Like Bill Kristol, I cannot claim to have been a close friend of Christopher Hitchens, who died yesterday after battling cancer for a year and a half, but we were at least friendly acquaintances and I was long an admirer of his prose, his learning and his courage. I was always delighted when we were on the same side on an issue and listened respectfully when we weren’t. And I savor the memory of occasions on which we shared a drink or two, although I came to believe that Christopher didn’t drink quite as much as he liked others to think: how else could he have always remained so lucid and eloquent?
One of the last times I saw Christopher was at a meeting sponsored by the Ethics and Public Policy Center at which he and his brother Peter Hitchens spoke. The focus of much of the work of the Center is on religion and its positive effects on society; it is a measure of the group’s openness and of Christopher’s that it invited him to participate in some of its three-day conferences in Key West and that he accepted. Peter Hitchens, unlike his brother, is a religious believer and traditionalist conservative, and hovering over the meeting was the question of whether the famously atheist Christopher would, in the face of death, change his mind. He was having none of it, and as I recall seemed a bit miffed by the hopes expressed by many Christians that he would.
When it came my turn to speak, I looked at Christopher and said that he should realize that this represented an outpouring of love for him from many, many of his fellow American citizens—many of whom disagreed with him on religion and on many other matters but still felt for him a strong and deep affection. I thought then and think now that love was not too strong a word. Many, many Americans who did not by any means share all his convictions came to have not only admiration but also Christopher for his courage in standing up for Western civilization.
