Question the cloak

By Herman M. Lagon

In a world where truth is often dressed in charisma and conviction, the most dangerous lies are the ones that wear robes of faith. We have seen it before. Leaders who speak with such certainty that you start to question your own doubts. Followers so devoted that they would walk barefoot through fire, if told it leads to salvation. This is not a new story. It is one that repeats itself in different names, faces, and places, but always with the same pattern: a self-proclaimed savior, a set of rules dressed as divine will, and a crowd too mesmerized to ask, “Why?”

What makes people surrender their will so completely to someone else’s voice? Sociologists like Jayeel Cornelio point out that cultic devotion often begins not with gullibility, but with longing. Many join these groups not because they are weak, but because they seek meaning, belonging, or healing. The strategy is subtle: welcome the weary, isolate them from outside noise, and flood them with affirmation that only within this circle can they be whole again. Suddenly, doubt becomes betrayal. And the leader? He is no longer questioned, only worshipped.

I read in a social media feed a former follower of such a group. She was intelligent, educated, and articulate. And yet, she found herself waking up one day in a compound, cut off from her family, having given away her salary to support “the mission.” Her turning point? Her five-year-old daughter asking why they could not visit lola anymore. It shook her. Not the rituals. Not the sermons. But a child’s innocent question. Because sometimes the truth does not shout. It whispers.

As an educator, I have seen the ripple effects of blind allegiance in classrooms. A student once submitted an essay claiming that their leader had “healed the sick by prayer alone,” citing no source but faith. I marked it not for the belief, but for the lack of thinking. I asked: “What else could be true?” That simple question led to a longer conversation, one where she realized faith should not mean abandoning reason. Our role is not to mock belief, but to help students ask better questions.

During the pandemic, many found comfort in routines and certainties. Some found it in online communities with preachers offering prophetic answers. When the world was unraveling, they clung to anyone who sounded sure. And cults thrive in that vacuum—of leadership, of empathy, of stability. They offer something organized religion, government, and sometimes family could not: unwavering assurance, packaged neatly as divine order.

But that order comes with a price. We hear stories of members being asked to give up their homes, their bodies, their vote. Women told their purity belongs to the leader. Children denied education in the name of “higher truths.” It is not enough to say these groups are extreme. We must ask: Why do they flourish? Partly because they know how to manipulate love. They do not start by commanding. They start by caring. They study your pain, then claim to be its cure.

One of the hardest parts of this conversation is knowing when a group crosses the line. Because from the outside, many of these organizations look harmless. They hold Sunday services. They distribute relief goods. They preach values. But when obedience is enforced through fear, when questioning becomes sin, when the leader is seen as infallible—that is when worship mutates into control. And that is when vigilance must take the place of passive tolerance.

I, too, have made mistakes in judgment. I have given platforms to speakers who later revealed twisted intentions. I have trusted endorsements that were later regretted. What I have learned is this: humility must always accompany authority. No one is above being questioned. Not even those with microphones, robes, cloaks, tunics, temples, airtimes, or temples built in their name.

We need laws that protect without persecuting. We need schools that teach discernment, not just dogma. We need families that value curiosity, not blind conformity. And we need to remember that silence, in the face of abuse disguised as faith, is not neutrality. It is complicity.

So the next time someone claims to be the only way, the sole truth, or the appointed voice of heaven, ask yourself: Does this belief enlarge my world, or does it shrink it? Real faith should never require your fear. It should free you to love more, think deeper, and live better.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.