Philosophy on Bug- and/or Spider-Killing

[Nat]

Originally Posted by Bootsandheels

I was raised to honor all living things, and yes that included bugs. I come from a theatrical family, and it was quite the production when carrying out the offensive bug. What really mattered most to me and shaped my belief and actions today re: bugs are two separate incidents with them that I will never forget. One was when I was about 14 and I was on one my father's beloved hiking treks into the forest. We came upon a beautiful domed spider web, and my dad proceeded to smile and said "Watch this..." He then dropped a small leaf onto the web. Instantly out of nowhere the spider came and with the care of a master seamstress, cut out the offensive leaf and patched it's web within minutes. I was awed and the moment as you can see is etched into my mind. The second was 21 yrs ago when I was very depressed and leaving my husband. There was this small jumping spider that was on the top of my dresser where I was laying my head down to have a good cry. It came up to me and just stayed there...seemingly looking at me. I reached out with my fingers very slowly and it backed away at about the same speed. Very quickly I realised it was actually playing with me! It started to play this "hide and seek" kind of game-I couldn't believe it! The clincher was when it hid behind the dresser at the top back part and I thought it had run away. I stayed very still looking and finally peered over a bit to look and in that instant it JUMPED out at me!!! Neener Neener!!! Omg...I laughed my head off! That spider gave me the greatest gift of making a horrible night bearable. Do I kill spiders? HELL NO! Other bugs? Not unless I can't humanly stand it.

For some reason, your post reminded me of this passage of "the god of small things"

"Even later, on the thirteen nights that followed this one, instinctively they stuck to the Small Things. The Big Things ever lurked inside. They knew that there was nowhere for them to go. They had nothing. No future. So they stuck to the small things.
They laughed at ant-bites on each other’s bottoms. At clumsy caterpillars sliding off the ends of leaves, at overturned beetles that couldn’t right themselves. At the pair of small fish that always sought Velutha out in the river and bit him. At a particularly devout praying mantis. At the minute spider who lived in a crack in the wall of the back verandah of the History House and camouflaged himself by covering his body with bits of rubbish. A sliver of wasp wing. Part of a cobweb. Dust. Leaf rot The empty thorax of a dead bee. Chappa Thamburan, Velutha called him. Lord Rubbish. One night they contributed to his wardrobe-a flake of garlic skin-and were deeply offended when he rejected it along with the rest of his armor from which he emerged-disgruntled, naked, snot-colored. As though he deplored their taste in clothes. For a few days he remained in this suicidal state of disdainful undress. The rejected shell of garbage stayed standing, like an outmoded world-view. An antiquated philosophy. Then it crumbled. Gradually Chappa Thamburan acquired a new ensemble.
Without admitting it to each other or themselves, they linked their fates, their futures (their Love, their Madness, their Hope, their Infinnate joy), to his. They checked on him every night (with growing panic as time went by) to see if he had survived the day. They fretted over his frailty. His smallness. The adequacy of his camouflage. His seemingly self-destructive pride. They grew to love his eclectic taste. His shambling dignity.
They chose him because they knew that they had to put their faith in fragility. Stick to Smallness. Each time they parted, they extracted only one small promise from each other:
Tomorrow?
Tomorrow.
They knew that things could change in a day. They were right about that.
They were wrong about Chappu Thamburan, though. He outlived Velutha. He fathered future generations.
He died of natural causes."