Better Off_ Flipping the Switch on Technology - Eric Brende [93]
But I was fit to be tied. Neither of these scholars had actually lived with an Old Order people. I raised my hand. “You have made an excellent case to advance your points”—I was actually granting more than I should have here—“but have you given any attention to the opposite thesis?” (Eyebrows arch in consternation.) “Namely, that never was there a society in which female, or womanly, values so dominated? Nurturing the land and the crops, deferring to the wishes of others, not having to get one’s own way? And because they live on farms, women make an important economic contribution to the home, well recognized by the community. I have spent a year living with the ‘Amish,’ and when men work in women’s departments, women tell men what to do—”
The entire audience was letting out a sigh of approval. The scholars’ expressions seemed suddenly to grow tight and obsequious. They knew they had no way out. After all, many attendees were drawn here by an attraction to traditional ways, and several were in the garb. Quickly, oh so quickly, the contention was granted. But this did not contradict their arguments, the scholars said. I felt a rich sense of catharsis, as if something long building up inside needed to get out. What they were simply revealing was that a certain degree of separation and definition was needed in a way of life overwhelmingly indebted to the indefinable nurturance of mother nature. There was a niche for a man as well as a woman.
Mary and I turned back to our farmstead, newly invigorated in the course we had taken. With me at the wheel, Mary looked for landmarks and Hans slept peacefully in the back. We were all hus-ward bound.
Twenty
Pulling in the Reins
Having divested ourselves of washer, dryer, refrigerator, microwave, electric lights, computers, air conditioning, central heat, power mower, and running water, Mary and I had come down to one major modern item: the automobile. There was nothing else to take away. We were restricted technologically in the most intimate quarters of human intercourse, but we could step in a car and gallivant across country on a whim.
I suppose that at this point I could have continued to make the argument that as outsiders with special concerns and needs, we required a certain mobility which the rest of the community could just as well do without, and that “use in itself does not constitute abuse.” But given my purpose in coming here, there was a more important consideration. The time in which we could test Minimite technologies was rapidly slipping away. Going without cars was not merely one example of minimation. It was perhaps the premiere example, the choice on which the others in some way depended. The slow pace and limited travel sphere of the Minimites was integral to their whole way of life. It was the precondition of neighborly stability, mutual aid, and everyday face-to-face interaction. Being car-free also made them more carefree, financially speaking, more solvent.
What were we waiting for?
There was something a little scary about letting go. The car was our last thread to our former lives. No more possibility of impulsive flights, last-minute outings, frenetic bridge games. To switch to horse and buggy as a primary means of transit was to commit to the settled life of the neighborhood; it was tantamount to becoming Minimite. We didn’t know if we were ready. To outsiders we would certainly appear to have made the change; to insiders we might open the door to misinterpretation.
Then we learned of Mr. Bernhardt. He was possibly the most free-thinking Minimite in the area. Although raised Amish, he despised organized religion and never formally joined any of the Anabaptist communities with which he had associated, including