Verbal Ability & Reading Comprehension (VARC) Test - 36

Directions : The passage below is accompanied by four questions. Based on the passage, choose the best answer for each question.

We are dual-faceted creatures. On the one hand, each of us has the power of individual agency: we experience our choices as up to us, to do with as we will. On the other hand, we confront a world that prevents us from doing as we would choose: we are finite beings subject to limitations of time, space, and energy, and we are inexorably caught up in wider socio-historical processes. This double nature has implications for our interpersonal practices of moral criticism, that is, our evaluative responses to other agents' actions and attitudes. While extant theorizing is dominated by a focus on reactive attitudes like blame and resentment, many have noted that these alone seem inadequate to the task of responding fully to the variety and complexity of problems we encounter in moral life.

One of these is the problem of living ethically in a highly unjust world. It has become impossible to ignore the moral implications of everyday actions that contribute to globalized systems of exploitation and oppression: eating foods whose production contributes to the devastation of the planet or wearing clothing stitched by maltreated workers. I will refer to such forms of quotidian participation in injustice as 'structural wrongs'. Structural wrongs raise challenges for moral theory. When the world's most pressing moral problems result from complex forces wholly outside individual control, blaming people for structural wrongs can seem injudicious. And yet, moral critique feels absolutely necessary.

We should distinguish between what I call summative and formative moral criticisms, in order to respond properly to two distinct modes of morality: the imperatival and the aspirational. While summative critical responses like blame are justified when exercises of agency violate clear moral standards, the justification for formative responses - whose purpose is to improve rather than assess agency - lies in the fact that we all deserve feedback whenever our limited, imperfect, and structurally constrained agency falls short of moral ideals. I contend that philosophers should be much more attuned to practices of formative moral criticism because these may be warranted (or efficacious) in cases where summative criticism is not.

Here are two essential truths about our moral agency: The first is that, qua agents, we have the power to choose some actions over others, that is, to exercise our agency as we will. Against this background of agentic freedom, we experience morality as a delimitation to our choices - it is in this vein that we speak of the 'demands' or 'dictates' of morality. We simply ought not to consider certain acts to be live options, however tempting. By setting standards that serve as hard constraints on moral behaviour, morality commands us to make certain choices, and it is in our hands whether we heed them or not. This is morality in the imperatival mode.

The other truth, however, is that our agency is inherently very limited. We are finite creatures who survive in time and space, are dependent on material and social support, and lack many kinds of information, resources, and abilities that would enable us to act better morally. In a world where individuals' allotments of happiness vary (sometimes greatly) and their moral value is (sometimes flagrantly) disregarded, we sometimes perceive the pull of morality in a different way. Here, we do not experience things as fully up to us, but we feel called upon to do something. We recognise that even though it is not specifically our job to alleviate others' homelessness or hunger, we cannot simply mind our own business without further thought. So, although morality (according to all but the most stringent views) permits us sometimes to walk away from others in need, it retains a normative grip on us, such that if we walk away, we know we are still morally bound to work in other ways towards ameliorating their plight. This is morality in the aspirational mode.

Directions : The passage below is accompanied by four questions. Based on the passage, choose the best answer for each question.

We are dual-faceted creatures. On the one hand, each of us has the power of individual agency: we experience our choices as up to us, to do with as we will. On the other hand, we confront a world that prevents us from doing as we would choose: we are finite beings subject to limitations of time, space, and energy, and we are inexorably caught up in wider socio-historical processes. This double nature has implications for our interpersonal practices of moral criticism, that is, our evaluative responses to other agents' actions and attitudes. While extant theorizing is dominated by a focus on reactive attitudes like blame and resentment, many have noted that these alone seem inadequate to the task of responding fully to the variety and complexity of problems we encounter in moral life.

One of these is the problem of living ethically in a highly unjust world. It has become impossible to ignore the moral implications of everyday actions that contribute to globalized systems of exploitation and oppression: eating foods whose production contributes to the devastation of the planet or wearing clothing stitched by maltreated workers. I will refer to such forms of quotidian participation in injustice as 'structural wrongs'. Structural wrongs raise challenges for moral theory. When the world's most pressing moral problems result from complex forces wholly outside individual control, blaming people for structural wrongs can seem injudicious. And yet, moral critique feels absolutely necessary.

We should distinguish between what I call summative and formative moral criticisms, in order to respond properly to two distinct modes of morality: the imperatival and the aspirational. While summative critical responses like blame are justified when exercises of agency violate clear moral standards, the justification for formative responses - whose purpose is to improve rather than assess agency - lies in the fact that we all deserve feedback whenever our limited, imperfect, and structurally constrained agency falls short of moral ideals. I contend that philosophers should be much more attuned to practices of formative moral criticism because these may be warranted (or efficacious) in cases where summative criticism is not.

