Jocelynn Cordes’ latest essay examines the aftermath of the Great Reset, when a reduced population assisted by artificial intelligence will create and maintain the New Normal.

Just How Do They Think Things Are Made?

by Jocelynn Cordes

After every essay I read that in some way touches on the plans of the globalists, I find myself posting the same response in the comments section over and over again.

They haven’t thought this through.

I accompany the typing of this sentence with a sad shake of the head, deeply disappointed by the elite’s folly and complete absence of imagination.

There are two specific subjects which elicit this response: the first is the globalists’ stated intention to reduce the world’s population, a goal usually supported by claims that the well-being of the planet, currently in dire straits from man-made carbon emissions, requires such a reduction. The second, in startling contradiction to the first, is our rulers’ visible effort to supplant white Europeans with replacements from the ever-fecund third world. The latter effort is never articulated forthrightly as such, and is, in fact, weakly refuted as conspiracy theory whenever anyone has the temerity to assert this effort as fact, and further, bemoan it. But the truth of it is hard to miss in the evidence we see before us of the reckless push for open borders for every country in the Anglo-sphere — but nowhere else. One of our regular readers here at Gates of Vienna (Moon), although responding to a different but related topic — the money-hemorrhaging woke endeavors of corporations — described the future being planned out for us thus:

The motive is simply the destruction of Western Civilization generally, and the white race specifically, although it’s still quite taboo to say it. Towards what end is anyone’s guess, although I believe that it’s geared towards a return to feudalism; a high-tech neo-feudalism where the reptilians are lords and royalty with a substantially reduced population of servile devolved serfs to service them and satisfy their corporeal needs and desires.

Leaving aside for a moment the issue of the deliberate dismantling of Western Civilization, whenever I pose the question “Why get rid of the white population?” on social media, people’s answers are usually along the lines of “We’re too smart or rebellious.” If true, that certainly makes white people poor candidates for the role of “servile devolved serfs,” although our collective submission during the plandemic could possibly give the lie to that. Otherwise, I have no clue why white people have to go. It doesn’t make sense to rid the world of the best civilization-makers.

Normally I approach the subject of white erasure from a cultural perspective, moaning and wringing my hands like a pitiful Greek chorus over the treasures we’ll lose — along with the sensibility that gave rise to them — but at the moment I’m considering this looming catastrophe from the perspective of someone in manufacturing.

I don’t know how many people these days are familiar with Leonard E. Read’s essay, “I, Pencil,” but that short piece from 1958, arguing for free market capitalism, uses a very simple example to show the absolute foolhardiness behind attempts at central planning. I’m introducing that short but brilliant essay to assist in my argument that the globalists’ oft-stated ambition to achieve a “substantially reduced population” isn’t going to be adequate for manufacturing the goods no feudal overlord of the future will want to be without.

Read makes his point through the “autobiography” of a pencil, through which he guides us along the various manufacturing stages of each individual component that comprises this simple tool. If you don’t think much about the processes involved in making quite ordinary things, I strongly suggest taking a look at this essay if only to visualize the multitude of stages that are involved in the creation of something so simple. As Lawrence Reed says in his introduction to my edition of the essay, “economies can hardly be ‘planned’ when not one soul possesses all the know-how and skills to produce a simple pencil.” That’s his summary of the argument in “I, Pencil,” but for the purposes of this essay, I’d alter that sentence a bit, replacing “one soul” with “one manufacturing facility” and re-state the situation as “no one manufactory has the resources and/or capability to produce a simple pencil from start to finish.” My argument, from the perspective of the production floor itself, after observing the plethora of stages involved in the production of “simple” things, is that a reduced population isn’t going to be able to produce the goods we have come to expect in the First World.

Now, I realize that anyone reading this is very likely leaping to the conclusion that automation will intervene here to solve the problems entailed by a reduced labor force, and I will address that later on. But for now it’s important to consider Read’s breakdown of the pencil-making process in order to understand how imperative it is to have a complex division of labor in manufacturing, not just within a particular manufactory, but along the entire route from raw materials to finished product.

Briefly, and leaving out a few of the stages Read takes us through in the development of a pencil, he begins with a particular type of cedar tree indigenous to Oregon and California which loggers cut down in large numbers. Their object in doing so is obviously not to make pencils, but to provide cedar logs to whoever wants them for their own manufacturing purposes. Those logs are transported to railroads and then shipped to specific mills where they are cut down into smaller pieces, shaped, and kiln dried for a customer who does have the creation of a pencil in mind. Those pieces are then sent to the mill’s customer, a pencil factory, where they are cut in half, grooved down the middle, and fitted with a lead cylinder, after which the halves are glued together. After they are painted, a ferule and eraser are attached (each, like the lead, glue, and paint, having its own manufacturing process). Bear in mind I have left out many of the steps Read enumerates, as well as neglecting the process involved in acquiring raw materials.

