In many ways, it fills roles missing in modern life. Many of the concepts it embodies -- an arduous shared experience, a festival, a mythic journey, a deeply connected and engaged community (across multiple orders of magnitude) -- are shared traits that have existed across many cultures, and can be found by the right seeker on playa. They're also traits that are increasingly being lost in atomized, globalized culture.

The fundamental unit of organization is the 'camp', which is a purpose-driven group of people who live together for the duration of the event. They come in all shapes and sizes, some dedicated to building massive, elaborate sculptures, some to delivering letters, some to running (free) bars, some to building the roads.

Regardless of purpose though, the people making up a camp have to survive together in a very extreme environment - massive temperature fluctuations, huge wind loads, ultra-fine dust, no water, 0% humidity, scorching UV, bad or no cell phone coverage, etc. This is a serious challenge that requires communal effort on difficult (and enjoyable, to some) challenges, from engineering wind resistant, quickly-deployable temporary structures, to managing hundreds of gallons of water supplies, or setting up a temporary electrical grid.

This collaborative problem solving, and on problems of survival, no less, engenders community in a powerful, likely genetic way. People form deep connections. And it also drives growth in people who are forced to adapt to environments they'd never experienced before.

That's all infrastructure though, (nominally) to support the payload of event, which is the playa. Among other things, an enormous, open air gallery, and ideal canvas for some of the most cutting edge art in the world. Sometimes literally -- due to the extensive waiver you grant when you buy the ticket, things there can be dangerous in a way you'd never experience in a corporate-controlled environment[1].

Enormous, climbable art pieces, spinning metal platforms, towering infernos, a tradition of light art that has grown all the way to the Bay Bridge. Sudden, inexplicable interactive performance art, a symphony orchestra, and probably the largest gathering of fire spinners in the world. Creating, and appreciating these pieces is the real kernel of the community. Appreciating inspires new creating. People learn to weld, to solder, to dance, to use CNC tools, to 3D design, to sew. They use skills they already have and never got to use in such a context - fixing an old truck for a mutant vehicle platform, writing a simulator for their LED code.

People pour hours of work (not to mention their love, and money) into the art and the camps supporting it. Finally after months, if not years of work driven by nothing more than a desire to see it done, everything comes together for a riotous, joyful week. People have fun. They appreciate each others art, and bask in the pride of their own successful creations. They talk shop, and commiserate the failures. They get drunk, for free, on other people's alcohol.

This is not to say that everyone's experience is like this. Lots of people have very valid bad experiences. In a population now encompassing of hundreds of thousands, it's hard to avoid. And it's certainly not for everyone. If your festival is Oktoberfest, or your community is your church, or your mythic journey is your startup, that's fine and good. But the people who have good experiences often have them like this.

There is, of course, lots of writing on this subject. Dustin Moskovitz has a fun blog post about it, and there have been several books.

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[1]: Maybe too dangerous - there is deep and ongoing pain in the community over the man who managed to kill himself on Burn night last year.