Trolling
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a troller is “a person who posts antagonistic or disingenuous messages online in an attempt to provoke a hostile or annoyed response,” and a troll is “an online posting intended to be provocative or misleading; more generally, an attempt to provoke a hostile or annoyed response.” The earliest known use of troll in this sense dates from the 1990s, emerging alongside early internet forums and comment cultures. From the start, the word carried an air of mischief, but also menace.
Much of what goes by the name of trolling today is plainly destructive. Hostile trolling aims at humiliation, derailment, exhaustion, or cruelty. It feeds on asymmetries of intention: one party seeks reaction, the other assumes conversation. It corrodes trust, hardens communities, and leaves behind little except scorched ground. There is no need to romanticize this. Some trolling is simply mean.
And yet, not all provocation is malign. There is another, quieter lineage—less visible, less named—in which provocation serves not domination but disruption in the service of thought. We might call it generous and generative trolling.
Much of what goes by the name of trolling today is plainly destructive. Hostile trolling aims at humiliation, derailment, exhaustion, or cruelty. It feeds on asymmetries of intention: one party seeks reaction, the other assumes conversation. It corrodes trust, hardens communities, and leaves behind little except scorched ground. There is no need to romanticize this. Some trolling is simply mean.
And yet, not all provocation is malign. There is another, quieter lineage—less visible, less named—in which provocation serves not domination but disruption in the service of thought. We might call it generous and generative trolling.
Confessions of a Kindly Troller
Sometimes I say crazy things—online and in person. I guess you could say I have the spirit of a troller in me. A friend calls it healthy mischievousness. I like to stir the pot, to say what’s unexpected, to nudge people off balance.
But my aim isn’t malicious. I don’t want to hurt people or humiliate them. I want to wake something up—to loosen what’s become too tight, too certain, too sure of itself. And, to tell the truth, I want others to do this to me, too. I want them to say things that stir my pot.
I want to be interrupted, unsettled, and occasionally confused. Not humiliated or harmed, but challenged in ways that help me see what I’ve been taking for granted. I want to discover where my own certainties have quietly hardened into habits, and where my best ideas have become a little too comfortable.
I trust that there is more going on in people—including myself—than our first reactions. I trust that a little disruption, offered and received with care, can open a door. I think Jesus worked this way, telling strange stories, answering questions with riddles, blessing outsiders, unsettling the pious. And I think the Buddha did something similar, using paradox and silence to interrupt our habitual ways of clinging. The Buddha's Flower Sermon was a kind of troll: holding up a flower instead of saying anything. And the idea that this Very World is Nirvana is a kind of troll, too. It unsettles the idea that Nirvana and Samsara are distinct.
Sometimes I even wonder if the soul of the universe has a bit of the troller in it. If God—him or her or it or they—isn’t interested in keeping us comfortable, but in keeping us alive, awake, and open. Maybe the divine lure itself comes with a kind of holy and loving mischievousness, gently undermining our certainties so that something new can be born.
I think Jesus revealed this divine trolling and became a window through which people around him could feel its energies. He was, as John Cobb puts it in "Christ in a Pluralistic Age, the Spirit of Creative Transformation at work in the world. And sometimes this spirit comes to us precisely through constructive trolling—or, perhaps better, generative and generous provocation. It doesn’t arrive to shame or coerce, but to unsettle us just enough to make room for love, truth, and new possibilities.
But I see lots of generative and generous provocation in others, too. Certainly in some Buddhists, and in trickster figures, and in poets, artists, and storytellers. A Zen koan is a kind of troll—posed to interrupt habitual patterns of thought. A paradox from Daoism does something similar, quietly undermining the mind’s urge to settle too quickly into fixed distinctions. In Judaism, a sharp question from the Talmud or a mischievous Hasidic tale can work the same way, unsettling certainty through argument, irony, or holy humor. And in Islam, especially within Sufi traditions, paradoxical sayings and startling reversals are used to crack open the ego and loosen the grip of conventional understanding. Each of these traditions trusts that wisdom does not always arrive by smoothing things over. Sometimes it arrives by gently—or not so gently—disrupting the mind’s desire for premature closure.
Indeed, I see generative provocation in ordinary people—friends, critics, students, strangers—who say something that catches me off guard and won’t quite let go. Often they don’t intend to be provocative at all. They’re just being honest, or curious, or playful, or stubbornly themselves. And somehow that’s enough to disturb the surface and let something deeper show through.
Sometimes it comes from people I disagree with, or from voices I would rather not listen to. Sometimes it comes from those closest to me, who know exactly where to poke. Sometimes it comes from people who lack the language I would prefer, but carry a wisdom I still need to hear. And, I have to admit, sometimes it comes from my cat, Rollie, who is clearly a troller in his own right.
