At present, tourism underscores the cultural separation of the Amish. Tourists may be bothersome, but they do reinforce Amish separation from the world. Although the Amish complain of feeling “like monkeys in a zoo,” the imagery does underscore the sharp difference between monkeys and visitors. In this way, tourism galvanizes the cultural gap between the two worlds and helps define Amish identity.
Tourism also creates expectations for Amish behavior. The symbolism on tourist billboards reinforces the boundaries of Amish culture even in the minds of the Amish themselves. Knowing that tourists come to see a people driving horses and living without electricity reinforces expectation for such behavior. Thus, Amish behavior, in part, fulfills the expectations created by tourism. Such external expectations likely fortify rather than weaken actual Amish practice. To discard the buggy, for instance, would not only break Amish tradition, but it would also shatter the expectations of the outside world.
In these ways, rather than endangering Amish culture, tourism may inadvertently fortify it. In any event, the economic value of the Amish as a tourist attraction has greatly enhanced their bargaining power with public officials. Indeed, organized curiosity in the form of tourism may be their staunchest ally in legal confrontations with the state. There have been few public clashes with local officials since the mid-1960s, when tourism first thrust the Amish into the public spotlight. In fact, local, state, and federal officials have made striking concessions to the Amish, ranging from overlooking road damage from horseshoes, to the U.S. Supreme Court’s endorsement of their schools.
A more sinister scenario may lurk beneath this happy ending, however. The rise of Amish-owned tourist shops could, over time, foster an unhealthy dependency if the Amish become parasites of tourism. This paradoxical situation might encourage them to maintain their unique lifestyle to attract tourism because it benefits the Amish community. At the turn of the twenty-first century, the hungry appetite of tourist markets for Amish trinkets, crafts, and quilts was luring more and more Amish into establishing their own retail shops. The Amish label on products commodified Amish images on the public culture market. For example, Vogue magazine, in a special section on Plain dress, featured images of Amish clothing.37
The once-despised heretics who sought separation from an evil world were now selling their own souls on the public market. With their own compliance, Amish images and symbols had become cultural commodities. Prosperity and worldly acclaim now threatened to erode the boundaries of separation that persecution had so clearly defined centuries ago.
Apart from its other rewards, tourist fame also provides the Amish with leverage as they bargain with the larger society. They occasionally threaten to migrate if things get too bad, and public officials worry about these muffled threats, for an evacuation would be catastrophic for tourism. Ironically, the outside world that years ago sought to banish Anabaptist heretics is now begging them to stay, which brings us full circle in the riddle of public relations. Like it or not, the Amish have become dependent on modern society for their survival. But it is not a one-way street, for Lancaster’s image, identity, and economy also rest on the Amish in many ways. It is a symbiotic relationship, and for better or for worse, the county’s dependency on the Amish has strengthened their hand at the bargaining table.
CHAPTER 12
Regulating Social Change
We try to keep the brakes on social change, you know, a little bit.
—Amish craftsman
CHANGE AND ADAPTATION
Amish society is not a social museum; it is dynamic and evolving. Consider some of the household changes in the last fifty years. Amishwomen no longer wash clothes in hand-operated machines. They use washing machines powered by hydraulic pressure or gasoline engines. Gas refrigerators have replaced iceboxes, indoor flush toilets have replaced outdoor privies, hydraulic water pumps have replaced windmills, and gas water heaters have replaced the fire under wrought-iron kettles. Modern bathtubs have superseded old metal tubs. Kerosene lanterns have given way to gas lights. Wood-fired cookstoves have yielded to modern gas ranges. Hardwood floors and no-wax vinyl have replaced linoleum and rag carpets. Spray starch, detergents, paper towels, instant pudding, and instant coffee have eased household chores. Permanent-press fabrics have lifted the burden of incessant ironing. Although canning still predominates, some foods are preserved by freezing. Air-powered sewing machines are replacing treadle machines. Battery-powered mixers do the job of hand-operated egg beaters, and air-powered food processors have replaced hand grinders. The list goes on, but despite all these changes, wall-to-wall carpets, electric appliances, air conditioners, telephones, and electronic media have not entered Amish homes.
