Community and the Prisoner's Dilemma

There's something about daily life in a modern metropolis that leaves many of us us feeling unsatisfied. Superficial social media interactions, long commutes, and the stifling comfort of possessions and routines cause us to neglect the essentials.

In perpetual motion between meetings, deadlines, errands, nights out, and trips to the gym, we hurry from one thing to the next, but do we really go anywhere? Or are we on a life-long treadmill of to-do lists; an endless series of tasks required just to keep things on track?

It's easy to become absorbed by individual pursuits; whether it's work, fitness, self-improvement, hobbies, or the general quest to 'get ahead', we're drawn away from real purpose or connection with others. We become scattered, spread thin, and suddenly time lurches ahead and we're left looking in the rearview mirror. Where did the time go?

We look at the screens of our phones more than the faces of people we pass each day. We're at home away from our homes, which have become landing pads and assets where we park our cars and, at some point, plan to trade to the highest bidder. A man's home is no longer his castle; it's temporary, and, like many of our arrangements, short-term. We work for, and live in, societies and economies that don't necessarily include communities.

Community is more than a game of tennis or football on the weekend, a drink or a meal with friends and an occasional weekend away. For those who feel infrequent and often insubstantial interactions to be unfulfilling, it's an issue that requires some reflection and self-examination.

The trade-off

We've gained greater self-sufficiency and personal freedom. We don't depend on our neighbours (nor they on us), and can be anonymous in the big smoke where life's necessities are waiting for us on the nearest supermarket shelves. Burgers and fast food food are at our beck-and-call and we don't even need to step outside our front doors to meet our needs. But have we simply traded the interdependence of old (and resilient) community structures for reliance upon a bigger, more impersonal, and less controllable system?

As men, we're driven to work in like-minded teams of those with similar abilities and inclinations; to hunt, gather, build, and compete (such as with sports). Not only out of necessity, but to test ourselves, establish hierarchy, and to develop life skills and virtues such as cooperation and duty. Working in teams teaches us about ourselves; we learn what we're good at and what we're capable of. We form bonds with other men through action and adversity, through shared success and resilience against failure. We're more likely to confide in those with whom we've developed respect and trust, and less likely to carry our burdens alone. But with our careers driving us toward individual goals and competition, it often feels we're further apart than ever.

But this is only one perspective. It's true that many would disagree with what seems a pessimistic assessment of the present day, and marvel at what technological and social progress have provided for us. They would argue that things are better now: that simulated interactions, stocked trolleys, dating apps, barbeques and leaf-blowers, precisely-timed intervals between work and play, and living life vicariously through screens is a refreshing change from the old days. What some feel is missing others barely miss.

Perhaps we can't have everything, and maybe the trade-off for a flat-screen is an occasional pang of isolation and loneliness?

The Prisoner's Dilemma

It seems more difficult for people to come together in pursuit of real-life community, to prioritise building something substantial with those who share our values. We seem stuck in a kind of Prisoner's Dilemma (an aspect of Game Theory), where - if we cooperate - we come out ahead, but if we remain self-interested we lose the chance for mutually beneficial outcomes.

In its simplest form, the game involves two criminals arrested and held in separate cells, unable to communicate with one another. If one betrays the other, the confessor will be set free and the other's sentence increased; if they both confess their sentences are reduced; but if they both remain silent, they both serve the minimum - seemingly the most mutually beneficial result. Should they work together or look after their own interest? Can they trust each other to remain silent, or is one better off spilling the beans first?

The Prisoner's Dilemma tells us something about ourselves: that we are inherently self-interested, at least to a large degree. This tendency is exploited by the 'police' in the dilemma to encourage a confession. We're each aware of our weaknesses, and it's easy to drive a wedge between people not able to communicate effectively or establish familiarity and trust.

How to find community

Many people desire greater engagement with a community of like-minded people, and modern lifestyles can lead us away from building something that is vital to our sense of well-being. Our freedom to fly the coop and the ease with which we can up sticks and start again somewhere else means that it's less likely that we'll be around the same people our whole lives.

We're less likely to know our neighbours at any stage of our lives than before. We're more inclined to be cynical and intolerant of those with whom we've never broken bread or shared a joke. We're less likely to reach out, to lend a hand, or to invest in relationships with people with whom we share nothing more than a temporary address or a workplace. We're around strangers more often than not, and suburban stalwarts such as street parties and garage sales are largely a thing of the past. In most cities, talking to strangers is frowned upon. For those who come from cultures where high investment in community is expected, such a culture of indifference to others can seem liberating (though I expect this is temporary for most).

So, where do we find our community? If we're unable to build community on the shifting sands of suburbia with its itinerant population, if the impersonal and transient nature of the workplace leaves us in the lurch, and if our hobbies are a hit and run affair where most people don't stick around to socialise, where do we go?

It's a difficult question, and one that - in the short-term, at least - may depend on each of us finding our own unique way to create a village.