His point is that none of the factories involved in making any one of these parts of a pencil exists for the purposes of pencil-making, but that all of these facilities work with a material that can be directed toward satisfying a particular requirement of the pencil maker — as well as others. And most importantly for Read, they all exist independently of each other and produce goods for each other without the deliberate coordination of their efforts.

We encounter the very same scenario when we consider the manufacturing involved in making most of the objects in our lives. In the same way that no single production facility is going to be able to perform all of those steps that go into making a pencil, no single manufacturer is going to be able to make all of the elements that go into creating a slightly more complex item, such as an insulated glass window. It’s certainly not feasible for one organization to make glass, metal, rubber, and plastic, and then in the same factory, fashion those different materials into the components necessary for constructing a window (glass panels of varying thicknesses, metal separators in specific sizes, rubber seals, plastic frames, etc.). That’s not even considering the large-scale cooking process required to temper glass, in addition to the assembly of all those components into a window itself. As Read makes clear in his example, individual components (for example, the pencil’s ferule or eraser) are most efficiently produced by organizations devoted to crafting related things out of similar materials, which is why all of those separate components I listed for the window are created by individual manufacturers, and assembled together at a point somewhere along the chain deemed most suitable.

The production of all of the other “basics” in our lives follows the same manufacturing story. Houses, cars, and mattresses, for example, plus the physical components of electrical, heating, and plumbing systems, are all created in a similar set of stages until the final product is at last assembled. But, of course, that’s not the end of the story, because all created things require repair and maintenance, consequently the same manufacturing process is involved in making the materials required to keep things running: machinery, equipment, hand tools, and the individual parts for everything extant that will break down or wear out.

All of the foregoing, from mining raw materials to manufacturing pieces of larger wholes which are then sent elsewhere to be assembled, is a global effort requiring a vast workforce with varying levels of creative and intellectual abilities. A random reduction in that workforce or a centrally planned rearrangement of this effort from the top will inevitably have an adverse impact on the chain of production, the particulars of which will be unpredictable until it occurs.

What I find so interesting is that this global participation in making things has always revealed a people’s predilection for crafting certain kinds of goods, due to a combination of local resources, tradition, and innate sensibility. This is why nations, and regions within nations, so often become known for a particular material craft or for making a universal object exceptionally well. Vikings may have been dedicated warriors, but it was the French who made the swords they coveted. (So much so, that in 864, Charles the Bald prohibited their sale to Northmen on pain of death.)^[1] Centuries later, the Venetians “owned” glass making, and hence, the manufacture of mirrors, until Louis XIV, in a rather fascinating account of 17th century industrial espionage, “acquired” those skills.^[2] This tendency for nations to develop manufacturing specialties is so prevalent we have brought phrases into the language to express it: German engineering, Italian design, etc. It requires very little reflection to observe that all over the world, groups of people from distinct regions develop specialties, due in no small part to their unique set of predilections.

I emphasize predilection because I think it is one of the most important drivers of human endeavor. Those who are driven to see what lies over the next hill possess certain innate characteristics that press them into exploration. It’s not just a matter of energy or having time on one’s hands; exploration is a manifestation of a deep desire. Of curiosity. In fact, some people possess a degree of curiosity that positively propels them to inquire into the nature of things and how they work. Add a mechanical interest to that and you likely have someone with an aptitude — perhaps even a lust — for invention. I’d be generous here, and say that the people of all nations contribute something of interest to the world, stemming, of course, from their own interests, though not all of those contributions are of equal value. They also do not contribute equally to a high level of civilization. I might balk at someone disparaging Bali silver craftsmen, but I recognize without any difficulty that exquisite pieces of jewelry do not maintain those aforementioned basics of civilization (houses, cars, mattresses) without which life would be exceedingly uncomfortable.

