The Amish have the undeserved reputation of being luddites, of people
who refuse to employ new technology. It's well known the strictest of
them don't use electricity, or automobiles, but rather farm with
manual tools and ride in a horse and buggy. In any debate about the
merits of embracing new technology, the Amish stand out as offering an
honorable alternative of refusal. Yet Amish lives are anything but
anti-technological. In fact on my several visits with them, I have
found them to be ingenious hackers and tinkers, the ultimate makers
and do-it-yourselfers and surprisingly pro technology.
First, the Amish are not a monolithic group. Their practices vary
parish by parish. What one group does in Ohio, another church in New
York may not do, or a parish in Iowa may do more-so. Secondly, their
relationship to technology is uneven. On close inspection, most Amish
use a mixture of old and very new stuff. Thirdly, Amish practices are
ultimately driven by religious belief: the technological,
environmental, social, and cultural consequences are secondary. They
often don't have logical reasons for their policies. Lastly, Amish
practices change over time, and are, at this moment, adapting to the
world at their own rate. In many ways the view of the Amish as old-
fashioned luddites is an urban myth.
Like all legends, the Amish myth is based on some facts. The Amish,
particular the Old Order Amish -- the stereotypical Amish depicted on
calendars – really are slow to adopt new things. In contemporary
society our default is set to say "yes" to new things, and in Old
Order Amish societies the default is set to "no." When new things come
around, the Amish automatically start by refusing them. Thus many Old
Order Amish have never said yes to automobiles, a policy established
when automobiles were new. Instead, they travel around in a buggy
hauled by a horse. Some orders require the buggy to be an open
carriage (so riders – teenagers, say – are not tempted with a private
place to fool around); others will permit closed carriages. Some
orders allow tractors on the farm, if the tractors have steel wheels;
that way a tractor can't be "cheated" to drive on the road like a car.
Some groups allow farmers to power their combine or threshers with
diesel engines, if the engine only drives the threshers but is not
self-propelled, so the whole smoking, noisy contraption is pulled by
horses. Some sects allow cars, if they are painted entirely black (no
chrome) to ease the temptation to upgrade to the latest model.
Behind all of these variations is the Amish motivation to strengthen
their communities. When cars first appeared at the turn of last
century the Amish noticed that drivers would leave the community to go
shopping or sight-seeing in other towns, instead of shopping local and
visiting friends, family or the sick on Sundays. Therefore the ban on
unbridled mobility was aimed to make it hard to travel far, and to
keep energy focused in the local community. Some parishes did this
with more strictness than others.
A similar communal motivation lies behind the Old Order Amish practice
of living without electricity. The Amish noticed that when their homes
were electrified with wires from a generator in town, they became more
tied to the rhythms, policies and concerns of the town. Amish
religious belief is founded on the principle that they should remain
"in the world, not of it" and so they should remain separate in as
many ways possible. Being tied to electricity tied them into the
world, so they surrendered its benefits in order to stay outside the
world. For many Amish households even today, you'll see no power lines
weaving toward their homes. They live off the grid.
To live without electricity or cars eliminates most of what we expect
from modernity. No electricity means no internet, TV, or phones as
well, so suddenly the Amish life stands in stark contrast to our
complex modern lives.
But when you visit an Amish farm, that simplicity vanishes. The
simplicity vanishes even before you get to the farm. Cruising down the
road you may see an Amish kid in a straw hat and suspenders zipping by
on roller blades. In front of one school house I spied a flock of
parked scooters, which is how the kids arrived there. Not Razors, but
hefty Amish varieties. But on the same street a constant stream of
grimy mini-vans paraded past the school. Each was packed with full-
bearded Amish men sitting in the back. What was that about?
Turns out the Amish make a distinction between using something and
owning it. The Old Order won't own a pickup truck, but they will ride
in one. They won't get a license, purchase an automobile, pay
insurance, and become dependent on the automobile and the industrial-
car complex, but they will call a taxi. Since there are more Amish men
than farms, many men work at small factories and these guys will hire
vans driven by outsiders to take them to and from work. So even the
horse and buggy folk will use cars – under their own terms. (Very
thrifty, too.)
