Article
Attention
Culture
Digital
Ghosting
Psychology
5 min read

Ghosting is not immature, it’s plain cruel

The dehumanising behaviour hiding in plain sight.

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen and co-host of its Re-enchanting podcast.

On a dark street someone checks their mobile phone for messages.

‘Do you really believe that the moon only exists when you look at it?’ 

It’s a great question. Do you know who asked it? It sounds rather Shakespearean, doesn’t it? It’s got a touch of the – ‘that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet’ - about it. 

But not so.  

Interestingly, it was Albert Einstein who asked this question. He asked it again and again – unable to relax into any answer his contemporaries could offer him. He thought, at least initially, that he was asking a question about quantum physics. But he wasn’t; not really. Einstein was asking what it means to exist, what it means to be. 

And that means that he was actually asking a theological question. And I, for one, would appreciate it if we would get into the habit of asking it too, just phrased a little differently. I’d like us to ask something a little like:  

Do you really believe that the person only exists when you text them back?’ 

Yes, I’m imploring us all to take an Einstein-esque approach to the phenomenon of ‘ghosting’.  

Ghosting, just to make sure that we’re all one the same page, is the act of abruptly and completely cutting off all forms of contact with another person, offering no form of prior warning nor any kind of subsequent explanation. To ghost someone is to perform a social cut and run, a relational dine-and-dash, if you will. This, of course, can happen in all kinds of contexts – in work situations, in friendships, and in the most niche of circumstances. There’s an incredibly popular podcast, the title of which – ‘My Therapist Ghosted Me’ - is a tongue in cheek reference to one of the presenters being inexplicably cut off by their own therapist. Ouch.

And so, ghosting causes a social injury, it inflicts a heart wound. Being ghosted, we are coming to realise, is a rejection of the most absolute kind.

But where this phenomenon is reaching astounding heights is in the context of romantic relationships. The technological age in which we live, where the majority of romantic relationships are now being initiated and established online, has meant that we’ve got ghosting down to a fine art. It’s become all too easy. And apparently, nobody is immune.  

Just recently, Billie Eilish – Oscar and Grammy award winning musical genius and all-round cultural icon - explained how she had recently been the victim of an almighty ghosting. She said,  

‘it was insane. I was like – “did you die? Have you literally died?” It was somebody that I’d known for years, we had a plan (to meet) and the day of… nothing. I never heard from him again.’ 

Imagine being ignored so suddenly and completely that your first instinct is that the person must have died, only to realise – they hadn’t died, you were just disposable to them. This is happening all of the time, there’s a generation of people who are having their sense of self and of the ‘other’ defined by this very phenomenon. 

What’s incredibly interesting is that in the span of a few short years, psychologists and relationship therapists have gone from speaking of ‘ghosting’ in terms of emotional immaturity, conflict avoidance and a lack of communication skills, to regarding it as a form of cruelty and even abuse.  

It is not primarily the intent of the ‘ghost’ that is causing psychologists to speak of ghosting in increasingly serious terms. Most ‘ghosts’ are cowardly, perhaps, but not sheer evil. Rather, it is the extraordinary depths of hurt that the behaviour inflicts (intended or not) upon the person who has been victim to it.  

We are learning that there are all manner of harmful things that ghosting does to our brains and all kinds messages that it sends to our self-esteem. Namely, that we weren’t enough for that person, that we’ve failed somehow, that we’re disposable, that we misread the situation, that we misread them, that we’re deficient in almost every kind of way.  

These lies inevitably fill the gaps left by the silence of the other person. False explanations, usually of the most self-depreciating kind, take advantage of that fact that no explanation was offered by the person who hurt us. The bewilderment itself becomes a form of torture. And so, ghosting causes a social injury, it inflicts a heart wound. Being ghosted, we are coming to realise, is a rejection of the most absolute kind.  

Ghosting is the symptom of a society in which we kid ourselves into thinking that people only come to life when our thoughts turn to them or our eyes rest on them.

