I had the fortune to meet Christopher Hitchens briefly during his stop in Palo Alto in 2007–I found him to be drunk, surly, and completely irascible. It was not a disappointment.
Going through life we collect intellectual heroes. As someone who was raised with academic ideals (critical thinking, intellectual integrity, fearless inquiry), I quickly fell in love with Hitchens when I happened across him during my late 20s as a result of his book The Missionary Position: Mother Theresa in Theory and Practice. More than a mere polemicist, here was a rabble-rouser who embodied the classical Western values, who didn’t give a damn about what people thought, but cared passionately that people thought. Right or wrong on any given issue, he never failed to provoke in me the determination to examine anything I might care about, and to engage and understand–rather than dismisss–my opposition.
He was not the first such hero, nor will he be the last. But when it comes to rehtoric, to eloquence, and to an unshakable sense of groundedness in his own arguments, I can think of no finer example since, perhaps, Robert Green Ingersol. Though perhaps Stephen Fry was correct in his assessment when he said of Christopher: “He is the greatest debater since Demosthenes.”
From his delight in literature, to his determination in moral argument, to his flair for wordplay, to his rambunctious humor and the desperate love he displayed for all that is best in humanity, Christopher Hitchens was one of the rare figures who truly was a public intellectual. Such people enrich and invigorate democratic societies, and I’ve got my glass raised to all of you in the hope that the vacuum he leaves will not remain long unfilled.
Almost a year ago, during one of the worse phases of his illness, Hitchens debated Bill Dembski in front of an audience composed mostly of Christian elementary and Jr. High school children. My friend Dr. Zachary Moore was there, and recorded it. He’s posted a three minute excerpt in which Hitchens sums up his life with an invitation to everyone to join the conversation.
You’ll find that video below.
Good night, Christopher. You will be sorely missed, but we’ll keep the Enlightenment lit for you. Cheers!
Last night I had occasion to send an email to Spider Robinson, thanking him for his recent book Variable Star, a posthumous collaboration with Robert A. Heinlein. If you are unfamiliar with Spider’s work, or have not read Variable Star, you owe it to yourself to take a gander. All royalties from the book go to fund the Heinlein prize, which is a nice bonus, but really, the book is worth it on its own well apart from that. I reproduce part of the letter below, to give you a flavor for why.
As I sat in this chair this morning prepping the next round of episodes for Down From Ten after a longer-than-intended Christmas hiatus, I got the news that Tee Morris’s wife died yesterday, leaving Tee and his five-year-old daughter, affectionately known as Sonic Boom, behind.
You that listen here regularly know Tee from his starring role as Amos in Down From Ten, or perhaps you heard his voice as Marian’s boss in Predestination or from the Predestination exit interview, but the story of Tee Morris is quite a bit more colorful. Tee invented podcast fiction, co-founded podiobooks.com, and is thus created the industry which launched the careers of myself, Chris Lester, Philippa Ballantine, Nathan Lowell, Scott Sigler, Christiana Ellis, Mur Lafferty, Nobilis Reed, and many others. He’s also directly helped many of us, and many others, with encouragement, advice, and lending his voice to our worlds. He’s also become a good friend to many of us, apart from a professional association.
Odd as it sounds, there are three things in this modern world that are more expensive than any other – being born, dying, and death. Natalie Morris’s death was sudden and unexpected, but it has left Tee with a raft of expenses he must meet immediately, and this as an unexpectedly single parent. Because of this, I have a special request for you – if you were planning on sending me a tip in the next week or three, send it to Tee instead.
Below you’ll find a widget for the chip-in account that Philippa Ballantine has started to help get Tee and Sonic Boom through the crisis time to calmer waters. Please click on it and toss a couple bucks in if at all you can.
If you have a moment this weekend, rent one of the 210 movies Forry appeared in, read one of his stories that can be found in anthologies, or read a story by one of the writers he nurtured. Read some lesbian erotica – Forry was, after all, the author of some of the first critically respectable lesbian novels under the name “Laurajean Ermayne” and was named an “Honorary Lesbian” by the country’s first ever Lesbian Rights organization, Daughters of Bilitis. Watch a Ray Harryhausen or Ed Wood film (he was instrumental in the careers of both men), or a film by Peter Jackson, Tim Burton, John Landis, Steven Spielberg, or a show by Penn and Teller (all of whom he inspired and helped along the way). Go to a fan event – oh, I didn’t mention that Forry organized some of the first science fiction conventions, invented the term “sci-fi,” and won the only Hugo award ever for World’s #1 Science Fiction Fan?
I never got to meet Forry personally. I had the chance on several occasions, and always had more pressing things to do. Now I won’t get it again. I know him through the stories of several friends who grew up under his tutelage, whose careers he nurtured, and whose lives he touched. All of them tell the same story of a man who was too kind ever to make a serious enemy, and who was always nine years old at heart. He treasured his first ever issue of Amazing Stories, and never fell out of love with science fiction, or movies, or life, or his wife, or his friends. Few of us will ever be so lucky to be so well remembered when our time comes.
I’d wish Forry a peaceful rest, but if what I know about him is anywhere near true, then he’s probably sitting on the bank of the River Styx right now, scavenging for a sandal that Odysseus might have left behind, and dreaming of setting up the definitive collection of mythological artifacts for all visitors to the shores of the afterlife. When he does, he’ll sit out in front with a recliner, a good book, and a movie screen. When you walk up, he’ll greet you with a smile and, if you’re not careful, he’ll start telling you a story. You’ll never get away — but then…who would want to?