Here are two essential truths about our moral agency: The first is that, qua agents, we have the power to choose some actions over others, that is, to exercise our agency as we will. Against this background of agentic freedom, we experience morality as a delimitation to our choices - it is in this vein that we speak of the 'demands' or 'dictates' of morality. We simply ought not to consider certain acts to be live options, however tempting. By setting standards that serve as hard constraints on moral behaviour, morality commands us to make certain choices, and it is in our hands whether we heed them or not. This is morality in the imperatival mode.

The other truth, however, is that our agency is inherently very limited. We are finite creatures who survive in time and space, are dependent on material and social support, and lack many kinds of information, resources, and abilities that would enable us to act better morally. In a world where individuals' allotments of happiness vary (sometimes greatly) and their moral value is (sometimes flagrantly) disregarded, we sometimes perceive the pull of morality in a different way. Here, we do not experience things as fully up to us, but we feel called upon to do something. We recognise that even though it is not specifically our job to alleviate others' homelessness or hunger, we cannot simply mind our own business without further thought. So, although morality (according to all but the most stringent views) permits us sometimes to walk away from others in need, it retains a normative grip on us, such that if we walk away, we know we are still morally bound to work in other ways towards ameliorating their plight. This is morality in the aspirational mode.

Directions : The passage below is accompanied by four questions. Based on the passage, choose the best answer for each question.

Between March and August 2018, the Belvedere Gallery in Vienna staged an exhibition with the title Klimt Is Not the End: New Departures in Central. The exhibition presented interwar artistic practices in former Austria-Hungary, but the title was indicative that something else was at stake: the need to remind audiences that the death of Gustav Klimt in 1918 had not brought about the end of modernism in Austria. The second part of the title, Aufbruch in Mitteleuropa - officially translated into English as New Horizons in Central Europe - sought to confirm this upbeat message, namely, that the territories of the former Habsburg Empire continued to be a vibrant centre of art.

The exhibition drew attention to the unstated general perception that modernism in Austria, and Vienna in particular, came to a halt in 1918, not only with the collapse of Austria-Hungary as a result of the First World War but also with the deaths in the same year of Gustav Klimt, Koloman Moser, Egon Schiele and Otto Wagner. The year 1918, which marked the political demise of the Habsburg Empire as well as the passing of the major figures associated with Viennese modernism in art and architecture, seemed to take on a highly symbolic function.

Vienna 1900 has long functioned as a 'lieu de mémoire'; viewed as the epicentre of modernity, its art and culture have been a source of endless fascination. It is all the more remarkable, therefore, that with few exceptions, art historians have been seemingly reluctant to venture past the year 1918 to examine the art and culture of interwar Austria. The implicit message of this reluctance is that what came afterwards was of limited significance. This understanding has often been reiterated inadvertently, even in Austria itself, by those studies that do focus on the interwar period; they have often adopted an apologetic tone when dealing with the visual arts of the Austrian First Republic and concur with the idea of decline after the First World War.

As Wieland Schmid, one of the editors of a multi-volume History of Austrian Art, commented: 'the era between the two world wars is for long periods a time of indecision and fragmentation, of stagnation and loss of orientation [..] the 20 years of the First Republic of 1918 - 1938 did not provide a unified or convincing image'. Even the After Klimt exhibition was unable entirely to escape this judgement. As one catalogue essay stated, there was a 'dramatic hiatus in Austrian art after World War I [..] Vienna lost its preeminent role as an artistic magnet [..] the international avant-garde - based on the international model - remained limited to a few highlights'.

For many, knowledge of Austrian art and architecture after 1918 is sketchy, usually restricted to 'Red Vienna', the large-scale communal housing projects built by the Social Democratic council in the 1920s. Only in the past decade has this perception begun to be challenged, with the Wien Museum and the Belvedere, in particular, staging a number of important exhibitions that have begun to explore its interwar culture. Nevertheless, historical awareness of Austrian art and architecture of the 1920s and 1930s remains limited, especially among international scholars.

Critical examination of the historiography of Austrian art and architecture after 1918 brings to light the implicit political and aesthetic value judgements underpinning the choice of objects and the ways in which that choice is framed. It has implications most immediately for the historical understanding of Austrian art, but its insights have wider pertinence. They invite reflection on the historiography of central European modernist and avant-garde practices and, more generally, on the principles and assumptions that have persisted in the general histories of modern European art and architecture.

Directions : The passage below is accompanied by four questions. Based on the passage, choose the best answer for each question.

