By Alyanna Gabas
What is the difference between a religion and a cult? The line between the two is razor-thin, often blurred by cultural perception, societal acceptance, and time. Every religion begins as a cult—a system of beliefs centered around a specific figure, ideology, or spiritual experience.
What society deems a “religion” may be little more than a cult with social legitimacy, historical endurance, and widespread acceptance. In essence, the difference is less about doctrine and more about power, scale, and recognition.
Nearly all major religions began with a small group of believers, misunderstood and often mocked by the public. What was once seen as strange has now become sacred. These religions originated as small, devout groups or sects, only shedding that label once they gained influence and numbers.
Sociologists argue that the difference between a cult and a religion lies not in belief, but in social legitimacy. A cult is simply a new or marginal group without mainstream acceptance, while a religion is what a cult becomes once it gains followers, structure, and recognition. In his Theory of the Three Types of Legitimate Authority, sociologist Max Weber explains that many religions begin with charismatic authority—a leader seen as divinely inspired or extraordinarily gifted. Over time, this personal influence becomes routinized, evolving into formal structures of doctrine and leadership, thus transforming a cult into an organized religion
Here lies the dilemma: size and societal acceptance often determine whether a group is labeled a religion or a cult. But should those be the deciding factors or is it not more important to look at the internal structures, the power dynamics, and the expectations placed upon followers?
Take, for instance, modern-day religious groups such as the Kingdom of Jesus Christ led by Apollo Quiboloy. The “children” under his so-called “kingdom” are compelled to discontinue their education or employment, liquidate personal assets, and incur debt in order to fulfill imposed financial quotas. Failure to meet these demands results in punitive measures, while those who become ill are neglected and abandoned. Despite multiple allegations and even indictments for serious crimes—including human trafficking and abuse—Quiboloy still maintains a loyal following. His continued influence reveals how deeply charismatic authority can embed itself in the minds of believers, often overriding reason, justice, and external judgment.
Another troubling aspect is that some of these groups require members to donate 5% to 10% of their income—tithes, they call them. This practice, while rooted in scripture for some, can feel less like a voluntary act of faith and more like an obligation enforced by fear or guilt. And when the leaders collecting these tithes appear on stage in designer suits, driving luxury cars, and living in gated mansions, the line begins to blur even further.
Some even take their influence a step further, venturing into politics in an attempt to convert religious power into political clout. Supporters might say that their religious leaders are simply taking a stand on important moral issues through political action. However, when religious power begins to influence political agendas, it can blur the lines between spiritual guidance and political manipulation, risking the very freedoms that religion is supposed to protect.
Many of these so-called religious groups discourage their followers from seeking medical care, insisting that their spiritual practices alone can heal any illness. They often live-stream these so-called “healing ceremonies” to showcase their power. However, there have been several cases where, instead of healing, the individuals’ conditions worsened—sometimes even leading to tragic deaths.
It’s not uncommon for followers to assert that spiritual healing is a core part of their faith, promising miraculous recovery. But when these claims lead to dangerous neglect, leaving individuals to suffer without proper medical care, it becomes clear that these practices can be more about control than care.
Is this spiritual guidance, or exploitation wrapped in sanctity?
These communities are not driven by true spiritual devotion, but rather by the meanings and symbols attached to their faith—choosing to follow charismatic leaders whose authority is constructed through shared symbols and social interactions, often presented as a divine calling. Supporters of these leaders may claim that their faith in these figures is born out of spiritual conviction, not coercion. Yet, when devotion turns into blind obedience, where critical questioning is stifled, the line between true guidance and exploitation becomes perilously thin.
The line between religion and cult is often blurred by power and manipulation. Faith should empower, not control. To those who follow charismatic leaders, ask yourself: Is your belief guiding you toward true spiritual growth, or are you being led astray for someone else’s gain? True faith fosters freedom, not fear. The strength of your faith lies in your ability to seek the truth and stand for what is just.
