Stephen Fry - A Stupid Person's idea of What an Intelligent Person is Like

I have just returned from the USA, where I attended – and took a small part in - the memorial event for my brother, Christopher. I was in an odd position. I was a Christian at an occasion that was Godless by definition; I had known my brother for longer than anyone else there; yet I was not part of his milieu and couldn’t share their joy and glee in his assaults on religion, or a lot of the other enthusiasms celebrated along with his life.

But as it happens, I am on reasonably good terms with many of Christopher’s old friends and I had (as most people know) argued directly and strongly, but in a civilised way with my brother about our religious disagreement. We treated each other with respect and parted, shortly before his death, on good terms.

Thanks to an extremely tactful and thoughtful suggestion from Christopher’s widow, Carol, I was able to contribute a religious reflection to a generally atheist occasion without infringing the rules of politeness or pushing myself forward. I recited the 8th verse of the 4th chapter of St Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians (‘Finally, brethren; whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things’). As I explained to those at the event, my brother had chosen this passage to read at our father’s funeral in Portsmouth nearly 25 years ago. It had, as it were, his approval.

I met and spoke to many people at this occasion, some of whom I hadn’t seen properly for many years. I met some of his old friends whom I had never previously met.  I tactfully avoided meetings with any there who I thought might be made uncomfortable by my presence. I didn’t want any rows or scenes.

And I made a special effort to avoid a meeting with Stephen Fry, someone whose actions, writings and opinions I have always disliked. Nor have I kept my dislike a secret. I have cheerfully (and on as many occasions as possible) repeated what I believe to be the apt and accurate summary of him in the ‘Dictionary of National Celebrity’ which forms the headline to this article – ‘A stupid person’s idea of what an intelligent person is like’.

What was to be gained by meeting him? I couldn’t pretend to be pleased to do so. He surely couldn’t want to meet me.

Oddly enough, I had argued with Christopher about Stephen Fry. We both agreed that his performance in ‘Jeeves and Wooster’ had been a ghastly travesty, but Christopher was prepared to forgive him for this and had rather taken to him after sharing a debating platform with him a few years ago. It being a matter of taste, I agreed to differ. Mr Fry’s supposed merits and attractions are a mystery to me, and probably always will be, and as for his books…. but we can’t all be the same, can we? And it would be terrible if we were.

As we gathered outside the Cooper Union in Manhattan, avoiding him was easy enough. I could see and hear Mr Fry from some way off, indeed I imagine he could have been seen and heard from space,  and I easily managed to circle round him, well beyond encounter range. Alas, a little later on, inside the building, an innocent third party took it into his head to introduce us directly, so I shook his hand and said (as I generally do when unavoidably introduced to people I don’t want to talk to) ‘How do you do?’ in my best very polite Edwardian drawing-room manner, before slipping away on an urgent errand (the errand being, to get as far away from S. Fry as possible) .

But it was not over.  Those who had spoken at the memorial went afterwards to a rather small and intimate bar in Greenwich Village. And there I was approached again by Mr Fry (I must stress that he opened the conversation, and the space in the crowded room was too confined for me to get away easily).

Very well, then, I thought. If he wants to talk, we’ll talk.

Funnily enough, we had a brief and perfectly reasonable discussion of St Paul and his epistles. I said I thought they contained a great deal of great poetry, but that (as I happened to think) that I was particularly fond of the Epistle of James. I am not sure Mr Fry was familiar with it, though I helped him along a bit.  

Mr Fry said he knew that I didn’t approve of the things he did and the things he said.  I said this was correct.  I assumed that he had the Bill Clinton-like urge to find the only person in the room who did not agree with him, or like him,  and seek to change his mind. Hard luck.  I was not willing to pretend a friendliness I didn’t feel. I decided that if he wanted to argue with me, and he had plainly chosen to do so, then he was welcome. I would be polite, but not friendly (as Kipling’s squire advises his son to treat Bishops in that great poem ‘Norman and Saxon’).

So  I responded by telling him, since he mentioned it, that I strongly disapproved of his conduct during a  debate in London against the Roman Catholic church (the one where he had shared a platform with Christopher). I explained why (don’t get me wrong. I think the RC Church’s performance on that occasion was pretty dire too, in its own way, and I am myself a rather dry Protestant) .

The discussion turned into a more general debate about the dangerous intolerance (as I see it) of the anti-God faction for believers. It seemed pretty clear to me that Mr Fry was unschooled in the subject, often mistaking his opinions for facts, and given to circular argument and cliché. It was rather like dealing with some of the more obdurate and dogmatic contributors to this blog, in fact. He was rescued by the incomprehensible and (to me) unwanted intervention of another person in the bar. This baffled us both so,  that it derailed the argument and gave Mr Fry the opportunity (no doubt welcome to him) to break off. Later he bumbled up to me again, and when he tried to summarise our conversation to the person I was then talking to, I said that we had established that he thought he knew several things that he didn’t actually know. He didn’t like this, and said as his parting shot that  it was Rumsfeldian. I said that the remark about known unknowns was the only good thing Donald Rumsfeld had ever said. He surged off and our first (and probably only) encounter was over.

Well, I had some goodbyes to say and a train to Washington to catch, and forgot all about it until I returned to London this morning to find that Mr Fry had soon afterwards Tweeted an uncomplimentary remark about me (so rude that even his own fans rebuked him for it, and he later wiped it, though it is still easily findable on the Web, even by me) . I wonder if you can find it?   Anyway, I still think the headline is right. And I suspect that Mr Fry’s Tweet may embody his own justified fear that the headline is right.