Article
Attention
Culture
Digital
Ghosting
Psychology
5 min read

Ghosting is not immature, it’s plain cruel

The dehumanising behaviour hiding in plain sight.
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. 

Essay
Culture
Freedom of Belief
Islam
Middle East
8 min read

Inside one of the world's great pilgrimages

Invited to experience Arbaeen, a vicar ponders its perpetual lament.

Andrew Thompson MBE is an Anglican priest who served in Kuwait and the United Arab Emirates.

A black clad pilgrim squats and holds his head on the side of a desert road as other pilgrims walk along.
Mhrezaa on Unsplash.
Mhrezaa on Unsplash.

A few months ago, an estimated 20 million pilgrims travelled to the city of Karbala in Iraq. Many were on foot, walking days from cities like Najaf, Basra, Baghdad and even from neighbouring countries. Imagine the population of London and Birmingham deciding to walk from their city to Leicester cathedral to pray. I am not talking thousands here; I am talking millions. Picture being a member of the cathedral staff as they manage the flow of several million people turning up at the entrance to pray, to push them in and to push them out as a never-ending stream of people continues to pour in.  This was my experience of the Arbaeen – part of a great Shi’a pilgrimage. 

The Al Khoei Foundation, an Iraqi religious charity based in London, had invited me to travel to Iraq. There I joined the pilgrims for a brief part of the Arbaeen (an Arabic word meaning fortieth) and to participate in a conference looking at the impact of Imam Hussein’s life in today’s world. I flew into Baghdad knowing very little about the Shi’a and their beliefs. 

In Iraq I saw pilgrims of all ages, genders, able and disabled all walking the same roads, at all hours of the day. I witnessed thousands of volunteers, lining the route offering free food, drinks, and a place to sleep ranging from open tents to their own homes. Hospitality is rendered as a sacred duty to complete strangers.   

I spent a couple of nights walking from midnight to 4am on the road from Najaf to Karbala.  During countless encounters with pilgrims from all over the world, one question was continually asked of me. “Why does the media in the west not report on this event?” After all it is one of, if not the biggest, annual pilgrimages in the world. There is one bigger event, a Hindu festival in India, but that only takes place every three years. When I asked my fellow sojourner what they would like me to take back from the Arbaeen, the answer was invariably the same. “Tell them what you have seen and experienced here”. 

In a sea of black clad Muslims who were displaying zeal and fervour in intense displays of physically punitive rituals, I felt safe, welcomed, and even honoured wherever I went. I was wearing my white robes as a priest which made me stand out from the crowd and often as people passed me by, they would stroke or touch my shoulder as a way of receiving baraka or a blessing from the priest. For, as I learned later, the Christians have a role in the story of Karbala, which for the Shi’a made the story complete when they see a Christian priest among them on this sacred occasion. 

The Arbaeen is an event in which millions of Shi’as relive and remember the martyrdom of Imam Hussein who was killed in a battle at Karbala. This takes place on the fortieth day after the battle was fought following the example of the women of Hussein’s family who returned after captivity in Damascus to lament the loss of their loved ones. 

This event is vital in comprehending the split between the two biggest schools of Islam, the Sunni, and the Shi’a. The conflict was triggered by the death of Prophet Muhammad and the question of who would succeed in leading the Islamic empire next. There were those who saw the vacancy needing to be filled by an elected leader who met the criteria of capability and spirituality. Others saw the vacancy as belonging to the prophet’s kin. This would start with Ali, the Prophet’s cousin who was married to Fatima, the daughter of the Prophet Muhammad.  

Among those killed, were two Christians who chose to take their stand with Imam Hussein in recognition of his evident spirituality.

After Ali was assassinated as the fourth Caliph (the Caliphs were seen as the undisputed leaders of the Muslim world), Hasan his eldest son became the perceived spiritual leader of the Islamic faithful. Unfortunately, the third Caliph Uthman, had already appointed his successor Mu’awiya who established headquarters in Damascus. This became a time of empire building and Mu’awiya was quickly seduced and corrupted by the trappings of power. The stage for conflict between the Uthmanic regime and the family of the Prophet was set. Assassinations and scandalous behaviour by imperial successors led to the faithful looking to Imam Hussein to take a stand. 

Hussein responded. Against all advice, he set off to recruit an army who would take on the Uthmanic empire now led by Yazid. It did not end well. After a series of betrayals, Hussein was reduced to a band of 72 men facing an army of 30,000 troops sent by Yazid.  The massacre took place in Karbala, a dusty desert outpost south of Baghdad. The only survivors were the women, including Zaynab, the sister of Hussein and granddaughter of the Prophet. Hussein was beheaded and his body was desecrated by horses trampling his body front and back.  While his head was carried off to Damascus in triumph, the rest of Hussein’s body was buried where he was slain. 

