Cults in fiction fascinate me and many other readers—if the Goodreads review tallies are telling the truth anyway—and stories about them certainly reflect elements of the real world. But before I dive into today’s particular rabbit hole, I want to give a bit of a disclaimer. This post and discussion will be focusing on fictional religious cults that stem from what most would call “Christianity.” If you think that focus and these titles are only going to give a pretty narrow view of what is admittedly a very broad topic, you are absolutely right. But as a person of faith who follows the teachings of Jesus Christ, I felt I would give the best analysis if I stayed in my own lane and stuck to novels that I could, in some way, relate to. The most interesting conclusions I came to after examining The Incendiaries by R.O. Kwon, The Running Grave by Robert Galbraith, and my own experience growing up in a very church-active family, are that there is a fine line between cult “red flags” and unhealthy behavior by well-meaning people, that control is complicated, and that motive is everything.

TARGETING: 

In both novels, I noticed very similar “red flags” that had my stomach churning and my anxiety urging me to call “cult.” In the Universal Humanitarian Church (UHC), the cult Galbraith’s book centers on, along with Jejah, the cult in Kwon’s novel, a practice of “targeting” stands out. Just like billion-dollar burger sellers, insurance companies, breweries, and your local lemonade stand, cults pursue certain demographics for specific reasons. In The Running Grave, when private detective Robin Ellacott infiltrates the UHC by being accepted to an exclusive farm, she discusses the instructional pamphlet she has to follow, lamenting that she isn’t allowed to bring with her any prescription or over-the-counter medications. A colleague asks, “They make you leave medication?” Robin responds with the UHC’s dogma—The body will heal itself if the spirit is pure enough—and then unmasks the cult’s lie with, “Face it, the UHC doesn’t want people who need medication.”

Earlier in the novel, a psychologist provides some context to that statement: “The only kind of people the UHC probably couldn’t do much with—not that they’d want to recruit them in the first place—are apathetic, couch potato types. The UHC’s after idealists they can turn into evangelists. Being idealistic and intellectually inquiring makes you much more vulnerable to ideologies like the UHC.” As Robin learns during her time undercover, the UHC also targets people with money and influence as high-value recruits. Similar targeting carries over into Kwon’s novel, as that story centers on Phoebe, a young piano prodigy dealing with childhood trauma. Her achievement-driven personality and vulnerability made her a prime target for a cult.

But does this type of targeted recruitment play off the page in real life? Honestly, I don’t know. I read fiction and am zero percent an expert on Cult Thinking. Furthermore, I’ve never personally been part of a cult (that I know of, lol). But in my own life and experience at different churches throughout my almost 40 years, I will say that I witnessed times when wealthier or more prestigious families within the church were treated differently by pastors. Those families were often given more time and focus, and even more influence on large-scale changes or developments in the church. But am I going to get on TikTok and make a video about how I survived a cult because of these red flags? Nope. Because true cults are actually pretty rare, and I didn’t survive a cult; I survived imperfect people, unhealthy behaviors, and the general pride and selfishness of humankind. Are there people out there who survived and experienced true religious trauma from being in a cult? Absolutely—which is why I’d never claim that I have. For most of us, when we see these “red flags,” we aren’t being exposed to a cult but to an unhealthy organization. After reading these books, I can’t help but think whether to give the label “cult” comes down to control.

CONTROL TACTICS

In both the UHC and Jejah, members who fall out of line face punishment. These control tactics often start off psychological—like being separated from groups doing more desirable tasks to make the individual lose a sense of belonging—before escalating into sessions designed to make members hate themselves. In Jejah, this was a session called “confession,” where someone would reveal private details of their life and then face criticism from the cult leader. In the UHC, it was called “Revelation,” where instead of facing criticism from the leader, the group would criticize and hurl insults at the unlucky person giving the revelation. As a reader, I interpreted these tactics as a way to control members on a large scale—because you don’t need oversight if the group is policing itself.

To say that I’ve experienced anything similar to the above would be hyperbole if not an outright lie, but I did grow up in the church of the ’90s and early 2000s—so infer what you may. There were prayer meetings and small groups where I saw youth leaders pressuring kids to confess to so-called sins. Would I call that a cult experience? I don’t think so. No one was ever openly humiliated or criticized for what they shared, and having watched some of those youth leaders grow into adulthood, I believe their behaviors were misguided but not malicious. But would I call that style dangerous and unhealthy? Abso-effing-lutely. In most cases, setting and holding healthy boundaries can help curtail these kinds of behaviors, and I believe boundaries are my responsibility to make and hold.

For example, when my husband and I were looking for a church to attend after a move, we watched a lot of YouTube videos of area churches and finally decided on one to try. In our first few weeks of attending, I overheard two separate conversations out in the community where people said they had left this particular church because they felt burnt out, that the church asked too much of them. Taking note, I continued to attend and eventually found that the church does depend heavily on volunteers—for events, clubs, classes, music, tech, and more—but I really had no objection to this. Volunteers are the backbone of many nonprofit organizations. This church does try to immediately get people into volunteer roles, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Volunteering helps you build relationships and is good for your mental health. But for people who struggle to say no, constant inquiries for volunteers might feel a little controlling or overwhelming.

That’s why setting boundaries in life is paramount. I can’t expect others to know they’re asking too much if I don’t tell them. Personally, I never felt burnt out or overwhelmed at that church, but that’s because I don’t volunteer unless it fits in my schedule and bandwidth, or give money unless I can afford it. I’m comfortable saying no. And watching how a church or organization responds to “no” is a good way to spot those cult red flags. The worst response I’ve ever gotten was a little passive-aggressive guilt-tripping. In contrast, in both Kwon’s and Galbraith’s novels, the UHC and Jejah resort to physical punishments to control their members. Seeing how far these fictional cults go to control people highlights the true litmus test of a cult: motive.

MOTIVE IS KEY: 

Cults in fiction are never content to just exist—they always have a motive. In both The Incendiaries and The Running Grave, you can tell one aim of the cult leader is total devotion and praise. Both leaders present themselves as a kind of second coming of Jesus, while exhibiting none of His traits. Jesus let people walk away, mock, and abandon His movement throughout the New Testament. There was no guilt-tripping; He did not compel or manipulate people to stay. He also didn’t target converts based on what they could do for Him, but gave His time freely to people of all walks of life. The disciples closest to Him mostly came from ordinary, overlooked, and even disrespected backgrounds.

By contrast, the UHC leader tried to justify manipulating a wealthy woman by claiming, “I never scorned the company of the rich. That in itself is a form of prejudice.” But when that wealthy woman died in pain because he refused to get her medical care—out of fear her family would change her will—his true motive was revealed: greed. Next to devotion, greed was the biggest motive behind the UHC. In addition to draining members of their life savings, they were also child traffickers for THE money. These fictional cults tried at times to align themselves with Jesus’ teachings, but their actions told the real story—a truth that hits too close to home, given how throughout history violent and ego-driven people have tried to use Jesus and the Bible to disguise their own pride and greed.

Ultimately, from my time reading about fictional cults, I learned that I probably don’t have to worry about the church I attend turning into a cult. That being said, I also learned I should keep my eyes open for red flags and unhealthy behaviors, because it isn’t outside the realm of possibility for misguided behaviors and well-meaning but unhealthy relational approaches in supposedly Jesus-centered churches to poison those organizations into something Jesus Himself would be ashamed of.

What do you think? What do fictional cults say about about real world experiences? Comment your thoughts below! And if you are in the mood for a lighter read, jump into a murder investigation in Frittered Moments, a story about a murder, a marshal, and a small-town deputy with a lot to prove. Get it HERE!