Between March and August 2018, the Belvedere Gallery in Vienna staged an exhibition with the title Klimt Is Not the End: New Departures in Central. The exhibition presented interwar artistic practices in former Austria-Hungary, but the title was indicative that something else was at stake: the need to remind audiences that the death of Gustav Klimt in 1918 had not brought about the end of modernism in Austria. The second part of the title, Aufbruch in Mitteleuropa - officially translated into English as New Horizons in Central Europe - sought to confirm this upbeat message, namely, that the territories of the former Habsburg Empire continued to be a vibrant centre of art.

The exhibition drew attention to the unstated general perception that modernism in Austria, and Vienna in particular, came to a halt in 1918, not only with the collapse of Austria-Hungary as a result of the First World War but also with the deaths in the same year of Gustav Klimt, Koloman Moser, Egon Schiele and Otto Wagner. The year 1918, which marked the political demise of the Habsburg Empire as well as the passing of the major figures associated with Viennese modernism in art and architecture, seemed to take on a highly symbolic function.

Vienna 1900 has long functioned as a 'lieu de mémoire'; viewed as the epicentre of modernity, its art and culture have been a source of endless fascination. It is all the more remarkable, therefore, that with few exceptions, art historians have been seemingly reluctant to venture past the year 1918 to examine the art and culture of interwar Austria. The implicit message of this reluctance is that what came afterwards was of limited significance. This understanding has often been reiterated inadvertently, even in Austria itself, by those studies that do focus on the interwar period; they have often adopted an apologetic tone when dealing with the visual arts of the Austrian First Republic and concur with the idea of decline after the First World War.

As Wieland Schmid, one of the editors of a multi-volume History of Austrian Art, commented: 'the era between the two world wars is for long periods a time of indecision and fragmentation, of stagnation and loss of orientation [..] the 20 years of the First Republic of 1918 - 1938 did not provide a unified or convincing image'. Even the After Klimt exhibition was unable entirely to escape this judgement. As one catalogue essay stated, there was a 'dramatic hiatus in Austrian art after World War I [..] Vienna lost its preeminent role as an artistic magnet [..] the international avant-garde - based on the international model - remained limited to a few highlights'.

For many, knowledge of Austrian art and architecture after 1918 is sketchy, usually restricted to 'Red Vienna', the large-scale communal housing projects built by the Social Democratic council in the 1920s. Only in the past decade has this perception begun to be challenged, with the Wien Museum and the Belvedere, in particular, staging a number of important exhibitions that have begun to explore its interwar culture. Nevertheless, historical awareness of Austrian art and architecture of the 1920s and 1930s remains limited, especially among international scholars.

Critical examination of the historiography of Austrian art and architecture after 1918 brings to light the implicit political and aesthetic value judgements underpinning the choice of objects and the ways in which that choice is framed. It has implications most immediately for the historical understanding of Austrian art, but its insights have wider pertinence. They invite reflection on the historiography of central European modernist and avant-garde practices and, more generally, on the principles and assumptions that have persisted in the general histories of modern European art and architecture.

Directions : The passage below is accompanied by four questions. Based on the passage, choose the best answer for each question.

Between March and August 2018, the Belvedere Gallery in Vienna staged an exhibition with the title Klimt Is Not the End: New Departures in Central. The exhibition presented interwar artistic practices in former Austria-Hungary, but the title was indicative that something else was at stake: the need to remind audiences that the death of Gustav Klimt in 1918 had not brought about the end of modernism in Austria. The second part of the title, Aufbruch in Mitteleuropa - officially translated into English as New Horizons in Central Europe - sought to confirm this upbeat message, namely, that the territories of the former Habsburg Empire continued to be a vibrant centre of art.

The exhibition drew attention to the unstated general perception that modernism in Austria, and Vienna in particular, came to a halt in 1918, not only with the collapse of Austria-Hungary as a result of the First World War but also with the deaths in the same year of Gustav Klimt, Koloman Moser, Egon Schiele and Otto Wagner. The year 1918, which marked the political demise of the Habsburg Empire as well as the passing of the major figures associated with Viennese modernism in art and architecture, seemed to take on a highly symbolic function.

Vienna 1900 has long functioned as a 'lieu de mémoire'; viewed as the epicentre of modernity, its art and culture have been a source of endless fascination. It is all the more remarkable, therefore, that with few exceptions, art historians have been seemingly reluctant to venture past the year 1918 to examine the art and culture of interwar Austria. The implicit message of this reluctance is that what came afterwards was of limited significance. This understanding has often been reiterated inadvertently, even in Austria itself, by those studies that do focus on the interwar period; they have often adopted an apologetic tone when dealing with the visual arts of the Austrian First Republic and concur with the idea of decline after the First World War.

