Burt Likko

Pseudonymous Portlander. Homebrewer. Atheist. Recovering litigator. Recovering Republican. Recovering Catholic. Recovering divorcé. Recovering Former Editor-in-Chief of Ordinary Times. House Likko's Words: Scite Verum. Colite Iusticia. Vivere Con Gaudium.

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19 Comments

  1. Let’s raise a Johnny Walker Black to Christopher Hitchens.
    The world will miss his intellect and humor, as will I.

  2. Es sungen drei Engel einen süßen Gesang,
    mit Freuden es selig in dem Himmel klang.
    Greetings, Herr Blaise, aka The Eighth Wonder Of The World!

    As far as I’m concerned, to be an atheist, is to be blind. It’s a truly sad, and dreary pathology, an inability to see and experience a dimension of existence that is at every moment infused and suffused with the manifestation of the Great Spirit. Always, and ever shall be. To me, the experience of God, is not faith but something as real and as present as the warmth one feels from the sun that pours down like honey on our longing, yearning souls. To be an atheist is to be sheltered, sequestered, insular, to shut oneself off from a dimension of reality that manifestly embodies everything from gluons, hadrons, leptons, quarks to black holes, and anti-matter, galaxies, super novas–it’s the eternal dance of the quantum particles/mass–the cosmic, molecular Rockettes. It’s just a matter of time until we realize there is no such thing as time. Time only measures one thing: the beats and movements of a clock. Where did yesterday go? Merely a dream. Where will tomorrow be, a mere vision. Everything is N.O.W. Vater, sieh an die Wmienn mein! Kein Wesen lass verloren sein! Imagine, if you will–a humanity that is entirely atheist. (a horrid, awful thought, to be sure) but would our landscape be dotted with these miraculous masterpieces of architecture, the grand Cathedrals? Chartres? The Basilica? The Sistine Chapel? No, no, no–strip the walls of art museums with at least 90% of their paintings, there would be no Bach–Cantatas, Masses, Passions, pretty much everything he wrote was inspired and dedicated to God–Haydn’s, Creation–we could go on and on–let’s just say, the cultural landscape of a world made up entirely of atheists would be a stark, barren, lifeless, dreary, landscape resembling the coldest night of the coldest Ice Age.

    Der große Blaise–Sie werden es lieben diese Worte. Dieses Gedicht. So sehr, sehr schön! Ich glaube nicht, dass Hitchens war ein Atheist–Es war alles ein Witz. Hier ist es. Man Reise in die Nacht. Spüren Sie die Dunkelheit. Das Licht Gottes wärmt den Tag! Ich glaube, Nietzsche hatte große Liebe zu Gott. Diese Worte muss bedeuten, dass. Bitte verzeihen Sie mein schlechtes Deutsch. Ich bin nicht müde des Lebens. Wir müssen versuchen, und die Liebe in jedem Augenblick. Auf wiedersehen, mein Freund!

    O Mensch! Gib Acht!
    Was spricht die tiefe Mitternacht?
    “Ich schlief, ich schlief—,

    • The sung words from Thus Sprach Zarathustra

      Zarashttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7HA3gzjD_Y

    • Heidegger, do me a favor, please.

      If you’re going to continue to try to post on my blog after I’ve told you not to, at least have the courtesy to do so under a consistent name. If you post even remotely on topic with the OP, my instinct will be to let it stand despite your prior bannination.

      • Oh yes, honorable sir–I’ve grown quite weary of using all these silly pseudonyms–I was an F-4 just trying to dodge a tenacious MiG-21 in my rear view mirror–every single elusive tactic failed miserably and now must seek solace in my humble little ultralight trike. I’ve been longing to have my name, Heidegger, back and will take whatever punishment and ban that comes my way. Who knows, maybe I’ll be calmed down and lucid enough that I can even submit posts on the main page. (not holding my breath!) Someday, I’ll have to tell you about the Jesuit priest who told my parents that they should seriously consider having their unruly, recalcitrant, 13 year old son exorcised. Those Jesuits can sure be knee-slapping comics although in this case, he was actually serious.

        But yes, Heidegger it is. I was starting to develop a mild case of multiple personality disorder–from one moment to the next, I didn’t know if I was Bozo the Imbecile or St. Francis of Assisi. I would love to know why the vast majority of Libertarians are atheists. It’s no coincidence why this happens, and why a certain type of personality is drawn towards the entrenched God-negation of Libertarianism. A simplistic and obvious answer would be that it’s just an extension of their anti-authoritarianism but I think it goes much deeper than that. I think it’s a very deep fear of losing control–especially when the possibility that the man behind the controls is none other than an entity that controls every single thing that exists. Hey, even 72% of scientists are theists. Libertarians? I’d guess, if this site is any kind of accurate representation, about 4%.

        So Burt, I am much obliged that you’ll even allow me the privilege to post comments anywhere on this site. I understand that the window of opportunity gets smaller and smaller by the day and that this tattered, ragged vagrant who was so “scourged and despised” is just one ill-thought-out phrase from being ordered to take a long walk off a short plank.