But I think there’s even more to it. And this is where I return to Einstein’s question, and my modern, admittedly much less cosmic, re-imagining of it. Because underneath it all, I think that ghosting is a theological issue.  

To ghost someone is to act as if they do not exist because you have averted your gaze from them. It is, therefore, to deprive them of the fullness of their existence. Or, at least, to deny it. It is an act of deep diminishment. Do we really believe that the moon only exists when it is looked upon? Ghosting forces us to similarly ask – do we believe that we only exist when we are looked upon?  

So, you see, it goes deep. It cuts to the core of what it means to be.  

Ghosting is the symptom of a society in which we kid ourselves into thinking that people only come to life when our thoughts turn to them or our eyes rest on them. If we can’t see the suffering we’ve caused, it isn’t happening. If we’ve cut someone out of our life, they aren’t existing. At least, we can behave as if they aren’t.  

One could argue that it’s a form of dehumanization, one that’s hidden in plain sight.  

And that, alongside all of the other reasons (or perhaps undergirding them), is the reason that I think being ghosted cuts us to the core; it brings into question the very reality of our existence.  

‘Do you really believe that the moon only exists when you look at it?’ 

Einstein’s question may feel a little abstract but it’s actually as tangible and personal as it gets. 

Article
Character
Culture
Film & TV
Purpose
6 min read

Tom Cruise’s Ethan Hunt offers a blueprint for life

The latest in the Mission:Impossible franchise dares to ask some surprisingly existential questions

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

Tom Cruise runs.
What happens we he stops running?

When it comes to action movies, most of us aren’t looking for philosophical musings as much as a dose of adrenaline-fuelled escapist entertainment. Few franchises understand this better than  Mission: Impossible, which has consistently delivered on that front—train wrecks, car chases, gun battles, bomb blasts, submarine fights, knife fights, fist fights, dog fights, and, of course, running. Lots of running. 

The latest blockbuster in the franchise, Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning — which Tom Cruise has suggested may be his last outing as Ethan Hunt — is no exception. But alongside its brilliantly choreographed action scenes, the film also dares to ask some surprisingly existential questions. 

Who wants to live forever? 

Tom Cruise has achieved legendary status not just for his acting, but for his relentless dedication to performing the most technically demanding stunts in cinema history. Over the years, he’s scaled the Burj Khalifa, clung to the side of a plane during take-off, parachuted from 25,000 feet, flown helicopters through perilous terrain, and held his breath underwater for more than six minutes—without a stunt double in sight. 

Now 62, Cruise would be forgiven for taking it easier. Instead, after performing in what one director has called the most ambitious stunt in cinematic history: launching a motorcycle off a cliff, a mid-air dismount, followed by a parachute drop in the previous movie, Cruise has upped the ante again by engaging in an aerial battle atop a biplane flying at 10,000 feet. This involved climbing onto the wing of a moving aircraft travelling at 145 mph enduring hurricane-force winds, while the pilot performed manoeuvres designed to dislodge him. 

Cruise has become something of a cultural symbol of immortality. His character, Ethan Hunt, continually evades death, rarely stopping to mourn the losses of others—even those closest to him. But this film feels different. It asks how long someone—real or fictional—can continue to outrun death. 

Watching Hunt - and Cruise - cheat death time and again may be entertaining, but it also taps into something deeper. A recent COMRES survey revealed that the top four human fears are all death-related: dying in pain (83 per cent), dying alone (67 per cent), being told they’re dying (62 per cent), and dying in hospital (59 per cent). Final Reckoning doesn't just distract us from these fears—it subtly forces us to confront them. No matter how fast, fit, or famous we are, none of us gets out alive. 

What is life really about? 

Because the line between Ethan Hunt and Tom Cruise is now so thin, Dead Reckoning plays almost like a eulogy to both. The film opens with a message of thanks from the President of the United States: 

“Good evening, Ethan. This is your President. Since you won't reply to anyone else, I thought I'd reach out directly. First, I want to thank you for a lifetime of devoted and unrelenting service… Every risk you've taken, every comrade you've lost, every personal sacrifice you’ve made, has brought this world another sunrise.” 