The Amish also make a distinction between technology they have at work
and technology they have at home. I remember an early visit to an
Amish man who ran a woodworking shop near Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
Most of the interior of the dark building was lit naturally from
windows, but hanging over the wooden meeting table in a very cluttered
room was a single electrical light bulb. The host saw me staring at
it, and when I looked at him, he just shrugged and said that it was
for the benefit of visitors like myself.
However while the rest of his large workshop lacked electricity beyond
that naked bulb, it did not lack power machines. The place was
vibrating with an ear-cracking racket of power sanders, power saws,
power planers, power drills and so on. Everywhere I turned there were
bearded men covered in saw dust pushing wood through screaming
machines. This was not a circle of Renaissance craftsman hand tooling
masterpieces. This was a small-time factory cranking out wooden
furniture with machine power. But where was the power coming from? Not
from windmills.
The boss, Amos (not his real name: the Amish prefer not to call
attention to themselves), takes me around to the back where a huge
dump-truck-sized diesel generator sits. It's massive. In addition to a
gas engine there is a very large tank, which I learn, stores
compressed air. The diesel engine burns fuel to drive the compressor
that fills the reservoir with pressure. From the tank a series of high-
pressure pipes snake off toward every corner of the factory. A hard
rubber flexible hose connects each tool to a pipe. The entire shop
runs on compressed air. Every piece of machine is running on pneumatic
power. Amos even shows me a pneumatic switch, which you can flick like
a light switch, to turn on some paint-drying fans.
The Amish call this pneumatic system "Amish electricity." At first
pneumatics were devised for Amish workshops, but it was seen as so
useful that air-power migrated to Amish households. In fact there is
an entire cottage industry in retrofitting tools and appliances to
Amish electricity. The retrofitters buy a heavy-duty blender, say, and
yank out the electrical motor. They then substitute an air-powered
motor of appropriate size, add pneumatic connectors, and bingo, your
Amish mom now has a blender in her electrical-less kitchen. You can
get a pneumatic sewing machine, and a pneumatic washer/dryer (with
propane heat). In a display of pure steam-punk nerdiness, Amish
hackers try to outdo each other in building pneumatic versions of
electrified contraptions. Their mechanical skill is quite impressive,
particularly since none went beyond the 8th grade. They love to show
off this air-punk geekiness. And every tinkerer I met claimed that
pneumatics were superior to electrical devices because air was more
powerful and durable, outlasting motors which burned out after a few
years hard labor. I don't know if this is true, or just justification,
but it was a constant refrain.
I visited one retrofit workshop run by a strict Mennonite. Marlin was
a short beardless man (no beards for the Mennonites). He uses a horse
and buggy, has no phone, but electricity runs in the shop behind his
home. They use electricity to make pneumatic parts. Like most of his
community, his kids work along side him. A few of his boys use a
propane powered fork lift with metal wheels (no rubber so you can't
drive it on the road) to cart around stacks of heavy metal as they
manufacture very precise milled metal parts for pneumatic motors and
for kerosene cooking stoves, an Amish favorite. The tolerances needed
are a thousand of an inch. So a few years ago they installed a
massive, $400,000 computer-controlled milling (CNC) machine in his
backyard, behind the horse stable. This massive half-million dollar
tool is about the dimensions of a delivery truck. It is operated by
his 14-year old daughter, in a bonnet. With this computer controlled
machine she makes parts for grid-free horse and buggy living.
One can't say "electricity-free" because I kept finding electricity in
Amish homes. Once you have a huge diesel generator running behind your
barn to power the refrigeration units that store the milk (the main
cash crop for the Amish), it's a small thing to stick on a small
electrical generator. For re-charging batteries, say. You can find
battery-powered calculators, flashlights, electric fences, and
generator-powered electric welders on Amish farms. The Amish also use
batteries to run a radio or phone (outside in the barn or shop), or to
power the required headlights and turn signals on their horse buggies.
One clever Amish fellow spent a half hour telling me the ingenious way
he hacked up a mechanism to make a buggy turn signal automatically
turn off when the turn was finished, just as it does in your car.
Nowadays solar panels are becoming popular among the Amish. With these
they can get electricity without being tied to the grid, which was
their main worry. Solar is used primarily for utilitarian chores like
pumping water, but it will slowly leak into the household. As do most
innovations.