        I would love it if some day you would do a post on one of the greatest thought experiments I’ve ever read or heard about. It would especially be interesting to see the many great and intelligent minds at this site wrestle with its ramifications.
        It goes something like this: imagine that neural technology was so far advanced that it was capable of producing perfectly, functionally identical neurons such that I could remove one neuron from your brain and replace it with a synthetic one. Again, it would be identical in every way possible in how it functions, but entirely synthetic.
        And we continue this process (it is believed the human brain has 100 billion of these little critters so you better have a little extra time on your hands!) So on and on, we continue this process–one by one we take out your real neurons and replace them with synthetic ones. At what point does your consciousness start to degrade? At what point does your consciousness entirely shut down or is there not interruption at all? Could consciousness be experienced by one single neuron? And how in the world does the interaction of a 100 billion neurons generate a consciousness that allows us to experience a world in which every image is and represents an entire whole and not its parts? Where does quantum mechanics come into the equation because we all know that nothing escapes the heavy hand of quantum (dis)order. Does an idea have mass–can it be weighed on a cosmic scale? I mean, everything that exists either constitutes a wave or a mass.

        Oh, this thought experiment is called, Neural Replacement Therapy. Thank God I have my good and dearest friend back, Heidegger, to help me ponder these interesting puzzles. In an odd way, it’s a fun sensation to be lost in these kinds of unanswerable, mental mazes.

        My sincere thanks, and all the best to you, Burt. H

        • My dear friend Burt, I forgot to tell you my plan–you’ll love this!

          I shall forthwith, start the process of weaning myself away from the LoOG–as I’ve stated before, I am a complete, unapologetic, addict of the LoOG. I know, this is sad, especially since it serves absolutely no interests or purpose for the ladies and gentlemen at this most august site. I love it and enjoy it immensely but to completely and totally change my personality is just not in the realm of any possibilities. I figure by about January 1, or close to it, I will have disappeared forever from the LoOG. (the entire League erupts with joyous catcalls, tomatoes, eggs, insults, rocks and stones demanding this happen immediately)
          Patience gentlemen. At long last, light at the end of the tunnel can finally be seen!

          This will take a considerable effort, mind you, probably even experience an occasional relapse, but a most sincere effort will be exercised–of that I can assure. If this meets in total failure, please call the authorities with the large butterfly nets and instruct them to haul me in to the nearest psych ward where I can peacefully daydream the rest of my pointless existence with thoughts of neural replacement therapy and Mozart–I use Mozart as the mid-point of the musical rainbow–that is music from the 1400s to the 1960s. I will also need a virginal to play.

          Thought I pass this on to brighten your day. One other thing–can neurons be emulated with algorithms?

    • Blaise, you never fail to astound me: “I’ve run a jazz bar for 26 years, they brought me in to give them some advice.”

      How in the world have you managed to cram so much life experience in such a short amount of time? I assume you aren’t 200 years old. I also assume you haven’t be sent on an Apocalyptic mission from Lucifer–deep, passionate, Satan worshipers don’t age–see Rosemary’s Baby. You aren’t a real-life Zelig. You speak 8 languages fluently, you are an accomplished linguist–I say this because the other linguist at this joint, Chris, has never engaged you in any kind of discussion on this subject which can only mean one thing–you’d kick his ass and he could never endure the reality of everyone seeing he doesn’t everything about everything. It would be a crumbling, and humbling experience for the poor chap–far beyond his pain threshold. The Wizard behind the curtain turns out to be nothing more than a hapless plastic or paper(?) bagger of groceries at the local supermarket.

      But back to you. A distinguished military career. A formidable clandestine Intelligence operative who has served under three presidents. A lover of sailing–one who has has circumnavigated the globe on more than one occasion–I think it was also done solo. I believed you have met Lincoln and even helped draft the Gettysburg Address. And most extraordinary of all, you loaded and handed that large caliber, beautiful smoothbore flintlock pistol to Alexander Hamilton! Hey, you win some, you lose some. Forget JFK–it was your intimidating behind-the-scenes negotiations with Khruschev that brought the USSR to its knees. But opening the chute for both, Fat Man and Little Boy, to drop, has to reign the most supreme and satisfying achievement of all. Bravo–what a life!

      I would love to write your biography, as well as a screen play. You’re a diamond in the rough, probably a misguided genius, but what genius isn’t?

      • Well, I don’t believe in merely doing good. I believe in doing well. I saw a need, I filled it. Most things in life are obvious: give a town a nice restaurant where women will want to wear their best dress and shoes, you will fill it immediately. A bar or restaurant is theater. My sister in law runs the place now. The town had an airstrip which opened to civilian traffic, I made arrangements to get artists off the Caribbean chitlin circuit, putting my little joint in the loop.

        I am no Zelig. I’m not a chameleon. I’d like to think I’m consistently weird. I learn languages quickly, a trick lots of people have mastered. Beyond that, a consultant sees the same old problem through different eyes: if there’s any Zelig in me, it goes the other way: I point out the obvious, something their own people have said for years and the management types scratch their chins and say “Hmm, great insight. Let’s do that.”

        Give it up, dude. I don’t appreciate being mocked.

