The paper "Industrial Society and Its Future" makes the case that modern technology has restricted freedom, ruined the environment, and caused untold human suffering. The author has occasionally been praised for understanding the unforeseen consequences of technology in modern life. In the early 17th century, the metaphysician Robert Fludd pictured the interior of the brain as containing an eye in the same position as the imaginative soul. The images are contextualized by a selection of notes and letters written by Serios's chief supporter, defender, champion, and sometime minder, a psychiatrist named Jule Eisenbud.
Eisenbud, who says he began as a skeptic, gradually became convinced that Serios had a genuine psychic gift, even though he was in many regards erratic and demanding, a heavy drinker who produced the most vivid and compelling of his thoughtographs when drunk.
The exhibition at UMBC includes approximately 60 frames holding multiple examples of original Serios thoughtographs, along with a selection of enlarged photographic prints from the originals.
The question most people will have about thoughtographs is whether they are fraudulent, and part of the exhibit addresses criticisms of the phenomenon.
Critics claimed Serios may have used the "gizmo" to conceal a small marble with a photograph attached to it, or a piece of previously exposed film. Yet to my mind, the Ted Serios phenomenon goes beyond the notion of "real versus fake," providing insights into the relationships among photography, subjectivity, representation, and the unconscious. What is most striking about the Serios thoughtographs is the power of their imagery as a manifestation of the creative process. Other images could have been obtained only as a result of knowledge or perspectives unavailable at the time. In some ways, the Serios images make a fascinating visual analogy with the contents of the unconscious.
One of the most fascinating and disturbing aspects of these thoughtographs is the way they appear to merge the individual "inner" and the collective "outer" world exactly in the manner suggested by the phenomenon of thought transference. The Chronicle welcomes constructive discussion, and our moderators highlight contributions that are thoughtful and relevant. This is how we handle embarrassing open secrets about popular "vices." And we lie even more often (a lot more often) than we masturbate. One failing of much of the current work is that it is largely uninformed by the 2,000-plus years of writing on deception that has already been done by many of our greatest thinkers. But Denery takes a close look at lesser-known thinkers as well, such as John Chrysostom, a fourth-century archbishop, some of whose homilies discuss the Devil’s lies to Eve through her conversation with the serpent.
Denery explores analyses of an enormous variety of deceptions, and does so with an erudition that is never pedantic or monotonous.
Every scholar who works on deception must read Denery’s book, as should anyone who has an interest in the long tradition of vilification of women as the deceptive sex. Everyone applauded President Bush, but did anyone actually believe that the relentless bombing of Afghanistan was without a vengeful component, that it was free from the emotion and, yes, rage that often accompany revenge? Nearly a decade later, when President Obama announced that Osama bin Laden had been assassinated by Navy Seals, Americans celebrated in the streets. Drone strikes in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Yemen elicit a similar confusion: Are they just deserts, unlawful targeted assassinations, or the highly nuanced ground rules of a just war? Before the Internet, those with a fondness for porn were left with little choice but to sneak into adult theaters in the seedy section of town wearing oversized raincoats and wide-brimmed hats. Without the debt canceling, equalizing, restorative dimensions of revenge, faith in humankind is lost and the world makes less sense. Revenge shares a similar public shame (though it is probably more acceptable to confess to having a kinky taste for porn than to acknowledge harboring feelings of revenge).
