Organized religion: the world's largest pyramid scheme.

Hear the bold and cutting words of Bernard Katz, who declared: “Organized religion: the world’s largest pyramid scheme.” These words are sharp as iron and heavy as stone, for they do not merely question faith, but strike at the very structure of power that has so often clothed itself in holiness. Katz, with a skeptic’s tongue, points to the ways in which organized religion has sometimes become less about the divine and more about hierarchy, wealth, and control. Like a pyramid, its base is built of countless followers who give their devotion, their labor, their coin, while the pinnacle is crowned by a few who hold power in the name of heaven.

The origin of such a sentiment lies in the long history of human institutions, where the sacred has often been entwined with ambition. In every age, men have gathered to seek the eternal, but in their seeking, others have arisen to rule over them, turning worship into a system and reverence into revenue. Katz’s words echo the cries of reformers, philosophers, and rebels who saw not only altars, but thrones built upon the backs of the faithful. Thus, he likens organized religion to a scheme, for its structure appears less like a circle of communion and more like a ladder of power, where the many sustain the few.

History provides us with vivid examples. In medieval Europe, the selling of indulgences became a scandal that shook Christendom itself. The people, yearning for salvation, were told that forgiveness could be purchased with gold. Cathedrals rose to the sky, funded by peasants who gave from their hunger, while bishops and popes sat in splendor. It was this corruption that stirred Martin Luther to hammer his theses upon the church door, igniting the fire of the Reformation. In this, we see Katz’s metaphor come alive: a pyramid where the wealth and obedience of the masses enriched those at the summit.

Yet let us not forget: within the same religions that have been misused for power, there have also been saints and visionaries, men and women who gave all not for themselves but for others. Francis of Assisi, who abandoned wealth to live in poverty, sought not to build a pyramid but to walk among the poor. Teresa of Calcutta, centuries later, carried the dying in her arms, not for gain but for love. Thus, while Katz’s words expose the dangers of organized structures, they do not erase the possibility of genuine faith, which exists apart from schemes of power.

The power of this saying is its warning: whenever the sacred is chained to ambition, whenever worship is measured in coin, whenever devotion becomes the tool of manipulation, then religion becomes less a path to God and more a pyramid built on exploitation. Katz challenges us to see the difference between faith that uplifts and religion that enslaves, between the search for the divine and the schemes of men who exploit that search.

The lesson, O child of tomorrow, is clear: do not surrender your soul blindly to any system, no matter how holy its appearance. Question the leaders who demand wealth for salvation. Watch carefully those who preach humility yet live in excess. Seek truth not in the towers of power, but in the still, quiet places where love, kindness, and justice dwell. For the true temple of God is not made with hands, but within the human heart.

Therefore, take action. If you are a believer, let your faith be pure, guided by conscience rather than control. If you are a skeptic, let your questioning be not of bitterness alone, but of a desire to separate truth from falsehood. Support leaders who serve, not those who rule. Share your gifts with the poor, not with pyramids of vanity. In this way, you will honor the eternal while guarding yourself from deception, walking not as a servant of schemes but as a seeker of truth.