Phase 1: Paul the Founder — From Tents to Theology
Paul was a hustler. He took a small, regional movement centered on a Jewish teacher and rebranded it for the Mediterranean world. He stripped complexity down to a few core claims, created scalable rituals (baptism, breaking bread), and built out a network of franchisees (church planters) who could replicate the model in city after city.
It was a classic startup move: simplify, package, and spread fast. The absurdity? A movement founded on love and equality instantly began stratifying who could lead. Women who played central roles in the early gatherings were sidelined, and Paul’s letters laid down restrictions that would echo for centuries. A startup that promised universal love ends up enforcing a hierarchy of celibate men guarding access to the divine.
Phase 2: Constantine the Investor — Scale at Any Cost
Three centuries later, Constantine saw a growth engine ripe for consolidation. He poured imperial capital into the venture, wrapped it in state branding, and turned a persecuted sect into the empire’s official ideology. Think of it as the ultimate Series A round, except the term sheet included armies, tax revenue, and execution for non‑believers.
To lock in monopoly power, the distributed network of patriarchal sees (Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, Jerusalem) was hammered into conformity. Councils were convened to define orthodoxy, heresies were outlawed, and branding guidelines (creeds, canons) were strictly enforced. This was theology as corporate standardization — a global supply chain for salvation.
Absurdity check: multiple claimants to the papacy at once — five popes squabbling like rival fast‑food chains, each insisting theirs was the one true burger.
Phase 3: The Catholic Monopoly — Wholesale to Retail
The genius — and the grift — of the system was in its wholesale/retail structure. Priests trained for years at seminaries, accessing the “wholesale” mysteries, then sold them retail as sacraments. The laity paid at the altar — in coin, obedience, or fear. Eternal life was the ultimate value proposition. No competitor could beat that offer.
Printing presses blew up the model. Once scripture became available in the vernacular, people realized they didn’t need to pay retail anymore. They could access wholesale prices directly. Enter the Reformation: “Wait a minute — why are we funding a prince in Rome?”
Absurdity check: limbo — a metaphysical holding pen for unbaptized babies — was taught for centuries, then quietly erased by papal decree. Imagine a bank telling you your savings account never existed, but thanks for the fees.
Phase 4: Surviving Disruption — The Pivot Playbook
Every foma eventually faces collapse. Christianity has been declared dead or dying many times. Yet it survives — not by consistency, but by constant pivots. From empire to monastery, from cathedral to colony, from Europe to Africa and Latin America, from pulpits to pop concerts. Each pivot retains the core product (eternal life, community, ritual) while adjusting distribution channels.
Absurdity check: papal infallibility — declared in 1870, after centuries of obvious failures. It was the religious equivalent of a bankrupt company announcing, “We’re too big to fail.”
Takeaway: The Scale of Belief
From Paul’s minimum viable gospel to Constantine’s imperial rollout, the Christian foma shows how belief can be packaged, scaled, and monopolized like any business. But no matter how polished the brand or powerful the distribution, the absurdities pile up: erased doctrines, contradictory hierarchies, a billion people told their salvation depends on clerical gatekeepers who often failed at the basics of humanity.
And yet — two billion customers remain. Because eternal life is still the best pitch deck ever written.