There are two theories that have been used to explain ancient and modern tragedy. Neither quite explains the complexity of the tragic process or the tragic hero, but each explains important elements of tragedy, and, because their conclusions are contradictory, they represent extreme views. The first theory states that all tragedy exhibits the workings of external fate. Of course, the overwhelming majority of tragedies do leave us with a sense of the supremacy of impersonal power and of the limitation of human effort. But this theory of tragedy is an oversimplification, primarily because it confuses the tragic condition with the tragic process: the theory does not acknowledge that fate, in a tragedy, normally becomes external to the hero only after the tragic process has been set in motion. Fate, as conceived in ancient Greek tragedy, is the internal balancing condition of life. It appears as external only after it has been violated, just as justice is an internal quality of an honest person, but the external antagonist of the criminal. Secondarily, this theory of tragedy does not distinguish tragedy from irony. Irony does not need an exceptional central figure: as a rule, the more ignoble the hero the sharper the irony, when irony alone is the objective. It is heroism that creates the splendor and exhilaration that is unique to tragedy. The tragic hero normally has an extraordinary, often a nearly divine, destiny almost within grasp, and the glory of that original destiny never quite fades out of the tragedy.

The second theory of tragedy states that the act that sets the tragic process in motion must be primarily a violation of moral law, whether human or divine; in short, that the tragic hero must have a flaw that has an essential connection with sin. Again it is true that the great majority of tragic heroes do possess hubris, or a proud and passionate mind that seems to make the hero's downfall morally explicable. But such hubris is only the precipitating agent of catastrophe, just as in comedy the cause of the happy ending is usually some act of humility, often performed by a noble character who is meanly disguised.

The primary purpose of the passage is to

There are two theories that have been used to explain ancient and modern tragedy. Neither quite explains the complexity of the tragic process or the tragic hero, but each explains important elements of tragedy, and, because their conclusions are contradictory, they represent extreme views. The first theory states that all tragedy exhibits the workings of external fate. Of course, the overwhelming majority of tragedies do leave us with a sense of the supremacy of impersonal power and of the limitation of human effort. But this theory of tragedy is an oversimplification, primarily because it confuses the tragic condition with the tragic process: the theory does not acknowledge that fate, in a tragedy, normally becomes external to the hero only after the tragic process has been set in motion. Fate, as conceived in ancient Greek tragedy, is the internal balancing condition of life. It appears as external only after it has been violated, just as justice is an internal quality of an honest person, but the external antagonist of the criminal. Secondarily, this theory of tragedy does not distinguish tragedy from irony. Irony does not need an exceptional central figure: as a rule, the more ignoble the hero the sharper the irony, when irony alone is the objective. It is heroism that creates the splendor and exhilaration that is unique to tragedy. The tragic hero normally has an extraordinary, often a nearly divine, destiny almost within grasp, and the glory of that original destiny never quite fades out of the tragedy.

The second theory of tragedy states that the act that sets the tragic process in motion must be primarily a violation of moral law, whether human or divine; in short, that the tragic hero must have a flaw that has an essential connection with sin. Again it is true that the great majority of tragic heroes do possess hubris, or a proud and passionate mind that seems to make the hero's downfall morally explicable. But such hubris is only the precipitating agent of catastrophe, just as in comedy the cause of the happy ending is usually some act of humility, often performed by a noble character who is meanly disguised.

The author states that the theories discussed in the passage “represent extreme views”  because their conclusions are

There are two theories that have been used to explain ancient and modern tragedy. Neither quite explains the complexity of the tragic process or the tragic hero, but each explains important elements of tragedy, and, because their conclusions are contradictory, they represent extreme views. The first theory states that all tragedy exhibits the workings of external fate. Of course, the overwhelming majority of tragedies do leave us with a sense of the supremacy of impersonal power and of the limitation of human effort. But this theory of tragedy is an oversimplification, primarily because it confuses the tragic condition with the tragic process: the theory does not acknowledge that fate, in a tragedy, normally becomes external to the hero only after the tragic process has been set in motion. Fate, as conceived in ancient Greek tragedy, is the internal balancing condition of life. It appears as external only after it has been violated, just as justice is an internal quality of an honest person, but the external antagonist of the criminal. Secondarily, this theory of tragedy does not distinguish tragedy from irony. Irony does not need an exceptional central figure: as a rule, the more ignoble the hero the sharper the irony, when irony alone is the objective. It is heroism that creates the splendor and exhilaration that is unique to tragedy. The tragic hero normally has an extraordinary, often a nearly divine, destiny almost within grasp, and the glory of that original destiny never quite fades out of the tragedy.