We watch revenge films without embarrassment because on some primal level we know that just deserts are required in the moral universe, that those who commit crimes must be punished according to their blameworthiness, and that wrongs must ultimately be righted. So if justice and revenge are fundamentally the same, why can't we be more honest about the role that revenge plays in our lives? To hold up their end of the bargain, states collected taxes to erect courthouses and police stations, and filled them with personnel responsible for keeping the peace. The lex talionis, the law of the talion, which provides for the right of retaliation, has its origins in the Old Testament and in Hammurabi's Code, and sets forth the basic formulation of reciprocity in response to moral injury—measure for measure. Society should always reject the wrongdoer who takes an eye and not the avenger who is duty-bound to even the score. There is a paradox in our distaste for "an eye for an eye." Most people abhor having to accept discounts in their professional or private lives. We all want reciprocity, and we want the ledgers we keep with business associates and intimate partners to be balanced. So we tolerate a legal system where over 95 percent of all cases are resolved with a negotiated plea—bargained down from what the wrongdoer rightfully deserved. In Rhode Island, in 1983, Michael Woodmansee was sentenced to 40 years in prison for gruesomely murdering a 5-year-old boy, Jason Foreman. Many criticized Foreman: How could he so openly and unapologetically admit that he was planning to take justice into his own hands? Plea bargains, with their bargain-basement rationales, epitomize the degree to which our legal system has too little respect for victims and even less regard for the moral imperative that justice must be done.
By definition, plea bargains are breaches of the social contract, because they enable states to leave unfulfilled their obligation to punish on behalf of their citizens. Other nations around the world allow for revenge—whether in the form of individual relief or under color of law.
And other nations, including Cambodia and Iran, better incorporate vengeance within their legal systems.
What works best is when the legal system can serve as a safe environment in which victims can experience revenge vicariously, all in the context of justice being done on their behalf.
And in cases where the legal system fails to properly punish the wrongdoer, victims who choose to become avengers are treated as common criminals. At the very least, the law has to truly acknowledge the experiences of victims and how they came to be victims.
Before the trial started, the court appointed 174 lawyers, paid for by the state, to represent the interests of each victim during both the investigation of the crime and the trial.
Justice is satisfied only when wrongdoers are properly punished and victims have their voices heard and losses avenged.
This was another cartoon of mine published only in the Western edition of National Review magazine, and not in the full edition (for reasons unknown to me).
This is exactly the same cartoon and drawing that I posted for The National Enquirer for April 28, 1981. Russlynn Ali, the Education Department's assistant secretary for civil rights, expects her office to handle a higher volume of complaints and offer more advice to educational institutions.
Subscribe now for instant access to this article and thousands of others, data tables, and interactive charts — all available exclusively for Chronicle subscribers. Last month, in Berkeley (at University Press Books), we launched the third issue of Mixed Blood, the national publication I started with two friends at Penn State. We’re hoping that Mixed Blood is something different, more than one more literary magazine—we invite poets to the UC campus to give public readings of their work and to give talks as well about the connections (or lack thereof) between the languages of race and the languages of poetic innovation. Race and poetic innovation are strange bedfellows, and I think that this is about more than the taboo of talk about race.
I think that bringing up race in talk about avant-garde writing (or bringing up avant-garde writing in talk about race) causes anxiety.
A few years ago I was asked to edit another special section—on experimental poetry—for American Book Review. I recently wrote that elements of such poetry—language as topic, its opacity and juxtapositions, its failures and samplings, etc.—were themselves useful for troubling ideas of the “intimacy” of literature. Compton, Coultas, and Taggart are all remarkable and unusual and extremely vital poets—their books are available at good bookstores. Perhaps simply suggesting some good writers (those three plus Brenda Coultas’s list) is the best way for me to say farewell. Anne Curzan is a professor of English at the University of Michigan, where she also holds appointments in linguistics and the School of Education.
Lucy Ferriss is writer in residence at Trinity College in Connecticut and the author of literary criticism, a memoir, and seven books of fiction. William Germano is dean of humanities and social sciences and a professor of English literature at Cooper Union. Rose Jacobs is an American freelance journalist and English teacher at the Technical University of Munich.
Ben Yagoda is a professor of English and journalism at the University of Delaware and the author of, among other books, How to Not Write Bad: The Most Common Writing Problems and the Best Ways to Avoid Them.
Given the history of violence committed in the name of religion, efforts to bridge divides among faiths are laudable; but blurring their differences does a disservice to all.
