10월 모의고사 고1·고2·고3 영어 콘텐츠 공개

Among unsatisfied professionals, there’s a repeating theme — the belief that someday (a mysterious day in the future) things will miraculously change and they’ll stumble into the perfect job or career. At the same time, they (typically) do little to meaningfully alter their current situation. They don’t like their job, so what do they do? They head to job boards and search for roles with a similar job title, hoping that the universe will sprinkle a bit of magic on their career if they just hit the refresh button in a different department or company. Efforts like this make professionals feel like they are doing something, when really they’re just setting themselves up to take a new role and quickly become just as disenchanted as they were before. It’s like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. You’ve got to completely switch up your approach. If you keep playing the same game, you’ll win the same prizes.

Among unsatisfied professionals, there’s a recurrent theme — the belief that someday (a mysterious day in the future) things will miraculously change and they’ll stumble into the perfect job or career. At the same time, they (typically) do little to meaningfully modify their current situation. They don’t like their job, so what do they do? They head to job boards and search for roles with a similar job title, hoping that the universe will sprinkle a bit of magic on their career if they just hit the refresh button in a different department or company. Efforts like this make professionals feel like they are doing something, when really they’re just setting themselves up to take a new role and quickly become just as disenchanted as they were before. It’s like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. You’ve got to completely shift your approach. If you keep playing the same game, you’ll win the same prizes.

Among discontented professionals, there’s a recurrent theme — the belief that someday (a mysterious day in the future) things will miraculously change and they’ll stumble into the perfect job or career. At the same time, they (typically) do little to meaningfully modify their current situation. They don’t like their job, so what do they do? They head to job boards and search for roles with a similar job title, hoping that the universe will sprinkle a bit of magic on their career if they just hit the refresh button in a different department or company. Endeavors like this make professionals feel like they are doing something, when really they’re just setting themselves up to take a new role and quickly become just as disillusioned as they were before. It’s like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. You’ve got to completely shift your approach. If you keep playing the same game, you’ll win the same prizes.

Among discontented professionals, there’s a recurrent notion — the belief that someday (a mysterious day in the future) things will miraculously change and they’ll encounter the perfect job or vocation. At the same time, they (typically) do little to meaningfully modify their current circumstance. They don’t like their job, so what do they do? They head to job boards and seek roles with an analogous job title, hoping that the universe will sprinkle a bit of magic on their career if they just hit the refresh button in a different department or company. Endeavors like this make professionals feel like they are doing something, when really they’re just setting themselves up to take a new role and quickly become just as disillusioned as they were before. It’s like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. You’ve got to completely shift your strategy. If you keep playing the same game, you’ll win the same prizes.

Among discontented professionals, a persistent assumption often prevails — the belief that someday (a mysterious day in the future) things will miraculously change and they’ll encounter the perfect job or vocation. At the same time, they typically take minimal action to meaningfully modify their current circumstance. Faced with dissatisfaction toward their existing employment, what do they do? They head to job boards and seek roles with an analogous job title, harboring the hope that the universe will sprinkle a bit of magic on their career if they just hit the refresh button in a different department or company. Endeavors like this make professionals feel like they are doing something, when really their actions merely prepare them to take a new role and quickly become just as disillusioned as they were before. It’s like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. You’ve got to completely shift your strategy. If you keep playing the same game, the exact equivalent rewards will follow.

Across discontented workers, a recurring pattern appears: the conviction that at some distant time, conditions will undergo a marvelous transformation, allowing them to casually find an ideal professional path. Concurrently, such individuals regularly neglect to take substantial action to transform their actual circumstances. Because they dislike their employment, how do they respond? They turn toward employment listings to seek out equivalent duties, dreaming that destiny might grant wonder to their vocation merely by moving into another division or corporate setting. Actions of this sort convince employees that they are actively progressing, whereas in reality they merely prepare to accept an unfamiliar position and end up just as disappointed as earlier. This amounts to nothing more than futile adjustment amid unavoidable ruin. One must thoroughly alter one's overall strategy. When you continuously follow identical tactics, you will inevitably achieve matching outcomes.