The Amish use disposable diapers (why not?), chemical fertilizers,
pesticides, and are big boosters of genetically modified corn. In
Europe this stuff is called Frankenfood. I asked a few of the Amish
elders about that last one. Why plant GMOs? Well, they reply, corn is
susceptible to the corn borer which nibbles away at the bottom of the
stem, and occasionally topples over the stalk. Modern 500 horsepower
harvesters don't notice this fall; they just suck up all the material,
and spit out the corn into a bin. The Amish harvest their corn semi-
manually. It's cut by a chopper device and then pitched into a
thresher. But if there are a lot of stalks that are broken, they have
to be pitched by hand. That is a lot of very hard sweaty work. So they
plant Bt corn. This genetic mutant carries the genes of the corn
borer's enemy, Bacillus thuringiensis, which produces a toxin deadly
to the corn borer. Fewer stalks are broken, the harvest can be semi-
mechanized, and yields are up as well. One elder Amishman whose sons
run his farm told me that he'd only help his sons harvest if they
planted Bt corn. He said he told them he was too old to be pitching
heavy broken corn stalks. The alternative was to purchase expensive,
modern harvesting equipment. Which none of them want. So the
technology of genetically modified crops allowed the Amish to continue
using old, well-proven, debt-free equipment, which accomplished their
main goal of keeping the family farm together. They did not use these
words, but they considered genetically modified crops as appropriate
technology for family farms.
Artificial insemination, solar power, and the web are technologies
that Amish are still debating. They use the web at libraries (using
but not owning). From cubicles in public libraries Amish sometimes set
up a website for their business. So while Amish websites seem like a
joke, there's quite a few of them. What about post-modern innovations
like credit cards? A few Amish got them, presumably for their
businesses at first. But over time the bishops noticed problems of
overspending, and the resultant crippling interest rates. Farmers got
into debt, which impacted not only them but the community since their
families had to help them recover (that's what community and families
are for). So, after a trial period, the elders ruled against credit
cards.
One Amish-man told me that the problem with phones, pagers, and PDAs
(yes he knew about them) was that "you got messages rather than
conversations." That's about as an accurate summation of our times as
any. Henry, his long white beard contrasting with his young bright
eyes told me, "If I had a TV, I'd watch it." What could be simpler?
But no looming decision is riveting the Amish themselves as much as
the question of whether they should accept cell phones. Previously,
Amish would build a shanty at the end of their driveway that housed an
answering machine and phone, to be shared by neighbors. The shanty
sheltered the caller in rain and cold, and kept the grid away from the
house, but the long walk outside reduced use to essential calls rather
than gossip and chatting. Cell phones were a new twist. You got a
phone without wires. You could take business calls without being wired
to the world. As one Amish guy told me, "What is the difference if I
stand in my phone booth with a wireless phone or stand outside with a
cell phone. There's no difference." Further cell phones were embraced
by women who could keep in touch with their far-flung family since
they didn't drive. But the bishops also noticed that the cell phone
was so small it could be kept hidden, which was a concern for a people
dedicated to discouraging individualism. Ten years ago when I was
editing Wired I sent Howard Rheingold to investigate the Amish take on
cell phones. His report published in January 1999 makes it clear that
the Amish had not decided on cell phones yet. Ten years later they are
still deciding, still trying it out. This is how the Amish determine
whether technology works for them. Rather than employ the
precautionary principle, which says, unless you can prove there is no
harm, don't use new technology, the Amish rely on the enthusiasm of
Amish early adopters to try stuff out until they prove harm.
