Fossey. Most of the attention of each of these thinkers, though, has been devoted to what is popularly (but not necessarily by the thinkers themselves) considered the âupperâ end of the âladderâ of life. To my mind, the question of appropriate relations is more tricky and intriguingâalso more crucial in the long run, since this group accounts for most of the planetâs speciesâas applied to the âlowerâ end, down there among the mosquitoes and worms and black widow spiders.
These are the extreme test cases. These are the alien species who experience human malice, or indifference, or tolerance, at its most automatic and elemental. To squash or not to squash? Mohandas Gandhi, whose own ethic of nonviolence owed much to ahimsa, was once asked about the propriety of an antimalaria campaign that involved killing mosquitoes with DDT, and he was careful to give no simple, presumptuous answer. These are the creatures whose treatment, by each of us, illuminates not just the strength of emotional affinity but the strength, if any, of principle.
But what is the principle? Pure ahimsa, as even Gandhi admitted, is unworkable. Vegetarianism is invidious. Anthropocentrism, conscious or otherwise, is smug and ruinously myopic. What else? Well, I have my own little notion of one measure that might usefully be applied in our relations with other species, and I offer it here seriously despite the fact that it will probably sound godawful stupid.
Eye contact.
Make eye contact with the beast, the Other, before you decide upon action. No kidding, now, I mean get down on your hands and knees right there in the vegetable garden, and look that snail in the face. Lock eyes with that bull snake. Trade stares with the carp. Gaze for a moment into the many-faceted eyesâthe windows to its soulâof the house fly, as it licks its way innocently across your kitchen counter. Look for signs of embarrassment or rancor or guilt. Repeat the following formula silently, like a mantra: âThis is some motherâs darling, this is some motherâs child.â Then kill if you will, or if it seems you must.
Iâve been experimenting with the eye-contact approach for some time myself. I donât claim that it has made me gentle or holy or put me in tune with the cosmic hum, but definitely it has been interesting. The hardest casesâand therefore I think the most tellingâare the spiders.
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The face of a spider is unlike anything else a human will ever see. The word âuglyâ doesnât even begin to serve. âGrotesqueâ and âmenacingâ are too mild. The only adequate way of communicating the effect of a spiderly countenance is to warn that it is âvery different,â and then offer a photograph. This trick should not be pulled on loved ones just before bedtime or when trying to persuade them to accompany you to the Amazon.
The special repugnant power of the spider physiognomy derives, I think, from fangs and eyes. The former are too big and the latter are too many. But the fangs (actually the fangs are onlyterminal barbs on the chelicerae, as the real jaw limbs are called) need to be large, because all spiders are predators yet they have no pincers like a lobster or a scorpion, no talons like an eagle, no social behavior like a pack of wolves. Large clasping fangs armed with poison glands are just their required equipment for earning a living. And what about those eight eyesâbig ones and little ones, arranged in two rows, all bugged-out and pointing every-whichway? (My wife the biologist offers a theory here: âThey have an eye for each leg, like usâso they donât step in anything.â) Well, a predator does need good eyesight, binocular focus, peripheral vision. Sensory perception is crucial to any animal that lives by the hunt and, unlike insects, arachnids possess no antennae. Beyond that, I