“Confess, Comply, Conform”: How Cults Weaponise Forced Confession and Public Shaming

In high-control groups, confession is rarely about personal growth. It’s not therapeutic. It’s not spiritual. It’s not even sincere.

It’s coercive control.

Under the guise of humility and accountability, authoritarian religious groups have long used forced confession and public shaming to instil fear, monitor loyalty, and condition obedience. Far from creating “safe spaces for truth,” these rituals become highly effective tools for domination—dressed up as righteousness.

Let’s break this down by examining three examples: the Catholic Church’s historic use of confession (and its problematic indulgence economy), the Plymouth Brethren Christian Church’s culture of public shaming, and David McKay’s Jesus Christian “grievance system.”

Catholic Confession: Between Redemption and Regulation

The sacrament of confession—or reconciliation—has long been a defining feature of Catholicism. I can still recall my first experience of this sacrament from when I was ten years old. We we told we weren't talking to a priest but to representative of God on earth. On the surface, it offers a private, ritualised space to unburden oneself from sin, receive absolution, and start afresh.

For most of my pre-teen and teen years I participated in this ritual with the belief that the forgiveness was real. Then, in my late twenties, I went to a priest hoping I'd get the same sense of release. I did not. As an adult, I just could not accept that the man, the priest, I was talking to really understood what was in my heart and could speak on behalf of God.

A little while later, when my curiosity about all things religious was leading me down the rabbit hole of Church history, I discovered the tradition of Catholic confessions was far from enlightened.

A Marketplace of Morality: The Indulgence Scandal

In the Middle Ages, confession became entangled with one of the Catholic Church’s most controversial practices: the selling of indulgences. These were promises of reduced punishment in purgatory in exchange for money. The logic was simple and corrupt: sin could be wiped clean for a price.

This wasn’t just unethical—it was spiritual blackmail. The Church capitalised on believers’ guilt and fear of eternal damnation, turning confession into a currency. Martin Luther’s protest against this abuse in 1517 lit the match for the Protestant Reformation.

Over time, the Church reformed the practice, and indulgences were officially decoupled from financial transactions. But the legacy of using confession as a control mechanism lingered.

Confession or Counselling? A More Nuanced Take

Today, the confessional booth has evolved. In many modern Catholic parishes, the tone has softened. The priest listens. There’s less fire and brimstone, more pastoral support. For some, especially those who have fallen through the cracks of mental health systems, confession can resemble counselling: a quiet space to talk, reflect, and feel heard.

This is where we need nuance.

Unlike in cults, Catholic confession (at least today) is:

• Voluntary (you choose to go),

• Private (not a public spectacle),

• Confidential (protected by the seal of confession), and

• Not used to monitor behaviour beyond the sacramental scope.

  
  

That said, the confessional is still hierarchical: you’re the sinner, the priest is the gatekeeper of absolution. And in more traditional or authoritarian branches of the Church, confession can still be guilt-driven and moralising rather than liberating.

But the key difference? It’s been exposed to scrutiny. The abuses of the past—indulgences, priestly misconduct, and power imbalances—have been called out publicly, and many communities have reformed accordingly. Cults, in contrast, operate in secret and resist accountability at every turn.

The Plymouth Brethren: Shame as a Sacrament

The Plymouth Brethren Christian Church (PBCC) is notorious for its strict separation policies and heavy-handed disciplinary practices. One of their core tools of control is the public confession and shaming ritual.

Members who step out of line—whether it's dating someone outside the church, owning a television, or questioning leadership—can be brought before the assembly to “confess” their wrongdoing. The process is humiliating. The sinner is expected to show abject remorse, often in tears, while other members observe silently. The community's silence, in this context, speaks volumes—it is a collective act of disapproval and withdrawal of social warmth.

Those who do not comply are subjected to withdrawal, which means being completely cut off from family, community, and support systems. This practice isn't just cruel—it is calculated. It’s not about spiritual redemption; it’s about preserving control by using fear, guilt, and isolation as behavioural enforcers.

David McKay’s Grievance System: “Accountability” as a Weapon

David McKay, the leader of the Jesus Christians, more commonly known in the media as “The Kidney Cult,” created his own flavour of confession culture, cloaked in bureaucratic language. He calls it the “grievance system.”

It sounds harmless—almost progressive. A system where members can raise issues? Great. Except, in reality, it's a coercive mechanism disguised as democratic process.

Here’s how it works:

• Members are encouraged to bring up grievances against one another, including those in romantic or close relationships. These grievances are often passed up to McKay himself, allowing him to monitor the inner thoughts and private behaviours of every member.

  
  

• Confessions are expected. If you are the subject of a grievance, you must respond—often by confessing to vague, undefined accusations of “selfishness,” “lust,” or “rebellion.” Events that trigger these grievances could be from the simplest of issues like spending "too long" in the bathroom or forgetting items when setting the table. My daughter even had a grievance encounter for telling McKay there was grass on his shoe – apparently, her rank in the group did not allow her to say such things.

  
  

• Humiliation follows. Group feedback sessions where multiple people weigh in on your “sin” or attitude problem, often escalating into humiliating dogpiles. The target is expected to thank others for their “constructive criticism.”

What McKay has created is a panopticon of moral surveillance. The “grievance system” operates as a behavioural control grid, where every action is subject to scrutiny, every doubt is labelled rebellion, and every protest is framed as pride. The effect: free thought and emotional authenticity have their wings clipped in the most profound manner.

How Cult Confession Systems Break People Down

These confession rituals—whether in the Catholic past, Brethren present, or Jesus Christian cult—tick several key boxes on my Coercive Control Rubric:

1. Surveillance & Monitoring: Cultic systems institutionalise peer surveillance. You're encouraged to watch others and report to leadership. You become your brother’s keeper—and your leader’s informant.

   
   

2. Fear & Intimidation: The threat of being publicly shamed or expelled keeps members hyper-vigilant. You begin to self-censor, regulate your own emotions, and obey preemptively to avoid exposure.

   
   

3. Guilt & Emotional Blackmail: Members are manipulated into seeing their natural desires (independence, affection, rest) as “selfish” or sinful. They’re taught to feel guilty for being human—and that confession is the only path back into the group’s good graces.

   
   

4. Authoritarian Leadership: Confession becomes a tool to reinforce the leader’s divine authority. Only the leader (or priest or elder) can truly absolve you, and only they can determine what constitutes “wrongdoing.” It’s a closed loop of judgement and dependence.

   
   

5. Isolation & Shunning: Those who resist the process, or whose confessions aren’t “good enough,” risk being cut off. The social and emotional cost of non-compliance becomes unbearable.

   
   

The Bottom Line

Forced confession in cults isn’t about truth. It’s about power.

When confession becomes a ritual of submission rather than healing, it’s no longer spiritual—it’s strategic.

I don't consider the modern Catholic Church to be a cult with a big "C"––it's learned from past scrutiny and has changed it's way. And it is for this reason, observing how Catholicism is no longer as abusive and controlling as it once was, that I believe it is so important to continually call out all high-control groups who using some of the most time-tested strategies of coercion.

The simple truth is that cult leaders know that a shamed follower is a compliant follower. That’s why these rituals endure: they work. But they also break people.

So let’s call them what they are: not sacred, but scripted. Not humble, but humiliating. Not confession—but control.

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Have you been impacted by a high-control group? RFCC offers online counselling from a practitioner who understands how these groups operate and the impact they have have on wellbeing.