The second theory of tragedy states that the act that sets the tragic process in motion must be primarily a violation of moral law, whether human or divine; in short, that the tragic hero must have a flaw that has an essential connection with sin. Again it is true that the great majority of tragic heroes do possess hubris, or a proud and passionate mind that seems to make the hero's downfall morally explicable. But such hubris is only the precipitating agent of catastrophe, just as in comedy the cause of the happy ending is usually some act of humility, often performed by a noble character who is meanly disguised.

The author objects to the theory that all tragedy exhibits the workings of external fate primarily because

There are two theories that have been used to explain ancient and modern tragedy. Neither quite explains the complexity of the tragic process or the tragic hero, but each explains important elements of tragedy, and, because their conclusions are contradictory, they represent extreme views. The first theory states that all tragedy exhibits the workings of external fate. Of course, the overwhelming majority of tragedies do leave us with a sense of the supremacy of impersonal power and of the limitation of human effort. But this theory of tragedy is an oversimplification, primarily because it confuses the tragic condition with the tragic process: the theory does not acknowledge that fate, in a tragedy, normally becomes external to the hero only after the tragic process has been set in motion. Fate, as conceived in ancient Greek tragedy, is the internal balancing condition of life. It appears as external only after it has been violated, just as justice is an internal quality of an honest person, but the external antagonist of the criminal. Secondarily, this theory of tragedy does not distinguish tragedy from irony. Irony does not need an exceptional central figure: as a rule, the more ignoble the hero the sharper the irony, when irony alone is the objective. It is heroism that creates the splendor and exhilaration that is unique to tragedy. The tragic hero normally has an extraordinary, often a nearly divine, destiny almost within grasp, and the glory of that original destiny never quite fades out of the tragedy.

The second theory of tragedy states that the act that sets the tragic process in motion must be primarily a violation of moral law, whether human or divine; in short, that the tragic hero must have a flaw that has an essential connection with sin. Again it is true that the great majority of tragic heroes do possess hubris, or a proud and passionate mind that seems to make the hero's downfall morally explicable. But such hubris is only the precipitating agent of catastrophe, just as in comedy the cause of the happy ending is usually some act of humility, often performed by a noble character who is meanly disguised.

Which of the following comparisons of the tragic with the ironic hero is best supported by information contained in the passage ?

There are two theories that have been used to explain ancient and modern tragedy. Neither quite explains the complexity of the tragic process or the tragic hero, but each explains important elements of tragedy, and, because their conclusions are contradictory, they represent extreme views. The first theory states that all tragedy exhibits the workings of external fate. Of course, the overwhelming majority of tragedies do leave us with a sense of the supremacy of impersonal power and of the limitation of human effort. But this theory of tragedy is an oversimplification, primarily because it confuses the tragic condition with the tragic process: the theory does not acknowledge that fate, in a tragedy, normally becomes external to the hero only after the tragic process has been set in motion. Fate, as conceived in ancient Greek tragedy, is the internal balancing condition of life. It appears as external only after it has been violated, just as justice is an internal quality of an honest person, but the external antagonist of the criminal. Secondarily, this theory of tragedy does not distinguish tragedy from irony. Irony does not need an exceptional central figure: as a rule, the more ignoble the hero the sharper the irony, when irony alone is the objective. It is heroism that creates the splendor and exhilaration that is unique to tragedy. The tragic hero normally has an extraordinary, often a nearly divine, destiny almost within grasp, and the glory of that original destiny never quite fades out of the tragedy.

