However important any one facet of a culture might be to the well-being and continuity of a group, every aspect of that culture interconnects. Difficulties in one area reverberate in others. Therefore, when the effects of the Great Depression deepened in LaGrange County and the Amish feared the loss of their farms, the economic crisis threatened the social and religious structures of their environment. Their Ordnung was under attack. How could they cope?
As already noted, the economic threat to the Amish community began some years before the Great Depression. For the farm economy in the United States, the 1920s are traditionally interpreted as a time of recession, and the Great Depression of the 1930s as a continuation of the difficulties that farmers faced.1 During the years after World War I, when the money supply contracted as the nation retooled itself for a peacetime economy, the entire nation felt the squeeze of recession. As the political situation improved in Europe, the demand for agricultural products from the United States lessened. Unfortunately, just as the demand decreased, the productivity of American farming took a giant leap forward. Farmers found themselves in a deflationary spiral just as the rest of the country prospered; the price received for farm goods was often less than it cost to produce them. Farmers took out loans hoping for better times, which never came. Many lost their farms, while others barely survived from one year to the next.2
In contrast, revisionists contend that these traditional interpretations look entirely too much at statistics as a whole. The revisionists postulate that when farmers became more efficient and adapted to market conditions, they did very well.3 Some farmers were caught in a financial squeeze, but not all. Tenant farmers, those ensnared in a cycle of subsistence farming, those growing cash crops no longer in demand, and those who neither increased their efficiency nor experimented with new types of crops were trapped. These farmers were unable to purchase a tractor, build a new silo, paint their homes, or provide for their children. Others, however, paid off mortgages, bought new equipment, painted and updated their homes, and sent their children off to agricultural colleges.4 Revisionists further argue that the 1920s was a period of profound change, not only within the social and industrial structures of the country, but also on the farm. In the quest for modernity, the farmer began to shift from animal to mechanical modes of production. Certainly farmers had a history of adaptation and adjustment to a market society and to new tools that could help them produce crops. New types of plows, harvesters, combines, and manure spreaders made work easier, and in the 1920s gasoline-driven machinery revolutionized farming. Technology changed so fast that tractors pulled equipment designed for horses until the manufacturers of plows and manure spreaders could catch up with the new work methods.5 Tractor ownership increased dramatically in the next two decades, as did ownership of automobiles and trucks.6 The result was an increase in efficiency and mobility; isolation was not the problem it once was for the farmer, at least in the Midwest.
In LaGrange County there are strands of truth in both the traditional and the revisionist arguments, and the narrative for the Amish is similar. Like other groups, some prospered modestly in the 1920s, especially those who adjusted to markets for new cash crops; other farmers had more difficulty, as evidenced by the number of public sales, reports of moving, and sudden influxes of stock for the cattle market.
During the 1920s LaGrange County remained what it had always been: an agricultural seat. In 1926 the LaGrange Standard reported that half the tax valuation for the county was in farm lands.7 Small industries, merchants, railroads, power companies, and the telephone company made up the other half, but it was apparent that much of the county’s valuation depended upon the income of its farmers. Eden and Newbury Townships had the largest percentage of farm valuations and also the largest Amish settlements.