For being off the grid, without TV, internet, or books, the Amish are
perplexingly well-informed. There's not much I could tell them that
they didn't know about, and already had an opinion on. And
surprisingly, there's not much new that at least one person in their
church has not tried to use. The typical adoption pattern went like
this:
Ivan is an Amish alpha-geek. He is always the first to try a new
gadget or technique. He gets in his head that the new
flowbitzmodulator would be really useful. He comes up with a
justification of how it fits into the Amish orientation. So he goes to
his bishop with this proposal: "I like to try this out." Bishop says
to Ivan, "Okay Ivan, do whatever you want with this. But you have to
be ready to give it up, if we decide it is not helping you or hurting
others." So Ivan acquires the tech and ramps it up, while his
neighbors, family, and bishops watch intently. They weigh the benefits
and drawbacks. What is it doing to the community? Cell phone use in
the Amish began that way. According to anecdote, the first Amish alpha
geeks to request permission to use cell phones were two ministers who
were also contractors. The bishops were reluctant to give permission
but suggested a compromise: keep the cell phones in the vans of the
drivers. The van would be a mobile phone shanty. Then the community
would watch the contractors. It seemed to work so others early
adopters picked it up. But still at any time, even years later, the
bishops can say no.
I visited a shop that built the Amish's famous buggies. From the
outside the carts look simple and old fashioned. But inspecting the
process in the shop, they are quite high tech and surprisingly
complicated rigs. Made of lightweight fiberglass, they are hand cast,
and outfitted with stainless steel hardware and cool LED lights. The
owner's teenage son, David, worked at the shop. Like a lot of Amish
who work along side their parents from an early age, he was incredibly
poised and mature. I asked him what he thought the Amish would do
about cell phones. He snuck his hand into his overalls and pulled one
out. "They'll probably accept them," he said and smiled. He then
quickly added that he worked for the local volunteer fire department,
which was why he had one. (Sure!) But, his dad chimed in, if cell
phones are accepted "there won't be wires running down the street to
our homes."
In their goal to remain off the grid, yet modernize, some Amish have
installed inverters on their diesel generators linked to batteries to
provide them with off-grid 110 volts. They power specialty appliances
at first, like an electric coffee pot. I saw one home with an electric
copier in the home office part of their living room. Will the slow
acceptance of modern appliances creep along until 100 years hence the
Amish have we have now (but have left behind)? What about cars? Will
the Old Order ever drive old-fashioned internal combustion clunkers,
say when the rest of the world is using personal jet packs? Or will
they embrace electric cars? I asked David, the 18-year old Amish, what
he expects to use in the future. Much to my surprise he had a ready
teenage answer. "If the bishops allow the church to leave behind
buggies, I know exactly what I will get: a black Ford 460 V8." That's
a 500 hp muscle car. But it is in black! His dad, the carriage maker,
again chimed in, "Even if that happens there will always be some horse
and carriage Amish."
David then admitted, "When I was deciding whether to join the church
or not, I thought of my future children and whether they would be
brought up without restrictions. I could not imagine it." A common
phrase among the Amish is 'holding the line." They all recognize the
line keeps moving, but a line must remain.
My impression is that the Amish are living about 50 years behind us.
They don't adopt everything new but what new technology they do
embrace, they take up about half a century after everyone else does.
By that time, the benefits and costs are clear, the technology stable,
and it is cheap. Consider this chart I found in the book "Living
Without Electricity". You can see the hint of a delay pattern in Amish
adoption.
The Amish are steadily adopting technology -- at their pace. They are
slow geeks. As one Amish man told Howard Rheingold, "We don't want to
stop progress, we just want to slow it down," But their manner of slow
adoption is instructive.
1) They are selective. They know how to say "no" and are not afraid to
refuse new things. They ban more than they adopt.
2) They evaluate new things by experience instead of by theory. They
let the early adopters get their jollies by pioneering new stuff under
watchful eyes.
3) They have criteria by which to select choices: technologies must
enhance family and community and distance themselves from the outside
world.
4) The choices are not individual, but communal. The community shapes
and enforces technological direction.
This method works for the Amish, but can it work for the rest of us? I
don't know. It has not really been tried yet. And if the Amish hackers
and early adopters teach us anything, it's that you have to try things
first. Try first and relinquish later if need be. We are good at
trying first; not good at relinquishing – except as individuals. To
fulfill the Amish model we'd have to get better at relinquishing as a
group. Social relinquishing. Not merely a large number (as in a
movement) but a giving up that relies on mutual support. I have not
seen any evidence of that happening, but it would be a telling sign if
it did appear.
http://www.kk.org/thetechnium/archives/2009/02/amish_hackers_a.php
http://www.kk.org/books/what-technology-wants.php