On the ending of friendships

I am reading a book of articles by the Spanish novelist Javier Marías. These are occasional pieces that were penned for a newspaper in Spain, translated now into English as Between Eternities and Other Writings. I have read several of his novels and am very impressed with his craftsmanship, if, at the same time, the stories leave me cold. From the articles, I get the feeling that he is person who doesn't like b.s. and  who sees through political correctness and the various vanities of our age. At the same time, he belongs to the species of European secular liberal who disdains religion and conservatism.

One of the articles, "Old Friends," has given me much to think about. He begins by mentioning how, over time, one loses touch with people with whom one was once evidently close, say, during one's youth. (In a related piece, he writes of "the ghosts" in his 30-year-old address book, for instance, names whose faces he cannot recall or who have since died.) He alludes to the reason for losing touch by mentioning that those earlier friendships were marked by the idealistic and combative stance of university students and that, in time, some of the same idealists now defend attitudes and people that they loathed thirty years earlier. The loss is thus the result of "disenchantment, quarrels, betrayals."

While he insists that he is not against people "changing and adapting and modifying and coming to see things differently," he finds that there are "limits that 'converts' fail to respect, a long path that needs to be traveled." "Sudden transformations are unacceptable," occurring as if by magic or overnight.

Since I came of age in the early 1970s, attending graduate school at the University of Texas with lots of idealistic and combative folks, I have had plenty of experience with people who, in my view, are stuck in the same combative and idealistic frame of mind as they were in the 1970s. They are people who would call me conservative, in fact have accused me of "becoming conservative." I would have to say, however, that my attitudes today are no different from what they were in the 1970s.

It just so happened that in 1975 I went to live in Japan for several years. On my return an enormous shift in cultural and social norms had taken place, and my friends from the pre-1970 days simply went along with this shift, accepting every hair-brained idea that has come down the turnpike, resulting in an ever widening extremity of social and cultural attitudes. Very few people in the early 1970s, for instance, talked about "dead white males." Very few even thought about "transgender rights." Or homosexual marriage. Since the 1970s there has been a continuous pushing back against limits, and anyone who objects is characterized as "bigoted." The idealists of my generation have simply marched in time and in tune, enlarging their identity. Had I not been away from the U.S. for several years, I might have become "progressive" myself. In contrast, my attitudes remain the same as they were back then. I have not "evolved."

Moreover, I don't have a problem maintaining friendships with people with different political views. Some former friends have dropped me, but I continue to like those with whom I am still in contact for personal qualities that have stood the test of time, not because we share the same political views. In fact, of two friends with whom I have broken in recent years -- because of what I consider betrayal on their part -- one is a conservative, the other a liberal. When that break occurs, it happens quickly and is not the result of simmering differences. I don't allow myself to be hurt or disappointed by the betrayal or to linger over it -- or even think badly of the person. Just move on. Remove them from your address book. Because of the peripatetic existence I have lived, I don't have a huge number of friends. Thus, I try to hang on to the few who remain and to cherish them, despite our differences.

Picture credit: New York magazine