1. The word 'Command Module' used twice in the given passage indicates perhaps that it deals with





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MCQ->The word 'Command Module' used twice in the given passage indicates perhaps that it deals with....
MCQ-> Read the passage and answer the questions that follow: Passage II Reverence is a dirty word at the Almeida Theatre in Islington, North London. Rupert Goold, the artistic director, and Robert Icke, his associate, are resolved to take dusty, distant cultural artefacts of drama and shake them hard. so that they will entertain modern audiences, especially those with no previous knowledge of the plays. Mr Icke holds that to save the classics from withering, a director must be willing even to reinterpret the original author's intentions. This summer Messrs Goold and Icke have directed freshly translated versions of the oldest of all "dusty theatrical artefacts": the ancient Greek tragedies of Aeschylus and Euripides. These versions ruthless) rewrite texts and alter plots. In Euripides's "Medea'. the last of the season of three plays which opened on 1st October directed by Mr Goold. Medea murders her two children as revenge on her unfaithful husband. Not at the Almeida: in this version, her sons die—or perhaps do not—by eating sleeping pills. Mr Icke's version of "Oresteia" by Aeschylus is described as "a new adaptation", but classics scholars insist that it is much more than that. The masked male chorus which propels all Greek tragedy, so memorable in Sir Peter Hall's production at the National Theatre in 1981, is jettisoned. Mr Icke's -Oresteie starts with 46 pages of text (out of 113 in all) that are a dramatisation of the long choral ode in Aeschylus's "Agamemnon-. It deals with his decision to sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia to ensure his ships a fair wind for Troy. Mr Icke believes that, without this prelude, it is hard to appreciate fully the ensuing, awe-inspiring family tragedy in which his wife Klytemnestra kills Agamemnon to avenge their daughter's death, and then is murdered in turn by their son Orestes. The extra material makes for a long evening, but it speeds by. Only the "Bakkhai". the second of the Almeida's three plays, conforms to the traditional Greek unities of time and place, and as in ancient Greece, has all the speaking roles played by three actors, backed by a chorus (though of Bacchic ladies rather than masked men). The Greek season defines the Almeida's style of work. Mr Goold has unearthed a rich new seam of modem theatre by reviving and generally energising work by authors such as Luigi Pirandello and Bret Easton Ellis. His delightful version of "The Merchant of Venice"- set in Las Vegas, was played largely for laughs, with the verse adapting easily to a singsong southern American accent. Even his failures, such as a "King Lear and Puccini at the English National Opera, had moments that linger in the memory. Actors like working there. Since small theatres like the Almeida cannot pay well, actors choose the work over the money. In this Greek season, the two most memorable performances are by Lia Williams as Klytemnestra and Kate Fleetwood, who is Mr Goold's wife, as Medea. Each exhibits an emotional range that holds the action together. The rage, temper and insult of the dialogue between Medea and her husband Jason, here conducted on their mobile phones, reveal a direct linguistic link from ancient Greece to contemporary soap opera. Whatever quibbles there might be about the editing, cutting and rewriting of the texts, surely the significant question about this ambitious project is whether the audience is gripped by the performances. Enthusiastic word-of-mouth suggests the answer is yes.In this passage, the word "reverence" can be interpreted as....
