Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.

Insect Systematics

Gil Grissom had a number of diverse hobbies and interests. For example, he liked to read books and collect insects. While in college, his love of books could occasionally start intriguing discussions with a variety of students. He would often spend time sitting outside the college library, reading a book and watching for insects. While doing this he occasionally had short conversations with students who majored in subjects other than Entomology. Take philosophy for example. He would not normally have much in common with a philosophy major. But having enjoyed Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis, Gil now had common ground on which to base a discussion.

He had first pointed out that the insect that Gregor Samsa had turned into was obviously a beetle, not a cockroach. Then Grissom had argued that turning into a giant beetle was not in itself a bad thing. It wasn't a metaphor of what Gregor had become, but of what he could become. Instead of embracing the potential for change, Gregor became disgusted and apathetic. It was a change that could be beautiful if you looked at or dealt with it in the right way.

The philosophy major was intrigued by Gil's interpretation. This then brought the discussion around to Gil's perception of insects. For once, Gil felt as if he was effectively conveying how he felt about insects. Perhaps because he had used the discussion of a book as a staring point.

And then a gorgeous hover fly landed on a nearby flower. Gil looked over intently, off-handedly mentioning that it would be a good specimen to add to the collection that he was making for his insect systematics class.

He saw the look of horror. The slow realization. The question: "If you like bugs so much, how can you kill them?" And Grissom had no answer. Because the ethics of preserving an insect specimen had never occurred to him. It was natural, something he did matter-of-factly without thinking. His lack of a ready answer caused some distress. He continued to mull over all implications of the question in what could only be described as a "moral crisis".

~o~

This moral crisis continued through out the afternoon, and eventually coincided with his Insect Systematics class.

He was outwardly calm, working on his insect collection just like every other student in the class. His collection of bugs in their boxes was neatly organized. Each specimen had a label. Each box contained a different insect order, and the insects inside were correctly organized by family and genus and neatly lined up in rows. Gil was outwardly in the middle of pinning and mounting some of the insects that he had caught that morning. But in his thoughts he continued to ponder the implications of the question he had been asked that morning. If you like bugs so much, how can you kill them?

It was a valid question. If Grissom had professed to feel nothing for the insects but cool scientific detachment, the topic would not be so troubling.

Most of the reasons for insect collecting were obvious: it was important for learning more about Entomology, and it was required for many of his classes. It was a skill, not easily mastered by some, since it required patience, a steady hand, and neatness.

But it required him to take the life of an insect. The specimen had to be flexible and pliable in order to be properly preserved.

Take this paper wasp for example. Gil carefully inserted a pin through the middle of the thorax. He slid the wasp up to the correct height, leaving room for the pin to be grasped from the top. He inserted the pin into a piece of Styrofoam and started placing supporting pins around her. As the wasp dried, she would harden and become brittle. Her body parts would be forever stuck in whichever position Grissom placed them in.

But was it even fair for him to cut the paper wasp's life short just so he could improve his Entomological skills? What did it say about him as a person?

BZZZZZZZ! Gil's thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound. He looked up. An insect with a curled tail and long snout was being flown in circles in front of his face.

"Hey Gil, do you like my scorpionfly?"

Andrew was holding the insect by the pin that stuck out of the center of its body and continued to make it fly around. Sometimes Andrew could be amusing. Gil was not in the mood to deal with him right now though. He didn't want to consider the moral implications of what Andrew was doing. He doubted Andrew ever did anyway.

"Hey, where did you find that Tachinid fly?" Andrew asked while pointing at Gil's open box of Order: Diptera.

"Don't you think you should be working on labeling your insects?" Gil asked coldly while reaching out to keep Andrew's hand away from the impeccably organized insect collection that belonged to Gilbert Grissom. Andrew could be funny and amusing, but he was also notoriously careless and irresponsible.

Gil moved his hand back towards the wasp he had been working on, but he was distracted, and accidentally brushed a fingertip against the top of one of the insect pins in his box of dipterans. It was of course, the crane fly's pin, and the resulting vibration caused one of the insect's long delicate legs to fall off.

Gil frowned in annoyance.

"Oh, that happens to me all the time," Andrew exclaimed happily. "Their legs are like needles on a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. You just have to keep gluing them back on. I'll go get you some glue."

It was grotesque. Even in death the insects would be further mutilated and put back together. Like nothing more than a model airplane. Grissom was relieved that at least the philosophy majors of the world didn't know about that part. Otherwise he would never have any peace.

But was a reaction like Andrew's in fact more reasonable? Was it better to just take what happened to the insects at face value, and not agonize over the moral implications?

Gil knew that anthropomorphism was a dangerous fallacy that some people indulged in. You simply could not judge insects and other animals in human terms, because they were not human. As disconcerting as it could be to have a man turn into a giant beetle, it was in fact even more disturbing to try and turn an insect into a man. Horrendous atrocities would then be brought to light. Termite colonies relied on "child labor", some species of ants raided other colonies to make slaves, and spider hawk wasps paralyzed their prey, leaving it to be slowly eaten alive by their young.

No. Trying to think of insects in human terms was simply too horrible to contemplate. And Gil thought of something. Maybe, by their association with insects, Entomologists shouldn't be judged in human terms either. At least regarding their interactions with insects. Entomologists were willing to do what many others avoided at all costs. Beekeepers stoically endured the inevitable stings that came with their line of work, mosquito researchers often personally provided the blood meals for species that only fed on humans.

Maybe, the killing of insects for use of specimens was just one of those things that existed, was natural. It wasn't proper to think of it or judge it in purely human terms.

~o~

He was still occasionally asked that question. It occurred to the more astute, perhaps when observing his butterfly or tarantula specimens mounted on the wall.

"If you like bugs so much, how can you kill them?"

And Gil would give them a lecture on the scientific merits of keeping anatomically accurate specimens, both for reference and future identifications. Because he knew they would never understand the longer answer.

And sometimes, when no-one else was around, he would pick one of his flies up by the tip of the pin, and make it soar through the air once more. Because in the end, what he had really done was give the gift of immortality to an insect whose lifespan was normally less than one week.

What fun was it being an Entomologist if he couldn't at least do that once in a while?

Author's Note:

I remember hearing once that Gil used the money he won from a poker game to start a "body farm" while in college. Does anyone know if there is more detailed information about this?