Option (B) is correct: facts, akin to truth, can be relative; a fact for individual X might not be so for individual Y.
Option B aligns with the passage's perspective that fact representation is subjective and influenced by other viewpoints. It supports the passage's argument—that historians are crucial for fact selection and interpretation—by highlighting the judgmental nature of truth and facts.
The relativity of facts implies that one individual's interpretation of a fact may differ from another's. This concept reinforces the notion that a historian's interpretation and perspective significantly shape what is considered a fact.
Therefore, if Option B is valid, it corroborates the passage's claim that facts are not entirely objective and independent of the historian's viewpoint, rather than contradicting it.
The query requires identification of the statement that deviates from the passage's portrayal of the "common-sense view" of history. This common-sense perspective, as outlined in the passage, conceives of history as an assembly of verifiable facts (a "hard core of facts"). Historians are understood to extract conclusions from these facts, striving for scientific objectivity through methods akin to those employed by positivists.
An examination of each option follows:
Correct Answer: Option 4 — this option is inconsistent with the common-sense view of history.
The text suggests that while gathering foundational data is crucial, historians' main responsibility involves more than that. It underscores the selective and interpretive nature of historical writing, urging historians to delve deeper into the context and underlying causes of historical occurrences.
Option A: The author posits that a historian's core function transcends the mere establishment of basic chronological facts, irrespective of the significance of timelines.
Option B: The author stresses the historian's selective and imaginative function in depicting historical events, while recognizing the utility of ancillary disciplines. It also suggests that the historian's attention should extend beyond a sole reliance on these disciplines for foundational information.
Option C: This option supports the objective of presenting a sophisticated account by exploring the socio-political and economic elements that preceded the Battle of Hastings. This selection mirrors a more exhaustive and complete methodology in historical composition, prioritizing an understanding of the fundamental reasons and influences that molded the historical event.
Option D: While valuing the importance of fundamental facts, the author contends that historians must engage in activities beyond simple information collection.
Historians may rely on disciplines such as archaeology to establish foundational truths, as indicated by the text. Specifically, the passage states:
"But [to] praise a historian for his accuracy is like praising an architect for using well-seasoned timber or properly mixed concrete in his building. It is a necessary condition of his work, but not his essential function. It is precisely for matters of this kind that the historian is entitled to rely on what have been called the 'auxiliary sciences' of history—archaeology, epigraphy, numismatics, chronology, and so forth."
The "auxiliary sciences," including archaeology, assist historians in confirming the veracity of fundamental facts. Archaeology contributes by providing evidence through artifacts, material remains, and other discoveries, thereby supporting historians in verifying factual accuracy.
Consequently, Option A correctly illustrates archaeology's role in assisting historians to achieve factual accuracy.
You may laugh at a hat, but what you are making fun of, in this case, is not the piece of felt or straw, but the shape that men have given it, -- the human caprice whose mould it has assumed. It is strange that so important a fact, and such a simple one too, has not attracted to a greater degree the attention of philosophers. Several have de ned man as "an animal which laughs." They might equally well have de ned him as an animal which is laughed at; for if any other animal, or some lifeless object, produces the same effect, it is always because of some resemblance to man, of the stamp he gives it or the use he puts it to.
Here I would point out, as a symptom equally worthy of notice, the ABSENCE OF FEELING which usually accompanies laughter. It seems as though the comic could not produce its disturbing effect unless it fell, so to say, on the surface of a soul that is thoroughly calm and unru ed. Indifference is its natural environment, for laughter has no greater foe than emotion. I do not mean that we could not laugh at a person who inspires us with pity, for instance, or evenwith affection, but in such a case we must, for the moment, put our affection out of court and impose silence upon our pity. In a society composed of pure intelligences there would probably be no more tears, though perhaps there would still be laughter; whereas highly emotional souls, in tune and unison with life, in whom every event would be sentimentally prolonged and re-echoed, would neither know nor understand laughter. Try, for a moment, to become interested in everything that is being said and done; act, in imagination, with those who act, and feel with those who feel; in a word, give your sympathy its widest expansion: as though at the touch of a fairy wand you will see the imsiest of objects assume importance, and a gloomy hue spread over everything. Now step aside, look upon life as a disinterested spectator: many a drama will turn into a comedy. It is enough for us to stop our ears to the sound of music, in a room where dancing is going on, for the dancers at once to appear ridiculous. How many human actions would stand a similar test? Should we not see many of them suddenly pass from grave to gay, on isolating them from the accompanying music of sentiment? To produce the whole of its effect, then, the comic demands something like a momentary anesthesia of the heart. Its appeal is to intelligence, pure and simple
This uidity and situational dependence is uniquely human. In other species, in-group/outgroup distinctions re ect degrees of biological relatedness, or what evolutionary biologists call “kin selection.” Rodents distinguish between a sibling, a cousin, and a stranger by smell—xed, genetically determined pheromonal signatures—and adapt their cooperation accordingly. Those murderous groups of chimps are largely made up of brothers or cousins who grew up together and predominantly harm outsiders. Humans are plenty capable of kin-selective violence themselves, yet human group mentality is often utterly independent of such instinctual familial bonds. Most modern human societies rely instead on cultural kin selection, a process allowing people to feel closely related to what are, in a biological sense, total strangers. Often, this requires a highly active process of inculcation, with its attendant rituals and vocabularies. Consider military drills producing “bands of brothers,” unrelated college freshmen becoming sorority “sisters,” or the bygone value of welcoming immigrants into “the American family.” This malleable, rather than genetically xed, path of identity formation also drives people to adopt arbitrary markers that enable them to spot their cultural kin in an ocean of strangers—hence the importance various communities attach to ags, dress, or facial hair. The hipster beard, the turban, and the “Make America Great Again” hat all fulfill this role by sending strong signals of tribal belonging. Moreover, these cultural communities are arbitrary when compared to the relatively axed logic of biological kin selection. Few things show this arbitrariness better than the experience of immigrant families, where the randomness of a visa lottery can radically reshu e a child’s education, career opportunities, and cultural predilections. Had my grandparents and father missed the train out of Moscow that they instead barely made, maybe I’d be a chain smoking Russian academic rather than a Birkenstock-wearing American one, moved to tears by the heroism during the Battle of Stalingrad rather than that at Pearl Harbor. Scaled up from the level of individual family histories, our big-picture group identities—the national identities and cultural principles that structure our lives— are just as arbitrary and subject to the vagaries of history.