Market participants are themselves not markets, and to appeal to the wisdom of the market is buck-passing; if markets ‘elicit information’ or ‘incentivize performance’, how is that information learned and expressed, and where do the actual actions which yield higher performance come from? At some point, someone has to do some real thinking. (A company can outsource its janitors to the free market, but then whatever contractor is hired still has to decide exactly when and where and how to do the janitor-ing; safe to say, it does not hold an internal auction among its janitors to divide up responsibilities and set their schedules.)
The paradox is that free markets appear to depend on entities which are internally run as totalitarian command dictatorships.
I wrote a post a while ago called Read History Of Philosophy Backwards. I theorized that as old ways of thinking got replaced by newer ways, eventually people forgot the old ways even existed or were even coherent positions people could hold. So instead of reading Hobbes to tell you that people can form governments for their common advantage – which you already know – read him to tell you that there was a time when no one believed this was true and governments were natural structures ordained by God.
My registered-libertarian ex-boyfriend once explained the Trump thing to me as the first time any of these lower-class white people got to feel like a part of a subculture, which is an intoxicating experience no one should be deprived of. “I remember when I first discovered punk,” he said. “If I could relive that, I would.”
he film's accumulative effect is scarcely hopeful. Love has been bypassed in favour of death: a girl who might have continued happily with an affirmative relationship has let her transient young lover go his way towards the ultimate risk, the final defiant gesture. The sadness of this, the lack of reason and the surrender to restless compulsion, are to be deplored - and so Antonioni deplores them.
As he adjusted to this procession of life-changing events, his work rate slowed. Where before he was “a man on a desert island… a flower petal floating gently down a little river doing whatever I wanted,” an artist who would spend 12 hours a day playing guitar, after Bass was born he could barely carve out three.
Bringing Up Baby has an energy reminiscent of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, in the darkly lit shimmering scenes (most of the movie takes place at night, a departure for a comedy), with nature infiltrating the civilized world, working its magic on all of the participants.