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's a cathedral in fluorescent lighting. Its founder, Kier Eagan, looms like a prophet whose words are scripture. Employees perform rituals they cannot understand. They are severed not just from their memories but from themselves.

As bizarre as Lumon seems, it mirrors something closer to home. Corporations have begun filling spiritual voids left by declining religious participation. At the same time, churches have adopted corporate strategies to survive. Somewhere between fluorescent-lit boardrooms and sprawling megachurches, the human need for meaning has been commodified.

What does it mean when companies act like churches? When churches act like businesses?

The cult of Lumon

Lumon Industries is more than a company. 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 is 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.

It's hard not to see Kier as a messianic figure. Even the severance procedure itself feels like a theological act: splitting body from consciousness echoes ancient debates about soul and flesh.

Why does this resonate? Because it feels close to reality. 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

Companies like Google and Apple don't just sell products. They sell purpose. They promise employees more than paychecks; they offer meaning and community. 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 a job.

Sociologist Carolyn Chen captures this in her book Work Pray Code. She describes how tech companies have transformed workplaces into spiritual environments where employees find fulfillment professionally and existentially. Silicon Valley offices feature yoga classes, mindfulness workshops, and spaces for quiet reflection. They're designed to meet emotional needs once fulfilled by churches or synagogues.

This has given rise to "workism," the belief that work is 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. Workplaces now provide many functions churches once did: community, moral guidance, rituals that give life structure.

But there's a dark side. By framing work as sacred, companies can demand extraordinary devotion from employees. Long hours and burnout get reframed as sacrifices for a noble cause. Dissent becomes heresy; leaving becomes apostasy.

In Severance, this dynamic reaches its extreme: Innies literally cannot leave their workplace or question its mission because they know no other life. Real-world workplaces don't go that far, but they still exert real influence over employees' identities and values.

When churches become corporations

While corporations adopt religious practices, many churches are moving the other direction. Megachurches exemplify this with sprawling campuses that resemble shopping malls more than sanctuaries. Coffee shops hum with activity while polished sermons echo through auditoriums packed with thousands.

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

Prosperity theology has reshaped evangelical Christianity into something transactional. 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. Easier to digest, but often stripped of deeper spiritual content. Evangelical leaders embrace marketing techniques designed for audiences accustomed to consumer culture.

This corporate approach allows megachurches to thrive, but it raises questions. Are these institutions focused on spiritual growth or financial growth? Some clearly prioritize entertainment over theology and revenue over relationships.

The commodification of spiritual needs

Whether corporations acting like churches or churches acting like corporations, spiritual needs have become commodified. Both institutions recognize that people crave meaning and connection, and both are willing to monetize those desires.

In Severance, Lumon takes this to its logical extreme by severing employees' identities into two distinct selves: one for work and one for home. Workers can devote their entire existence to their jobs without distraction. It's 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 self-help advice and social networking.

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 needs? Are we losing something essential in this transactional approach?

What people get from this

Whether simplified spirituality sold by corporations or political figures adopting religious overtones, people are drawn because these systems address real psychological needs.

They offer community without requiring deep interpersonal engagement. They offer identity without rigid doctrines. They offer comfort during anxiety and purpose framed within larger missions, whether divine or corporate.

These systems provide emotional relief while fitting into modern lifestyles, but they risk reducing spirituality to something transactional rather than transformative.

The convergence of corporate structures with religion reflects how Americans seek meaning in a fragmented society. Simplified spirituality appeals because it fits neatly into busy lives; megachurches thrive because they blend faith with entertainment; political figures succeed by borrowing charisma strategies from CEOs and pastors alike.

Whether faith loses its transformative potential when packaged for profit is a question each institution will have to answer. So will everyone sitting in the pews, or at their desks.