To see how borrowing and lending changes a person’s worldview, consider what the rate of interest does to people’s perception of time. Imagine you are lending to somebody at an interest rate of 10 percent per year for five years. This rate tells us that the money lent has a cost that reflects the risk of you not being repaid and the opportunity cost of not spending that money yourself. The longer the term of the loan, the higher the chance you won’t be paid back because it is further into the future ― which by definition is unknowable ― and the longer you will have to wait before spending the money yourself. In order to make this worthwhile for the lender, money has to have a price ― a cost to the borrower and income to the lender. This price factors in the value of time. To put it another way, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

To see how borrowing and lending alters a person’s worldview, consider what the rate of interest does to people’s perception of time. Imagine you are lending to somebody at an interest rate of 10 percent per year for five years. This rate tells us that the money lent has a cost that reflects the risk of you not being repaid and the opportunity cost of not spending that money yourself. The longer the term of the loan, the greater the chance you won’t be paid back because it is further into the future ― which by definition is unknowable ― and the longer you will have to wait before spending the money yourself. In order to make this profitable for the lender, money has to have a price ― a cost to the borrower and income to the lender. This price factors in the value of time. To put it another way, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

To see how borrowing and lending alters a person’s worldview, examine what the rate of interest does to people’s perception of time. Imagine you are lending to somebody at an interest rate of 10 percent per year for five years. This rate tells us that the money lent has a cost that mirrors the risk of you not being repaid and the opportunity cost of not spending that money yourself. The longer the term of the loan, the greater the chance you won’t be paid back because it is further into the future ― which by definition is unknowable ― and the longer you will have to wait before spending the money yourself. In order to make this profitable for the lender, money has to have a price ― a cost to the borrower and income to the lender. This price factors in the value of time. To put it another way, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

To comprehend how borrowing and lending alters a person’s worldview, examine what the rate of interest does to people’s perception of time. Envision you are lending to somebody at an interest rate of 10 percent per year for five years. This rate tells us that the money lent has a cost that mirrors the hazard of you not being repaid and the opportunity cost of not spending that money yourself. The longer the duration of the loan, the greater the likelihood you won’t be paid back because it is further into the future ― which by definition is mysterious ― and the longer you will have to wait before spending the money yourself. In order to make this profitable for the lender, money has to have a price ― a cost to the borrower and revenue to the lender. This price factors in the value of time. To put it another way, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
* hazard: 위험

To comprehend how the act of borrowing and lending alters a person’s worldview, examine the way that interest influences our perception of time. Envision that you provide a loan to somebody at an interest rate of 10 percent per year for five years. This rate tells us that the money lent has a cost that mirrors the hazard of not receiving repayment and the opportunity cost of not spending that money yourself. The longer the duration of the loan, the greater the likelihood you won’t be paid back due to its distance into the future ― which by definition is mysterious ― and the longer you will have to wait before spending the money yourself. In order to make this profitable for the lender, money has to carry a designated value ― a cost to the borrower and revenue to the lender. This price incorporates the value of time. To put it another way, a bird held in the hand is worth two in the bush.
* hazard: 위험

To understand how giving and receiving loans can alter an individual's outlook, examine the manner in which interest rates reshape their awareness of time. Suppose you supply funds to another party at a yearly charge of ten percent over a span of five years. This percentage reveals that the provided capital involves an expense representing both default hazards and the sacrificed benefit of using those assets right away. Extending the repayment timeline increases the likelihood that you will never recover the sum, as distant days remain impossible to foresee, while simultaneously prolonging your delay before utilizing the resources. For such an arrangement to be profitable for the provider, funds must carry an explicit charge, creating an expense for the recipient and earnings for the creditor. That required amount incorporates the temporal worth of capital. Simply stated, immediate possession holds greater certainty and greater value than relying on indefinite prospective returns.

All the philosophical dilemmas about whether translation “reflects” or instead “transforms” what’s in the original need to be swept aside. This is exactly the dichotomy that Merleau-Ponty’s account of perception is trying to free us from: are we “seeing” objects or “constituting” them? Neither, because we perceive things in a world we live in and have the power to transform: a chair is something we can go sit in; a mug is something we can pick up. One of Merleau-Ponty’s many great metaphors is that perception neither finds the world nor creates it: it reveals it, which he expresses using the term révélateur, the developing fluid for photographs in a darkroom. The act of seeing develops what’s in the world, like developing a photograph. Likewise, a translation “develops the photograph” of the original text. Translators don’t simply “recognize” what’s there, but nor are we “changing” it into anything it isn’t already, though we can be more or less aggressively interventionist in our darkroom. As a translator I take up the affordances of the original, moving through its world and constantly invited to respond in certain ways.

