Falun Gong often gets pegged more as a spiritual cultivation system than a traditional religion. At its core lie five sitting and standing exercises paired with a moral philosophy anchored in Truthfulness, Compassion and Forbearance. No formal clergy, no congregational worship—just individual practice, study of Li Hongzhi’s writings and group exercises in parks around the world.

Still, it blurs the lines. The cosmological ideas about karma, deities and the universe give it a whiff of religion. Scholars sometimes call it a “new religious movement,” pointing to its structured teachings, ritual-like sessions and shared mythology. On the flip side, many governments—especially in Western democracies—treat it as a health-and-wellness or human-rights matter rather than a faith tradition. A handful of courts have even classified it as a secular exercise regimen.

Since the 1999 crackdown in mainland China, the narrative shifted dramatically. Beijing brands Falun Gong an “evil cult,” while international human-rights bodies (including the 2024 UN Special Rapporteur on freedom of religion) have repeatedly condemned the persecution. At last spring’s International Religious Freedom Summit in Washington, D.C., advocates urged more protection for practitioners—a clear sign that, around the globe, it’s far more entwined with religious freedom debates than mere tai chi classes.

In everyday life, Falun Gong often sits alongside yoga, mindfulness apps and other Eastern-inspired practices that borrow spiritual language but appeal broadly as stress-busters. For newcomers, it can feel like signing up for a meditation retreat with a side of cosmic cosmology. For those inside the movement, it’s a path to moral uplift and physical health.

At the end of the day, whether Falun Gong wears the label “religion” or “spiritual practice” depends on who’s doing the labeling. It’s a bit like asking whether mindfulness is psychology or mysticism—sometimes it’s one, sometimes the other, and often it’s both.