Sarah Marshall wrote a 2015 profile of Ted Bundy, who launched the myth of the serial killer into pop consciousness.
More than 30 years after he was put to death, Ted Bundy lives on as a remorseless, evil superman. But in reality he was a pathetic, self-hating, broken creature, who put to lie the myth of the psychopath.
In myth, the psychopath is coldly rational and superior to his victims and other mortal humans. In reality, according to the lawyers who knew him best, Bundy was incapable of behaving rationally in anything.
Ted Bundy is the textbook psychopath who shows us how to recognize the evil in our midst. His story is the story we all know. And yet the longer you listen to it—and listen not just to the legend, but to the people who knew Ted Bundy, and even to the man himself—the more you will find yourself hearing the story of a man who was not a mastermind, was not a genius, and who seems to have understood as little about what motivated him as the people around him did. As you draw closer to its center—and closer and closer to the demon core—you may begin to feel that the longer you spend inside this story, the less sense you can find.
Bundy was initially a folk hero when he escaped police custody.
After he was captured in Florida, Ted Bundy changed, in the public eye, from an outlaw to a monster….
“That he most probably looked normal and walked among us seemed the greatest of horrors,” a Florida State student wrote in the The Florida Flambeau.
Thomas Harris, a “crime desk reporter turned thriller author” observed Bundy’s trial, which “influenced his creation of Hannibal Lecter, the cold, calculating, erudite villain of the best-selling series that included ‘The Silence of the Lambs.’”
Today, the diagnosis of “psychopath” is meted out as freely in the courtroom as it is during prime time, and its effect is always the same: instant dehumanization.
When it comes to assigning blame, no designation could be more comforting. The psychopath is born bad. Nothing can fix him. Society cannot be at fault, and there is no point in wondering whether timely treatment could have averted the inevitable. He does what he wants to do. He knows it is wrong. He can control himself; he simply chooses not to. The idea that the psychopath is somehow more deserving of blame because he was born bad—that his lack of empathy serves as proof of his evil, despite a diagnosis that says he cannot feel it, no matter how he tries—is a paradox few have attempted to address.
Are serial killers unusual monsters? Unfortunately, violence, including minder, torture, and rape, are normal human behaviors. We call serial killers monsters because they kill, torture, and rape without government authority. Even the US had proven willing to torture people it’s decided are terrorists.
Marshall is now co-host of the wonderful You’re Wrong About podcast.
Are smartphones and social media addictive? Tech critics say yes. But actual addiction researchers say something else — and they point to ways in which our broad use of the word “addiction” can cause real harm. In this episode, we look at the history of supposedly “addictive” technologies, understand the surprisingly odd science behind today’s scariest claims, and discover who really has the power to break these supposed “addictions.” (Hint: It’s you.)
Nir Eyal, who wrote books advising tech companies on how to make their products habit-forming, and also advising people who to break the habit, rejects the word addictive to describe technology.
He explains that all human beings require competency, autonomy, and relatedness, and if they don’t get it in real life, you might look for it online.
We can see this in kids. Kids spend a lot of time on social media. Says Feifer: “Maybe too much time. Maybe a problematic amount of time. But if we keep thinking that the product is the source of the problem, the sole source, that these kids are simply powerless against the weight of addictive products, that we are not allowing ourselves to understand or to help to solve actual problems.”
Kids today don’t get a lot of feeling of competency, autonomy, and relatedness. Kids are subjected to a lot of standardized tests, which tell them they’re not good enough. In Minecraft or Fortnite, kids can get competent.
Kids are bound by rules and restrictions. Eyal says. “There’s a study done by Peter Gray that showed that children in America have 10 times as many rules imposed on them as adults, twice as many restrictions as a convicted felon in prison.
There’s only two places in society where you can be told what to do, where to go, what to think, who to be friends with what to eat, and that school in prison. And so is it any surprise when they come home from school, they want freedom, we all need agency and autonomy, we need that for our psychological well being. So, where do they find it? Well, online, you can be the God of your universe, you can control your environment. That feels good.
And, finally, relatedness — or connectedness. Kids don’t get much free play anymore, they don’t get much time to connect with other kids.
So kids retreat online, where they can get competency, autonomy, and relatedness. If you try to solve a kid’s problem by just taking their phone away, you’re not resolving the problem at all.
Same for adults who are addicted to social media. Says Feifer, who once thought of himself as addicted to Twitter:
“I was checking Twitter every few minutes at work. And then I carried that habit home with me, which really aggravated my wife.”
But the problem wasn’t Twitter, Feifer says.
I was working at a job that I just hated, I could not understand what my bosses wanted, which killed my sense of competency. The company had strange and burdensome policies like making everyone switch desks every few months…. the result was that I felt no autonomy. And because I was so sour, I felt disconnected from most of my co workers, which meant no relatedness. So, what did I do? I found all of those things on Twitter, where I felt confident and in control and connected to a community.
Then I eventually left that job, and now I am very happy in my career. And I feel competent and autonomous and connected. And you know what? I don’t look at Twitter much anymore. It is gone from a place I took refuge in to a thing that I look at briefly a few times a day just to see if anyone mentioned me. I wasn’t addicted to Twitter, I was overusing Twitter. Twitter wasn’t an addictive product, Twitter was exactly the same then as it is now. The problem was never Twitter, the problem was me. And the solution, well, that had to come from me too.
Social service agencies in￼ 21 states have distributed tens of thousands of robot dogs and cats too lonely seniors, living alone and isolated from other human contact. The programs accelerated during the Covid pandemic social isolation.￼
It felt good to love again, in that big empty house. Virginia Kellner got the cat last November, around her ninety-second birthday, and now it’s always nearby. It keeps her company as she moves, bent over her walker, from the couch to the bathroom and back again. The walker has a pair of orange scissors hanging from the handlebar, for opening mail. Virginia likes the pet’s green eyes. She likes that it’s there in the morning, when she wakes up. Sometimes, on days when she feels sad, she sits in her soft armchair and rests the cat on her soft stomach and just lets it do its thing. Nuzzle. Stretch. Vibrate. Virginia knows that the cat is programmed to move this way; there is a motor somewhere, controlling things. Still, she can almost forget. “It makes you feel like it’s real,” Virginia told me, the first time we spoke. “I mean, mentally, I know it’s not. But—oh, it meowed again!”
Engelhart makes a passing reference to the Turing Test, which posits that we’ll know we have achieved artificial intelligence when a machine can trick a person into thinking they’re conversing with another person. What Turing didn’t take into account is the person’s willingness to trick themself — to pretend that they’re conversing with another person. The pretending comes to closely resemble belief.
81-year-old Deanna Dezer holds conversations with her companion robot, ElliQ, which looks like a table lamp and does speech recognition and synthesis. Asked how she feels about ElliQ being a machine, Dezer responds, “My last husband was a robot, but he wasn’t as good as her … I know she can’t feel emotions, but that’s O.K. I feel enough for the both of us.”