How Structure Shapes the Distance between People and their Potential Prosperity

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“People grow closer when the forces shaping them are aligned.”

Why Scientists Study Relational Distance

One of the questions I ask myself when considering work in a new country or region is whether I have enough strong and effective connections to realize my intentions with the least possible expenditure of energy.

The first systematic efforts to understand the relational distance between individuals began in the middle of the twentieth century, at a time when the scientific worldview was shifting from a focus on isolated units to a deeper recognition of the networks that bind human life. Researchers sought to understand why people's ability to reach one another quickly or slowly influences the behavior, efficiency, and prosperity of entire societies. Earlier approaches in the social sciences had viewed individuals as independent agents whose actions could be explained primarily by personality, environment, or circumstance, yet the small world studies challenged this view by demonstrating that the structure of the relationships linking people and the length of the chains connecting them offer a far more powerful way to understand how societies function. In an effort to quantify this, Stanley Milgram and, later, Duncan Watts and Steven Strogatz, attempted to measure how many relational steps separate one person from another in large populations, and their findings opened an entirely new field of research.

Their investigations uncovered a pattern that even surprised the scientists involved. Human societies resembled densely connected networks, where any two individuals could often be linked through a short chain of acquaintances, rather than vast, sparsely connected fields where relationships fade with distance. This challenged the common belief that large populations disperse relationships so widely that no one could reliably reach another without long chains of intermediaries. The researchers called the number of steps in such a chain a separation level, a measure meant to capture relational distance. If person A knows person B directly, the distance is one separation level; if person A can only reach person C through person B, the distance increases to two levels, with each extra handoff adding to the uncertainty and potential distortion embedded in the chain. They illustrated this by asking how many steps it would take to reach someone with a needed tool, a specialized skill, or a useful connection, and even these simple questions showed how sharply difficulty rises as the number of steps grows.

The researchers considered their findings significant because they demonstrated that society is not an impenetrable web of distant individuals but a tightly interconnected network through which ideas, assistance, and opportunities can flow without centralized control. When relational distance is short, information travels more reliably, innovations spread more quickly, and individuals gain access to opportunities that would otherwise remain unreachable in systems burdened by longer and more fragile chains. They observed that when fewer steps are required to reach the right person, cooperation becomes easier, learning accelerates, and communities adapt more effectively to changing circumstances. At the same time, they noted that short distances can carry both constructive and destructive processes, meaning that proximity alone cannot guarantee prosperity unless the relationships along the pathways are oriented toward shared goals and mutual trust.

From an economic perspective, the implications were clear. Societies with shorter relational chains acquire knowledge more quickly, coordinate production with less friction, and respond to environmental or market changes with greater agility. Longer chains cause delays, distort information, and make sustaining cooperation more difficult, which weakens the ability of individuals and communities to act. The researchers presented their work not as philosophical reflection but as an empirical demonstration of how human networks operate.

Yet these studies also raised a deeper question that remains unanswered. They measured proximity but did not inquire whether the relationships filling those pathways were aligned or misaligned, cohesive or fragmented, constructive or obstructive. They revealed the shape of the network but did not explore the forces that determine whether its connections strengthen or weaken cooperation. A brief reference to the previous column is helpful here, because there we saw that Mission, Vision, Values, and Purpose act as the binding forces that shape the meaning of relationships, while story functions as the meta-structure that unifies these forces and guides their direction. These forces influence how much energy individuals must invest in each relational step, and they frame the question explored in this column, namely how structural alignment turns proximity into capability or allows it to deteriorate into friction.

Once we understand that relational distance is influenced not only by the number of steps but also by the energy needed to activate them, we can see why communities that are physically close often vary greatly in their ability to coordinate, adapt, and thrive.

When Distance Becomes Friction

Scientific studies show that separation levels determine the number of relational steps a message must travel before reaching its destination, yet the meaning of this distance becomes clearer when we examine how it shapes the lived experience of individuals who depend on cooperation to complete their daily tasks.

Physical proximity does not guarantee structural proximity, because the ease of reaching someone depends less on geography than on the structure that carries the relationship. Individuals often interpret difficulty as a personal limitation, a lack of talent, or a failure of effort. Yet, the true source of difficulty frequently lies in the length and composition of the relational chain that separates them from the person capable of addressing the issue. This pattern grows stronger in modern societies where large-scale coordination has become essential to economic and social life and where every additional step in the chain increases the burden on the individual who must navigate it.

