How Tiktok became a religious pulpit | Mint

They said it was divine intervention. Tiktok was revived on January 19, a few hours after the short video app was closed in America. Users said their prayers were answered. “God said that Tiktok rise!” one exclamation. In fact, Donald Trump issued an executive order on his first day back in office, and granted an extension before the Chinese app would be owned or closed due to US concerns about national security. Holy sentiments are not in place on Tiktok, where religious content is among the 1.9 billion users of the app (none of them are in China, where it is not available). Videos with the top five sacred hashtags, including #Jesus and #islam, have been seen more than 1.2Trn times. ‘Faittok’, as some call the congregation’s congregation, is eclectic. Videos show that Catholic Holy Water scattered, Mormons that record Scripture and Muslims ahead of the Qur’an. Nuns offer a look at monastic life; Imams Proffer training; And congregations try to introduce their own congregations. Tiktok offers a cacophony of liturgy, which sometimes hides as much as it relieves. But it is worth more attention because the app changes faith and culture in significant ways. Of course, this is not the first time that technology has influenced religion. The printing press was famously disruptive, spread new teachings and spurred the Protestant Reformation in 1517. Television helped to flourish evangelism in the 20th century, although it was also linked to the lower church attendance. After the internet bloom in the 1990s, people in the West began to shed their formal religious affiliates. Since then, the part of the Americans who say they have “no religion” has almost tripled to 28%, exceeding every other denomination (although most still say that they believe in a ‘higher power’). Online, there are “so many religious truths that wander around that it undermines your certainty,” explains Paul McClure, a sociologist at the University of Lynchburg in Virginia. As people spend more time on the internet, they are less likely to pray, attend services or belong to a religious tradition. This does not mean that social media was bad for religion: online platforms sometimes helped build religious communities through forums and chat rooms, also during Covid. And inundated with multiple belief systems, penetrated by algorithms, research found that young adults on social media have accepted more for different religions. Tiktok is the hardest pulpit yet. According to Nathan Mladin of Theos, a Christian thinking tank, the app is ‘social media on steroids’. The super-powered algorithms reduce complicated ideas to 30 seconds and erode the ‘habits and virtues’ of traditional ‘faith trips’ faster than ever before, he says. Tiktok changes the belief in three ways. First, conversions occur differently, especially among young people, who are not always attracted to established religious figures. Instead, they move to FAITHTOKERS, which sometimes step products that are “in line with Scripture”, such as Halal snacks and sports clothing decorated with Bible verses. Their videos offer new rituals (“Holy Girl Habits”), slogans (“God is so cool!”) And advice in verse (“If in doubt, worship it out”). Infers who call “the Jesus Glow” have seen great success on a platform where personal beauty advice flourishes. Gen Z, Tiktok’s largest herd of users, is probably more than any other generation to think that faith has a place in the modern world, according to a study by Theos. Young proselytes are often not attracted to established churches, but to online ministry. “Short-form content was … a gift from God,” says Taylan Michael Seaman, a Louisianan influenceder who runs a digital ministry and helps other Christians to form their own. (“Kingdom University”, his minister’s training program, costs $ 8,000.) Mr. Seaman claims to have started a ‘viral revival’, trained a thousand preachers and inspires about 750,000 “rescue” or conversions. A second way in which Tiktok changes the belief is by making it less formal. Gen Z does not want ‘smoking and mirrors’, arguing Gabe Poirot, an influencer who claims to have repented of about 40,000 people in Christianity. Young people prefer unedited cuts above polished productions. Some people, according to him, let a more ‘intimate relationship with Jesus’ develop online. Partled setbacks and the parasocial relationships that forge many netizens with online influencers offer some proximity to God. Tiktok’s casual style also means that everyone can start preaching with a telephone and internet connection, says Denis Conversion, an expert on online evangelism. Infers are praised for their charisma rather than their credentials; Those with great succession have little training. In addition, creators are urged to provoke their audience or look at their audience. This leads to clickbait titles like “Do you go to heaven or hell?” and inflammatory interpretations of Scripture. This indicates one of Tiktok’s biggest consequences for faith: it is a sowing section. As more and more votes declare authority, people’s belief systems have divided. Since worshipers abandoned the Catholic Church during the Reformation, they leave traditional institutions today to follow new religions. The vitality of unorthodox beliefs undermines dominant authorities. Inflatives’ ministries are often ‘non-denominational’, and see views separate from any established sect. On the outer edges of Faittok, people are working on a new era spirituality. #Wicca (paganism) and #WitchCraft each have billions of views on the platform, as little ones take out crystals, drinks and proverbs. Faittok is full of religious disinformation, from AI-generated hate speech to deep subjects of prominent religious leaders. Spiritual mindful conspiracy theories (called “conspiracy”) spread quickly on tapping and beyond. For example, “Qanon” conspiracies are common, administered with religious images and positioned as spiritual quest. Faith is a mobilizing power, because believers think they are being summoned for a higher purpose, says Joan Donovan, a disinformation address at the University of Boston. Some people may find it ironic that religious content thrives on an app with strong ties with the Chinese Communist Party, which officially promotes ‘state aid’ and persecuted religious and ethnic minorities, including mostly Muslim -Ryghurs. But those who have carefully studied tapping are not really surprised. Divine content, including about politics, tends to strengthen on the platform to sow social instability, some believe. Related disinformation can be just as divisive as the political kind, says Ms Donovan. Online, many of the lambs of God are turned into lions. © 2025, The Economist Newspaper Limited. All rights reserved. Of The Economist, published under license. The original content can be found on www.economist.com