The three faiths' divergent understandings of Abraham arose from their varying interpretations of his appearance in the book of Genesis in the Hebrew Bible—the Old Testament to Christians. That, like their evolution in overlapping geographical soil, entails "a common struggle with diverse results." The crux of the differences is that each monotheistic tradition uses Abraham to claim the label of God's chosen people. Genesis portrays Abraham as receiving "some rather extravagant promises," as Levenson puts it.
Both Ishmael and Isaac inherit blessing and nationhood, while Isaac additionally is promised the "covenant" of becoming progenitor of God's chosen people.
As the well-known narrative relates, Abraham proceeds, but God intervenes just as the logs begin to crackle. Inheriting Abraham is the first book in Princeton's new Library of Jewish Ideas series, which it is publishing with the Tikvah Fund, a private foundation dedicated to promoting Jewish intellectual life.
He says he intends the series to do what Tikvah does: elevate the place of Jewish ideas in the study of the great human questions. He said he is choosing authors who, while experts in their fields, are able to write meaningfully for general readers. Levenson's book typifies the series' intended approach: to issue books that show how Jewish thought contributes something fresh and even challenging to discussions of great ideas and issues. In that vein, Levenson contends that differentiating the Jewish interpretation of Abraham from those of Christianity and Islam does a service to all three faiths.
In the seventh century, Islam fashioned its own Abraham, and like Christianity, Levenson argues, it sought "to detach Abraham from the flesh-and-blood Jewish people" as it made a case for its own chosenness. Muslims hold, then, that Islam is "the religion of Abraham restored after a long period of being misinterpreted or misrepresented or becoming blurred," says Levenson.


The three faiths' irreconcilable Abrahams do not prevent each from having "a parallel integrity" of its own. The Universities of Cambridge and Oxford are among a small number of institutions that have recently established chairs of Abrahamic religions, while the University of Wisconsin at Madison now has the Lubar Institute for the Study of the Abrahamic Religions.
Such terms as "Abrahamic religions," justified by the reality that the three religions are indeed "genetically related," emerged "to put a different face on the relationship between religious believers and peacemakers," Stroumsa explains. Kevin Kelly, a co-founder of Wired magazine who, even though he disagrees with the author's conclusion, devotes a section of his latest book to these ideas, calling the paper "one of the most astute analyses" of technological systems he has ever read.
He labeled this organ the "oculus imaginationis" and pictured it radiating a tableau of thought-pictures or phantasmata, which are then projected on to a screen in a perceived space beyond the back of the head. Strange as it may seem, such "thought" photographs do exist, and a selection of them are on display in an exhibition through March 27 at the Albin O. By holding a Polaroid camera and focusing on the lens very intently, he was able to produce dreamlike pictures of his thoughts on the film; he referred to these images as "thoughtographs," and many striking examples are on display in the exhibition.
Eisenbud (1908-99) was a clinical professor of psychiatry at the University of Colorado Medical School and a charter member of the Parapsychological Association; he wrote numerous articles on psychiatry and psychoanalysis based on his experiments with telepathy. Their method varied considerably, but it turned out that Serios was able to produce images using various kinds of cameras and in many different situations, sometimes under quite stringent test conditions. For Serios, alcohol seemed to open up the doors of psychic perception, but it caused a great deal of trouble for Eisenbud, who recounts how his prodigy would frequently disappear, only to call from jail a few days later asking the doctor to bail him out. There are also some short films on display showing Serios in action—one taken at a television studio in Denver, and one showing him attempting to project thoughtographic images on the film in a video camera. Suspicions were certainly aroused by the fact that Serios preferred to take his thoughtographs with the aid of what he referred to as a "gizmo"—something connecting his body to the camera. There were occasions, however, on which Serios did not hold the camera or the "gizmo," both of which were in the hands of an investigator.