Although the local newspaper continued to promote civic pride in agriculture and the life of the farmer throughout the decade, there were indications that not all was well. A lengthy editorial of 15 October 1920 reviewed the farm proposals of presidential candidate Warren G. Harding. The editorial stressed the “establishment of cooperative associations” and “revision of the tariff to protect American agriculture.” In an accompanying article, Harding spoke of concern for the population shift from the farm to the city; he attributed the shift partially to the decline of income for farmers compared to the growth and prosperity of jobs in the cities.8 As one would expect from a Republican nominee, the article stressed the “establishment of cooperative associations” and “revision of the tariff to protect American agriculture.” In 1925 the Standard reported that only 10 percent of the farmers in central Indiana made a “good” income. According to the study, successful farms had an automobile and better machinery than the farms that were not successful.9 In contrast, an analysis made by a local schoolteacher at the end of the decade argued that townships inhabited by the Amish, who did not own automobiles or tractors, had a higher percentage of farm ownership; in the eastern townships, where fewer Amish lived, tenancy was more prevalent.10
In spite of the hints of economic difficulty, there was modest growth in the local economy. During the 1920s and 1930s the local newspaper printed advertisements for house paint, automobiles, electric stoves, washing machines, radios, and store-bought bread. During the same period a new shipping elevator appeared near the rail lines in Shipshewana. Market day was often exciting, especially when the hogs and calves arrived, although a large number of cattle to be shipped could indicate some underlying economic crisis on local farms.11
The LaGrange Standard was always interested in progress and finding new ideas to improve life in the community.12 In accordance with the progressive mode of thinking about the agricultural question, the paper reported on forthcoming institutes and other events to encourage the “educated” farmer.13 According to its editors, education could only produce a better farmer, and modernizing the farm could only produce a better life for everyone in the county. Of course their readership was composed of farmers and people who owned stores or operated services that tended to the needs of farmers.14 The emphasis was always on the scientific improvement of agriculture in the area. Weekly articles discussed improving the efficiency of the farm, the best crops to plant, finding the highest-quality seeds, and the latest prices for crops. The new county agent, James Kline, strove to educate his clientele about what he could do for them. A large notice in the Standard listed his services, including treating crops for disease and testing cows for tuberculosis.15
The public schools, the local newspaper, and the newly appointed county agent carried on the progressive tradition by trying to educate the farmer out of poor farming practices and inefficiency. Articles in the paper concerning the new agricultural section of the schools were nearly always promotional in nature. The public schools, often newly built or expanded, emphasized the practical nature of education and the importance of agriculture to the area. For instance, in 1925 the paper ran a lengthy article on the agricultural department of Shipshewana High School.16 The Amish were just as affected by the desire for efficient farming practices as their neighbors were, but they did not seek improvement through formalized education.
The Amish were also influenced as much by the market economy as other farmers were. In an effort to augment their profit, the Amish and other farmers in LaGrange increased their reliance on mint as a cash crop.17 Mint is a labor-intensive crop, requiring many hands to transplant the rootings and many more hands to harvest—a perfect environment for the Amish.18 By the early 1930s LaGrange County had become the second-largest producer of distilled mint in the United States, producing a full sixth of the world’s supply.19 The mint was distilled into oil and sold for use in toothpaste and other cosmetics, as well as for candies and food flavoring. Peppermint was the most valuable, with spearmint following close behind. According to a letter in August 1926, a farmer named Schrock had raised a great crop of spearmint. Although it was not as valuable as peppermint, he would “realize nearly $200 an acre from his 4 acres of the first cutting.”20 Fully aware of the vagaries of the laws of supply and demand, the farmers of the area, including the Amish, learned that they could store the peppermint oil and then sell it when the price was at its peak.21
The pattern of supply and demand regarding crops such as wheat and corn is not as easy to discern. As already seen with mint, Amish farmers were no different from other farmers in their delight over a bumper crop.22 In an article dated 29 November 1923, the editors of the Budget argued that low yields brought better prices only for perishable commodities like fruits and vegetables; in contrast, low yields reduced profits for wheat.23 This line of reasoning made sense to the Amish. For instance, a letter to the Budget from Topeka, Indiana, in 1924 reported the best wheat and oat crops in years and, in good Christian form, referred to it as a blessing.24 In that same year a letter from Shipshewana noted that the harvest of clover seed was poor, yet the price remained high.25 Buttressing its own observations, an editorial in the Budget in 1926 argued that the problem with American agriculture was not overproduction, for production had increased less than population, except for cotton and cattle.26
The rest of the country tied agricultural prosperity to the purchase of material goods, as evidenced by the advertisements in the Standard for goods, services, and technological wonders such as refrigerators. The Amish, however, were different. In the letters to the Budget they did not take much notice of the advantages of modern intrusions on everyday life, such as the ownership of tractors and automobiles. Yet a growing number of references to fatal car accidents on nearby roads did appear in the Budget. Sometimes the accidents happened with an Amish horse and buggy; the car always got the better of the collisions, the horse the worse.27 By the end of the 1930s, adding insult to injury, an Amish man hurt in one of these collisions also received a traffic ticket for moving into the path of the automobile.28
In spite of the difficulties caused by automobiles, buggy travel was necessary to the community, for contact was essential to maintaining group cohesiveness. The Amish frequently visited each other both within the community and from settlement to settlement and state to state.29 Such movement represented prosperity, when people had the time and money to leave their farms to visit friends and relatives not seen for many years. The accounts in the Budget are full of the joy and excitement of these visits.
