For most of human history, community simply meant the people you live around. When we speak of the “black” or “gay” or even “scientific” community today, we do not necessarily think in terms of physical proximity or common resources. Usually we think more in terms of things like political objectives, ideological positions, art forms and manners of speech (professional lingo, “slang”, etc.). As our idea of community becomes more abstract, we may come to feel more sense of connection with people a thousand miles away, who listen to the same music, visit the same web sites or vote for the same candidates, than we do with people who live right next door or even in the same house.
That this is an effect of social and
geographic mobility as well as the role of media in most of our
lives is obvious. That many of us feel alienated and alone, even
though we may know intellectually, that there may be millions of
other people who think and feel as we do, speaks to a lack of deep,
intimate relationships with other human beings. Why are such
relationships so hard for so many of us to establish? I think there
are two reasons.
The first is that we do not understand
why we need one another. In
her commentary on the 37th chapter of the I Ching, LiSe Heyboer
writes:
The
foundation of a family is economic. Not blood-ties, not love, not
sense of duty. All these things can only come to life because there
is a foundation and so the family is a family. Love is not strong
enough to keep them together. But the pig they raise together, the
farm they run, the skills they all bring in.
When surviving is tough, families are strong. When people adhere to a conviction or master, the disciples become a strong community together. When an enemy threatens, people become fervent nationalists. Always when people need each other to survive, they become families.
When surviving is tough, families are strong. When people adhere to a conviction or master, the disciples become a strong community together. When an enemy threatens, people become fervent nationalists. Always when people need each other to survive, they become families.
We are not as
strong as bears or even ants. We are not as fast nor as fierce as
lions. We do not have the visual acuity of eagles, the hearing of
bats nor the olfactory sense of any canine. We do however posses one
capacity in great abundance-language. This does for us what
strength, speed and keenness of the senses does for other
creatures-it confers a survival advantage, an advantage predicated on
being with others.
The
second reason we find it hard to form true community is that, for
most of us, survival is not tough.
We all have problems but very few of these are life threatening. If
you are reading this, you already posses the capacity to solve many
problems with no direct human aid. You can fix your car, do your
taxes, diagnose an illness, bake a cake or answer nearly any question
with a few key strokes. If you are reading this, there is a pretty
good chance that you are indoors (when you need to be), that you have
utilities connected to your shelter and some means to pay for all of
this. You are, in a word connected.
What
you are connected to is a system of institutions and devices which
make it possible to meet your basic-and not so basic needs. These
institutions and devices, although built by other people, function
more or less autonomously. These were built for the purpose of
making it possible to survive and even thrive without needing direct
connections with other people. This makes it possible for most of us
to live in a manner that suits us with little consideration or even
thought about what those around us need. In the developed world,
even the poorest people have access to clean, running water, hot or
cold, to food, climate control on demand, to medical care,
transportation, education and entertainment. If we stay fairly
within the law and fill out the proper forms we can have these things
without making any earnest commitment to other people.
The
only common problem we
seem to have is that we feel isolated-we feel this way because we
are. Yet because we
do not seem to need others, nothing compels us to resolve this
problem. Because we sense no immediate threat, we can not even
decide what is important. Our capacity for language developed in a
context of shared peril. We could say, for example, “look, there
is a leopard over there, run this way” or “this fruit tastes
good, lets gather a bunch of them” or “this herb is good for the
stomach” or “by setting these poles up like this, and covering
them with this, you can have shelter even with no caves or trees
around”. In all such cases, we are talking about things that
present threats and benefits that can best be avoided or exploited
through common effort. Those who were best able to recognize threats
and benefits won the respect and loyalty of others. Further, threats
and benefits were immediate and obvious to most everyone. In our
time, we hear much talk of threats and benefits, but these are, for
the most part, neither immediate nor obvious. Because of this, we
can neither agree on what is important nor how to address it.
If you were a
Plains Indian in the 12th century, no one would
have to make a case for the importance, even sacredness of buffalo.
Buffalo provided meat, clothing, shelter and tools. Because they
served so many of your needs so well you would have naturally assumed
that they were the gift of some divine spirit. Since everyone would
have had the same relationship to the buffalo, anything said of them
would strike you as credible, from the best way to track them to the
sacredness of their nature. The benefits derived from them and
threat of their absence would have presented a real basis for
accepting the lore surrounding them.
There is little in
our culture that holds such a tangible claim to our allegiance as the
buffalo did for Plains Indians. And yet, millions of years of
evolution has convinced us, through experience condensed into legend
and through the more homely fact of our continued presence here, that
there must be something which could fill that role. Nor do we
experience any real and immediate threat. Most of us have never even
seen a dangerous predator. Our houses keep and climate control
systems keep us from weather. Even our “enemies” are safely over
seas or locked securely in “ghettos” urban or rural. A lack of
immediate and obvious threats and benefits leaves a mind, evolved to
seek and identify these, with little to do but invent them.
Some see a God to
placate and a Devil to resist. Some find their mana in an
ideological position and their “boogie man” in those who oppose
this position. Some foods are thought to confer vibrant health while
others are little more than deadly poisons. We choose these objects
of veneration and derision to give our lives coordinates, the kind of
coordinates provided by buffalo and wolves, fair weather and foul.
But very seldom do such objects present themselves with the visceral
certainty of benefit or detriment that allows us to make firm
commitments. We substitute certainty with a brittle militancy or
vacillation between what is worthy or unworthy. We find it difficult
to arrive at the peaceful resolve which allows us to confidently
marshal our inner resources. Without such resolve it is, of course,
difficult to impossible to marshal our collective resource.
And this, I think,
is why it is hard to build real, face to face human community, why it
is difficult to even keep a family together. It is not that we have
forgotten how to love. It is that we have no idea what to
love. We do not know what we should direct our energies to and so
can not agree. We lack the need-the intuitively obvious value- that
makes people a family. Survival is not tough, convictions and
masters are another market commodity and real enemies are as difficult
to come by as real friends. Until people can agree on what deserves
their commitment they will find it difficult to commit themselves to
one another.