The Responsibility

In a recent conversation, following the earlier reflections on the nature of human relationships, especially the thing we so often call a “friendship,” another challenge revealed itself. It is not unlike a public health crisis, where knowledge of an impending harm demands a choice of response (Jonas, The Imperative of Responsibility, 1979). When I was directing the Survey Research Center of my University, I was constantly faced with the challenge in training my interviewers. For example, deciding on the action, in a study of domestic violence, when the subject of the interview was scared of imminent harm. That was in the realm of research with well-established protocols. But, when, in our mundane lives, it becomes clear to a caring person that someone close is about to face an unpleasant situation, the moral question emerges: should one act, or stand aside? It can be argued that the first responsibility of friendship is to notice. Noticing is more than listening to words or reading gestures. It is the attention to patterns - the rhythm of presence, the cadence of exchange, the quiet habits that give a relationship its security. When those patterns shift, when the familiar becomes strange, it is a sign. Something has changed. Perhaps something is being hidden. The hiding rarely happens without reason. Sometimes it is justified under the misunderstood banner of “privacy.” Sometimes it is urged by others - the new adviser, the louder voice, the supposed confidant who whispers, “Don’t tell, keep it to yourself” (Simmel, “The Sociology of Secrecy,” 1906). And so, the concealment begins, not always born of malice, but often born of misplaced counsel. A friend is instructed to veil, to mask, to withhold. The reasoning seems harmless at first, but the result is the same: distance creeps in, shadows fall where there was once light. This sudden masking carries consequences. At times, it comes from a burden too heavy to share, a weight that silences. Yet even then, there is an unspoken plea - a muted “Where Art Thou?” And the friend has the responsibility of saying, “Here I Am.” But, when the hiding is orchestrated by external voices, when the act of suppression is advised as a way to protect or to preserve a new adventure, it becomes darker. Because all declarations of presence would be turned down. Yet, what is hidden is often the very thing that could alter the course of both lives. And here lies the duty of the friend who notices. To notice is not enough. The moral demand is to confront. Confrontation is not accusation. It is not hostility. It is stepping forward – “Here I Am” - when stepping back would be safer. It is the courage to say, “I see the change, and it matters.” To ignore the shift is to walk away from the very responsibility that friendship demands. But confrontation is dangerous. It risks estrangement. It risks being pushed away, branded intrusive, unwanted. Thus, it is the brave friend who confronts, the meek walk away. And yet the confrontation is vital because it also carries the possibility of breaking the wall, of saving what is worth saving, and saving the friend from consequences that are invisible in the newfound intoxication. Both outcomes are real. Neither is guaranteed. The friend who notices must also know this: their responsibility ends at the moment of confrontation. To see, to speak, to care - that is the limit. What follows belongs to the one who hid. It is they who must decide whether to open the door or to close it. To embrace the chance of truth, or to abandon it for the fleeting thrill of something new, something louder, something that others insisted was more alluring. That choice has consequences. Hidden acts, urged by whispered advice, often carry long shadows. The future arrives, and the unpleasant comes to the surface with consequences to all in the ecosystem. Thankfully, at that point, the one who warned, who dared to confront, is released. Released from the burden of guilt, from the accusation of silence. They honored the bond by noticing, they protected it by speaking. The decision to burn the bridge was never theirs. And so, friendship cannot be reduced to comfort, or to shared laughter. Friendship is also vigilance. It is the discipline of watching when patterns falter. It is the courage to risk closeness for the sake of truth. To notice is to honor a time-tested friendship. To confront is to protect. And when refused, to step back is not abandonment - it is the final act of responsibility. Because friendship is not tested in harmony. It is tested in disruption. It is tested when silence replaces speech, when presence turns into absence, when hiding takes hold not only because one chooses to, but because others encourage it. And most often, in the intoxication of new adventures the warning is dismissed until it is too late. When the bridges are finally set on fire, no one remains - not the friend who noticed, not the adviser who urged secrecy, not even the new companions. Only ashes, and the silence of what was once real (Arendt, Responsibility and Judgment, 2003; Congreve, 1693). And in that moment, the celebration in the Simon and Garfunkel song where they remind, “can you imagine us years from today” is lost for ever because of a temporary infatuation.