MCQ-> Read the following passage carefully and answer the questions given below it. Certain words/phrases have been printed in bold to help you locate them while answering some of the questions. The wisdom of learning from failure is incontrovertible. Yet organisations that do it well are extraordinarily rare. This gap is not due to a lack of commitment to learning. Managers in the vast majority of enterprises that I have studied over the past 20 years —pharmaceutical. financial services, product design, telecommunications, and construction companies: hospitals; and NASA’s space shuttle program, among others— genuinely wanted to help their organisations learn from failures to improve future performance. In some cases they and their teams had devoted many hours to afteraction reviews, postmortems, and the like. But time after time I saw that these painstaking efforts led to no real change. The reason: Those managers were thinking about failure the wrong way. Most executives I’ve talked to believe that failure is bad (of course!). They also believe that learning from it is pretty straightforward: Ask people to reflect on what they did wrong and exhort them to avoid similar mistakes in the future—or, better yet, assign a team to review and write a report on what happened and then distribute it throughout the organisation. These widely held beliefs are misguided. First, failure is not always bad. In organisational life it is sometimes bad, sometimes inevitable, and sometimes even good. Second, learning from organisational failures is anything but straightforward. The attitudes and activities required to effectively detect and analyze failures are in short supply in most companies, and the need for context-specific learning strategies is underappreciated. Or – ganisations need new and better ways to go beyond lessons that are superficial (“Procedures weren’t followed”) or self-serving (“The market just wasn’t ready for our great new product”). That means jettisoning old cultural beliefs and stereotypical notions of success and embracing failure’s lessons. Leaders can begin by understanding how the blame game gets in the way. The Blame Game Failure and fault are virtually inseparable in most households. organisations, and cultures. Every child learns at some point that admitting failure means taking the blame. That is why so few organisations have shifted to a culture of psychological safety in which the rewards of learning from failure can be fully realised. Executives I’ve interviewed in organisations as different as hospitals and investment banks admit to being torn: How can they respond constructively to failures without giving rise to an anything-goes attitude? If people aren’t blamed for failures, what will ensure that they try as hard as possible to do their best work? This concern is based on a false dichotomy. In actuality, a culture that makes it safe to admit and report on failure can—and in some organisational contexts must–coexist with high standards for performance. To understand why, look at the exhibit “A Spectrum of Reasons for Failure,” which lists causes ranging from deliberate deviation to thoughtful experimentation. Which of these causes involve blameworthy actions? Deliberate deviance, first on the list, obviously warrants blame. But inattention might not. If it results from a lack of effort, perhaps it’s blameworthy. But if it results from fatigue near the end of an overly long shift, the manager who assigned the shift is more at fault than the employee. As we go down the list, it gets more and more difficult to find blameworthy acts. In fact, a failure resulting from thoughtful experimentation that generates valuable information may actually be praiseworthy. When I ask executives to consider this spectrum and then to estimate how many of the failures in their organisations are truly blameworthy, their answers are usually in single digits—perhaps 2% to 5%. But when I ask how many are treated as blameworthy, they say (after a pause or a laugh) 70% to 90%. The unfortunate consequence is that many failures go unreported and their lessons are lost. Question : sophisticated understanding of failure’s causes and contexts will help to avoid the blame game and institute an effective strategy for learning from failure. Although an infinite number of things can go wrong in organisations, mistakes fall into three broad categories: preventable, complexity-related, and intelligent.Which of the following statement (s) is/are true in the context of the given passage ? I. Most executives believe that failure is bad and learning from it is pretty straightforward. II. The wisdom of learning from failure is disputable. III. Deliberate deviance, first on the list of the exhibit, “A Spectrum of Reasons for Failure” obviously warrants blame.....
MCQ-> The passage below is accompanied by a set of six questions. Choose the best answer to each question.Understanding where you are in the world is a basic survival skill, which is why we, like most species come hard-wired with specialised brain areas to create cognitive maps of our surroundings. Where humans are unique, though, with the possible exception of honeybees, is that we try to communicate this understanding of the world with others. We have a long history of doing this by drawing maps — the earliest versions yet discovered were scrawled on cave walls 14,000 years ago. Human cultures have been drawing them on stone tablets, papyrus, paper and now computer screens ever since.Given such a long history of human map-making, it is perhaps surprising that it is only within the last few hundred years that north has been consistently considered to be at the top. In fact, for much of human history, north almost never appeared at the top, according to Jerry Brotton, a map historian... "North was rarely put at the top for the simple fact that north is where darkness comes from," he says. "West is also very unlikely to be put at the top because west is where the sun disappears."Confusingly, early Chinese maps seem to buck this trend. But, Brotton, says, even though they did have compasses at the time, that isn't the reason that they placed north at the top. Early Chinese compasses were actually oriented to point south, which was considered to be more desirable than deepest darkest north. But in Chinese maps, the Emperor, who lived in the north of the country was always put at the top of the map, with everyone else, his loyal subjects, looking up towards him. "In Chinese culture the Emperor looks south because it's where the winds come from, it's a good direction. North is not very good but you are in a position of subjection to the emperor, so you look up to him," says Brotton.Given that each culture has a very different idea of who, or what, they should look up to it's perhaps not surprising that there is very little consistency in which way early maps pointed. In ancient Egyptian times the top of the world was east, the position of sunrise. Early Islamic maps favoured south at the top because most of the early Muslim cultures were north of Mecca, so they imagined looking up (south) towards it. Christian maps from the same era (called Mappa Mundi) put east at the top, towards the Garden of Eden and with Jerusalem in the centre.So when did everyone get together and decide that north was the top? It's tempting to put it down to European explorers like Christopher Columbus and Ferdinand Megellan, who were navigating by the North Star. But Brotton argues that these early explorers didn't think of the world like that at all. "When Columbus describes the world it is in accordance with east being at the top, he says. "Columbus says he is going towards paradise, so his mentality is from a medieval mappa mundi." We've got to remember, adds Brotton, that at the time, "no one knows what they are doing and where they are going."Which one of the following best describes what the passage is trying to do?