Things have changed outside the house as well. Many newer homes have attractive landscaping. In Amish shops, hand tools have given way to large air- or hydraulic-powered equipment, but the shops remain unhooked to public utility lines. Battery-powered drills and screwdrivers do the job of hand-turned tools. Amish farmers no longer milk their cows by hand but use modern vacuum milkers powered by diesel engines instead. Automatic-reset riding plows have replaced old-fashioned walk-behind plows. But horses still pull the new hydraulic plows. Modern hay balers towed by horses have superseded wheel-driven hay loaders. But the sophisticated balers, running on steel wheels, do not carry automatic bale loaders. Weeds and insects are sprayed by horse-drawn sprayers. Hybrid corn, grown with chemical fertilizer, is cut and picked by horse-drawn equipment.
An Amishman born in 1943 described the changes he witnessed in the last half of the twentieth century:
You’re halfway over the hill in the Pequea when you can tell your children and grandchildren about things you never had when you were their age. Never had sisters day, brothers day, etc. only work days, no fruit pizza, no cheese pizza, in fact no pizza at all. No bathrooms, no phone shanty, no church melody books. Our outside toilets then were smaller than today’s phone shanty. No compressed air or hydraulic tools. No Botschaft, no Diary, no Pathway Magazine. No $100 scooters or rollerblades. No trampolines, no gang mowers, no outdoor grills. Balers and binders put hay bales and corn bundles on the ground. No Amish school board, teachers, or Amish schools in Leacock Township. No cheese dip or pretzel dip. In fact the only dip we knew was swimming in the Pequea Creek. No fire company sales, no benefit sales, no school sales. You never heard, “yeah right,” or “have a good one.” No hot air balloons, no seat belts.1
These examples and dozens of others illustrate the fact that Lancaster’s Amish have changed dramatically in recent decades and that they have regulated the change within prescribed limits. They have avoided divisions within their church for nearly forty years despite the rapid change. Moreover, their growing population makes it ever more difficult to manage change in a uniform fashion. The riddle of social change is perplexing: Why do some aspects of Amish life change while others remain stuck in tradition? By what formula are some innovations accepted and others rejected?2
TABLE 12.1
Technological Restrictions by Approximate Date
MOVING CULTURAL FENCES
The Amish view social change as a matter of moving cultural fences—holding to old boundaries and setting new ones. This dynamic process involves negotiating symbolic boundaries in the moral order. Church members who are moving too fast are “jumping the fence” and getting too involved with the outside world. Cultural fences mark the lines of separation between the two worlds. Coping with social change involves fortifying old fences as well as moving fences and building new ones. But regardless of whether they are old or new, cultural fences must remain if Amish ways are to persist.
No single principle or value regulates change in Amish society; it is a dynamic process, and the outcome is always uncertain. A variety of factors impinges on any decision to accept or reject a particular practice. Decisions to move symbolic boundaries always emerge out of the ebb and flow of a fluid social matrix. The factors shaping a particular decision vary greatly. With some seventy-
five bishops, it is impossible to maintain uniform standards across the entire settlement. This diversity of practice, camouflaged by common symbols—horse, dress, lantern, dialect—increases as the settlement grows.
The acceptance of new products and the relaxation of old standards often occur by default. One Amishman said: “Well, change just kind of happens. Sometimes it is reviewed at a Ministers’ Meeting but then it just kind of happens by itself.” Leaders rarely plan or initiate social changes. The establishment of Amish schools is an example of intentional change. Yet even with that a consensus did not emerge for a decade. More typical are collective decisions to resist change. If a questionable practice—the use of computers or wall-to-wall carpet—begins to gain broad acceptance, the bishops may deliberately curtail it. Using biblical images, the bishops understand their role as “watchmen on the walls of Zion,” responsible for guarding the flock. They are on the lookout for “little foxes” of worldliness that dig under the walls of Zion and undermine the welfare of the church. The bishops are not a source of innovation; instead, their duty is to inspect impending changes and resist the detrimental ones.
