Almost all insects are harmless to humans, and most bugs actually contribute positively to the environment we inhabit, but there is a pervasive bug-aversion in our culture. There are any number of reasons why an individual may feel threatened by insects, and certainly fear is particular to each person, but overall, our aversion is a result of physiological, psychological, and behavioral responses that feed each other in a cyclical pattern that creates an ongoing vortex of Entomophobia.
Physiologically speaking, humans are hard-wired to react to surprising situations, and bugs are surprising. We catch a fast moving creature out of the corner of our eye when we are least expecting it, and our fear response kicks in. In this moment of reaction, we instinctively observe the bug’s action through the filter of our own need for survival. As a result, we feel startled, and we jump, flinch or scream. Even if the creature’s intentions are benign, which they usually are, our fear response is alerted, and our body reacts. These physiological reactions affect the way we think and feel about insects.
When we experience the negative sensations of this fear response time and again, these negative memories add up, and we are on our way to developing the belief that bugs are bad. Add to our own memories the stories we hear about the time a spider fell in our friend’s bed, or the time a cockroach crawled out of our uncle’s shower drain, and compound those with the news stories of the minority of insects that truly are dangerous—the infamous black widow or Africanized honey bee—and we develop a full-blown belief that all things tiny and segmented are out to get us. Even if our parents assured us that crickets and houseflies are benign, there is a place in our mind that associates them with the creepy-crawlies we’ve heard hundreds of nightmare stories about, and our impulse is to flee, shoo, or squash.
Our physiological and psychological reactions to these creatures have been part of the reason that we, as a culture, have made great strides (or backward steps if you ask some people) in separating ourselves from the great (and dangerous) outdoors. If bugs, dirt, and extreme weather exist in nature, then we must seal our shelters and keep the bad things out. But our need to stay inside and stay clean backfires when we develop aversions to things that are so inherent to our lives on this planet.
Richard Louv in his 2005 book Last Child in the Woods postulates that human beings, especially children, are spending less time outdoors and experiencing negative consequences as a result. The phenomenon is known as nature deficit disorder, and I would argue it’s a contributing factor in our reluctance to appreciate insects. It creates a separation between us as humans and the great outdoors. What’s inside is clean and sterile and good. What is outside is dirty and dangerous and bad. This dichotomous thinking makes us feel safe and comfortable, but when the worlds collide (say, an innocent wolf spider scurries across the wall of your living room), our brains arrest. The bad has suddenly invaded our good, and we have to make things right again. I believe this is so because the reverse is also true, particularly in other cultures where the lines between indoor and outdoor, clean and dirty, are not as clear. When people are familiar with the mysteries (the filthy, filthy mysteries!) of nature, they are less averse to the insects that dwell in it.
And that’s how I feel too. We all, humans, animals, and insects alike, inhabit this miraculous place called earth. There are plenty of things actually worth fearing, things that are more invisible or insidious, but we continue to lash out thoughtlessly at the little creatures that keep our environment thriving. Perhaps if we would take time to dismantle the patterns that contribute to our insect aversion, we might see the beauty and wonder in these tiny creatures that have so much to teach us.