The Gospel of Lumon: How Corporations Replace Religion

As I watched yet another episode of Severance, I found myself unsettled—not just by its eerie world but by how familiar it felt. Lumon Industries is no ordinary company; it is a cathedral cloaked in fluorescent lights. Its founder, Kier Eagan, looms like a prophet whose words are scripture, whose philosophy is gospel. Employees perform rituals they cannot understand. They are severed not just from their memories but from themselves—split into two halves like body from soul.

And yet, as bizarre as Lumon seems, it mirrors something closer to home. In our own world, corporations have begun to fill spiritual voids left by declining religious participation. At the same time, churches have adopted corporate strategies to survive in an increasingly consumer-driven culture. Somewhere in this convergence—between fluorescent-lit boardrooms and sprawling megachurches—the human need for meaning has been commodified.

But what does it mean for us when companies act like churches? When churches act like businesses? And when political leaders embody both? These questions linger like fragments of a half-remembered dream—unsettling yet impossible to ignore.

The Cult of Lumon: Worship in the Workplace

Lumon Industries is more than a company—it’s a sanctuary for lost souls. The severance procedure splits employees into "Innies" and "Outies," creating two distinct selves that never meet. For the Innies, life begins and ends within Lumon’s walls. They know nothing of the outside world; their existence revolves entirely around their work. It’s as if they were born into Kier Eagan’s doctrine, raised on his teachings, and destined to fulfill his mysterious mission.

Inside Lumon, Kier’s philosophy—the Four Tempers—is treated as sacred text. His words are etched into plaques and recited in wellness sessions like prayers. The Perpetuity Wing serves as a shrine to Kier and his family, complete with relics that mythologize their lives. Rituals—like the unsettling "break room" confessions or the surreal "waffle party"—reinforce loyalty to Lumon’s mission while keeping employees tethered to an unknowable higher purpose.

It’s hard not to see Kier as a messianic figure—a prophet whose vision transcends time and space. Even the severance procedure itself feels like a theological act: splitting body from consciousness echoes ancient debates about the separation of soul from flesh.

But why does this resonate so deeply with us? Perhaps because it feels so close to reality. In our world, corporations have adopted religious structures not just to inspire but to control—to shape not only what we do but who we are.

When Corporations Become Churches

In real life, companies like Google and Apple don’t just sell products—they sell purpose. They promise employees more than paychecks; they offer meaning, community, and transcendence. Workplaces become temples where meditation rooms replace chapels and mission statements stand in for creeds. Leaders speak in quasi-religious terms about "changing the world" or "making an impact," framing work as a higher calling rather than just a means of survival.

Sociologist Carolyn Chen captures this phenomenon in her book Work Pray Code. She describes how tech companies have transformed workplaces into spiritual environments where employees find fulfillment not just professionally but existentially. It’s no coincidence that many Silicon Valley offices feature yoga classes, mindfulness workshops, and even spaces for quiet reflection—they’re designed to meet emotional needs once fulfilled by churches or synagogues.

This trend has given rise to what some call "workism," the belief that work is not just necessary but central to one’s identity and purpose. As traditional religious participation declines—only 30% of Americans attend weekly services compared to 76% who go to work—corporations have stepped in to fill the void. Workplaces now provide many of the functions that churches once did: community, moral guidance, and rituals that give life structure.

But there’s a dark side to this corporate spirituality. By framing work as sacred, companies can demand extraordinary levels of devotion from employees. Long hours and burnout are reframed as sacrifices for a noble cause. Dissent becomes heresy; leaving becomes apostasy.

In Severance, this dynamic is taken to its extreme: Innies literally cannot leave their workplace or question its mission because they know no other life. While real-world workplaces may not go quite that far, they still exert significant influence over employees’ identities and values.

Prosperity theology has played a significant role in reshaping evangelical Christianity into something transactional—and consumer-driven.

When Churches Become Corporations

While corporations are adopting religious practices, many churches are moving in the opposite direction—becoming more like businesses. Megachurches exemplify this shift with their sprawling campuses that resemble shopping malls more than sanctuaries. Coffee shops hum with activity while polished sermons echo through auditoriums packed with thousands of attendees.