As Wieland Schmid, one of the editors of a multi-volume History of Austrian Art, commented: 'the era between the two world wars is for long periods a time of indecision and fragmentation, of stagnation and loss of orientation [..] the 20 years of the First Republic of 1918 - 1938 did not provide a unified or convincing image'. Even the After Klimt exhibition was unable entirely to escape this judgement. As one catalogue essay stated, there was a 'dramatic hiatus in Austrian art after World War I [..] Vienna lost its preeminent role as an artistic magnet [..] the international avant-garde - based on the international model - remained limited to a few highlights'.

For many, knowledge of Austrian art and architecture after 1918 is sketchy, usually restricted to 'Red Vienna', the large-scale communal housing projects built by the Social Democratic council in the 1920s. Only in the past decade has this perception begun to be challenged, with the Wien Museum and the Belvedere, in particular, staging a number of important exhibitions that have begun to explore its interwar culture. Nevertheless, historical awareness of Austrian art and architecture of the 1920s and 1930s remains limited, especially among international scholars.

Critical examination of the historiography of Austrian art and architecture after 1918 brings to light the implicit political and aesthetic value judgements underpinning the choice of objects and the ways in which that choice is framed. It has implications most immediately for the historical understanding of Austrian art, but its insights have wider pertinence. They invite reflection on the historiography of central European modernist and avant-garde practices and, more generally, on the principles and assumptions that have persisted in the general histories of modern European art and architecture.

Directions : The passage below is accompanied by four questions. Based on the passage, choose the best answer for each question.

Between March and August 2018, the Belvedere Gallery in Vienna staged an exhibition with the title Klimt Is Not the End: New Departures in Central. The exhibition presented interwar artistic practices in former Austria-Hungary, but the title was indicative that something else was at stake: the need to remind audiences that the death of Gustav Klimt in 1918 had not brought about the end of modernism in Austria. The second part of the title, Aufbruch in Mitteleuropa - officially translated into English as New Horizons in Central Europe - sought to confirm this upbeat message, namely, that the territories of the former Habsburg Empire continued to be a vibrant centre of art.

The exhibition drew attention to the unstated general perception that modernism in Austria, and Vienna in particular, came to a halt in 1918, not only with the collapse of Austria-Hungary as a result of the First World War but also with the deaths in the same year of Gustav Klimt, Koloman Moser, Egon Schiele and Otto Wagner. The year 1918, which marked the political demise of the Habsburg Empire as well as the passing of the major figures associated with Viennese modernism in art and architecture, seemed to take on a highly symbolic function.

Vienna 1900 has long functioned as a 'lieu de mémoire'; viewed as the epicentre of modernity, its art and culture have been a source of endless fascination. It is all the more remarkable, therefore, that with few exceptions, art historians have been seemingly reluctant to venture past the year 1918 to examine the art and culture of interwar Austria. The implicit message of this reluctance is that what came afterwards was of limited significance. This understanding has often been reiterated inadvertently, even in Austria itself, by those studies that do focus on the interwar period; they have often adopted an apologetic tone when dealing with the visual arts of the Austrian First Republic and concur with the idea of decline after the First World War.

As Wieland Schmid, one of the editors of a multi-volume History of Austrian Art, commented: 'the era between the two world wars is for long periods a time of indecision and fragmentation, of stagnation and loss of orientation [..] the 20 years of the First Republic of 1918 - 1938 did not provide a unified or convincing image'. Even the After Klimt exhibition was unable entirely to escape this judgement. As one catalogue essay stated, there was a 'dramatic hiatus in Austrian art after World War I [..] Vienna lost its preeminent role as an artistic magnet [..] the international avant-garde - based on the international model - remained limited to a few highlights'.

For many, knowledge of Austrian art and architecture after 1918 is sketchy, usually restricted to 'Red Vienna', the large-scale communal housing projects built by the Social Democratic council in the 1920s. Only in the past decade has this perception begun to be challenged, with the Wien Museum and the Belvedere, in particular, staging a number of important exhibitions that have begun to explore its interwar culture. Nevertheless, historical awareness of Austrian art and architecture of the 1920s and 1930s remains limited, especially among international scholars.

Critical examination of the historiography of Austrian art and architecture after 1918 brings to light the implicit political and aesthetic value judgements underpinning the choice of objects and the ways in which that choice is framed. It has implications most immediately for the historical understanding of Austrian art, but its insights have wider pertinence. They invite reflection on the historiography of central European modernist and avant-garde practices and, more generally, on the principles and assumptions that have persisted in the general histories of modern European art and architecture.

There is a sentence that is missing in the paragraph below. Look at the paragraph and decide in which blank (option A, B, C or D) the following sentence would best fit.

There is a sentence that is missing in the paragraph below. Look at the paragraph and decide in which blank (option A, B, C or D) the following sentence would best fit.

The passage given below is followed by four alternate summaries. Choose the option that best captures the essence of the passage.

The passage given below is followed by four alternate summaries. Choose the option that best captures the essence of the passage.