The second theory of tragedy states that the act that sets the tragic process in motion must be primarily a violation of moral law, whether human or divine; in short, that the tragic hero must have a flaw that has an essential connection with sin. Again it is true that the great majority of tragic heroes do possess hubris, or a proud and passionate mind that seems to make the hero's downfall morally explicable. But such hubris is only the precipitating agent of catastrophe, just as in comedy the cause of the happy ending is usually some act of humility, often performed by a noble character who is meanly disguised.

The author contrasts an honest person and a criminal (see lines 19–21) primarily to

There are two theories that have been used to explain ancient and modern tragedy. Neither quite explains the complexity of the tragic process or the tragic hero, but each explains important elements of tragedy, and, because their conclusions are contradictory, they represent extreme views. The first theory states that all tragedy exhibits the workings of external fate. Of course, the overwhelming majority of tragedies do leave us with a sense of the supremacy of impersonal power and of the limitation of human effort. But this theory of tragedy is an oversimplification, primarily because it confuses the tragic condition with the tragic process: the theory does not acknowledge that fate, in a tragedy, normally becomes external to the hero only after the tragic process has been set in motion. Fate, as conceived in ancient Greek tragedy, is the internal balancing condition of life. It appears as external only after it has been violated, just as justice is an internal quality of an honest person, but the external antagonist of the criminal. Secondarily, this theory of tragedy does not distinguish tragedy from irony. Irony does not need an exceptional central figure: as a rule, the more ignoble the hero the sharper the irony, when irony alone is the objective. It is heroism that creates the splendor and exhilaration that is unique to tragedy. The tragic hero normally has an extraordinary, often a nearly divine, destiny almost within grasp, and the glory of that original destiny never quite fades out of the tragedy.

The second theory of tragedy states that the act that sets the tragic process in motion must be primarily a violation of moral law, whether human or divine; in short, that the tragic hero must have a flaw that has an essential connection with sin. Again it is true that the great majority of tragic heroes do possess hubris, or a proud and passionate mind that seems to make the hero's downfall morally explicable. But such hubris is only the precipitating agent of catastrophe, just as in comedy the cause of the happy ending is usually some act of humility, often performed by a noble character who is meanly disguised.

The author suggests that the tragic hero's “original destiny never quite fades out of the

tragedy” (see lines 29–30) primarily to

There are two theories that have been used to explain ancient and modern tragedy. Neither quite explains the complexity of the tragic process or the tragic hero, but each explains important elements of tragedy, and, because their conclusions are contradictory, they represent extreme views. The first theory states that all tragedy exhibits the workings of external fate. Of course, the overwhelming majority of tragedies do leave us with a sense of the supremacy of impersonal power and of the limitation of human effort. But this theory of tragedy is an oversimplification, primarily because it confuses the tragic condition with the tragic process: the theory does not acknowledge that fate, in a tragedy, normally becomes external to the hero only after the tragic process has been set in motion. Fate, as conceived in ancient Greek tragedy, is the internal balancing condition of life. It appears as external only after it has been violated, just as justice is an internal quality of an honest person, but the external antagonist of the criminal. Secondarily, this theory of tragedy does not distinguish tragedy from irony. Irony does not need an exceptional central figure: as a rule, the more ignoble the hero the sharper the irony, when irony alone is the objective. It is heroism that creates the splendor and exhilaration that is unique to tragedy. The tragic hero normally has an extraordinary, often a nearly divine, destiny almost within grasp, and the glory of that original destiny never quite fades out of the tragedy.

The second theory of tragedy states that the act that sets the tragic process in motion must be primarily a violation of moral law, whether human or divine; in short, that the tragic hero must have a flaw that has an essential connection with sin. Again it is true that the great majority of tragic heroes do possess hubris, or a proud and passionate mind that seems to make the hero's downfall morally explicable. But such hubris is only the precipitating agent of catastrophe, just as in comedy the cause of the happy ending is usually some act of humility, often performed by a noble character who is meanly disguised.

In the author's opinion, an act of humility in comedy is most analogous to

(The following was excerpted from material written in 1988.)