In each case, the provocation doesn’t arrive polished or pure. It arrives mixed with ego, clumsiness, emotion, and limitation—like everything else in a human world. It seems to me that we need to be open to this side of life: the side that is gently, generously, and generatively provocative. When called for, we need to do our best to become cooperative agents of its holy mischief—and humble recipients of its transformative power.
As agents of holy trolling, we are sometimes called to be disruptive, annoying, confusing, or irritating - whatever is called for in the moment. And we need to have the humility to receive the same from others, and be transformed by their gifts of generative provocation. The world becomes more beautiful, when we welcome it with provokable hearts.
But my aim isn’t malicious. I don’t want to hurt people or humiliate them. I want to wake something up—to loosen what’s become too tight, too certain, too sure of itself. And, to tell the truth, I want others to do this to me, too. I want them to say things that stir my pot.
I want to be interrupted, unsettled, and occasionally confused. Not humiliated or harmed, but challenged in ways that help me see what I’ve been taking for granted. I want to discover where my own certainties have quietly hardened into habits, and where my best ideas have become a little too comfortable.
I trust that there is more going on in people—including myself—than our first reactions. I trust that a little disruption, offered and received with care, can open a door. I think Jesus worked this way, telling strange stories, answering questions with riddles, blessing outsiders, unsettling the pious. And I think the Buddha did something similar, using paradox and silence to interrupt our habitual ways of clinging. The Buddha's Flower Sermon was a kind of troll: holding up a flower instead of saying anything. And the idea that this Very World is Nirvana is a kind of troll, too. It unsettles the idea that Nirvana and Samsara are distinct.
Sometimes I even wonder if the soul of the universe has a bit of the troller in it. If God—him or her or it or they—isn’t interested in keeping us comfortable, but in keeping us alive, awake, and open. Maybe the divine lure itself comes with a kind of holy and loving mischievousness, gently undermining our certainties so that something new can be born.
I think Jesus revealed this divine trolling and became a window through which people around him could feel its energies. He was, as John Cobb puts it in "Christ in a Pluralistic Age, the Spirit of Creative Transformation at work in the world. And sometimes this spirit comes to us precisely through constructive trolling—or, perhaps better, generative and generous provocation. It doesn’t arrive to shame or coerce, but to unsettle us just enough to make room for love, truth, and new possibilities.
But I see lots of generative and generous provocation in others, too. Certainly in some Buddhists, and in trickster figures, and in poets, artists, and storytellers. A Zen koan is a kind of troll—posed to interrupt habitual patterns of thought. A paradox from Daoism does something similar, quietly undermining the mind’s urge to settle too quickly into fixed distinctions. In Judaism, a sharp question from the Talmud or a mischievous Hasidic tale can work the same way, unsettling certainty through argument, irony, or holy humor. And in Islam, especially within Sufi traditions, paradoxical sayings and startling reversals are used to crack open the ego and loosen the grip of conventional understanding. Each of these traditions trusts that wisdom does not always arrive by smoothing things over. Sometimes it arrives by gently—or not so gently—disrupting the mind’s desire for premature closure.
Indeed, I see generative provocation in ordinary people—friends, critics, students, strangers—who say something that catches me off guard and won’t quite let go. Often they don’t intend to be provocative at all. They’re just being honest, or curious, or playful, or stubbornly themselves. And somehow that’s enough to disturb the surface and let something deeper show through.
Sometimes it comes from people I disagree with, or from voices I would rather not listen to. Sometimes it comes from those closest to me, who know exactly where to poke. Sometimes it comes from people who lack the language I would prefer, but carry a wisdom I still need to hear. And, I have to admit, sometimes it comes from my cat, Rollie, who is clearly a troller in his own right.
In each case, the provocation doesn’t arrive polished or pure. It arrives mixed with ego, clumsiness, emotion, and limitation—like everything else in a human world. It seems to me that we need to be open to this side of life: the side that is gently, generously, and generatively provocative. When called for, we need to do our best to become cooperative agents of its holy mischief—and humble recipients of its transformative power.
As agents of holy trolling, we are sometimes called to be disruptive, annoying, confusing, or irritating - whatever is called for in the moment. And we need to have the humility to receive the same from others, and be transformed by their gifts of generative provocation. The world becomes more beautiful, when we welcome it with provokable hearts.
Varieties of Healthy Trolling
1. Benevolent Trolling
This form uses surprise or mild contradiction to loosen rigid thinking, but does so with evident goodwill. The aim is not to score points but to open space. One can feel the difference: the provocation lands, but it does not wound.
