In recent years many people have condemned the collecting of butterflies as cruel because it supposedly inflicts pain on innocent creatures. This animus is directed especially at children, who are thought to be indifferent to the pain they may cause, reason enough to keep them at a distance from nature or out of it altogether. Keep out. Don’t touch.
Such has been the mantra of those who pretend to protect the natural world. But butterflies, in fact, suffer only minimal pain and certainly no more pain then all the bugs we crush indiscriminately every day, sometimes in huge numbers, with every step we take on the earth, or certainly no more pain than nature itself induces at frost time, bringing down all the adult butterflies by the many millions. The real cruelty is to deny children the chance to get deeply into nature.
Ever since it was invented by Europeans in the 18th century and later democratized in America, collecting put people from all kinds of backgrounds, well-off and poor, male and female, in touch with nature’s manifold colors, designs, patterns, and shapes. It placed people inside the fullness of nature, inside landscapes full of diverse life, where boundaries between species were weakest, and all was ebb and flow between them. Collecting exposed a hidden generative realm, shared by human beings and butterflies, that imparted to many an overpowering feeling of being alive and of knowing that this is who you are and why you are. It connected the collector not only to the butterfly but to the context in which the butterfly existed, the flowers and carrion it fed upon, the surrounding insects and predatory birds, the dense, fragrant air, and the sunlight, all mingling together to form the experience of a terrestrial paradise, which is what Vladimir Nabokov, novelist and butterfly collector, called the meadow-world of his childhood. Requiring only nets, killing jars, labels and mounting boards, all of which could be obtained and assembled for pennies, it led to the making of collections, marvelous tools of instruction, encouraging kids to describe, name, and classify insects. Nothing has ever rivaled collecting in the way it fostered connection to nature, such that many collectors who began as little murderers ended as the guardians, stewards, and defenders of not the dead but of the living world.
In recent years many people have condemned the collecting of butterflies as cruel because it supposedly inflicts pain on innocent creatures. This animus is directed especially at children, who are thought to be indifferent to the pain they may cause, reason enough to keep them at a distance from nature or out of it altogether. Keep out. Don't touch.Such has been the mantra of those who pretend to protect the natural world. But butterflies, in fact, suffer only minimal pain and certainly no more pain then all the bugs we crush indiscriminately every day, sometimes in huge numbers, with every step we take on the earth, or certainly no more pain than nature itself induces at frost time, bringing down all the adult butterflies by the many millions. The real cruelty is to deny children the chance to get deeply into nature.Ever since it was invented by Europeans in the 18th century and later democratized in America, collecting put people from all kinds of backgrounds, well-off and poor, male and female, in touch with nature's manifold colors, designs, patterns, and shapes. It placed people inside the fullness of nature, inside landscapes full of diverse life, where boundaries between species were weakest, and all was ebb and flow between them. Collecting exposed a hidden generative realm, shared by human beings and butterflies, that imparted to many an overpowering feeling of being alive and of knowing that this is who you are and why you are. It connected the collector not only to the butterfly but to the context in which the butterfly existed, the flowers and carrion it fed upon, the surrounding insects and predatory birds, the dense, fragrant air, and the sunlight, all mingling together to form the experience of a terrestrial paradise, which is what Vladimir Nabokov, novelist and butterfly collector, called the meadow-world of his childhood. Requiring only nets, killing jars, labels and mounting boards, all of which could be obtained and assembled for pennies, it led to the making of collections, marvelous tools of instruction, encouraging kids to describe, name, and classify insects. Nothing has ever rivaled collecting in the way it fostered connection to nature, such that many collectors who began as little murderers ended as the guardians, stewards, and defenders of not the dead but of the living world.
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In recent years many people have condemned the collecting of butterflies as cruel because it supposedly inflicts pain on innocent creatures. This animus is directed especially at children, who are thought to be indifferent to the pain they may cause, reason enough to keep them at a distance from nature or out of it altogether. Keep out. Do Not Touch.
Such has been The mantra of those Who pretend to Protect The natural World. But butterflies, in fact, suffer only minimal pain and certainly no more pain then all the bugs we crush indiscriminately every day, sometimes in huge numbers, with every step we take on the earth, or certainly no more pain than nature itself induces at frost. time, bringing down all the adult butterflies by the many millions. The Real cruelty is to Deny Children The Chance to Get Deeply Into Nature.
Ever since it was invented by Europeans in The 18th Century and later democratized in America, collecting Put People from all kinds of Backgrounds, Well-off and poor, male and female. , in touch with nature's manifold colors, designs, patterns, and shapes. It placed people inside the fullness of nature, inside landscapes full of diverse life, where boundaries between species were weakest, and all was ebb and flow between them. Collecting exposed a hidden generative realm, shared by human beings and butterflies, that imparted to many an overpowering feeling of being alive and of knowing that this is who you are and why you are. It connected the collector not only to the butterfly but to the context in which the butterfly existed, the flowers and carrion it fed upon, the surrounding insects and predatory birds, the dense, fragrant air, and the sunlight, all mingling together to form the. experience of a terrestrial paradise, which is what Vladimir Nabokov, novelist and butterfly collector, called the meadow-world of his childhood. Requiring only nets, killing jars, labels and mounting boards, all of which could be obtained and assembled for pennies, it led to the making of collections, marvelous tools of instruction, encouraging kids to describe, name, and classify insects. Nothing has ever rivaled collecting in the way it fostered connection to nature, such that many collectors who began as little murderers ended as the guardians, stewards, and defenders of not the dead but of the living world.
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