The Social Organism

A little while ago, I got to attend a week-long gathering with some people who have been meeting like this for over 50 years. It now includes a variety of friends who, like me, have been added here and there along the way, as well as their adult kids--some of whom are twice as old as they were when they started this thing.

It was a funny thing to drop into a group of friends who have known each other for so long. Like any good introvert, I approached the week with a bit of trepidation. How would it feel to be the one who didn’t share any of this long history? Would I end up on the periphery while everyone else told oft-repeated stories about the good old days?

As it turns out, I shouldn’t have worried. Everyone welcomed me warmly with open arms, and they seemed to have told the old stories often enough that they weren’t that interested in repeating them--or perhaps they can just transmit them via telepathy by now.

I sensed something else, though. Living among them for a week, I felt included in the web that connected them, supported by strands that had been woven and rewoven over half a century. Their comfort and sense of safety with one another enveloped and included me, regardless of my connection to any of them as individuals. I realized that this was the unit of human gathering that we evolved to create: the extended family, the tribal band, the small village. It made so much more sense than a nuclear family, a city, or a nation-state. It felt strong and resilient, and flexible enough to take in a new member without missing a beat.

The whole experience gave me a visceral reminder of what it means to be a social animal. It goes beyond our longing to be connected and to band together. Its essence is our ability to form a collective unit that’s far more powerful than any of us as individuals, and that lives, breathes and functions as an organism itself, with a meaningful life of its own.