        • …. you actually get people to do what you suggest? ROFL.
          I know a guy who’s a consultant. People pay him to come in, mock them, and then get out. They know he’s right, but they never implement his ideas.

          • Yes I do. Here’s how I do it. Now management is always thinking in exceptions but users think in rules. I go to the meetings, wearing a good suit and a starched shirt, whip out my laptop and take assiduous notes. Once they’re finished outgassing, I wander around the shop and find the people who handle the exceptions.

            These exception handlers are inevitably found in the back row of the cubicle farm, far from the windows, surrounded by stacks of paper. They’ve been around for decades, never promoted because they’re indispensable, exactly where they are. Usually but not always, they are women.

            I take these Exception Handlers out for a good steak dinner and a bottle of wine, their husbands in tow. I never take notes, I just listen to what they say. Two ears and one mouth, I quietly prompt them to tell me everything. Often the husband will chime in with more stories. Soon enough I have the gist of what needs doing, the chiaroscuro lights and (mostly) darks of the project I’m facing. I keep my mouth shut and take careful mental notes, building a map to the minefield.

            Every project comes apart in four quarters. First quarter is just messing around, building little prototypes, constructing a spec of sorts, paving the road into the servers and database. In the second quarter, I begin in earnest, running it all by the Exception Handler, enlisting them into the process as my Alpha User. Third quarter, I pull it all apart and put it back together in a reasonably tidy system, getting it out to beta users, putting together the reports and suchlike. Fourth quarter is testing and rollout and finishing up the documentation.

            There you have it: software consulting in a never-fail nutshell.

        • My sincere apologies–you gotta know I love ya–I had no mocking intentions whatsoever, just a light-hearted kidding around. Reading it again, I can understand that you would think that, so, sorry. In your long absence, who was constantly saying how much you were missed? Me. My glowing praise and affection, and sincere appreciation of your many gifts and talents could not be more apparent.

          Who else around here loves Schiller, Schubert, Rilke, Beethoven (caught your “Elysian Fields” reference–a beautiful and poetic use of those words!)

          Hey, I’m practicing my German just for you! It must sound terribly clumsy,but I’m trying to get the knack of the grammar (love German grammar rules!). It’s a great, great language. I was arguing with someone who said English came first–that German evolved from English to which I said no, no no. Like the jet stream that goes from west to east, the Indo languages go from east to west. Am I correct?

          So Blaise, I hope my place in your doghouse doesn’t last too long.
          If we can’t laugh at our selves who can we laugh at? And did not mean to mock you. I can’t I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am you have returned to the League–you NEVER write a dull word and your mind is a true and fascinating gem. And I guess I can’t say that the first robe that was placed on Jesus before His scourging, the purple one, was not folded and given to you—and you were not going to put up on E-bay. As you well know, the purple one was used because it symbolized royalty and nobility–a mockery of Jesus as King of the Jews. By the way, what language were Jesus’ last 7 words said in? Greek? Latin? Hebrew? Aramaic?

          Incidentally–you probably already know this-Haydn wrote an extraordinarily beautiful and gorgeous oratorio with this exact title. Such deeply haunting and sad, solemn music. If you’re not familiar with it, I highly recommend it–I think you’ll enjoy immensely. Even generously ceding a large area of ground and saying your starting point between Atheists and Theists is both on equal footing, it’s just more fun being a Theist. Certainly, to say the very least, there is as much evidence that we live in a created universe than an uncreated universe. Has anything in this universe ever been spun out of nothing? It looks like, in the not too distant future, the God Particle will been seen at the Large Hadron Collider. Will a new religion be born?

          Oh well, so long my friend. Be well and again, no mockery intended!

          Frohe Weinachten! Sincerely yours, H

  4. If it hadn’t been for a few of his pieces in Slate (none of which made an impression on me), I never would have even known Hitchens existed. Newspaper columns? None that I know of. Appearances on the Sunday morning talk shows? None that I know of. Books? None that I know of. Magazine articles? Again, none that I know of.

    I’ve always considered myself a bit of a news junkie, so I’m a bit puzzled at who this guy was and why everyone is considering his passing to be such a big deal. Is everybody faking it, just to appear more well-read than the really are? Or did he have some sort of special appeal to a small-but-vocal group?

    Seriously, outside of very narrow circles, no one has heard of him.

    • For years he was a regular contributor to Vanity Fair, as well as the Atlantic, SPY, The Nation, and World Affairs. (Probably others, but those are the places I always kept bumping into him.) If he was ever on the Sunday morning shows, I was never aware of it. You would be much more likely to come across him reviewing books for The Atlantic of the NYT. He was also a best selling author (of books that were essayist in nature); and also he achieved a certain amount of fame by both harboring and defending Salman Rushdie during the first part of the fatwa against him.

      In terms of being a well known talking head, I’m not sure that he really ever was one – I would describe him more as an essayist. SO rather than compare him (career-wise) to a George Will or a George Stephanopoulos, a better fit might be to a PJ O’Rourke, Katha Pollit, or Malcolm Gladwell.

      With the sources you cite, it is not surprising that his name has not come across your desk or screen often; but he was very well known in life.

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