[Dent]

A friends memories of his time with The Hitch. Cautionary tale of meeting heroes.

December 15th is always a sad day for me. Four years ago, Christopher Hitchens died. It was Hitch that set me on the path as a writer - his book Letters to a Young Contrarian felt to me as though I was directly addressed. Through his passion an intellectual awakening began within me, that led me through atheism, existentialism, humanism, transhumanism, effective altruism. Without him, I would quite literally not be who I am today. I would be smaller, weaker, more fragile.
I met him when I was 21, writing for the world's oldest freethought publication, The Freethinker. He had just stepped off stage from debating alongside Stephen Fry (crushing opponents Ann Widdicombe and Archbishop John Onaiyekan). As he signed various books for excited oncomers, I asked if he had time for an interview for The Freethinker, and he raised a skeptical eyebrow. I didn't exactly look the part of a seasoned journalist. He said yes, and we stepped past security into the greenroom (where I was, briefly, alone in a room with Stephen Fry and Christopher Hitchens -- electric doesn't capture it). Hitch hunted for a bottle of whisky, and grumbled when he couldn't find any.
We made our way down beneath Westminster Central Hall, and I began our interview as we walked. I wanted to tell him everything - what he meant to me, how he'd contributed to my development, how I was so overwhelmed with gratitude I wanted to throw my arms around him and thank him again and again. Instead, I begin, "Mister Hitchens! What do you say to the religious apologists who claim that the majority of religious activity is benign in nature?" And so he answers. And another question I ask, and he answers. And another, and he answers.
We step into a small kitchen out of the way whilst he waits for a film crew who want him for something or other, and he insists on making time for me first. The room is lit by harsh fluorescent lights, and I realise he's smaller than I thought. As we speak, he opens a jacket pocket and withdraws a packet of cigarettes. He had recently appeared on the Bill Maher show, during which he had announced that he had quit smoking, and was quitting for his children's sake. I was shocked, to be honest. He'd lied on TV with the same confidence and eloquence I had come to entirely trust. I said, "I thought you'd quit?" "Oh, please don't tell anyone about this," he replied. (Sorry Hitch, I kept it secret until you died. From throat cancer.) I ask more questions. He answers.
When he'd finished his cigarette, he scanned the room before taking a polystyrene cup, into which he dropped the butt. He crumpled the cup up, and pushed it deep into the bin, as though burying his shame. I watch him but I don't comment. Of course, the notion of intellectual heroes is something of a childish fantasy: the reality of being a living, breathing human - rather than some idealised caricature - is always messier, more complicated. I ask more questions, he answers.
All in all, we speak for 10 minutes. And then our time is almost up and he explains to me that the pursuit of knowledge is the worthiest of all goals, and he looks at me... really looks at me, and tells me never to give it up. He gifts me his debating notes -- I still cherish them.
And now he's been gone for four years, and atheism is far from good enough. Secular humanism still matters to me, but I see more now. Effective altruism changed everything. Tell me, what are the most important causes to support? I want to know, Hitch: what would you make of in-vitro meat? I know you weren't a vegetarian. Why not? What do you think of the risks of artificial intelligence? Do you think we're building our own God? I'm asking you Hitch: how do you react to the trends in transhumanist thought? What do you think of hedonic recalibration? You never wrote about it, I know that. What does genetic editing mean for us as a species? Hitch, it matters to me what you think, it still does. The world is such a mess, and you always seemed to see it so clearly. How much of that was real, Hitch? I want to know what you would say now.
I know. I'm asking more questions. And you can't answer.