Revisited and Revised Posting from 2010

“I think I see the light coming to me, coming through me, giving me a second sight.” Those are lyrics from Cat Stevens’ song I Think I See, written years before he became Yusuf Islam. Some said it was a metaphor for the Promised Land.

Jon Stewart, at the 2010 “Rally to Restore Sanity,” offered a sardonic twist: “And sometimes the light [I think I see] at the end of the tunnel isn’t the Promised Land. Sometimes it’s just New Jersey.” Yusuf Islam was at the rally, performing Peace Train.

In Shroud of Turin circles, the phrase “I think I see” takes on a sharper meaning. It evokes Ray Rogers. “I think I see won’t do,” he wrote, in response to a dubious observation. “I think I see is not a scientific statement,” he repeated often. In an email to me, he added, “Tests and measurements will always have more credibility than ‘I think I see.’”

To Rogers, what others said they saw, he suspected they only imagined. I agree.

I once received an email from someone who argued that we only think we see the image of a face on the Shroud. He claimed it was nothing more than an accidental collection of stains and smudges—no different than seeing Jesus in a piece of toast. What we see, he said, is pareidolia. Or apophenia. I had never heard those terms. Now I have. According to Merriam-Webster, apophenia is “the experience of seeing patterns or connections in random or meaningless data.” Pareidolia is a form of that.

I wrote back. “The image is too detailed, too consistent, too human to be dismissed as coincidence. It is a face—real by some means. A painting, perhaps. A photograph. Or something else we don’t understand.”

But he insisted. “You can’t prove that. You don’t know it’s not a coincidence. What makes it a face? What’s the threshold for that? Are you an expert on human anatomy?”

Fair point.

There is likely a gray area between certainty and illusion when it comes to recognizing faces or features. We’re wired for it. When I see a face in the clouds, I know it isn’t real. If I see one on toast, I might laugh. If I see a Picasso, I know it’s meant to be a face, even if it’s more abstract than the toast. Context matters. But the face on the Shroud? It has a full body, symmetry, structure. There is context. Still, might it be a particularly convincing pareidolia?

Psychologists—and even legal scholars at Harvard—have explored this. A blog maintained by Harvard’s Project on Law and Mind Sciences, The Situationist, recounts Carl Sagan’s insight:

“As soon as the infant can see, it recognizes faces, and we now know that this skill is hardwired in our brains… Those infants who couldn’t recognize a face smiled back less, were less likely to win the hearts of their parents, and less likely to prosper.”

We’re built to see faces. But we may also be overbuilt for it. Takeo Watanabe, a neuroscientist at Boston University, suggests that when we become too conditioned to detect certain patterns—like faces—we start perceiving them even when they aren’t there:

“People have gotten so used to seeing faces everywhere that sensitivity to them is high enough to produce constant false positives… If you lived in primeval times, it would be good to be very sensitized to tigers.”

This applies not just to nature or toast—but also to digital imagery. A 2005 paper on image processing warns that enhancing low-contrast images can create visual artefacts. Filters, edge detectors, and contrast tweaks—often used on Shroud photographs—can conjure details that aren’t truly there. The authors caution: features that seem significant might be nothing more than noise intensified by the algorithm. Even machines can fall prey to pareidolia.

The classic example is the infamous “Face on Mars.” NASA’s Viking 1 spacecraft, in 1976, photographed a rock formation in the Cydonia region. It looked like a giant face—two miles long—carved into the landscape. For some, it was evidence of ancient Martians. But later, higher-resolution images debunked that. In fact, NASA even used ray-tracing software—like VP8, often referenced in Shroud studies—to show the Martian “face” was just a mesa with odd shadows. Pareidolia again. Still, some believers insisted it was real.

The face on the Shroud is not a mesa. It’s not a shadow. But the lessons remain.

There is undeniably an image of a man. But what about all the additional details people claim to see? Coins over the eyes. Roman lettering. Flowers from Jerusalem. Teeth. Tools. Dice. A titulus. Is it really there?

Here, Watanabe’s point is especially relevant. Experts may be more susceptible to pareidolia than lay observers—just in a more sophisticated way. Botanists see flowers. Numismatists see coins. Dentists see teeth. Biblical scholars see Aramaic or Greek inscriptions. This doesn’t mean they’re wrong—but it does mean we should consider the possibility of conditioned perception.

Forensic pathologists and coroners, too, may be especially inclined to see signs of rigor mortis, cadaveric spasm, or post-mortem trauma—not out of bias in the accusatory sense, but simply because their expertise leads them to scan for such details. Their minds are trained to recognize patterns in lifeless bodies, to see stiffness in posture, pooling in blood flow, or tension in limbs. But when working with an ambiguous image on a damaged medieval cloth, this skillset may inadvertently guide them toward interpretive overreach. It is entirely plausible—indeed, quite likely—that perceived signs of rigor mortis on the Shroud are not anatomical evidence at all, but instead the result of visual ambiguity amplified by expectation. In this sense, even rigor mortis can become a form of pareidolia: seeing what we are trained to see in a context that quietly invites projection.

Hugh Farey, a long-time Shroud researcher and skeptic, critiques one of the more widespread forensic claims: that the body posture on the cloth shows signs of rigor mortis, or cadaveric spasm. This claim—popularized in the past by pro-authenticity advocates—is often cited as evidence that the image was formed while the body was still stiffened in death. But Farey warns that such conclusions are built on assumptions. Creases, folds, and distortions in the fabric can account for apparent rigidity. The Shroud has been stored, moved, held aloft, and displayed in ways that could have subtly altered the image. Farey’s caution is valuable: are we seeing biological detail—or just pattern and projection?

The cloth itself contributes to this confusion. It’s been exposed to fire, smoke, water, incense, handling, folding, rolling, and time. It was woven with handspun threads on a hand loom. It has variegated banding across the surface—subtle light-and-dark stripes that alter visual perception. The face image is dramatically affected by these bands. That may explain why some think they see teeth: the banding creates an illusion of vertical lines between the lips. These lines continue beyond the face—suggesting they’re structural, not anatomical.

Photography adds another layer of distortion. Different films produce different contrasts. Lighting introduces small shadows. Color temperatures change what the camera sees. What you see in a photo might not match what you see in person.

People have seen a hammer and nails, a sponge on a stick, a crown of thorns, a titulus, dice, and ropes. Some claim to see Greek, Latin, and Hebrew letters. Are these things actually on the cloth?

Consensus helps, but only if it emerges from careful, unbiased analysis. It is improper to reject such claims because one believes the Shroud is fake. But it is also unscientific to embrace every perceived detail simply because one believes it is authentic. We must account for visual noise—banding, wrinkles, folds, photographic interference—and cognitive bias.

“I see,” said the blind man as he picked up his hammer and saw. “I see flowers. I see teeth. I see rigor mortis.”

I’d like to see the flowers if they are there. I may be skeptical, but I’m not opposed to the truth. I’ve read the books. Studied the charts. Looked through photographic overlays. Still—I’m unconvinced.

So show me. Show me they aren’t pareidolias. Show me rigor mortis that isn’t a form of phantasm or apophenia or I-think-I-see. Show me that the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t New Jersey.