The passing of Christopher Hitchens has stirred something deep within this much mellower, less brave contrarian. A voice of sanity, reason yet passion and fervour has been cruelly silenced; another entity whose talents still had years to run has been cut short before the last chapter had even been brainstormed.
A man whose own convictions transcended any narrow-minded definitions of left, right, wrong, up or down, Hitchens never once let the trendy, the powerful, the in-crowd or the outsider unduly influence, coerce or vex his convictions, beliefs or outlook on life. In a world of iPad users, X-Factor watchers and Beiber-listeners, here was a man who was truly individual. Take that punk rock.
As we who consider ourselves piously and aloofly in this schismed world to be of the "liberal" bent - pigeon-holing notwithstanding - it is a bittersweet day for us to learn that one of the greatest orators of the word - spoken, written or merely thought - whose eloquent musings, downright brutal attacks and expert elaborations were such a joy and frustration alike, is no longer able to practise his art due to such a tiresome matter as having died. The world is poorer for having lost him.
It is a suitable irony, in my opinion anyway, that a man whose appealingly vicious broadsides against the folly of human fantasy that is religious belief should pass from the mortal, conscious world a mere week before the cornerstone of the Christian calendar. The feast day of the birth of Jesus / Mithras / Dionysus / Horus (delete as applicable) is now but a few short days away, and the cult of commercialism is in full swing. Recession be damned. This writer has certainly been swept up in the usual orgy. Yet for good reason: like many of the invented deities mentioned previous, I am a winter baby. Whatever lack of logic this brief statement may present, an even more illogical concept of feeling affinity for this time of year follows.
Cynic? Moi? That is usually the accusation levelled at seemingly miserly, taut, reason-laden and (above all) intelligent people like Hitchens. You can't believe in heaven, therefore you're cynical. Again with the pigeon-holing. Why is optimism - particularly blind optimism - celebrated? Why worship hope? How empty are our lives that we must yearn for material, spiritual and bodily needs which may be forever unattainable? Some would say it makes us strive to better ourselves. Yet there are so many actual, real things in this world which are so so attainable that have a real, lasting effect in bettering ourselves. Why are these things not pursued, when others are?
Human nature? Can a race of several billion apparently intelligent primates be summed up in just two words? Are all giraffes the same? Do they care?
So yes, I am, to put it succinctly in the language of popstars and breakfast TV presenters, feeling "Christmassy." I giveth, and I receive, and although I may not seek to be blessed, or to receive karma, it is gratifying to see joy and enjoyment brought about in others. Phoebe Buffay may have struggled with the concept of a truly unselfish act. I am wary of the possibility that it doesn't exist, and as such, do not try to let myself be limited by it. Why fight the unfightable?
Ever the contrarian, Hitchens fought the unfightable. Some will say he is now facing judgment. I believe (irony intended) that we must face our judgment day here on Earth, and not in some fairy castle in the sky. Liberals have lost a champion. It is up to us to continue his work.
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