Change in Amish society typically comes, not from the top or the center of the social system, but from the periphery. It is often instigated by those living on the edge of the cultural system who try to stretch the boundaries. So called “fence jumpers” or “fence crowders,” push against the traditional fences to test the limits. They experiment with new gadgets—a fax machine, a corn harvester, a mixer powered by air, a computer plugged into an inverter, or a Web site for their business. If someone complains and church leaders make a visit, the deviant may make a confession and “put away” the questionable item. Although Amish society has changed, it has also experienced painful steps backward when deviant practices were arrested and conveniences put away. Tractors have been recalled from the field. Bathrooms have been torn out on bishops’ orders, only to be permitted two decades later. Rubber tires have been taken off machinery; electric wires and light bulbs have been ripped out. Computers have been sold and telephones disconnected.
The fence jumpers usually know what is likely to “pass inspection.” If a new item—a calculator, disposable diapers, or a cash register—is adopted by others and no one complains too much, eventually the practice will creep into use by default. Leaders have to be careful to uproot deviant practices before they become too widely accepted and thus impossible to stop. The metaphors “walls of Zion” and “fence jumpers” suggest that the community has a clear understanding of Amish cultural boundaries. Many members explore the boundaries, “crowd the fence,” or “test the waters” under a hundred watchful eyes.
A preacher described the importance of keeping the fences around “the Lord’s vineyard” in good repair:
The Savior warned against the little foxes that dig their way into the Lord’s vineyard. I often think of the Lord’s vineyard and compare it with a good fence around the church of Christ, how it is like a good Ordnung. If the little foxes dig their way in and are not dealt with at once, or if they are allowed to remain, there is great danger that still more will come in. And finally, because they are allowed to remain and are not chased out, they grow bigger and become used to being there.… It is just the same with permitting little sins to go on till they are freely accepted as the customary thing and have taken a foothold. Wickedness takes the upper hand, and then, as the Savior says, the love of many becomes cold.3
The Amish are slow to make decisions regarding the adoption of new practices. They will act quickly if a technical development is obviously off limits—a video camera, for example. Borderline practices, such as artificial insemination of cows or the use of telephones, may be tolerated—put on probation—for several years to assess their long-term impact. Eventually a practice may grow by default, as it did with artificial insemination, or leaders may decide to forbid it. There is a delicate line of no return. It is one thing to ask a half-dozen people to “put away” their calculators but quite another thing to forbid calculators if dozens of members have used them for several years. Some probationary practices, for example the use of power lawn mowers, may continue for years within the district of a lenient bishop. Change sometimes speeds up or reverses with the ordination of a new bishop.
“When people are testing the lines,” an Amish leader explained, “the leaders don’t want to act too quick and harsh, so they just let it ride a little bit until they see what happens, or till they can get a picture of what might happen if they let it go. They clamp down if it’s something that we don’t need, that would disrupt the community, the closeness.” The division of 1966 erupted when the bishops tried to eradicate several pieces of farm equipment that had been in use for ten years in several church districts. “The problem came,” said one person, “when too many things were let go too many years.” Questionable practices must be banned before they slip into widespread use. The fate of new products or practices is weighed cautiously, for once engraved in the Ordnung, taboos are difficult to change. A rash decision may appear foolish with hindsight and bring a painful loss of face a few years later.
Once drawn, lines become hard to erase. The Amish believe it is better to keep a few taboos consistently than to revise a host of them with each new whim of progress. Thus, it is easier to accept a new practice, never inscribed in the Ordnung, than to change an old taboo. It is difficult, for instance, to relax the taboo on power lawn mowers but relatively easy to accept new hand-held weed cutters powered by tiny gasoline engines. Side-by-side on an Amish lawn, the old-fashioned push mower and the modern weed cutter appear incongruous to the outsider. Although their functions are similar, the portable weed cutter can be accepted without embarrassment because it was never prohibited by the Ordnung.