This friction is practical and measurable rather than abstract. Each separation level introduces another handoff that increases the likelihood of delay, error, or misunderstanding. For the scientist, these are statistical properties of networks, but for the individual, they directly affect the speed, cost, and confidence with which an action can be taken. A person who must reach someone only one or two separation levels away often finds cooperation natural and intuitive because the path is short, the intentions are clear, and the chance of alignment is high. As relational distance widens, the effort needed to keep the chain alive also grows, requiring the individual to spend more time convincing unfamiliar people to assist, explaining the situation repeatedly, and hoping that the message remains clear as it passes through hands that do not share the same urgency or context. The difference between an easy path and a difficult one is not only in the number of steps but also in whether the individuals along the way are supported by aligned structures that reduce the energy required for cooperation.

The consequences of these dynamics are seen in everyday life. A worker trying to fix a technical problem may succeed within minutes if the relevant specialist is just one step away, but may struggle for days if the process involves several intermediaries who don't share the same incentives or priorities. A resident seeking a response from the city or a parent trying to contact a school administrator faces the same pattern because each additional step adds uncertainty and requires renewed emotional effort. The overall frustration grows because each person in the chain must be convinced individually, which forces the person to spend more attention and confidence without any guarantee that the next step will succeed. These experiences reveal a broader principle that the scientific studies have shown. As levels of separation increase, the reliability of coordination decreases, the time needed to complete tasks goes up, and the emotional burden on the individual grows because each handoff introduces ambiguity and may require restarting the process from scratch.

These observations demonstrate that friction does not increase gradually but multiplies, because each additional step amplifies the uncertainty, effort, and emotional strain needed to complete even simple tasks. A chain that extends beyond one or two steps often imposes demands that exceed the available time, energy, and financial capacity of individuals, particularly those with limited means. Over time, this friction becomes a limiting factor that influences opportunities more than personal intention or ability. The small world studies therefore reveal why relational distance is important, but they also show that distance alone cannot explain why some communities thrive while others struggle. To understand why similar levels of proximity lead to different outcomes, we need to analyze how relational distance interacts with structural design, because only through this interplay can we understand how closeness sometimes becomes capability, while at other times it remains unrealized potential.

This recognition helps explain why communities that are similar physical proximity can nevertheless diverge in their prosperity outcomes, as structural alignment determines whether proximity becomes a source of support or friction. Once we understand this, we can look at communities that lived with the same physical closeness but followed very different paths, because the key difference is not where people are but the structural forces that shape how they connect and what motivates their cooperation.

Why Not All Closeness Is Equal

When I met with Chen Vardi, the grandson of Yossef and Hayuta Bussel, two of the founders of the first Kibbutz, Degania, I asked a question that had accompanied me since my earliest reflections and had grown sharper once I understood that friction is shaped by structure rather than by physical proximity. I asked him why Degania succeeded almost immediately, while Kinneret Farm, where the same pioneers had worked only months earlier, was unable to form an aligned structure capable of sustaining cooperation and eventually dissolved. The surrounding villages faced a similar difficulty. They contained the same hardworking individuals, lived in the same physical proximity, and carried the same aspirations, yet none of them developed the coherence, capability, durability, or prosperity that Degania displayed from its earliest days. Chen’s first explanation echoed a familiar narrative that perhaps the Degania members had been more ideological or more motivated. When I asked whether his grandparents and their peers had been any less committed when they worked at Kinneret Farm or in the earlier villages, he paused, reflected, and eventually admitted that their qualities and efforts had been the same in every setting. This recognition exposed the central puzzle. If the people, their effort, their skills, and their circumstances were the same, then the difference must lie in the structure that shaped their relationships.

To understand this difference, we must build on the insight introduced in the previous column, namely that Mission, Vision, Values, and Purpose act as the binding forces that determine how much energy individuals must invest in each relational step, while story serves as the meta-structure that unifies these forces and gives them direction. Relational proximity alone does not tell us enough; we also need to consider the structural context within which cooperation takes place, because the meaning of a one-step connection within a coherent structure differs entirely from that of a one-step connection across fragmented or weakly aligned systems.