If the contents of the unconscious could be photographed, would they resemble ordinary photographs, or would they be confusing and inaccessible? In these strange pictures, real objects or places appear to have merged with (or been altered by) the material of Serios's unconscious. For example, after seeing magazine photographs taken from Voyager 2 of Ganymede, a moon of Jupiter, Eisenbud suddenly recognized some of Serios's previously unidentified thoughtographs as images of the moons of Jupiter.
Experiments in telepathy have shown that it is often precisely what someone does not think of transmitting that is transmitted most clearly. That is, in part, what makes them so eerie—the way they superimpose a private psychic reality on a world outside the boundaries of the individual ego. In many traditions, both Western and Eastern, it is considered among the most blameworthy of acts. Denery’s book is noteworthy because it is the first systematic study of the history of Western thought on the subject. He is an entertaining writer, with a healthy skepticism about the dogmatic condemnation of lying as always, or even mostly, morally blameworthy.
For Augustine, lying is always wrong and is an expression of our fallen state; for Rousseau, "the occasional lie" can be justified because we have been forced into deception by our decadent society. No matter the damage done, the outrageousness of the conduct, or the magnitude of loss, most people will reflexively wave off any suggestion that vengeance is what they desire.
After all, there is no justice unless victims feel avenged, when they believe that a wrong has been righted and honor restored.
It's not like America convened a courtroom in Kabul and confronted the Taliban—lawyer to lawyer. Was all the joy the fulfillment of justice finally achieved—bin Laden receiving the punishment that, legally, fit the crime—or was the outpouring of emotion more akin to revenge?
The actions of the Navy Seals, and the reactions of the American public, illustrate just how meaningless the distinction is between justice and vengeance. To be caught in the compromised position of standing in the ticket line while another PTA parent just happened to drive by was difficult to explain away. The vengeful are deemed out of control, emotionally unhinged, perpetually angry, and unable to turn the cheek and move on with their lives. It's not our lust for violence that explains why we applaud payback, but our absolute need to live in a world that promotes fairness, law and order, and social peace. That's precisely what people mean when they lament that there is "no justice in the world"—a wrongdoer has gotten away with murder, and all who depend, morally and emotionally, on the sum-certainty of vengeance are left helpless, dumbfounded, and enraged.
Doing so is not an invitation to lawlessness but a mandate that the law must act with the same moral entitlement, and the same spirit of human fulfillment, as the righteous avenger.
It is an instinct at the very core of our emotions; indeed, it's a byproduct of our evolutionary history.
States were not yet in the business of maintaining legal systems or, for that matter, punishing wrongdoers for crimes committed against another. Governments assumed the role of surrogate avenger, minus the emotional involvement that a true avenger would naturally possess. A debt is created, and the avenger is entitled to take the measure of his or her loss as payback. Those who, like Gandhi, say "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind" ignore their own moral blindness.
These are the very same citizens who, through the force of law, have been deprived of their ancient right to personally enact revenge. Of course, what many of these nations have in common is that they are located in regions of the world where law enforcement is otherwise weak, so the state deputizes its citizens to settle their own scores. What we have now in the United States achieves the very opposite: Victims have no role in trials until sentencing, if at all, and they largely serve the symbolic purpose of being witnesses to the crime rather than parties to the underlying action. And the best way to accomplish that is to provide an opportunity to memorialize their loss by giving them a meaningful day in court.
