The Passing of Friendship

Is there really such a thing as friendship among men in our modern life ?

There used to be, and the tie was as real and binding as marriage or paternity. In early ages it was the custom among Eastern peoples for two men who had chosen each other as comrades to bind themselves together by what was called the blood tie. After certain solemn ceremonies they pierced their arms with the point of their swords and each put a few drops of the blood of the other into his veins. After that they were allies and brothers for life; each was bound to help, to fight for, or, if need be, to die for his friend.

The age of chivalry, if one looks at it closely, was based upon these alliances between men. The squire followed the knight to the field, ready to die for him; the knight followed his lord, the lord his liege. Even a century ago, in this country, the seconds in a duel often fought to the death beside their principals, hardly asking what was the cause of the quarrel.

Among our own forefathers the personal tie between men was much more close and openly recognized than it is now. A man in business then expected his friend as a matter of course to endorse him to the full extent of his means. Hence when a popular fellow became bankrupt and carried a dozen of his endorsers down with him, nobody censured their folly. The sacrifice was regarded as unfortunate, but inevitable.

If you look closely at these early days you will find too that our forefathers made idols or nurses or servants of women, but their companions, their confidants, were other men. In the cramped village or farm life, with few books and fewer newspapers, the men depended on one another for ideas, facts, jokes, even for emotions. They knew each others’ opinions and queernesses by heart. They were forced to keep step from the schoolhouse on into maundering old age. One hears traditions of lifelong friendships between men, but the women abode either in the kitchen or in the dim regions of hazy romance.

Nowadays, the women of a man’s household have pushed themselves or been pushed into place as his companions. They read the same books and papers; they work with him for civic reform; they differ with him perhaps in politics, but are ready to plunge deeper than he into stock-gambling. Why should he seek comrades elsewhere than at home ?

He has no time now to become acquainted with men. Life is an incessant touch-and-go with him; the perpetual passing of crowds and battalions. He has no chance to know any man. His brother comes back from Japan to-day and is off to Paris to-morrow. There are no more long leisurely talks with a crony over the fire, winter after winter. His days are chopped up into incessant ten minutes of shouting over the telephone to Tom in New Orleans or Bill in Chicago. He subscribes largely to his church, but he would not know the minister if he met him on the street. He never even heard the name of his next-door neighbor. He works with masses, in trade, in politics, in religion. But, somehow, he has lost sight of the individual. He has no friend.

Has he not lost out of his life something worth the keeping ?