The sentiment feels a little self-indulgent. The camera rarely leaves Cruise, and nearly everything and everyone else feels like a garnish to his character. He gets the best lines, the best cars, the best love interests, the best scenes. At times, Dead Reckoning feels a little like Mamma Mia! — a loose thread of a plot connecting a series of spectacular set-pieces rather than musical numbers. 

Still, as the franchise nears its end, it’s bittersweet to say goodbye to a character who’s become part of global popular culture. And it prompts a deeper question: If we can’t look back on our lives and say we gave the world another sunrise, what does make a life well-lived—for those of us who don’t defuse nuclear bombs before breakfast? What have we personally sacrificed for the greater good?  

Who Is expendable? 

With a body count hovering around 500, the Mission:Impossible series has never shied away from collateral damage. Ethan Hunt has always been portrayed as someone willing to expense the few to save the many. 

But The Final Reckoning confronts that idea. It reintroduces William Donloe, a minor character from the original 1996 film, who was the CIA analyst that got reassigned to a remote outpost in the Bering Sea after Hunt famously infiltrated his high-security vault - in that iconic scene where Cruise is suspended from the ceiling, inches above a pressure-sensitive floor, and drops his commando knife, point-first, into the desk. Now, decades later, Hunt seeks him out to apologise. 

Surprisingly, Donloe responds with grace. He says the reassignment was the best thing that ever happened to him: it led him to meet the love of his life. Though he had lost everything in a house fire caused by Hunt’s team, he had managed to salvage the commando knife from the original vault heist and gives it back to Hunt as a token of his appreciation. 

This could have been a moment of genuine reflection for Hunt—a chance to reckon with the unintended consequences of his actions. Instead, it serves to reinforce the idea that even Hunt’s mistakes are somehow for the best. Hunt is presented as almost messianic—an infallible saviour whose instincts are always right. 

But this portrayal contrasts sharply with the biblical Messiah, who taught that no one is expendable. In Jesus’ teaching, every life matters, enemies are to be loved, and compassion is both the means and the end. The ends never justify the means. Love is the mission. 

Who Is my neighbour? 

One of the deeper themes of the film is the tension between loyalty to those closest to us and responsibility to the wider world. Hunt’s enemies consistently try to exploit his love for friends and family, exposing it as a vulnerability. On a number of occasions, the villains kidnap or threaten someone close to Hunt in order to manipulate him. He is faced with the dilemma - to save the one he loves, or to save everyone else? 

At one point, a character offers this reflection: 

“We all share the same fate—the same future. The sum of our infinite choices. One such future is built on kindness, trust, and mutual understanding, should we choose to accept it. Driving without question toward a light we cannot see. Not just for those we hold close, but for those we’ll never meet.” 

It’s a powerful line—one that challenges narrow tribalism in favour of a universal compassion. In recent years, some have tried to co-opt Christian ethics in support of nationalism, prioritising loyalty to family, faith, and country above all else. But this film’s ethos cuts across that narrative. 

In an age of toxic patriotism and growing division, it’s striking that an international superspy like Ethan Hunt seems to offer a profoundly global vision: act not only for those we love, but for the good of the whole world—even at great personal cost. 

Hunt’s worldview echoes a deeply biblical theology: every person has worth, and we’re called to love our neighbour—including those who don’t speak our language or share our culture. The franchise promotes a genuine Christian ethic of sacrificial love. And why not? At the heart of Christianity is the story of a God who sent His Son on a seemingly impossible mission to save the world. 

It’s hard to miss the moral and theological framework that underpins Final Reckoning. It is, perhaps, this foundation that makes Ethan Hunt’s character not only thrilling but deeply human. Amid the explosions, stunts, and spectacle, Mission: Impossible makes us think, and subtly reminds us that the greatest mission of all might be love. 

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