A year earlier, Breivik had detonated a bomb in Oslo, killing eight people and wounding many more. The court heard 77 autopsy reports, for each of the dead, including technical details about how each of them died. He is the author, most recently, of Payback: The Case for Revenge, out this month from the University of Chicago Press. What happened was that it appeared here first and then a month later The Enquirer, on their own, picked it up from Super Service Station Magazine and reprinted it. To begin, read my introduction and personal notes, and then please look at the cartoons, which are categorized by either decade, publication name or topic. Remember, your comments are appreciated (just click on the "comment" link at the bottom of each post). Reproduction or publication for commercial purposes of any of the cartoons on this site without prior permission is strictly prohibited. Plus your subscription includes weekly print or digital delivery of The Chronicle and The Review and the Chronicle iPad® Edition. The whole thing’s called the Mixed Blood Project; the publication, Mixed Blood, is a record of the continuing conversation about that unlikely pairing—that is, we publish the talk the writer gives during her visit as well as samples of the writer’s poetry. It is by reading, listening, and looking to others that I find my way in this conversation about race and other matters. Like a national border or literary genre, race is only as real as our current social consensus. They do not represent the position of the editors, nor does posting here imply any endorsement by The Chronicle. Her publications include Gender Shifts in the History of English and How English Works: A Linguistic Introduction. Before moving to Germany, she worked for the Financial Times as a reporter and editor, in New York and London.
His new new book is The B Side: The Death of Tin Pan Alley and the Rebirth of the Great American Song. Levenson's contention in Inheriting Abraham: The Legacy of the Patriarch in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (Princeton University Press), a study of the distinct but different Abrahams fashioned by the three faiths. All three faiths display a "struggle to appropriate Abraham into their own theological frameworks," writes Levenson.
Among them: Abraham would become the father of a great nation, although he was the aged husband of an infertile wife. Neal Kozodoy, a former editor of Commentary who is now a senior director of the Tikvah Fund, is series editor. While for Jews Abraham was the father of their people, for Christians he was "the father of all who have faith without being circumcised and who thus have righteousness reckoned in them," as the apostle Paul put it, speaking about converts such as himself.
But the quest for commonality, Levenson argues, is much better served by recognizing that each interprets Abraham in a self-defining way that is firmly although differently based in the original narrative.
Humanity, the author writes, is at a crossroads, and we can either turn the clock back to a happier, more primitive time or face destruction.
However, his best-known (and only commercially successful) book was The World of Ted Serios: "Thoughtographic" Studies of an Extraordinary Mind (1967). There is also a short film of Eisenbud debating aspects of the Serios phenomenon with detractors, and another showing the observations of various faculty members from the University of Denver who witnessed experimental sessions with Serios. Normally, he used a small section of tubing fitted with a piece of photo squeegee, or a rolled-up piece of plastic from the Polaroid wrapper.
He could produce an image on a camera that was some distance away from him (as far as 66 feet in one instance), and he even produced images when the camera was in another room altogether.
Some of them juxtapose target images (of familiar buildings, monuments, houses, and hotels) with what appear to be images of day residue, haunting shadows of unfamiliar forms and structures. That made sense, as Serios had long been obsessed with Voyager 2; what did not make sense, however, was that those thoughtographs had been produced years before the Voyager 2 pictures were taken.
This is the case in many of these images, which contain parts rather than the whole, or elements distorted enough to be barely recognizable.
Following the clues in the Serios thoughtographs leads us from the everyday to the bizarre and the ineffable, confusing matter, space, form, motion, and time. I was nervous even to pick it up, fearing, as many people do, that taking an interest in lies would expose that I was a liar. Think of your reaction when someone points out a lie you’ve told or accuses you of deception.
The psychologists Kang Lee and Gail Heyman are studying the lies that children tell parents and that parents tell children.


Indeed, they will indignantly deny having a vengeful streak, as if nothing could be so shameful as the simple wish to settle a score. Because we've been trained to believe that justice is a sign of refinement, while vengeance is a barbaric holdover from a primitive past. By placing their faith in the law, those who justifiably wish to see wrongdoers punished are not disavowing vengeance.
