Understanding Cults: The Evolution of Perspectives on Coercion and Control

Lately, I’ve been looking into the Austrian Office for Cult Affairs (the Bundesstelle für Sektenfragen) because they’re appearing at the Victorian Parliamentary Inquiry into Cults and Fringe Religious Groups on Monday. Honestly, I’m curious about their insights.

They’ve been operating since 1998. On the surface, they seem genuinely committed to protecting people from exploitation and harm. One of their key principles is the freedom to leave a group, which I think is a powerful benchmark.

The Complexity of Coercion

I’m especially interested in how they’ll discuss coercion. This topic wasn’t part of the public conversation when their office began. The framework of coercive control — understanding how a person’s autonomy can be systematically eroded without physical force — emerged later, primarily from the domestic violence field.

If I’m being honest, I have mixed feelings about how the Austrian office evolved. Its roots appear quite Catholic, shaped by a moral worldview that emerged from Europe’s long struggle with heresy and “sect” movements. Once you start pulling on that thread, it’s hard not to see the historical echoes. The modern “anti-sect” approach sometimes feels like a bureaucratic descendant of the Inquisition.

That might sound dramatic, but it’s not an accusation. It’s about recognising the lineage. We’re dealing with three very different global narratives about “cults.” Each narrative tells a different story about who needs protection and from what. (NB this discussion of cults is an extension of etymology of the word cult.)

1. The Catholic/European “Anti-Sect” Model

In much of continental Europe — Austria, France, Belgium, Germany — cult offices were created around the same time. This was usually in response to the so-called “sect scares” of the 1980s and 90s.

New religious movements were springing up everywhere: meditation groups, esoteric schools, charismatic communities. To the Catholic establishment, this was deeply unsettling. These weren’t just social oddities; they were moral threats. Deviations from “true faith.”

Governments stepped in, often with quiet input from church-linked academics, to protect citizens from dangerous sects. The language they used — Sekte in German, secte in French — doesn’t translate neatly into English. It carries a sense of moral deviation, like a disease within the body of the Church or society.

The goal wasn’t freedom; it was moral order.

In this framework:

• A “cult” is a heresy or social infection.

• Victims are those lured away from orthodoxy.

• “Protection” means safeguarding faith and social cohesion.

  
  

The problem is that this model conflates spiritual nonconformity with abuse. It’s more interested in who people believe in than how they’re being treated.

And that’s where the tension begins.

2. The Anglo-American “Religious Freedom” Model

Across the Atlantic, the story looks completely different. In the U.S. — with its First Amendment and Protestant diversity — the idea that the state should interfere with religion is almost unthinkable.

When European governments started talking about “dangerous sects,” American scholars and religious freedom lawyers were horrified. Groups like the Church of Scientology and the Jehovah’s Witnesses seized on this, arguing that “anti-cult” activism was religious persecution by another name. To be fair, they weren’t entirely wrong; some European offices did operate with a theological bias.

In response, a new wave of sociologists — Eileen Barker, James Richardson, Massimo Introvigne — started reframing the debate. They said, “Look, most new religions are harmless. ‘Brainwashing’ isn’t real. People join and leave freely. The real danger is moral panic.”

In this worldview:

• “Cult” is seen as a slur.

• “Freedom” is absolute — you can believe whatever you want.

• Harm is measured only in terms of criminal law.

  
  

The issue here is that this model overprotects abusers in the name of liberty. It assumes everyone has equal power and choice — which anyone who’s lived through coercive control knows is simply not true.

You can’t talk about “free choice” when someone’s entire worldview has been systematically shaped by fear, shame, and manipulation.

3. The Coercive Control / Human Rights Model

This is where a third — and newer — narrative enters: the coercive control model. It doesn’t care what people believe; it cares how those beliefs are used.

This model grew out of feminist and trauma psychology movements. Women began naming the invisible patterns of domination inside their own homes. Later, those insights were applied to workplaces, extremist movements, trafficking, and, yes, cults.

The focus isn’t on religion or heresy; it’s on power, autonomy, and consent. It asks:

• Can members question leadership without fear?

• Can they leave without being cut off from community, livelihood, or identity?

• Is information controlled, language weaponised, or guilt used to suppress autonomy?

  
  

It’s a human rights model — not a theological one.

This model recognises that the same coercive tactics appear everywhere — from domestic violence to religious authoritarianism to extremist politics. It puts survivors at the centre — not as heretics or “disgruntled ex-members,” but as witnesses to patterns of control.

4. Why Narratives About Cults Matter

If you’ve left a high-control group, here’s what I want you to know: you’re not part of a “sect scare” or a “religious freedom” debate — you’re part of a human rights conversation.

This is the next evolution of understanding. We’ve moved from:

• Policing belief (the Catholic/European model),

• Protecting belief (the American model),

• Protecting people (the coercive control model).

  
  

That’s progress — but it’s still a work in progress.

And that’s why I’ll be listening closely on Monday when Austria’s Office for Cult Affairs gives their evidence. I want to see if they’ll speak the language of coercion — not just of heresy or “freedom of religion,” but of power, control, and harm.

Because when it comes down to it, this isn’t about belief at all.

It’s about freedom — the real kind.