spiders, sharks, and mantis drama: why predator-prey relationships are so messy
Since I moved, I've been finding spider webs around the apartment, but no spiders. I've even started checking deliberately because I'm an arachnophobe — and unforeseen spiders are the scariest ones. Usually, I destroy the spider webs.
One morning, however, I decided not to. A spider web was strung in a plant pot under the sun. The rainbow threads twinkled so prettily that I didn't think about the spider that wove them.
For the first time, I understood why flies got caught in spider webs — a strange thought, since I hadn't blamed flies for getting trapped. I wouldn’t, even after learning that some spiders sit in the middle of their webs to attract their prey.
Yet — I didn’t feel sorry for the flies either. Most people, I think, feel indifferent toward gross-looking prey and predators, like cockroaches and funky fish scraping by on the sea bottom. I’d like to think people feel the same about cute and cuddly prey, but inexplicably, pretty privilege is the ultimate apex predator, limiting the number of sympathetic populations. Predators, on the other hand, are usually admired for their strength or cunning.
I neither admire predators nor sympathise with prey. I’m just grateful to be human and, therefore, at the top of the food chain.
When it comes to humans as predators or prey, however, feelings get complicated. We blame the predator for hunting or the prey for getting caught, assuming people are perfectly rational actors.
For example, Minnesota dentist Walter Palmer sparked international outrage after shooting the celebrity lion Cecil. Activists, celebrities, and politicians condemned Dr. Palmer, and some countries were even compelled to ban trophy hunting. Palmer, who paid $50,000 for the kill, faced swarms of picketers outside his practice and years of negative reviews from Cecil's fans.
The uproar wasn’t just about the killing — it was about its irrationality. Palmer wasn’t in danger. If he wanted meat, he could’ve gone to Walmart.
This same sentiment explains why people feel sympathy for animals put down after biting someone. It feels unfair to invade their space — or force them to intrude in ours — and then punish them for being what they are. It’s like an uninvited guest murdering you in your own home just because it’s noon and you’re still in your pajamas.
Similarly, some people, including myself, believe shark attacks are caused by humans swimming in sharks’ territory. This logic — respecting nature’s boundaries — shapes much of our attitude toward predator-prey relationships.
Take Sirga, a semi-wild lioness best known for her bond with Valentin Gruener. Sirga treats Gruener like he’s part of her pride: she hunts with him and shares her kills. Gruener documents their life for his followers at @sirgathelioness.
In one reel, Gruener kills a black oryx that Sirga had injured but hadn’t finished off. Some viewers were upset that he didn’t “let nature take its course.” However, most agreed it was necessary for Gruener to adopt the role of the pride Sirga would have had in the wild. Here, necessity justifies human intervention as predator.
Feelings get more complicated when predators and prey are of the same species. Female praying mantises are well-known for eating their mates after copulation. We don’t blame the females or the males for participating in this ritual, yet we’re oddly obsessed with it. Is it because we’re used to males being dominant? Because female praying mantises are literal man-eaters? Or is it just one of many curious facts about nature that challenges the status quo?
Ultimately, our feelings toward predators and prey are anything but logical. They’re shaped by beauty, necessity, and misconceptions about nature’s laws. We judge the world as if we aren’t part of it — grateful to be at the top of the food chain, yet unsettled when we see ourselves reflected in it.
One morning, however, I decided not to. A spider web was strung in a plant pot under the sun. The rainbow threads twinkled so prettily that I didn't think about the spider that wove them.
For the first time, I understood why flies got caught in spider webs — a strange thought, since I hadn't blamed flies for getting trapped. I wouldn’t, even after learning that some spiders sit in the middle of their webs to attract their prey.
Yet — I didn’t feel sorry for the flies either. Most people, I think, feel indifferent toward gross-looking prey and predators, like cockroaches and funky fish scraping by on the sea bottom. I’d like to think people feel the same about cute and cuddly prey, but inexplicably, pretty privilege is the ultimate apex predator, limiting the number of sympathetic populations. Predators, on the other hand, are usually admired for their strength or cunning.
I neither admire predators nor sympathise with prey. I’m just grateful to be human and, therefore, at the top of the food chain.
When it comes to humans as predators or prey, however, feelings get complicated. We blame the predator for hunting or the prey for getting caught, assuming people are perfectly rational actors.
For example, Minnesota dentist Walter Palmer sparked international outrage after shooting the celebrity lion Cecil. Activists, celebrities, and politicians condemned Dr. Palmer, and some countries were even compelled to ban trophy hunting. Palmer, who paid $50,000 for the kill, faced swarms of picketers outside his practice and years of negative reviews from Cecil's fans.
The uproar wasn’t just about the killing — it was about its irrationality. Palmer wasn’t in danger. If he wanted meat, he could’ve gone to Walmart.
This same sentiment explains why people feel sympathy for animals put down after biting someone. It feels unfair to invade their space — or force them to intrude in ours — and then punish them for being what they are. It’s like an uninvited guest murdering you in your own home just because it’s noon and you’re still in your pajamas.
Similarly, some people, including myself, believe shark attacks are caused by humans swimming in sharks’ territory. This logic — respecting nature’s boundaries — shapes much of our attitude toward predator-prey relationships.
Take Sirga, a semi-wild lioness best known for her bond with Valentin Gruener. Sirga treats Gruener like he’s part of her pride: she hunts with him and shares her kills. Gruener documents their life for his followers at @sirgathelioness.
In one reel, Gruener kills a black oryx that Sirga had injured but hadn’t finished off. Some viewers were upset that he didn’t “let nature take its course.” However, most agreed it was necessary for Gruener to adopt the role of the pride Sirga would have had in the wild. Here, necessity justifies human intervention as predator.
Feelings get more complicated when predators and prey are of the same species. Female praying mantises are well-known for eating their mates after copulation. We don’t blame the females or the males for participating in this ritual, yet we’re oddly obsessed with it. Is it because we’re used to males being dominant? Because female praying mantises are literal man-eaters? Or is it just one of many curious facts about nature that challenges the status quo?
Ultimately, our feelings toward predators and prey are anything but logical. They’re shaped by beauty, necessity, and misconceptions about nature’s laws. We judge the world as if we aren’t part of it — grateful to be at the top of the food chain, yet unsettled when we see ourselves reflected in it.
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