And revenge is never just if it is disproportionately delivered—if the retaliation exceeds what is justly deserved, measure for measure. After all, given the relatively unguarded compound that the Navy Seals had discovered, they could have kidnapped bin Laden and returned him to the United States to stand trial. The revenge we are so often denied in our private lives is experienced vicariously—courtesy of the movies. Human survival depended greatly on convincing neighboring clans, tribes, and states that no attack or moral injury would go unanswered. We need our revenge, notwithstanding how feverishly religions and governments have worked to eradicate it from the human experience. The wrongdoer is entitled to no discount, and the avenger is held to a standard that allows for no excess. Telling victims to accept their loss without recourse is not a sign of virtue—it's proof of cowardice. Even worse, this math-phobic system tragically discounts the debt owed to the victim, who is grossly shortchanged. In 2011, Woodmansee was scheduled to be released, having served only 28 years of his negotiated plea. A justice system that recognized the duty it owed to victims would not rely so heavily on this method of resolution, which casually distorts the truth and trivializes the remedy. The justice system can't have it both ways: outlawing personal vengeance while at the same time devaluing legal punishment. He then went to Utoya Island, where he machine-gunned and murdered 69 people, mostly teenagers who were participating in a youth camp. After each report, a photo of the victim was projected onto a screen and the audience listened to a short description of who the victim was, and the promising lives extinguished. Of course, The Enquirer paid me their generous full price for it, as if it was an original. The publication continues to reflect the interests and involvement of its founding editors—Jeffrey T. One of the ways I negotiate it is by seeking the public company of writers—nonwhite and white—who are interested in thinking and talking about this.  The Mixed Blood Project is itself a way of addressing the concern voiced by my friend. She talks about trends in the English language in a weekly segment, "That's What They Say," on Michigan Radio. He wrote (with Rodney Huddleston) The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language (2002) and A Student's Introduction to English Grammar (2005). He is general editor of The Norton Anthology of Latino Literature, the publisher of Restless Books, devoted to contemporary literature from around the world, and co-founder of Great Books Summer Program.
God would grant that people the land of Canaan, if only Abraham would leave his family in Mesopotamia (modern-day Iraq). After the Holocaust, such efforts aimed in Europe to find commonalities between Christians and Jews, and now they are again in play as Muslims become a significant European minority. At other times they would get what Serios called "blackies," in which the film would look as though it had not been exposed at all, or "whities," in which the film would appear overexposed.
Might they contain images that are censored or disguised, and if so, how would we recognize them? He also occasionally produced pictures that would be possible only from a midair perspective, including an exposure showing part of Westminster Abbey, and an image of a Hilton hotel in Denver. Sometimes they seem to contain "leakage" from unconscious wishes and expectations—not only those of Serios but also those of the observers who happened to be present in the room at the time. Dan Ariely’s The (Honest) Truth About Dishonesty (2012) looks at why and how commonly we lie through the lens of behavioral economics. So we couch our vengefulness in the language of the law, and cast our lot with the rule of law, with all its emotional detachment and cool dispassion.
Indeed, vengeance is not irrational (the common knock on revenge)—it's healthy and entirely human. His son-in-law, Sulaiman Abu Ghaith, was just recently arraigned in Manhattan federal court for a civilian trial. The absence of a court proceeding did not lesson the justness of his final exit, nor did it convert the mission of the Navy Seals into an act of barbarism.
Turning the cheek may have religious significance to practicing Christians, but it is an awkward facial maneuver not readily practiced in the moral universe where the repayment of all debts is mandated. From the moment of sentencing, with the trial aborted for a plea bargain, Woodmansee had already shortchanged the state of Rhode Island and the boy's father, John Foreman, of what was owed. The public places its faith in the state, but it is unworthy of that faith unless it can fully accept its role as proxy—the revenge denied to victims must be undertaken by the government, because states have assumed the task of punishment to be theirs alone. Everyone is on notice that avengers will pursue wrongdoers based on the law of the talion, and all revenge-takers are aware that if their vengeance is disproportionate, they will have violated the boundaries of revenge, with the consequence of possibly igniting a blood feud—the recycling of vengeance that knows no end. Instead of being shunted aside and marginalized, their need for vengeance is seen as natural and healthy rather than pathological and sickening.