The Budget also relates another type of movement usually occurring in the late winter or early spring, before the crops were to be put in. Occasionally it represented a move up to a bigger and better farm; often it did not. These moves were usually accompanied by public sales. Notice of public sales preceding a move occur throughout the 1920s and 1930s.30 In 1929, even preceding the stock market crash, letters to the Budget commented on the numerous sales in the area. Some of the people adjusted by moving in with children or having children move in with them and take over their farms. While this type of “retirement” might well be normal, the number occurring in March 1929 was not.31
By not being market consumers, the Amish were marginally cushioned from the extremes of the Great Depression, but being Amish or growing mint did not insulate anyone from its effects. They could eat, but if their mint did not sell, they would have no cash. No cash meant that the Amish could not pay their taxes and could be in danger of losing their farms. In turn, if their farms were lost and there was nowhere to go, then the Amish community would be in danger of failure—no separation from the world, no godly society based on the Ordnung, no salvation for the community. In fact, cash did disappear from the county, and the Amish found themselves in danger of losing their farms. The pattern of Amish life changed little, yet they were able to survive without sacrificing their principles.
The Budget did not mention the crash of 1929 at all. Optimistically, it reported in 1930 that President Herbert Hoover assured the Chamber of Commerce that the worst was behind them. By 1933, however, the newspaper itself reflected the effects of the Depression, reducing its length from eight pages to six, then four. Even so, it continued to print a few letters from Amish communities, including those in Indiana, many of which told of auctions. The LaGrange Standard adhered to its rock-ribbed Republican attitudes. In November 1931 the Standard announced that the “Depression Has Turned the Corner,” thanks to an increase in the wheat price, which precipitated an increase in stock values and kept banks from closing.32 Although the newspaper ignored the economic difficulties in the county and their human consequences, it did report that eighty-eight farms were delinquent in their tax payments in February 1931. Of these, sixty-six were to be sold by the county; twenty-nine were “redeemed” before they could be offered for sale. Of the remaining thirty-seven farms for sale, only seven sold. Thirty farms stayed on the books as being for sale, but the paper noted that the demand for farms was low.33 In hindsight, the lack of understanding by the Budget and the Standard about the seriousness of the situation is frustrating, but one must remember that they did not know how long the Depression would last. The Standard continued to back Hoover, but by 1934 (with a Democratic president in office) it commented on the seriousness of the Depression in the county.34 It pointed out that since local taxes were based on county property evaluations and the new evaluations showed a tremendous shrinkage in the tax base, there might not be enough money to pay for schooling, police and fire protection, and road upkeep.35
Actually, there was no money.36 The farmers in the area felt the first difficulties of the restrictions on the monetary supply; those with no financial cushion were the first to lose their farms.37 Cash disappeared from the county. Local stores felt pinched, and some stores that had been in existence for decades closed their doors. Farmers could not pay their taxes, and no one else could purchase their property. County employees were paid reduced (and only occasional) salaries. Banks, too, felt the distress of the county. Up through the early 1930s the local banks periodically published a modified statement of debits and credits.38 Superficially these statements looked solid; but once mortgages on homes and farms could not be repaid, banks began to close their doors. At one time LaGrange had three banks; all three were closed by 1934.39
Through the Public Works Administration (PWA), and then the Works Progress Administration (WPA), the federal government provided some much-needed cash for the unemployed in the county. The WPA hired jobless men to pave and improve roads and women to can food for the hungry and make clothes for those in need. Because the Amish did not believe in outside help, they did not participate in these programs; but Shipshewana felt the benefits of an improved economy, including a new grocery store, a filling station, and a doctor’s office.40 Farmers in the area got a windfall in 1933 and 1934, when the Agricultural Adjustment Act (AAA) program paid them a premium to reduce the planting of certain crops.41 The assumption behind the program was that farmers overproduced wheat, corn, and certain other crops. If demand were steady and the production of these crops decreased, then the price at harvest should be higher—at least enough to cover farmers’ costs. According to the first AAA agreement, farmers were to get an extra thirty cents a bushel if they would reduce acreage by 20 percent.42
LaGrange was in a better position than many. The county’s wheat crop of 1933 was exceptional. A 20 percent reduction for the following year would result in a better payment than would go to those farmers in other counties whose benchmark crops were not as strong. The only difficulty was that the biggest yields came from Amish farmers who would not participate in the program. According to most accounts, Amish farmers did not agree with the reasoning behind the premiums to be paid for acreage reduction and therefore did not participate in plans to pay for reduced plantings. How, they asked, could that make sense when they read of people going hungry in parts of the United States and when they saw with their own eyes transients being fed through local donations? Verification of nonparticipation, at least in LaGrange County, is sparse. The local paper did print a list of all those farmers who signed up for the Corn-Hog Plan in 1933.43 Under the section for Newbury Township, some surnames sound Amish, but they cannot be verified as such in any directory or reference. It is reasonable, therefore, to assume that these men were of Amish descent but no longer members of the Amish faith.
