which of the following phenomena would most strongly challenge the author‘s argument about ―conforming to custom merely as custom?