They are otherwise law-abiding citizens who came before the law in good faith expecting justice to be done. The survivors of the crime were also permitted to speak in open court—at an early stage of the trial, long before final sentencing.
And the public loses faith in the law—with all its false outcomes and broken promises.
Some of his writing for Language Log is collected in the book Far From the Madding Gerund (2006).
In a few rare cases, however, bizarre images would emerge, perhaps in a fuzzy circle of light or a ghostly shape. While many people, including Eisenbud himself, have produced similar images using gimmick lenses and transparencies, no one has been able to do so in an undetectable fashion. On one occasion, for example, the target image appeared superimposed on a second image that resembled the space probe Voyager 2. Emotionally powerful material is particularly liable to emerge in telepathy, as well as repressed thoughts and memories. The playful On Bullshit (2005) was an international best seller by one of the 20th century’s most perceptive philosophers, Harry Frankfurt. Leave revenge to the louts and the hotheads; civilized people suppress their instincts and moral outrage, and recite the script that justice is the enlightened man's revenge. No matter what they say, victims aren't choosing justice over vengeance; they are merely capitulating to a cultural taboo, knowing that the protocol in polite society is to repudiate revenge. Insisting that justice will suffice when revenge is what victims really want is both intellectually dishonest and factually untrue. The justice about to be meted out to Abu Ghaith is of an entirely different character than the summary execution received by his father-in-law.
Why, instead, do they settle into their seats with their blood rushing and their minds driven mad by the possibility that a fictional wrongdoer will escape punishment before the closing credits?
And yes, in cases of premeditated murder deemed "the worst of the worst," a penalty of death is what the wrongdoer deserves, what the victim is owed, and what the state should not hesitate in carrying out.
Prosecutors have little obligation to consult with them regarding plea bargains and trial strategies. Instead they found themselves with no choice other than to eventually take justice into their own hands. And even before final sentencing, representatives of the victims' families were given an opportunity to speak to the incalculable horror and magnitude of their loss. The face of vengeance and the face of justice are ultimately mirror images, staring back at each other, occupying the same scale, measure for measure. According to Kozodoy, several presses had expressed interest in collaborating on the series before the Tikvah Fund settled on Princeton. Sometimes they would be quite clear, particularly when Serios was attempting to produce the image of a specific physical monument or building. After the session, Serios, a space buff, confessed that he had been preoccupied with the progress of the space mission at the time and was unable to clear it completely from his mind. Although Serios was working with photography, it has often been pointed out that the unconscious deals with symbolic representations rather than photographic likenesses, which may explain why the images he produced were rarely "accurate" reproductions, but often slipped from the central image to a fringe element, from the essential to the accidental.
But make no mistake: When it comes to the visceral experience of being a victim, revenge and justice are one and the same. Reprisals on such a lethal scale seem more like a nation taking justice into its own hands. America didn't need a courtroom with a robed jurist, preening lawyers, and a key-tapping stenographer to feel morally and legally justified. To avenge was to achieve justice, and to do what was just necessitated the taking of revenge. The wrongdoer who causes someone to lose an eye will have to forfeit one of his own—no more, no less. And even when victims are heard, through "victim impact statements," there are often limits on how many can speak and how long they can speak.
And there was nothing wrong with the sight of Americans experiencing the closure that comes from feeling avenged. On the other hand, the trial had an arguably immoral and unjust outcome when Breivik was sentenced to a scant 21 years in prison, the maximum under Norwegian law.
On occasion, volunteers were asked to attend the experiment with a photograph sealed in a cardboard-backed manila envelope; Serios then managed to reproduce the image with no prior knowledge of it. And it comes too late in the process, only after the determination of guilt, and ultimately can have little bearing on the punishment the wrongdoer receives. Thus it's not clear whether these victims, despite the meaningful and respectful role they played at trial, ended up feeling avenged.



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