The Amish, however, agreed to participate in the Federal Land Bank Loans, another government plan, which seemed more sensible to them and posed no threat to their institutions. The delinquency in payment of taxes and the foreclosure on farms in LaGrange County has been noted earlier. Although most Amish farmers were known in the county for their excellent farming practices and frugal lifestyles, it is apparent that they needed cash as much as the non-Amish did. A letter to the Budget from an Amish farmer from Topeka indicates some of the difficulties: “Well, they say good times are just around the corner. Have been saying that for a couple of years, but we don’t know which corner.”44 The number of Amish farmers who required government loans to keep out of bankruptcy and avoid foreclosure on their farms is uncertain. The few existing records do not provide the information that one needs to know about the Amish and loans. We do know, however, that the Amish did get loans because they had to formalize their community-based mutual insurance program to meet the requirements demanded by law in order to qualify.
After the last bank in LaGrange County closed, farmers could not get loans locally. As a result, farmers had nowhere to turn other than to the Federal Land Bank of Louisville, which controlled the region. As the Standard poignantly noted, these loans were to “meet farmers’ needs of an emergency character, and in hundreds of cases this help rendered was only in time to prevent foreclosure.”45 Almost three-quarters of the loans in Indiana were to refinance debts, and the rest for purchase of land, seed, or farm equipment or repair of buildings. LaGrange County residents received more than $170,000 in the first few months of these loans.46
Each of these new federal programs imposed conditions on the farmers, which were not easy to meet. To qualify for AAA payments, a farmer had to prove how much he had planted the previous year, accurately show his yield, and demonstrate that he had actually reduced his production of wheat or corn. The same was true under the Corn-Hog Plan.47 In fact, the Corn-Hog Plan payouts were slow because too many farmers did not have the required proof. The LaGrange Standard berated local coordinators for impugning the honesty of the farmers by demanding proofs that were not easy to provide.48 In the case of the Federal Land Bank loans, each farmer had to pledge collateral: his land, tools, or crops. He also had to show that he carried some sort of insurance on his property.49
This posed a problem for the Amish, who do not approve of traditional insurance companies for two reasons. First, by carrying insurance, one showed a lack of faith that God would provide or that the community would help in time of need. Second, purchasing insurance from outsiders amounted to yoking themselves to unbelievers, a direct Biblical prohibition.50 Over the years the Amish had always come to help each other in time of need and “share one another’s burdens.”51 For instance, when a family’s barn burned down after being struck by lightning, the community raised a new barn.52 Since the Amish did not use lightning rods (nor do they do so today), it is no surprise to find the Budget full of letters referring to someone’s barn or home burning to the ground.53 Sadly, in the cases of a barn newly filled with the bountiful harvest of the season, the loss could scarcely be recouped even if the barn itself were rebuilt.54 Because of the accumulated losses over the years, sometime before 1915 the Amish wrote a document in German agreeing that they would pool their resources to help members after a loss. The agreement specified a way to make a valuation of the property so that an appropriate response could be made.55
When the opportunity came to apply for the Federal Land Bank loans, Bishop Eli J. Bontrager traveled to Louisville to explain the Amish position and ask for direction in getting loans approved. Bontrager was told that the community needed to regularize its assistance plan by writing out its intentions.56 Shortly thereafter, on 14 December 1934, representatives of Amish districts in northern Indiana and southern Michigan met at the home of Nathaniel P. Miller in Elkhart County, just across the county line from Shipshewana, and drew up “Articles of Agreement” for the Amish Aid Plan.
Farm Community Helps Neighbor Rebuild Barn. Photo courtesy the South Bend Tribune.