In practice, there are at least three distinct types of one-step proximity. The first exists within a tightly aligned team, where shared responsibilities, daily familiarity, and a common purpose make cooperation nearly frictionless, as within a well-functioning work team. The second exists within the broader organization or community, where cooperation remains relatively easy because individuals operate within shared norms, accepted obligations, and aligned interests, as within a well-designed company or a cohesive village. The third exists across structures, where a one-step connection may appear physically close yet requires negotiation, financial cost, and significant emotional effort because the relationship is not supported by a shared mission or a binding communal frame, as happens between colleagues from different companies or between neighbors who do not share institutional alignment. These three forms of proximity behave like different currencies of connection, because a one-step relationship inside a coherent structure carries far greater cooperative power than a one-step relationship that crosses a structural boundary. The true meaning of distance is therefore determined not by the number of steps but by the degree of alignment among the forces that shape the individuals on either side of the connection.

During my years working in the Kibbutz orchards, I encountered these differences daily. Everyone I needed to reach within my immediate team was just one step away, and because our roles and responsibilities were interdependent, cooperation required almost no explanation or justification. Many of my remaining one-step connections were within the Kibbutz itself, and although these individuals were outside my direct team, cooperation still had low friction because we shared the same communal structure with shared obligations and aligned incentives. Only a small minority of my one-step connections were outside the Kibbutz, such as governmental advisors or commercial service providers, and although these relationships were technically as close as the others, they required much more time, emotional effort, negotiation, and often financial cost, because the incentives were not aligned and the relationship lacked a shared purpose. These experiences showed that proximity becomes meaningful only when the surrounding structure decreases rather than increases the energy required for cooperation.

These distinctions sharpen further when we examine how different human structures distribute the energy required for cooperation. Traditional villages placed most of their one-step connections outside the family, which meant that the majority of their relational proximity carried the highest energy cost. Physical closeness offered little advantage because the structure did not support sustained cooperation. Kinneret Farm faced the same limitations. Although its members worked in the same physical space, most interactions required crossing structural boundaries that carried weak or inconsistent alignment, such as those with the chief agronomist, who was also the farm and work manager and was disliked by the workers. In such a setting, each connection imposed a relational burden that drained the limited energy of individuals who were already working under extreme climatic and livelihood conditions. Degania, by contrast, created a structure in which most one-step connections existed within a unified communal frame supported by strong alignment. This structure reduced the energy cost of each connection and enabled the community to convert proximity into capability at remarkable speed.

Figure: Solonist farmers must negotiate externally for nearly all essential export-related functions, which include all activities from planting to the supermarket shelf. LLC farmers rely partly on internal support. Kibbutz farmers rely almost entirely on first-degree, internal relationships, which greatly reduces the energy cost of reaching export markets.

The table below integrates these insights by showing how the binding forces, structural range, and cooperation cost interact across different types of human structures.

Binding Forces, Structural Range, and Cooperation Cost Across Human Structures:

This table demonstrates why two communities can share identical physical proximity yet experience entirely different outcomes. The structure surrounding a relationship determines not only how close two people are but also how much energy they must expend to activate that closeness. Traditional villages concentrated their relational strength inside the family while leaving most cooperative pathways unsupported, which meant that nearly all economically meaningful connections required high energy to activate. Kinneret Farm suffered from the same limitations. Degania succeeded because it created an environment in which the majority of relational steps fell within a unified, strongly aligned structure that carried much of the relational burden for its members. Once we recognize that structural context determines the meaning of proximity, it becomes clear why similar people, living in similar circumstances, can produce such different outcomes when the architecture of their relationships differs so profoundly.

How Structure Turns Distance into Capability

The distinction between types of relational proximity becomes clearer when we consider the daily reality of the solonist farmer, because this setting reveals with unusual clarity the immense energy required to activate cooperation within a structure that cannot support it. A solonist farmer may live among many other people, yet almost all of his one-step connections lie outside his primary structure, which is the family. Even relationships that appear physically close, such as those within the same village, require negotiation, emotional effort, and financial cost because each interaction crosses a structural boundary that lacks the alignment needed to sustain cooperation. Every step the solonist takes must therefore be powered by personal energy, because the surrounding system cannot carry any part of the relational load. This turns even simple tasks into demanding, exhausting, and frequently unpredictable processes.

