There are many ways of thinking about the community. To most of us the word conjures up an image of a place where people live. Big places, little places, cluttered and clean, streets and houses, stores, churches, factories and farms. If we think about it for a minute, though, it's not the place or even the things there that count. It's the people, as they "live and move and have their being." First of all, they have their own way of living, a way which they share. A visitor from another country might not catch it, but the difference is there. Even in the tone of everyday living, each community is a little different. Today it is less so than it was once, but the difference is still real. The difference doesn't really strike you, though, until you get away from every day life and think about how the people pull together, or apart, when there is a big issue or drive or problem. Some communities seem to go to pieces. A few people try, but nothing works. "Folks just don't seem to care." Other communities hit it big on bringing in industries or improving the schools, but they fall down on providing opportunities for the poor or caring for the mentally ill. A few communities have sustained growth and development across the board. Why the big differences at this level, even among communities of similar size with similar resources and problems? This is the level of the community that I want to discuss.
This level is known technically, thanks to our mutual friend Harold Kaufman, as the interactional community or the community field. I have heard building one described as like making a spoke wheel for an old-fashioned wagon. The trick is to get all the spokes together so the rim will fit and the wheel will roll smoothly. If some are too long or short or if some are broken or missing, the ride will be bumpy and maybe even dangerous. Now with a wagon wheel you can make it work, given the materials, tools, know-how and time. But with a community . . . that's something else again. There you have to contend with people and their wishes and ideas. And they have to contend with one another. Out of the mix comes a spirit, a structure, a community that character of which only partly resembles anybody's plan or prediction.
I should like to be able to tell you that after years of study we sociologists have the community pretty well figured out, that we know what it is and why, and that if you will listen to us we'll tell you how to fix yours. But I can't tell you that because it is not true. We have facts and figures and some ideas about what they mean. Some of us have strong opinions, but no one has the last word. And no one will. The community is a dynamic, constantly changing, constantly emerging, and highly elusive object of study -- even more so I suspect than the human individual, who at least has a biological core to give some order and direction to his existence. The biological principles simply do no hold when one goes beyond the individual to consider the social unit formed by the interactions of individuals. And yet despite the variability, this social unit which we call the community appears to have order and meaning, an order and meaning of its own. It has structure amid change and emergence, and this fact provides the sociology of community with its challenge.
In seeking to understand the community, sociologists have used quite a few concepts and propositions. One concept, that of the social system, has become very popular among sociologists. Those who use the term system in studying the community mean by it pretty much what is meant by it in biology and physics. The idea is that the parts of a system are interdependent, that changes in one part will by necessity be reflected in changes in all other parts. We are accustomed to thinking of the human body as a system, so why not the community? It's made up of bodies, isn't it? This idea has strong appeal. We could explain a lot about a community if we could think of it as a system. In fact, that would be a very neat scheme. No loose ends. The only problem with this idea is that it is fundamentally wrong. The error is this: a system by definition has an inherent maintenance tendency. That's what holds it together. Take away this principle of self-regulation or balance, and you no longer have a system. Human bodies have this. So do electrical machines, such as computers. So why not communities? Its part are bodies all right, but are those bodies held together by natural bonds, and is there a natural tendency or instinct for those bodies to work together toward harmony and betterment of the whole? We may have thought so once, but the evidence to the contrary is simply too great to be ignored.
If a community is not a system, what accounts for its structure and unity? The answer may seem corny and unsophisticated, but I believe it to be true. Whatever structure or unity a community has results primarily from the interaction of the wishes and commitments of men. This is to argue that community exists because people wish it to exist and work together to build it. It may not turn out the way any given person or group wants it to, but that is because there is interaction involved. It may not even turn out to suit anybody. That's because there's a bit of change or fate involved. But the role of man's will, especially the collective wills of cooperating men, cannot be discounted.
Why do men wish to build a community? Why are they willing to work together to do so if they are not obliged to do so because of their nature? They have been doing so for a long time. Anthropologists tell us that the earliest social units were the nuclear family and the band. The band was a roving community. When it settled down to cultivate the land, the geographic community was begun. Throughout history most men have lived in clusters which we could call communities. Today most of the world's population is to be found not in metropolitan agglomerates nor in the open country, but in small villages or communities. In Mississippi an overwhelming proportion of the population lives in town and country trade area communities. What basic needs are met through living in a community?
While many specific needs may be listed, there are two basic categories relevant to community. These are bound up in the very nature of human existence. A psychologist-theologian, David Bakan, has termed these the agency and communion aspects of human existence. The former has to do with fulfilling the individual's desires, accomplishing tasks, maintaining a positive self-image and the like. The latter has to do with establishing viable relationships among men. Psychological theory from Freud on has emphasized man's dual nature, on the one hand, taking, on the other giving; on the one hand drawing in, on the other reaching out. Sociologists have dealt with this duality in a number of ways. In small group studies we read of task-oriented and social-emotional behavior, in organization studies of productivity and cohesiveness or morale. In each case there is a distinction between getting the job done and getting along with people.
The getting-the-job-done reason for forming a community is easy to see. Man needs and wants certain things that he cannot get by himself. So he joins with others who also want those things or who want some other things which he can help them get, and together they get at it. Community in this way is an instrument or tool for meeting needs which cannot be met by singular workers. This is an instrumental reason for community. Man is willing to give up a lot in the way of personal autonomy and sometimes integrity to get the help of others in providing him his mammon.
