Bear with me on this one. In AP European History, one phenomenon we studied was the mid-Victorian custom in middle-class homes of photographing dead children. What we got around to learning was that this macabre (to us) practice was actually a by-product of the Agricultural Revolution. Largely because of improved diet, more and more children were surviving to adulthood. In the 18th century and on the American frontier, both Mrs. J.S. Bach and Mrs. William G. Dana lost half of the twenty or more children they gave birth to.

Because of improved diet and improved health, by the mid 1800s children were surviving, even thriving. This meant that parental bonds between parent and child were growing stronger: you could afford to invest your love in something as precious as a child because you weren’t going to lose her. In fact, this is when the forerunners of the Dr. Spock books appeared and were almost guaranteed to be best-sellers.

So the photography of little boys and girls who had died was visible evidence of something very poignant: By the 1850s, parents loved their children so much that they didn’t want to let them go.

Which brings me to pit bulls.

While they weren’t exactly “Nanny Dogs”—it’s never wise to leave a child alone with any dog for too long—pits were the single most popular family dog in late Victorian and Edwardian England. Since parental bonds were by then far closer and more enduring, my guess is that you wouldn’t leave your child alone–or photograph her, for that matter–with a dog that’s considered vicious. I did read a study that claimed that, after Goldens, pits were the most patient breed who would endure the most pokes from children. And we did have a pit cross, Honey, who was one of the sweetest dogs we’ve ever owned. But she’s anecdotal.

Still, it again makes me wonder if the problem is less with dogs and more with humans. There are strains of the pit that have been bred to fight; the “toughening” of dogs like these, and the former quarterback Michael Vick is an example, involves inflicting pain on them. I’ve known people innocently walking their dogs who were attacked by a pit, and it’s a singularly terrifying experience. They are trying to kill your dog. Or you. Or both.

It’s not only terrifying, it’s disheartening. Some pits may have a killer instinct, but it’s a trait that’s been bred into a dog, or trained into a dog, by a human who has no heart. (Or, in the recent case involving a Belgian Malinois attacking and killing a local man, a wonderful man, a dog owned by a human who has no brain.)

It’s not my intent to argue for or against the breed here.

What I am trying to say is simply this: These photographs are fascinating.

But they may demonstrate that the traditional views we hold of dogs—or of other human beings—need to be subject to examination and reflection. I’m afraid that we are much more comfortable with tradition. It’s almost as if our prejudices have been bred, or trained, into us.