Anyone noticing white replacement might observe that while an abundance of workers will be available from the pool of migrants swarming into Anglophone countries from third-world nations, it is reasonable also to observe that they will bring their own skill set, work ethic, and sensibility to their new location. The globalist central planners might only see bodies, as if that is enough to make civilization, but our highly complex systems require vast numbers of people who possess specific talents and inclinations that these newcomers may not have. And the proof of their proclivities lies right there for the entire world to see in what they have accomplished in their own nations. We know the Japanese are adept at electronics — we have abundant proof that we couldn’t miss even if we were trying. We know that the Europeans have a keen mechanical sense — they’ve been demonstrating that for centuries. Even despite the fact that in the last fifty years the U.S. has sent as much manufacturing to the third-world as it could, industrial machinery is still designed and built in Switzerland, England, Germany, Scandinavia, Italy, and the U.S. Why? Because the Europeans and those of European descent are the best designers and manufacturers of machinery. On the other hand, while Africans have attempted to satisfy the transportation needs of their own continent themselves rather than relying on expensive imports, aside from South Africa and those countries that form the Mediterranean coast of North Africa, there are only three auto manufacturers on the rest of the entire continent. How can such a large population in one region contain no motor-heads so driven by a passion for cars that they venture to manufacture them? Given the simultaneous need for cars in Africa and the paucity of manufacturers, I think it’s safe to say that engines do not constitute a fascination for sub-Saharan Africans.

Does it matter? Well, I’ve often noticed that those who venture to imagine how society will be structured in the future, when commenting on the globalist juggernaut, envision a small number of intelligent creators (the engineers, the designers, etc.) designing and building the necessary machines, which they subsequently send out in the world to be run and maintained by others — presumably those such as the lesser-endowed worker bees swarming toward us. But sophisticated machinery doesn’t just require invention and development; it requires an advanced level of operation and maintenance by people who have an abiding passion — and considerable aptitude — for making things go.

It is here that the AI enthusiast enters the conversation, full of excitement over the possibilities of streamlining the human workforce to fewer numbers by using various levels of robotic assistance. After all, with robots the need for passion disappears — they have sufficient mechanical aptitude to function in production without it. But of course, there’s production and then there’s production. The old description of factory work as “picking things up and then putting them down” is still relevant for many jobs, and automation — robotic arms especially — is used in a good deal of those situations. But that’s hardly the end of the mechanical story.

Unlike the experience of consumers who shop for an item and then either bring it home or have it installed fully expecting that it will begin working immediately, large-scale machinery doesn’t behave like that. Whether it is because of its overall complexity or because relatively few of its type are made, what happens at installation can only with great generosity be called “working the kinks out.” The installation of industrial machinery is more akin to yet another stage of the experimentation process, a trial run, but this time on the job. And it never goes well, if we define “well” as doing the job it was designed to do. Usually a piece of machinery costing millions of dollars is accompanied to its new home by part of the original manufacturing team, which remains for as long as necessary, meaning until they are finally recalled to the “home office,” leaving the remaining problems to be worked out by the factory’s own tech team.

This process of working out the kinks goes on for an indeterminate period of time, until the machine can actually be made to consistently perform. But again, that’s not the end of the manufacturing story, because, unlike the experience of consumers who rightly expect that appliances and systems they’ve installed at great expense will work for many years, industrial machinery experiences glitches or complete breakdowns on a daily basis. And it is fascinating to observe technicians while they’re addressing those problems. I’ve watched many over the years, and the process is thoughtful and creative. No one but a fool begins by doing. A tech stares intently at a machine, stopping and starting it, carefully watching the most visible problem before diagnosing it — usually something originating far upstream. Only then does he take action, and the most astounding thing about those actions is just how low-tech they are.

I think most people would be surprised to see how much yellow electrical tape is fastened to these multi-million dollar contraptions. Every manufactory, everywhere in the world, is decorated with this symbol of the ultimate jury-rigging, used by both technicians and machine operators. Tape, zip ties, and cardboard cut up on the spot are the solutions of choice, and these simple objects, creatively employed, are what keep machines going and factories in business. And keep in mind, there is no manual for this. The techs already know how the machine is supposed to work. The problem is getting it to do so. And this creative problem-solving is happening right now, in every factory, all over the world with varying degrees of success. Personally, I won’t be impressed by AI until I see a robot solve a mechanical problem with electrical tape and zip ties.

It is because we haven’t produced perpetual motion machines that also invent stuff and robots that will never succumb to the ravages of time that I think the “elites” haven’t thought things through. You need an awful lot of smart and creative people, currently dismissed as useless eaters, to create civilization’s basics — let alone luxuries — that the elites of the New World Order will expect out of their “new world.”

Notes:

1.		Nelson, Janet L. “The Frankish Empire.” The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings, edited by Peter Sawyer, Oxford University Press, 1997, pp 37-38.
2.		DeJean, Joan. The Essence of Style: How the French Invented High Fashion, Fine Food, Chic Cafes, Style, Sophistication, and Glamour. New York, Free Press, 2005.

Previous posts by Jocelynn Cordes:

2017		Dec		13		Muslims Need an Enlightenment, Not a New Head of “Church”
2023		Feb		11		Re-examining the Term “White Supremacy”
		Mar		21		Chained to the New Trivium