The plan was to cover 3,316 members in Indiana and Michigan against loss of farm property. Losses were to be repaid from the local church district at three-fourths of the valuation of the property. Valuations were made every four years by disinterested Amish from outside the district and did not cover any land in town or any “wheat, mint oil or other products held over from year to year for higher prices.” The agreement revealed that the Amish property covered in Indiana and Michigan was worth over five million dollars, a sum guaranteed to command the attention of the Federal Land Bank, especially in those years of depressed valuation.57
The particularly striking aspect of the plan is its declaration of purpose. The document states that the plan was “formulated for . . . mutual benefit . . . thereby bearing one another’s burdens.”58 At no point did it interfere with the structure of the community or with the relationship of the families to their church. In fact, the writing of the plan in this explicit manner reinforced both the autonomy of the districts and the connections of the families within each district and the districts with each other.
One might ask whether Eli Bontrager’s trip to Louisville and his calling of the meeting represented a deviation from the norm. Admittedly, Bontrager was unusual. Beginning in the 1890s he served as what was essentially a traveling bishop for western Amish colonies in such diverse places as North Dakota, Oregon, and Minnesota. He traveled so often that the Great Northern Railroad gave him a lifetime pass; railway owners apparently believed that Bontrager’s visits helped secure these very tenuous settlements by cementing ties back to Indiana.
In 1916 Bontrager returned to his childhood home near Shipshewana, but he did not stop traveling. He acted for other congregations as an arbitrator in disputes. When a Hutterite community in Lewistown, Montana, appealed to the Amish for financial help in 1937, Bontrager traveled to review the situation. Traveling to Louisville to talk with the administrators of the Federal Land Bank was not unusual for this man.59
Although the Amish community in northern Indiana benefited by having Bontrager in their midst—a man who was innovative and confident enough to work as a mediator and arbitrator both within the Amish community and with outsiders—at no time did his work change or jeopardize the beliefs and structures of the community. Bontrager always worked within Amish mores to explain the Amish position. He did not advise new avenues for compromise, but rather formalized a document already in existence. As far as Bontrager was concerned, he was not an innovator but merely the appropriate tool for the work of the time.60
Even as the Depression made it necessary for the Amish to choose how they would participate in the New Deal relief efforts without compromising their standards, another New Deal program produced new strains with their non-Amish neighbors. Until the creation of the Rural Electrification Administration (REA), farmers could only watch with dismay as their neighbors in the towns benefited from electrification. Most farmers, even those who were extremely well-to-do, read by kerosene lanterns, pumped their water by hand, heated and cooked by coal, and either stored harvested ice or had it delivered. In 1935 the New Deal administration proposed loans to utility companies to enable them to extend service to rural areas. In the past, extension of service was too expensive to contemplate because of the small return that it would offer. The idea behind the REA was that electricity would improve life on the farms, make production more efficient, and thereby stem some of the flight from the farms to the cities.61 Farmers would gain the benefits of electricity, and the county economy would profit from the subsequent purchases, as owners paid to put electric lines in their homes and barns and purchased electric appliances. For the Amish, however, electrification smacked of materialism at its worst.
In reporting on the prospects for electrification, the LaGrange Standard pressed the issue of community good, defined geographically rather than religiously. According to the plan, a certain number of farms in an area had to sign up for electric service, which included a five-dollar membership fee. If the utility companies could not get enough signatures on contracts, the lines would not be extended; therefore, a farmer who wanted electricity had to convince his neighbors to subscribe.62 The paper noted in 1936 that organizers doubted whether there would be enough signatures in Newbury and Eden Townships to qualify.63 Van Buren Township was already covered by a local utility company, so it was problematic as to whether it would qualify to join the REA. When plans were finally completed in 1938, they included more than 240 miles of electric lines covering 826 farms in the county. The paper reported that 244 farms refused to join, most of them in Newbury and Van Buren Townships, but officials remained hopeful that enough would participate so that more lines could be extended in those townships.64
If the paper was accurate in reporting that only 244 farms did not sign up with the REA, it is a close approximation to the number of Amish farms in LaGrange County at the time.65 No record exists, however, of the feelings of the non-Amish farmers, who would not receive electric service because their Amish neighbors declined. No evidence points to a backlash against the Amish, as had happened during World War I. While a farmer who lived among the Amish could expect that they were unlikely to sally forth into a new materialistic world, he could not predict how they would react in the future. He could only hope that eventually he would have access to electric power. Most of these additions to modern life—beginning with tractors, continuing to automobiles and telephones, and culminating with electricity—were recent innovations. Just because the Amish had resisted them for twenty or thirty years did not mean that they would continue to do so forever. Even among the Amish themselves, there was uncertainty as to whether some adaptation was possible while still maintaining a separate life.
