A few years ago, I noticed a student in trouble. He had started the quarter active and lively, often engaging me with thoughtful questions. However, about halfway through, he began to skip classes. When I inquired, he confided that he was battling depression and struggling to stay afloat, yet still failing in all his courses. He revealed that he was from a Vietnamese immigrant family. New to our small town, he had no friends and couldn’t escape the acute feelings of loneliness and isolation.

I advised he continue with his current treatment and encouraged him to consider taking some time off. Perhaps, I suggested, spending time with friends and relatives back home might help. A few days later, the registrar sent me an email, informing me that he had dropped the class, and I didn’t hear from him—until a year later.

He unexpectedly dropped by my office. “I’m back, Dr. Sun.” Fresh and happy, he showed no signs of the depression that had weighed him down before. He told me he had taken my hint and stayed with his friends and family in Seattle.

“Please don’t thank me,” I told him, feeling a deep sense of joy for his recovery. “Thank my monkeys, instead.” I was referring to the Tibetan macaque that we—my students Gregory Fratellone, Amanda Rowe, Rose Amrhein, Debby Lewis; and colleagues Jinhua Li, Dongpo Xia, Xi Wang—have studied for decades.

I wasn’t joking, though. I gained many insights about the importance of social networks from studying these macaques. They spend most of their waking hours grooming each other, massaging their relationships. This is especially true for females, who form the core of their society (1). As a result, the more females in a group, the faster they arrive at decisions for group movement, essential for finding food, seeking safety, and defending against invasions (2).

In probing how they........

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