"Long before Wi‑Fi, Nietzsche understood the type: envious, bitter souls lurking in the shadows, waiting to drag down anyone who dares speak out."
After publishing my recent piece in BeachGrit supporting Jews and Israel, I was hardly surprised by the vitriol that flooded the comments section.
This backlash is nothing new.
More intriguing than the hostility itself is why it happens and what it reveals about human nature and society.
At its core, much of what we do is reaction. We inhale, we exhale. The predictable flood of negativity in response to my article is mirrored by the equally predictable encouragement from others in reaction to these attacks.
This action-reaction cycle is fundamental, not just to human psychology but to nature itself. It’s why the people who hate me are enjoying reading this.
They can’t wait to respond.
The deeper question is, do we need our antagonists to keep our protagonist honest?
Nature has a habit of working in twos. A single cell becomes two, then four, then eight, not because it is broken but because division is the engine of growth. The same pattern shows up in the structure of the human body: two hemispheres of the brain, each with different strengths; two eyes offering depth through contrast; two legs, two arms; working together by swinging rhythmically to move forward. A snake advances by pulling left, then right, left, then right, its forward motion emerging from opposites taking turns.
Good and evil could be defined as the difference between having and not having a conscience. At the core of many stories is this age-old narrative, the battle between good and evil. But have you ever considered that evil might exist as a reaction to good? Or vice versa?
Just as I love the scathing criticism online about Hollywood’s recent revolting output, I also understand the counter-criticism, that none of these critics has made so much as a short film, let alone a whole series. Shows have been cancelled because of review bombing.
And as the old saying goes: “It’s easier to mock than make.” But we need our critics, just like we need blowflies.
Consider the blowfly, often maligned but essential to the ecosystem. Blowflies, with their insistent buzzing and unglamorous work, are nature’s recyclers. Their larvae – maggots – break down carcasses, preventing the spread of disease and returning nutrients to the soil. Annoying as they may be, their persistence ensures that nothing is wasted, and the system remains in balance. In their abrasive way, blowflies keep the world clean and moving. They relish suffering and death; they depend on it. They find their meaning and purpose in death and decay, while others find theirs in life and creation. It’s one hell of a job, but somebody has to do it.
Human behaviour functions in much the same way. Psychologists call it “reactive opposition” or “counter‑reaction”, the tendency for one group’s behaviour to intensify because of another’s. In physics, Newton’s third law says every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The same applies in politics, relationships, and culture: one side sharpens itself in response to the other, shaping the collective direction.
This dynamic is everywhere.
Political parties define their stances by opposing their rivals. Societies swing between left and right, rhythmically, like a pendulum. When one ideology dominates, the other gathers strength, storing potential for the next swing. This isn’t merely antagonism; it’s the engine that drives social progress.
Just as biological systems rely on division and contrast – two brain hemispheres, two eyes, two legs – societies move forward through the interplay of opposing forces.
Even gender tendencies reflect this pattern: on average, men may lean toward hierarchy and stability, while women may lean toward empathy and inclusion. These are not rigid categories, but complementary strengths, much as the brain’s hemispheres offer structure and connection.
Division, then, is not a flaw but a feature of complex systems, making them robust and adaptable. But occasionally the pendulum swings too far, the reaction to which can be even more extreme.
The internet, once envisioned as a global campfire for sharing stories and ideas, has in parts become a breeding ground for hostility. Perhaps this is a reaction to overly complimentary responses from friends on social media.
To post an opinion in some places online is to invite attack from anonymous critics. Often, their criticisms say more about their own struggles than about their targets; projection is rampant. “If you spot it, you’ve got it.”
These online attacks are less about debate and more about public performance, a digital contest for status and dopamine hits.
This isn’t a new phenomenon.
Long before Wi‑Fi, Nietzsche understood the type: envious, bitter souls lurking in the shadows, waiting to drag down anyone who dares speak out. He saw that their hostility was a mask for weakness, an attempt to feel powerful by harming others.
Cruelty offers them a shortcut to a counterfeit sense of power. The Romans had their arenas; medieval towns had public executions; today, we have comment sections. The spectacle has simply moved online, where anonymity removes all risk and consequence. In this environment, the weak can finally feel strong, unleashing venom without fear of reprisal.
Nietzsche called these people “blow flies.” One is irritating; a swarm can drive anyone mad. They target strength because it highlights their own inadequacy. The louder and more numerous their attacks, the more they reveal about themselves. Their goal is not to engage, but to drag others down to their level, to waste time, energy, and focus. To confuse, not to clarify.
The instinct is to swat back, to argue, to defend. But that’s exactly what the blow flies want: your attention. Their world is barren; nothing grows there. Nietzsche’s advice is simple: walk away. Leave them to their festival of misery. Your strength grows in solitude, in the pursuit of your craft, not in defending yourself to those who are incapable of conversation or compromise. They are brimming with criticism but have no alternative suggestions. This is their role, and in reaction to them, others come up with solutions. It’s so paradoxical.
Vitriol is a sign you’re over the target, that you’re doing something meaningful. The more they rage, the more you know you’re on the right path. Let them buzz themselves hoarse while you pursue your next goal.
You owe them nothing; not your time, not your energy, not even your anger.
The blow flies don’t bother me. Their noise is the background hum of a world in motion. They have been cast in an unholy role; their task is distasteful and unpleasant, and it drives them mad, but it’s part of life’s ongoing cycle. The best response is to leave them behind and focus on what matters: building, creating, and moving forward.
They are, in short, a necessary evil.
We’ll split the peak. You go left and I’ll go right.