The long expected but still surprising news broke overnight of Christopher Hitchens’ death in the wake of his struggle against esophageal cancer. His final column published in last week’s Vanity Fair was about the absurdity of the phrase “that which does not kill you only makes you stronger”. Maybe that phrase isn’t true, but that fact that he was writing about it a week before his death showed that even cancer hadn’t sapped away all his strength.
I disagreed with Hitch on a variety of issues – his support for the Iraq war, for instance – but even where I thought he was wrong I admired his wit and eloquence in arguing his points. Even when he was debating with an unlit cigarette in his hand, clearly thinking about his next nicotine fix, or he was oozing Johny Walker out every pore, he was an intellectual powerhouse. His willingness to tackle taboo issues should make his career a case study at journalism schools. He took on MotherTheresa, Gandhi, and religion in general fervently and fearlessly.
The man who famously said of Jerry Falwell that “if they gave the corpse an enema they could bury him in a matchbox” will no doubt be on the receiving end of faux sadness from some of his detractors (“it’s a shame he’s in hell now”) and exuberance from the “Yay, God of Love, for making the infidel suffer for all eternity” crowd.
Hitch may be gone, but the Hitchslap lives on.