For over a decade the most common policy advice given to developing countries by international development institutions has been to copy the export-oriented path of the newly industrializing countries, the celebrated NIC's. These economies—Brazil, Hong Kong, Mexico, Singapore, South Korea, and Taiwan—burst into the world manufacturing market in the late 1960's and the 1970's; by 1978 these six economies, along with India, enjoyed unequaled growth rates for gross national product and for exports, with exports accounting for 70 percent of the developing world's manufactured exports. It was, therefore, not surprising that dozens of other countries attempted to follow their model, yet no countries—with the possible exceptions of Malaysia and Thailand—have even approached their success. In "No More NIC's," Robin Broad and John Cavanagh search for the reasons behind these failures, identifying far-reaching changes in the global economy—from synthetic substitutes for commodity exports to unsustainable levels of foreign debt—as responsible for a glut economy offering little room for new entrants. Despite these changes, the authors maintain, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund—the foremost international development institutions—have continued to promote the NIC path as the way for heavily indebted developing countries to proceed. And yet the futility of this approach should, according to the authors, be all too apparent so many years into a period of reduced growth in world markets.

Given the information in the passage, which of the following is a true statement about the NIC's?

(The following was excerpted from material written in 1988.)

For over a decade the most common policy advice given to developing countries by international development institutions has been to copy the export-oriented path of the newly industrializing countries, the celebrated NIC's. These economies—Brazil, Hong Kong, Mexico, Singapore, South Korea, and Taiwan—burst into the world manufacturing market in the late 1960's and the 1970's; by 1978 these six economies, along with India, enjoyed unequaled growth rates for gross national product and for exports, with exports accounting for 70 percent of the developing world's manufactured exports. It was, therefore, not surprising that dozens of other countries attempted to follow their model, yet no countries—with the possible exceptions of Malaysia and Thailand—have even approached their success. In "No More NIC's," Robin Broad and John Cavanagh search for the reasons behind these failures, identifying far-reaching changes in the global economy—from synthetic substitutes for commodity exports to unsustainable levels of foreign debt—as responsible for a glut economy offering little room for new entrants. Despite these changes, the authors maintain, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund—the foremost international development institutions—have continued to promote the NIC path as the way for heavily indebted developing countries to proceed. And yet the futility of this approach should, according to the authors, be all too apparent so many years into a period of reduced growth in world markets.

The author of the passage most clearly implies that Broad and Cavanagh disagree with the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund about which of the following?

(The following was excerpted from material written in 1988.)

For over a decade the most common policy advice given to developing countries by international development institutions has been to copy the export-oriented path of the newly industrializing countries, the celebrated NIC's. These economies—Brazil, Hong Kong, Mexico, Singapore, South Korea, and Taiwan—burst into the world manufacturing market in the late 1960's and the 1970's; by 1978 these six economies, along with India, enjoyed unequaled growth rates for gross national product and for exports, with exports accounting for 70 percent of the developing world's manufactured exports. It was, therefore, not surprising that dozens of other countries attempted to follow their model, yet no countries—with the possible exceptions of Malaysia and Thailand—have even approached their success. In "No More NIC's," Robin Broad and John Cavanagh search for the reasons behind these failures, identifying far-reaching changes in the global economy—from synthetic substitutes for commodity exports to unsustainable levels of foreign debt—as responsible for a glut economy offering little room for new entrants. Despite these changes, the authors maintain, the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund—the foremost international development institutions—have continued to promote the NIC path as the way for heavily indebted developing countries to proceed. And yet the futility of this approach should, according to the authors, be all too apparent so many years into a period of reduced growth in world markets.

The author mentions Malaysia and Thailand in order to

Origami is capable of turning a simple sheet of paper into a pretty paper crane, but the principles behind the paper-folding art can also be applied to making a microfluidic device for a blood test, or for storing a satellite's solar panel in a rocket's cargo bay. A team of researchers is turning kirigami, a related art form that allows the paper to be cut, into a technique that can be applied equally to structures on those vastly divergent length scales. The researchers lay out the rules for folding and cutting a hexagonal lattice, a structure made from strips of material that cross over each other with spaces between, into a wide variety of useful three-dimensional shapes.

