The battle for Christopher Hitchens' soul

"Mother Teresa is certainly in heaven praying for him," said Father James Martin, a Jesuit priest and popular writer on spiritual affairs, "which is probably driving him nuts. The mark of a Christian is if we pray for those we dislike or disagree with."

At times, the debate has its unseemly, voyeuristic side, mixed with a palpable touch of triumphalism from some Christians that the standard-bearer for atheism is suffering.
"Against me is the blind, emotionless alien, cheered on by some who have long wished me ill," Hitchens himself wrote, "but on the side of my continued life is a group of brilliant and selfless physicians, plus an astonishing number of prayer groups."

One of Hitchens's close friends, who prefers not to be quoted, says that his illness is nobody else's business, and that any debate over whether to pray for him is utterly immaterial to his health.

Is it then a form of egomania to think you can have any effect on a stranger's life by praying for him, particularly when he thinks prayer is pure mumbo-jumbo? Or can prayer on behalf of another who doesn't want it still be a selfless, thoughtful thing, which might even help in some way?

"Studies on the moral benefits of intercessory prayer are inconclusive on this point," says David Gibson, religion reporter on PoliticsDaily.com. "Some research even indicates that the condition of those who know that others are praying for them may worsen, while the placebo effect of believing in God or believing others are supporting a patient can account for improvements.

"But above all, American Christians, particularly of the conservative stripe who would be Hitch's natural foes in better times, would ultimately like to see him convert, even if that only means a deathbed nod to the possibility of God. The soul's salvation from eternal damnation is paramount, and must be effected before one leaves this earth. But a converted Hitchens would also, of course, be quite a prize to Christians, and a source of satisfaction, if not vindication."

But what about Hitchens himself? How does the great non-believer deal with the thousands of celestial get-well-soon cards winging his way? When asked whether he found it insulting that people are praying for him, he said: "No, no. I take it kindly, under the assumption that they are praying for my recovery."

Hitchens's friend, Professor Auchard, added: "When Christopher was bated by a reporter who asked if the prayers for him revolted him, he said he would be churlish to find that so. If he is touched by the action, and that may be, it may be that such a sense may change him in some way — not in his judgment of religion but in how he understands Fred and Suzy who believe."

There was no chance, though, Hitchens said, of a Christian conversion on the back of his illness. And if he did convert, the conversion wouldn't be valid.

"The entity making such a remark might be a raving, terrified person whose cancer has spread to the brain," Hitchens said: "I can't guarantee that such an entity wouldn't make such a ridiculous remark, but no one recognisable as myself would ever make such a remark."

In God Is Not Great, which Hitchens wrote long before the cancer struck, he said that it was "contemptible" to use prayers and religion for comfort if they might not be true.

"Literature, not scripture, sustains the mind and — since there is no other metaphor — also the soul," he said.

Martin Amis, Hitchens's great friend, backed the sentiment. Yes, he said, Hitchens must believe that "not all of you will die", but only because printed words produce a sort of immortality, not through any religious feeling.

Despite his atheism, Hitchens has, though, prayed himself on one occasion, according to Rabbi David Wolpe, of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles, who has sparred with him in public debates. At one debate, Wolpe asked him whether he prayed.
"Yes," Hitchens said. "Once, for an erection."

Wolpe's then 12-year-old daughter was sitting in the front row of the lecture hall, so he "decided not to pursue the question of the efficacy of prayer".

It is not only Christians, then, who are praying for Hitchens. Rabbi Wolpe is among those offering prayers, on the understanding that Judaism advocates prayer for everyone, irrespective of faith.

"It is appropriate and even mandatory to do what one can for another who is sick, and if you believe that praying helps, pray," Wolpe says.

"It is in any case an expression of one's deep hopes.

"So yes, I will pray for him, but I will not insult him by asking or implying that he should be grateful for my prayers. I have undergone neurosurgery and chemotherapy with my faith unshaken — why assume he could not emerge with his unbelief unchanged as well?"

My own hunch, from a limited acquaintance with Hitchens, is that his decency, kindness and humour are more powerful forces than his vigorous atheism — meaning he couldn't possibly be rude to those praying for him.

A few years ago, never having met me before, he and his wife, Carol, treated me to drinks, dinner, and extensive post-dinner drinks in their handsome Washington flat. I'm an agnostic, but I recognise that sort of generosity as coming straight out of the book of Christian values — or whatever agnostics and atheists should call them.

I'm certainly praying for him, without invoking any particular deity, if that's allowed.