2. Socratic Provocation
Here the provocation takes the form of feigned ignorance, ironic questioning, or deliberate naïveté. Assumptions are surfaced not by assertion, but by invitation. Like Socrates, the provocateur does not claim superior knowledge, only curiosity sharpened into a tool.
3. Playful Provocation
This form relies on humor, exaggeration, or absurdity. It lowers defenses and invites lateral thinking. Playful provocation says, in effect: let’s not take ourselves quite so seriously.
4. Generative Disruption
Some provocations are less conversational and more structural. They interrupt settled patterns—of language, framing, or expectation—so that something new can appear. The goal is not chaos, but creative friction.
5. Affectionate Contrarianism
This is disagreement practiced within relationship. It challenges ideas while honoring persons. It presumes mutual intelligence and shared concern for truth, or at least for depth.
6. Trickster-Style Provocation
Drawing on ancient and cross-cultural traditions, this form teaches through mischief. Like Zen koans, prophetic parables, or indigenous trickster tales, it destabilizes in order to reorient. Wisdom arrives sideways.
7. Productive Irritation
Finally, there is provocation that mildly annoys—but only enough to awaken attention. It resists the narcotic comfort of consensus. The irritation is proportional, and its purpose is insight, not exhaustion.
This form uses surprise or mild contradiction to loosen rigid thinking, but does so with evident goodwill. The aim is not to score points but to open space. One can feel the difference: the provocation lands, but it does not wound.
2. Socratic Provocation
Here the provocation takes the form of feigned ignorance, ironic questioning, or deliberate naïveté. Assumptions are surfaced not by assertion, but by invitation. Like Socrates, the provocateur does not claim superior knowledge, only curiosity sharpened into a tool.
3. Playful Provocation
This form relies on humor, exaggeration, or absurdity. It lowers defenses and invites lateral thinking. Playful provocation says, in effect: let’s not take ourselves quite so seriously.
4. Generative Disruption
Some provocations are less conversational and more structural. They interrupt settled patterns—of language, framing, or expectation—so that something new can appear. The goal is not chaos, but creative friction.
5. Affectionate Contrarianism
This is disagreement practiced within relationship. It challenges ideas while honoring persons. It presumes mutual intelligence and shared concern for truth, or at least for depth.
6. Trickster-Style Provocation
Drawing on ancient and cross-cultural traditions, this form teaches through mischief. Like Zen koans, prophetic parables, or indigenous trickster tales, it destabilizes in order to reorient. Wisdom arrives sideways.
7. Productive Irritation
Finally, there is provocation that mildly annoys—but only enough to awaken attention. It resists the narcotic comfort of consensus. The irritation is proportional, and its purpose is insight, not exhaustion.
The Ontology of Trolling
Provocation in a Creative Universe
If these practices exist—and many of us recognize them from experience—then a deeper question emerges: why does provocation have such power at all?
One possible answer is metaphysical. Perhaps the universe itself is not inclined toward static harmony, but toward creative transformation. Perhaps there is, at the heart of things, an impulse that resists finality, that refuses settled assurances, that beckons each moment toward novelty.
From this perspective, generative provocation is not merely a human tactic. It is a participation in a deeper movement of reality itself—a movement that unsettles in order to create, that disturbs in order to renew. In process terms, it is a lure rather than a command, an invitation rather than a coercion.
Some traditions name this impulse Creativity. Others name it the sacred, or the divine, or simply life. Some name it God—not as a cosmic enforcer, but as a gentle, persistent call toward richer possibilities of feeling, thinking, and relating.
Seen this way, generative trolling—better named generative provocation—is not an aberration. It is a local expression of a cosmic habit: the universe nudging itself, again and again, toward becoming more than it was.
One possible answer is metaphysical. Perhaps the universe itself is not inclined toward static harmony, but toward creative transformation. Perhaps there is, at the heart of things, an impulse that resists finality, that refuses settled assurances, that beckons each moment toward novelty.
From this perspective, generative provocation is not merely a human tactic. It is a participation in a deeper movement of reality itself—a movement that unsettles in order to create, that disturbs in order to renew. In process terms, it is a lure rather than a command, an invitation rather than a coercion.
Some traditions name this impulse Creativity. Others name it the sacred, or the divine, or simply life. Some name it God—not as a cosmic enforcer, but as a gentle, persistent call toward richer possibilities of feeling, thinking, and relating.
Seen this way, generative trolling—better named generative provocation—is not an aberration. It is a local expression of a cosmic habit: the universe nudging itself, again and again, toward becoming more than it was.