A hexagonal lattice may seem like an odd choice for a starting point, but the researchers think that the pattern has advantages over a seemingly simpler tessellation, such as one made from squares; for instance, it is easier to fill a space with a hexagonal lattice and move from 2-D to 3-D. Starting from a flat hexagonal grid on a sheet of paper, the researchers outlined the fundamental cuts and folds that allow the resulting shape to keep the same proportions of the initial lattice, even if some of the material is removed. This is a critical quality for making the transition from paper to materials that might be used in real-world applications.

Having a set of rules that draws on fundamental mathematical principles means that the kirigami approach can be applied equally across length scales, and with almost any material that can be selected on the basis of its relevance to the ultimate application, whether it is in nanotechnology, architecture, or aerospace. The rules also guarantee that "modules," basic shapes such as channels that can direct the flow of fluids, can be combined into more complex ones. Kirigami is particularly attractive for nanoscale applications, where the simplest, most space-efficient shapes are necessary, and self- folding materials would circumvent some of the fabrication challenges inherent in working with other materials at such small scales.

Which of the following most aptly describes the function of the second paragraph?

Origami is capable of turning a simple sheet of paper into a pretty paper crane, but the principles behind the paper-folding art can also be applied to making a microfluidic device for a blood test, or for storing a satellite's solar panel in a rocket's cargo bay. A team of researchers is turning kirigami, a related art form that allows the paper to be cut, into a technique that can be applied equally to structures on those vastly divergent length scales. The researchers lay out the rules for folding and cutting a hexagonal lattice, a structure made from strips of material that cross over each other with spaces between, into a wide variety of useful three-dimensional shapes.

A hexagonal lattice may seem like an odd choice for a starting point, but the researchers think that the pattern has advantages over a seemingly simpler tessellation, such as one made from squares; for instance, it is easier to fill a space with a hexagonal lattice and move from 2-D to 3-D. Starting from a flat hexagonal grid on a sheet of paper, the researchers outlined the fundamental cuts and folds that allow the resulting shape to keep the same proportions of the initial lattice, even if some of the material is removed. This is a critical quality for making the transition from paper to materials that might be used in real-world applications.

Having a set of rules that draws on fundamental mathematical principles means that the kirigami approach can be applied equally across length scales, and with almost any material that can be selected on the basis of its relevance to the ultimate application, whether it is in nanotechnology, architecture, or aerospace. The rules also guarantee that "modules," basic shapes such as channels that can direct the flow of fluids, can be combined into more complex ones. Kirigami is particularly attractive for nanoscale applications, where the simplest, most space-efficient shapes are necessary, and self- folding materials would circumvent some of the fabrication challenges inherent in working with other materials at such small scales.

Which of the following statements would the author most likely agree with?

Origami is capable of turning a simple sheet of paper into a pretty paper crane, but the principles behind the paper-folding art can also be applied to making a microfluidic device for a blood test, or for storing a satellite's solar panel in a rocket's cargo bay. A team of researchers is turning kirigami, a related art form that allows the paper to be cut, into a technique that can be applied equally to structures on those vastly divergent length scales. The researchers lay out the rules for folding and cutting a hexagonal lattice, a structure made from strips of material that cross over each other with spaces between, into a wide variety of useful three-dimensional shapes.

A hexagonal lattice may seem like an odd choice for a starting point, but the researchers think that the pattern has advantages over a seemingly simpler tessellation, such as one made from squares; for instance, it is easier to fill a space with a hexagonal lattice and move from 2-D to 3-D. Starting from a flat hexagonal grid on a sheet of paper, the researchers outlined the fundamental cuts and folds that allow the resulting shape to keep the same proportions of the initial lattice, even if some of the material is removed. This is a critical quality for making the transition from paper to materials that might be used in real-world applications.

Having a set of rules that draws on fundamental mathematical principles means that the kirigami approach can be applied equally across length scales, and with almost any material that can be selected on the basis of its relevance to the ultimate application, whether it is in nanotechnology, architecture, or aerospace. The rules also guarantee that "modules," basic shapes such as channels that can direct the flow of fluids, can be combined into more complex ones. Kirigami is particularly attractive for nanoscale applications, where the simplest, most space-efficient shapes are necessary, and self- folding materials would circumvent some of the fabrication challenges inherent in working with other materials at such small scales.

The author is primarily concerned with