The Amish preserved the division between a godly community and the world by choosing not to participate in the consumer society. This pattern of subsistence behavior, set decades earlier, should not be confused with a market economy. The Amish sold crops and geared production to market demands; but while they were significant suppliers, they were limited consumers. They would purchase land and equipment needed for the farm and basic household goods and necessities such as sugar. Whenever they could, though, they produced what they needed. This ensured an independence from the outside world and allowed them a degree of autonomy. In an article for Agricultural History, Steven Reschly and Katherine Jellison reviewed a study of consumer purchases prepared during the New Deal. This Works Progress Administration (WPA) project included the Amish in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Reschly and Jellison concluded that the limited consumer purchases of the Amish “enabled their families to maintain a relatively prosperous life on the farm.”66 LaGrange families were probably no different.
By emphasizing the contribution of Amish women to the well-being and profitability of the farm, Reschly and Jellison attempted to revise the traditional description of Amish society as based on “separate spheres.”67 In reality, among the Amish, the farm was a cooperative concern, as Reschly and Jellison point out; it is not by chance that men and women would refer to the sad loss of their life’s “partner.” Yet gender division for the roles on the farm was, and remained, the norm. The work in women’s domain reflected skill that took years to hone; often when a woman was ill or laid down in childbirth, outside female help was hired because it was needed. Men’s domain was equally skilled; plowing a straight row with a horse is by no means easy. Then as now, Amish women had true household and farming skills that added economically, culturally, and spiritually to the well-being of the household. Because the arena was separate, they maintained influence and control within that domain. Even the geographical setting on the farm was noticeably bipolar in spirit: the home and the barn. Although men helped at home and women helped in the barn, only one gender oversaw the running of each structure.
Because Reschly and Jellison assumed some subordination of Amish women and therefore negative consequences (a modern American view imposed on the Amish social structure), they wrestled with the question of why Amish women appeared content and fulfilled. They suggested that “Amish women live up to the expectations of their culture, which gives them a feeling of worth and importance.” Although the statement is true up to a point, they missed the complementary nature of gender roles in Amish society by not understanding the interrelationship of the skills and the mutual respect accorded each other.68 Understanding this relationship is important to understanding the Amish evaluation of the effects of new technology in this period on the family and the community. The Amish believed that if one purchased new technology and brought in electricity, telephones, and the newest labor-saving gadgets, the effect would be to undermine the highly respected skills of the women.69 Such new devices would be a drain on family finances, endanger the ethnic and religious boundaries so carefully constructed, and eventually subvert the delicate balance of mutual respect between the genders. Because the dignity of work was important to the well-being of the community, the carefully worded and nuanced Ordnung would be undermined. So important had the concept of order become that it was viewed as a “Zaun . . . a force against the world.”70
How long could the Ordnung be an effective force against the world? As noted earlier, schism slowly reached into the heart of Amish districts throughout the nation over this very issue. The Beachy Amish did not reach Indiana until 1940; even so, the Amish worried about the future of their identity. A decade earlier an article in the Budget referred to Amish fears of disintegration, stating that although the Amish would not have a telephone in their home, they would use one in a public place; they would not own a tractor, but they might hire one; they would not own a car, but they would ride in someone else’s. The writer missed the underlying reasons for the lines drawn in the Amish community between appropriate and inappropriate behavior. Riding in a car or talking on a telephone was not sinful; rather, pride in ownership of these items was sinful. Pride would undermine the cohesiveness of the community and encourage individual advancement. The writer did not understand the concern expressed by church leaders as to how boundaries would be drawn in the future.71 It was a continuing dilemma: Once exceptions are made, where does one stop?
The future was problematic, yet the Amish carefully adapted to advances in the modern world as a united front. As long as they could continue to define themselves as a corporate unit as opposed to the individualistic, materialistic world on the outside, they could protect their identity. This does not mean that there were not differences between the church districts as they carefully evaluated new technologies; rather, they clearly defined what was within their boundaries and what was without. They knew who they were by who they were not.