Fabre's Insects

Jean Henri Fabre was a French entomologist and author who graced our little planet with his copious observations of the insect world. He lived from 1823 to 1915. Charles Darwin paid tribute to Fabre, calling him an “inimitable observer.” And that’s exactly what Fabre was—an incomparable insect eyewitness, as well as a commentator; not an opinionated theorist and not an academic who sits in his book-lined office and claims esoteric postulates about the workings of the world.

Fabre spent many years on his hands and knees, his nose close to the ground, observing countless details of the lives of insects. He had an enormous respect for the “lowly” bugs: their sheer numbers, their intricate habits, and their crucial role in the ecological balance of life on Earth. While others pronounced their often conceited and off-base ideas about insects, Fabre meticulously and objectively watched. And he watched.

But he did more than just watch and become familiar with what the little critters were doing; he conducted experiments. Watching may tell us what is happening, but the clever experiments that Fabre conceived of revealed the meaning behind their actions. Otherwise, we too easily fall prey to our preconceived and anthropomorphic thoughts. As he wrote: without experimentation, we tend to observe an insect and draw conclusions, based not “upon the primary motives of its activities, but our own opinions, which always yield a reply in favor of our cherished notions.”

So he watched and he watched; he asked good questions, and he conducted experiments, a process “which alone is able to some extent to fathom the obscure problem of animal intelligence.” Intelligence? Yes… he saw that the simplest insects display an acumen that is to be admired. His sense of humility enabled him to pursue and perceive some amazing facts about the insect world. He was able to see beauty in what most people feel is repugnant. His essays on the dung beetle, for example, provide a prime example of his ability to perceive the fascination and value of this lowly bug.

An illustration of his humility is shown by a letter he wrote to a friend, in which he said, “Because I have shifted a few grains of sand upon the shore, am I in a position to understand the abysmal depths of the ocean? Life has unfathomable secrets. Human knowledge will be eroded from the world’s archives before we possess the last word that a gnat has to say to us.” I love that last phrase… the end of our knowledge will never come.

The dung beetle is a curious little critter—engaging in behavior that humans consider disgusting: finding piles of poop, carving out and forming a round ball that is some 10 times the weight of the beetle, and then patiently rolling the turd sphere to a safe location, where it can be buried, to serve as either a cache of food or as a brooding chamber for its offspring. The beetle requires no other repast or liquid other than his poop ball; it’s his complete and sole diet. What’s more, he prefers the dung of herbivores, so his taste cannot be considered to be non-discriminating. Carnivore poop is not nearly as delicious, apparently.

The dung beetle offers a valuable service to the environment, by removing a breeding ground for flies and other germ-spreading bugs. This helps improve the hygiene of a herd of cattle, as well as provides fertilizer for plants, after he entombs the cow dung, but doesn’t completely consume it.

The following biographical sketch of the travails of a dung beetle was inspired—maybe even incited—by Fabre’s detailed and fascinating descriptions of the habits of these little critters.

Next time: the adventures of Darrell the Dung Beetle