Among those killed, were two Christians who chose to take their stand with Imam Hussein in recognition of his evident spirituality. A Christian priest demanded the honour of guarding the decapitated head of Hussein overnight in which he reports a divine light emanating through the bandages which wrapped Hussein’s head. 

In many ways I felt the Shi’a faith resembled a perpetual Good Friday lament with no resurrection waiting around the corner.

This is the story that the Shi’a recalls during the Arbaeen pilgrimage. It is a massive outpouring of grief for the martyrdom of Hussein who is seen as sacrificing his life for the sake of preserving the message of Islam. It was a way of remembering the betrayals, the injustice, the impossible odds at which Hussein refused to be intimidated. The story of Hussein provokes a blend of guilt, sorrow, admiration, and a determination of his followers to not betray him or his ideals.  This is expressed in ritual lament. The self-flagellation, the head and chest beating which so often alarms and disturbs a western audience is the Shi’a way of processing these intense emotions. The closest thing I have experienced to anything like this in my own Christian tradition is the Good Friday ritual. In many ways I felt the Shi’a faith resembled a perpetual Good Friday lament with no resurrection waiting around the corner. With no such reassuring good news in their religious narrative, I found myself admiring their resilience and faith, that there is meaning in their suffering. 

 

When was the last time my personal faith mobilized me to go on an arduous journey? 

Indeed, they have suffered. There was the brutal persecution under Saddam Hussein, the tragic and senseless Gulf war between Iran and Iraq, massacres by ISIS and Al Qaida. Thousands died. Posters of the young men who were martyred line the highway from Baghdad to Basra.  

I was taken to visit the Ayatollahs in their meeting rooms; I came face to face with the intimidating, black-turbaned men who I had seen on media, who never seemed to smile.   I came to understand this when I saw the nonstop stream of broken and hurt people who visited them, seeking their wisdom during pain and suffering. I saw a weeping mother who had lost her child to illness find comfort in the ministry of the Ayatollahs who offered her scripture and prayers. Their serious demeanors gave weight to a theology of suffering which was lived and experienced daily. 

Our dialogue with one another varied from the cut and thrust of competing understandings on the role and identity of Jesus, through to agreeing on the importance of interfaith dialogue. 

I was taken to visit the shrines of the Imams in Karbala, Najaf and Baghdad and on each occasion, I was blown away by the scale and the beauty of them.  One shrine could hold 200,000 worshippers at any one time. It was a glittering palace of polished mirror and marble. In this place, thousands of people were fed and watered, and had a place to sleep if they needed to. In terms of capacity and practical hospitality, these shrines made St Paul’s Cathedral in London look small and sterile. 

I returned to London deeply challenged by the spirituality and faith of the Shi’a.  When was the last time my personal faith mobilized me to go on an arduous journey? To walk miles in punishing heat and be utterly dependent on the kindness of strangers? Somehow, I cannot imagine it. 

Learn the story of Imam Hussein, and celebrate that in this epoch-making battle, Christians were there, taking a stand in the face of tyranny and corrupt empire. 

I was introduced to Imam Hussein, a figure who had always been on the periphery of my knowledge, but who came into sharp focus on this trip. The language used by the Shi’a to refer to Hussein evoked comparisons with the language used by Christians of Jesus. For example, Hussein was often referred to as the ‘light of the world’, a ‘gateway to heaven’ and even ‘saviour’. I recognized the faith and hope in them, mirrored in my own beliefs in Jesus Christ. 

One thing is for certain, I will always have something to talk about with the Shi’a whenever I meet them. When I tell Shi’a in London, I have been on the Arbaeen, they light up, and very quickly we connect deeply through our spiritual experiences. 

For Christians in the West, I would encourage them to talk to the Shi’a about pilgrimage, sacrifice, and faith. Learn the story of Imam Hussein, and celebrate that in this epoch-making battle, Christians were there, taking a stand in the face of tyranny and corrupt empire. 

After decades of war, terrorism and persecution, the Shi’a are finally emerging into a world of increasing stability. There was evidence of a renewed confidence in their future, as witnessed in the building of new hotels, homes and hospital renovations. They are proactively reaching out to other religious communities and exploring new alliances for a future in which they can feel safe and prosper. 

Will the current conflict in the Levant derail these ambitions?  

One abiding memory is of a young child, standing with her family in the streets of Karbala at 4am. She was handing out bottles of water to the swarming pilgrims and crying out the blessings of God as they passed by.  Indelibly imprinted in my mind was her expression of joy in serving her people. I pray that her future will be marked by peace and freedom from fear. 

The Arabeen.

An elderly couple with rucsacks walk along a dusty road on pilgrimage