This new upscale home reflects increasing wealth among the Amish. A horse barn is in the center, and a shop on the right.
Symbolic considerations are important in the change process. The popular adage of a senior bishop in the 1950s, “If you can pull it with horses, you can have it,” is highly instructive. There are two levels of meaning in this statement. On the practical level, the old bishop understood that horses keep farming operations rather small. But in essence he was also saying, “You can use modern equipment in the field as long as you pull it with horses.” All sorts of new farm equipment were permissible in the shadow of the horse, for the horse marked off the symbolic boundaries of Amish life. In the same way, the unwritten rule in Amish shops, “If you can do it with air or hydraulic [power], you can do it,” creates cultural boundaries.
The verbal explanations given for accepting or rejecting new practices often mask the real reasons that are not stated. The labels “too worldly,” “too modern,” “too liberal,” or “too handy,” frequently cited as reasons for rejection, may hide underlying factors such as economic issues, gender roles, labor implications, or social capital questions related to social interaction or family integration. One businessman made the connection between the outward label of “worldly” and the underlying reasons for rejecting tractors:
Our people will always come out with the statement in the Bible that says “be not conformed to this world.” Any good Amishman will always say that the tractor’s worldly, the automobile’s worldly, the radio’s worldly, and the telephone and electricity. But why? If we allowed tractors, we would be doing like the Mennonite people are doing, grabbing each other’s farms up out there, mechanizing, and going to the bank and loaning $500,000, and later worrying about paying it off, putting three other guys out of business and sending them to town for work, away from their home. Do you follow? So we take the position, why do that? Let’s put a guideline on our faith and say that it’s [the tractor] not necessary; it’s too worldly.
Technological advances rejected by the Amish are, surprisingly, not considered immoral, and few of them are forbidden by Scripture. Owning a car, using a tractor in the field, and flying in an airplane are not considered evils in and of themselves.
The evil lies in where a new invention might lead. The Amish ask: What will come next? Will other changes be triggered by this one? How will a new practice affect the welfare of the community over the years? Describing the taboo on the telephone, a craftsman said: “If we allow the telephone, that would be just a start. People would say, ‘Okay, now we’ll push for this and then we’ll push for that . . .’ It would be a move forward that might get the wheel rolling a little faster than we can control it, if you know what I mean.” A bishop reflected: “I might have a car and it wouldn’t hurt any, but for the oncoming generation you oughta be willing to sacrifice for them.” Such selective modernization, rather than being highly moralistic, is strikingly reflective, rational, and calculating—indeed, it is quite modern!
Finally, acceptable changes often have the appearance of compromise—a willingness to edge toward progress, but not too far; a willingness to accept some new gadgets, but with limits. Indeed the compromises create the riddles—riding scooters (halfway between walking and riding a bicycle), using modern bathrooms without electricity, riding in cars but not driving them, using public transportation but not air travel, voting but not running for office, pulling modern machinery with horses, using permanent-press fabric for traditional garb, and working in Amish shops that permit some modernization but not too much. In each instance, social change is simply a matter of setting new fences—but setting fences nevertheless. All of these factors create a zigzag pattern of change that baffles outsiders.
The response to a new practice may follow several scenarios: (1) It may be terminated by the leaders in a local district. (2) If not extinguished at first, it may spread to several other districts. (3) A “friendly” change may gradually creep into practice by default in a large number of districts and eventually spread throughout the settlement. (4) A “hostile” change may become an “issue,” provoking debate and controversy. The ordained leaders may then decide to overlook it and allow it to slip into practice. (5) The “issue” may come before the bishops’ meeting, and if they agree to prohibit the practice, local congregations will be asked to support the taboo. (6) If the bishops cannot reach agreement, the issue may simmer for months or years and eventually find de facto acceptance, or it may trigger renewed debate and new attempts to forbid it.
The Riddle of Amish Culture Page 33