All the philosophical dilemmas about whether translation “reflects” or instead “alters” what’s in the original need to be swept aside. This is exactly the dichotomy that Merleau-Ponty’s account of perception is trying to free us from: are we “seeing” objects or “constituting” them? Neither, because we perceive things in a world we live in and have the power to transform: a chair is something we can go sit in; a mug is something we can pick up. One of Merleau-Ponty’s many great metaphors is that perception neither finds the world nor creates it: it uncovers it, which he expresses using the term révélateur, the developing fluid for photographs in a darkroom. The act of seeing develops what’s in the world, like developing a photograph. Likewise, a translation “develops the photograph” of the original text. Translators don’t simply “discern” what’s there, but nor are we “changing” it into anything it isn’t already, though we can be more or less aggressively interventionist in our darkroom. As a translator I take up the affordances of the original, moving through its world and constantly invited to respond in certain ways.

All the philosophical dilemmas about whether translation “reflects” or instead “alters” what’s in the original need to be discarded. This is exactly the division that Merleau-Ponty’s account of perception is trying to free us from: are we “seeing” objects or “constituting” them? Neither, because we perceive things in a world we live in and have the power to transform: a chair is something we can go sit in; a mug is something we can pick up. One of Merleau-Ponty’s many great metaphors is that perception neither finds the world nor creates it: it uncovers it, which he expresses using the term révélateur, the developing fluid for photographs in a darkroom. The act of seeing develops what’s in the world, like developing a photograph. Similarly, a translation “develops the photograph” of the original text. Translators don’t simply “discern” what’s there, but nor are we “changing” it into anything it isn’t already, though we can be more or less aggressively interventionist in our darkroom. As a translator I take up the affordances of the original, moving through its world and constantly invited to respond in certain ways.

All the philosophical dilemmas about whether translation “mirrors” or instead “alters” what’s in the original need to be discarded. This is exactly the division that Merleau-Ponty’s explanation of perception is trying to liberate us from: are we “seeing” objects or “constituting” them? Neither, because we perceive things in a world we live in and have the capacity to transform: a chair is something we can go sit in; a mug is something we can pick up. One of Merleau-Ponty’s many remarkable metaphors is that perception neither finds the world nor creates it: it uncovers it, which he expresses using the term révélateur, the developing fluid for photographs in a darkroom. The act of seeing develops what’s in the world, like developing a photograph. Similarly, a translation “develops the photograph” of the original text. Translators don’t simply “discern” what’s there, but nor are we “converting” it into anything it isn’t already, though we can be more or less aggressively interventionist in our darkroom. As a translator I take up the affordances of the original, moving through its world and constantly prompted to respond in certain ways.

All the philosophical dilemmas about whether translation “mirrors” or instead “alters” what’s in the original must be dismissed. This is exactly the division from which Merleau-Ponty’s explanation of perception seeks to liberate us: are we “seeing” objects or “constituting” them? Neither, because we perceive things in a world we live in and have the capacity for changing: a chair is something we can go sit in; a mug is something we can pick up. One of Merleau-Ponty’s many remarkable metaphors is that perception neither finds the world nor creates it: it uncovers it, a point he conveys by employing the term révélateur, the developing fluid for photographs in a darkroom. The act of seeing develops what’s in the world, much like the process of developing a photograph. Similarly, a translation “develops the photograph” of the original text. Translators don’t simply “discern” what’s there, yet neither do we convert it into anything it isn’t already, though we can be more or less aggressively interventionist in our darkroom. As a translator I take up the affordances of the original, navigating its world and continually being prompted to respond in certain ways.

Every theoretical dispute regarding whether translating merely mirrors the source or completely alters it should be dismissed at once. This dualism is precisely what the perceptual philosophy of Merleau-Ponty seeks to liberate us from: do we passively observe external things or actively construct them? In fact, neither holds true, since our awareness unfolds within an environment we inhabit and possess the capacity to alter: a seat invites our body to rest; a cup prompts our hands to grasp it. A remarkable analogy offered by Merleau-Ponty suggests that observation neither merely discovers the reality nor fabricates it: instead, it brings it to light, illustrated by the chemical liquid used to process darkroom prints. Visual awareness brings forth latent forms in the surrounding space, just like chemical processing reveals an image. In a comparable way, rendering a work brings out the latent dimensions of the primary composition. A practitioner neither mechanically perceives established phrases nor converts them into entirely alien ideas, even if one acts with varying degrees of creative intervention. Working within literature, I engage with the available potential of the original work, navigating its distinct realm while answering its continuous subtle prompts.