These churches operate like Fortune 500 companies, employing advanced marketing techniques to attract congregants and offering amenities alongside worship services: childcare centers, counseling offices, fitness facilities—even branded merchandise sold online or at physical stores within church campuses.

Prosperity theology has played a significant role in reshaping evangelical Christianity into something transactional—and consumer-driven. Preachers like Joel Osteen or Paula White promote messages that equate faith with financial success: if you believe hard enough (and donate generously), God will reward you with wealth and happiness.

Dense theological discussions have given way to simplified messages focused on personal empowerment or political engagement—messages easier to digest but often devoid of deeper spiritual truths. At the same time, evangelical leaders embrace modern marketing techniques designed to engage audiences accustomed to consumer culture.

This corporate approach allows megachurches to thrive—but it also raises questions about priorities: Are these institutions focused on spiritual growth or financial growth? Critics argue that some prioritize entertainment over theology and revenue over relationships.

What happens when people rely on institutions designed for economic gain to fulfill emotional or existential needs?

The Commodification of Spiritual Needs

Whether it’s corporations acting like churches or churches acting like corporations, what’s clear is that spiritual needs have become commodified in modern America. Both institutions recognize that people crave meaning, connection, and purpose—and both are willing to monetize those desires.

In Severance, Lumon takes this commodification to its logical extreme by severing employees’ identities into two distinct selves: one for work and one for home. This creates a scenario where workers can devote their entire existence to their jobs without distraction—a chilling metaphor for how modern work culture demands total loyalty.

In real life, we see echoes of this in how companies encourage employees to identify with their jobs above all else. Job titles become identities; career success becomes moral virtue; productivity becomes salvation. Meanwhile, churches market themselves as lifestyle brands offering everything from self-help advice to social networking opportunities.

This commodification raises important ethical questions:

• Can true spiritual connection exist when it’s mediated by profit motives?
• What happens when people rely on institutions designed for economic gain to fulfill emotional or existential needs?
• Are we losing something essential—authenticity? intimacy?—in this transactional approach?

Politics as Religion: The CEO-Pastor Archetype

The rise of figures like Donald Trump within evangelical circles highlights how corporate-style leadership has infiltrated not just religion but politics itself. Trump embodies the archetype of the charismatic CEO who promises results while demanding loyalty—a figure who blends power with spectacle.

Much like celebrity megachurch pastors who build their brands around themselves rather than their institutions, Trump commands loyalty through his larger-than-life persona. His rhetoric often frames him as a messianic figure ("I’m just standing in the way"), resonating with evangelicals who view him as divinely chosen despite his personal flaws.

Trump’s messaging is strikingly similar to megachurch sermons or consumerized spirituality: simple yet powerful promises of strength, success, and protection against perceived enemies (both political and cultural). This appeals deeply during times of uncertainty—a world where simplified answers often feel more comforting than nuanced truths.

At times, Trump’s rallies resemble worship services complete with religious imagery—a fusion critics argue represents Christian nationalism prioritizing political power over spiritual integrity.

What Are People Getting From This?

Whether it’s simplified spirituality sold by corporations or political figures adopting religious overtones, people are drawn because these systems address deep psychological needs:

• Community: A sense of belonging without requiring deep interpersonal engagement.
• Identity: The ability to craft authentic identities without rigid doctrines.
• Hope: Comfort during times of anxiety.
• Purpose: Meaning framed within larger missions (divine or otherwise).

These systems offer emotional relief while fitting seamlessly into modern lifestyles—but they risk reducing spirituality into something transactional rather than transformative.

Conclusion: The Corporate Gospel

The convergence of corporate structures with religion and politics reflects profound cultural shifts in how Americans seek meaning in an increasingly fragmented society. Simplified spirituality appeals because it fits neatly into modern lifestyles; megachurches thrive because they blend faith with entertainment; political figures succeed by adopting charisma strategies borrowed from CEOs and pastors alike.

But this convergence raises troubling questions about authenticity—and whether faith itself loses its transformative potential when packaged for profit or power.

Ultimately, these trends reveal not just how institutions are changing but how deeply human our need for connection remains—even when commodified for consumption.

Whether it’s Kier Eagan or Donald Trump preaching from the pulpit—or whether you’re worshipping at church pews or cubicle desks—the question remains: Who owns your soul?