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MCQ-> The conceptions of life and the world which we call ‘philosophical’ are a product of two factors: one inherited religious and ethical conceptions; the other, the sort of investigation which may be called ‘scientific’, using this word in its broadest sense. Individual philosophers have differed widely in regard to the proportions in which these two factors entered into their systems, but it is the presence of both, in some degree, that characterizes philosophy.‘Philosophy’ is a word which has been used in many ways, some wider, some narrower. I propose to use it in a very wide sense, which I will now try to explain.Philosophy, as I shall understand the word, is something intermediate between theology and science. Like theology, it consists of speculations on matters as to which definite knowledge has, so far, been unascertainable; but like science, it appeals to human reason rather than to authority, whether that of tradition or that of revelation. All definite knowledge so I should contend belongs to science; all dogma as to what surpasses definite knowledge belongs to thelogy. But between theology and science there is a ‘No man’s Land’, exposed to attack from both sides; this ‘No Man’s Land’ is philosophy. Almost all the questions of most interest to speculative minds are such as science cannot answer, and the confident answers of theologians no longer seem so convincing as they did in former centuries. Is the world divided into mind and matter, and if so, what is mind and what is matter? Is mind subject to matter, or is it possessed of independent powers? Has the universe any unity or purpose? It is evolving towards some goal? Are there really laws of nature, or do we believe in them only because of our innate love of order? Is man what he seems to the astronomer, a tiny lump of carbon and water impotently crawling on a small and unimportant planet? Or is he what he appears to Hamlet? Is he perhaps both at once? Is there a way of living that is noble and another that is base, or are all ways of living merely futile? If there is a way of living that is noble, in what does it consist, and how shall we achieve it? Must the good be eternal in order to deserve to be valued, or is it worth seeking even if the universe is inexorably moving towards death? Is there such a thing as wisdom, or is what seems such merely the ultimate refinement of folly? To such questions no answer can be found in the laboratory. Theologies have professed to give answers, all too definite; but their definiteness causes modern minds to view them with suspicion. The studying of these questions, if not the answering of them, is the business of philosophy.Why, then, you may ask, waste time on such insoluble problems? To this one may answer as a historian, or as an individual facing the terror of cosmic loneliness.The answer of the historian, in so far as I am capable of giving it, will appear in the course of this work. Ever since men became capable of free speculation, their actions in innumerable important respects, have depended upon their theories as to the world and human life, as to what is good and what is evil. This is as true in the present day as at any former time. To understand an age or a nation, we must understand its philosophy, and to understand its philosophy we must ourselves be in some degree philosophers. There is here a reciprocal causation: the circumstances of men’s lives do much to determine their philosophy, but, conversely, their philosophy does much to determine their circumstances.There is also, however, a more personal answer. Science tells us what we can know, but what we can know is little, and if we forget how much we cannot know we may become insensitive to many things of very great importance. Theology, on the other hand, induces a dogmatic belief that we have knowledge, where in fact we have ignorance, and by doing so generates a kind of impertinent insolence towards the universe. Uncertainty, in the presence of vivid hopes and fears, is painful, but must be endured if we wish to live without the support of comforting fairy tales. It is good either to forget the questions that philosophy asks, or to persuade ourselves that we have found indubitable answers to them. To teach how to live without certainty, and yet without being paralyzed by hesitation, is perhaps the chief thing that philosophy, in our age, can still do for those who study it.The purpose of philosophy is to
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