This burden becomes more visible once we recognize that farming depends on constant access to knowledge, tools, labor, and timely decision-making. Each time a solonist farmer must repair equipment, seek technical guidance, arrange transport, or secure a service, he must identify the relevant person, persuade him to come, negotiate a price, and wait for availability. The physical distance may be small, yet the structural distance is long and costly because the pathway does not rest on shared norms, aligned obligations, or compatible incentives. The farmer must therefore carry the full relational cost of every interaction, and each unsuccessful attempt drains emotional, cognitive, financial, and temporal resources.

These forms of energy must be understood as a single operational reserve because the depletion of any one weakens the others and narrows the individual’s capacity for action. As these reserves diminish, the range of viable responses contracts. He must conserve the limited energy he has, avoid opportunities that require external coordination, and rely primarily on family labor, which limits his ability to innovate, adapt, or reach opportunities beyond his immediate surroundings.

Independent artisans experience a similar pattern because they also operate within structures where cooperation is predominantly external and where nearly every productive step requires bridging systems that do not share their incentives or support their goals. In contrast, members of well-designed companies, such as LLCs or cohesive communities, such as the Kibbutz, benefit from an entirely different environment. Within such structures, even a second or third relational step may require less energy than a single step across independent systems, because the structure itself carries part of the relational load through shared expectations, aligned interests, predictable responses, and responsibilities that reinforce one another. The probability of cooperation increases not because individuals exert more effort but because the surrounding system sustains the connections on which they rely.

This logic highlights a broader design principle for modern companies, cooperatives, and community-based organizations, because any structure that reduces the relational energy required to reach expertise, inputs, or markets performs in human systems the same essential function that enzymes perform in biological ones. An enzyme lowers the activation energy required for a reaction to occur, and a well-designed organizational structure lowers the relational energy required for individuals to act, coordinate, and achieve their goals. This dynamic reflects what I call the Proximity Principle, the condition in which a structure provides abundant first-degree connections at low energetic cost, thereby enabling its members to accumulate capability across time. When a system provides stable pathways, aligned incentives, and predictable forms of cooperation, it expands the range of what solonists, artisans, and other independent actors can accomplish by giving them access to relationships that share the burden they could not carry alone. The challenge is therefore not to demand more of individuals but to create environments that reduce the energy cost of cooperation so that capability can grow in a sustained and compounding manner.

During my years working in the Kibbutz orchards, I experienced the Proximity Principle directly, because nearly all my one-step connections were embedded within a coherent structure that made cooperation part of the environment rather than a repeated negotiation. Even second- and third-level separations remained easy to bridge because the structure provided predictable pathways and shared norms that reduced the energy required for coordination. I did not need to justify my requests or navigate uncertain motives because the incentive system aligned individual needs with the interests of the community. Most of my energy could therefore be invested in productive work rather than in the relational effort required to reach others. The key difference lay not in who I was but in the system that surrounded me, because the structure converted proximity into capability by lowering the cost of every relational step.

The ethical implications of this difference are substantial. Systems that lower the energy required for cooperation enable individuals, including the many with limited financial or emotional resources, to retain dignity and agency because the structure bears part of the relational burden. Systems that increase this cost force individuals to expend their limited reserves on maintaining relationships rather than on developing their abilities. These dynamics influence whether prosperity grows or stagnates, because capability can expand only when individuals devote their energy to productive activity rather than to the friction required to coordinate with others. This is why organizational structures can be understood through the energy they demand of their members. Some structures increase relational distance and push individuals into a cycle of high effort and low return, while others reduce this distance by making it easy for people to reach one another with little energy and few steps. In systems that lower this relational cost, individuals can accumulate capability across time because the structure carries part of the burden that would otherwise overwhelm them.

These patterns help explain why two individuals who possess the same motivation, intelligence, and work ethic can nevertheless experience sharply diverging economic trajectories. A solonist farmer must allocate a large portion of his limited energy to maintaining the relationships that make even the simplest tasks possible. When coordination breaks down, when negotiation drains his emotional capacity, and when delays force him to miss critical agricultural windows, he bears the cost each time. His environment converts relational distance into an expanding economic burden that grows heavier with each passing season. Kibbutz farmers (or any of its members), by contrast, operate within a different structural reality because they work inside a system that reduces the relational cost of each step and transforms proximity into capability. When he needs expertise, equipment, labor, or guidance, he accesses these through pathways supported by shared norms and aligned incentives. Each successful interaction reinforces the next, and capability grows through a cumulative process unavailable to individuals who must carry the relational load alone. The structure, not the individual, becomes the decisive factor shaping long-term outcomes.

