TheBakersfieldCalifornian.com

What is the respectful way to mark the passing of an atheist? The usual words of condolence or remembrance are tinged with the divine, with comforting references to an afterlife that are offensive to one who does not believe in God. Still, I feel I would be remiss not to wish Godspeed to Christopher Hitchens, a brilliant writer and the civilized world's most celebrated atheist, who recently succumbed to esophageal cancer at the age of 62.

Hitchens, writer, journalist, and critic, eloquently wrote his way through the tangle of contradictions that defined his life. He was a Brit who lived in and commented on America, a young left-wing Bolshevik who grew up to support George W. Bush's invasion of Iraq. He trashed the religiosity of Mother Teresa in print, but was also opposed to abortion. He smoked and drank excessively, living in a way designed to kill a man, but fought like hell to beat cancer. Personally and professionally, he defied easy categorization.

As a writer whose topics often touch on spirituality, I sometimes thought of Christopher Hitchens as my arch-nemesis. If there is such a thing as a fundamentalist atheist, Hitchens was its poster boy. I disagreed with him about almost everything, perhaps most profoundly with the title of his provocative book "God Is Not Great." But I have come to suspect that we believers in a supreme being actually owe him a debt of gratitude. Ever since I heard the sad news that Hitchens had died, I've been indulging in a whimsical image of God greeting his son Christopher at the pearly gates of heaven with a hearty "Well done! Your passion made my people think. Now let's you and I get acquainted." Because Christopher Hitchens, by writing so beautifully and prolifically against so many important aspects of faith, challenged those who disagreed with him to do their best writing to provide a counterpoint to his work. His intelligent, elegant, and negative prose forced other writers to articulate and stand up for their maligned beliefs. Hitchens was so vehemently anti-God that anyone who believes in God couldn't help but take the bait and punch back.

Only the dead, of course, know for certain if there is a God or an afterlife. The reported last words of Apple innovator Steve Jobs were, "Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow." One of the final things my dad said, before he died, was "It's incredible: they're all around me!" Mozart, just before expiring, noted, "I feel something that is not of this earth . . ." The vision of light that many folks describe following a near-death experience indicates something else going on at life's end. But an atheist only knows if he was mistaken about the eternal when it's too late to recant.

Funerals and atheists are necessarily an uneasy match. When my dad died, our family had a difference of opinion regarding the plans for his memorial service. The atheist branch of the family was rather impatient with the Catholic Mass that I'm afraid I insisted on for my dad's funeral. They were on board with the part where people could come forward and offer fond remembrances of my dad, and indeed we all learned about some quiet good deeds my dad had done without his family's knowledge. But they dismissed the ritual of the Mass as nonsensical mumbo-jumbo, as silly, futile and ignorant. Their position was that six feet under was six feet under: Enough said. Yet during the funeral I felt my dad's presence gently resting among us, making us laugh even in our grief.

With every dead body I've ever seen, I have been struck quite strongly by the sense of something missing, of the shell-like quality of the earthen vessel of the body without the soul. I do not accept that the unique, vibrant life force of that person is simply dead and buried along with the physical remains. I have no proof, no evidence to back up this belief. The heavenward flight of the soul from the body is solely a matter of faith; from a scientific point of view, it is admittedly without foundation. But faith can be neither ratified nor refuted by reason.

It is a societal norm, of course, that the passing of anyone, even an atheist, warrants a funeral. Christopher Hitchens himself reflected, "I do think people need ritual, and probably particularly funerals. Because no one wants to be told, 'Okay, you have a dead relative. Go bury him someplace.' They want to know that something will kick in now. It will be taken out of my hands, and everyone will know what to do. There's a routine . . . we still have to have some kind of ceremony, to distinguish exceptional moments and exceptional people."

Death comes to believers and nonbelievers alike, and those still earthbound mourn the passing of their loved one as they see fit. Not to insult Hitchens's legacy by admitting to keeping him in prayer, I pause a mere moment to wish him well on the journey.

These are the opinions of Valerie Schultz, not necessarily those of The Californian. Email her at vschultz22@gmail.com