Modern organizations reflect the same principle at scale because independent artisans or small business owners must manage every relational step themselves across systems that do not share their incentives or obligations, and the cumulative cost limits their growth. Members of well-designed companies operate at a higher level of capability because the structure reduces friction by aligning Mission, Vision, Values, and Purpose, and by creating internal pathways through which information, responsibility, and support can move at low relational cost. Again, the system surrounding the individual, rather than the individual alone, determines the level of capability that can be achieved.

Viewed through the Universal Law of Increasing Complexity, these patterns become predictable rather than surprising. Complexity grows when a structure reduces the energy required for individuals to coordinate across more units, because only then can a community move beyond isolated efforts and achieve higher levels of collective action. Structures that align Mission, Vision, Values, and Purpose create conditions where larger groups can act more coherently, as the system absorbs part of the coordination load that individuals cannot carry alone. When alignment is strong, the structure turns proximity into capability. When alignment is weak, that same proximity becomes friction.

This understanding explains why communities, organizations, and nations often end up with different results despite appearing similar from the outside. A one-step connection within a coherent structure can unlock capability because the system reduces the relational energy required for cooperation, while a one-step connection across fragmented structures can impose a burden that exceeds the individual’s available resources. A second or third step inside an aligned system may remain manageable because the structure shares the effort, while even a single step outside such a system may become too costly because the individual must bear the full burden alone.

The deeper transformation occurs when a structure does more than lower the cost of each step. A well-designed structure reorganizes the relational landscape so that pathways once requiring second- or third-degree access become first-degree proximity. This does not change the geography but the architecture of cooperation. When most of the connections a person relies on become first-degree, supported by shared norms, predictable responses, and aligned incentives, cooperation becomes easier, quicker, and far less costly. Modern companies do this for their employees, and the Kibbutz did this for its farmers, because both constructed dense networks of low-energy, high-support relationships that individuals can activate immediately.

The meaning of distance, therefore, depends not on physical proximity but on the level of structural alignment that transforms distant, high-cost coordination into immediate, low-cost collaboration. Once we understand that relational distance functions as an energy equation rather than a spatial one, it becomes clear why misaligned systems drain individuals while aligned systems enable them to advance.

This logic leads to a simple and powerful conclusion. Human prosperity depends not only on the abilities of individuals but also on the design of the structures that connect them. When structures reduce the energy cost of cooperation, relational distance diminishes and individuals can transform proximity into capability. When structures fail to do so, even the simplest forms of coordination become burdensome, and prosperity recedes. The path toward sustained economic and social progress, therefore, lies in designing systems that minimize relational friction, align the forces shaping human action, and allow individuals to invest their energy in meaningful work rather than in the effort required to reach one another.

When we create structures that reduce relational distance and align the forces shaping human relationships, we do more than improve cooperation. We transform the developmental potential of entire communities and organizations. Proximity becomes the foundation for capability, capability becomes the basis for greater complexity, and complexity becomes the engine that increase prosperity across time. The design of our structures, therefore, governs not only our individual achievements but also the horizons of what we can accomplish together.

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Nimrod 

Dr. Nimrod Israely is the CEO and Founder of Dream Valley and Biofeed companies and the Co-founder of the IBMA conference. +972-54-2523425 (WhatsApp), or email nisraely@biofeed.co.il

P.S.

If you missed it, here is a link to last week's blog, “Why Organizations Can’t Last Without a Story“.

P.P.S.

Here are ways we can work together to help your agro sector and rural communities step forward and shift from poverty into ongoing prosperity:

* Nova Kibbutz and consultancy on rural communities' models.

* Local & National programs related to agro-produce export models - Dream Valley global vertical value and supply chain business model and concept connects (a) input suppliers with farmers in developing economies and (b) those farmers with consumers in premium markets.

* Crop protection: Biofeed, an eco-friendly zero-spray control technology and protocol.

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*This article addresses general phenomena. The mention of a country/continent is used for illustration purposes only.