“Corruptio Optimi Pessima” “The Corruption of the Best is the Worst.”

Corruptio Optimi Pessima: Ivan Illich’s Warning for the Church—and Today’s Institutions

There’s an old Latin proverb, “corruptio optimi pessima”—“the corruption of the best is the worst.” It's a sobering reminder that when something noble and virtuous turns rotten, the stench is far worse than anything that was mediocre to begin with. Ivan Illich, the radical philosopher and rogue priest, wielded this idea like a surgeon’s scalpel against one of the most powerful institutions of his time: the Church.

Illich’s critique wasn't just some petty attack on the Church’s failings; no, it was far deeper than that. It was an indictment of how the Church, born as a beacon of hope for the oppressed, had sold its soul to the very systems of power it was meant to challenge. And if Illich’s critique felt brutal in the 1970s, it’s all the more scathing today, as we watch one institution after another, those once held up as paragons of virtue fall into the pit of corruption, hypocrisy, and control.

The Church: A Convivial Community Hijacked by Power

Let’s wind the clock back to the early days of Christianity, when it was less about bishops in golden robes and more about ragtag communities huddled in homes, sharing meals and daring to care for one another in a hostile world. Back then, the Church was a true convivial community, a space where people came together as equals to break bread, not break each other’s spirits.

This was the original vision: a community driven by love, simplicity, and humility. Illich saw this as the epitome of conviviality, a term he would later popularise in his book Tools for Conviviality. In Illich’s view, the early Church was about empowerment, fostering genuine human relationships and mutual aid. But somewhere along the line, the Church got tired of being the scrappy underdog. It saw the allure of power and dove headfirst into bed with emperors and kings.

Cue the Constantinian shift, that infamous moment in the 4th century when Emperor Constantine, smelling an opportunity, baptised Christianity into the machinery of the Roman Empire. What was once a radical community became an institution dripping with authority, more concerned with hoarding wealth and issuing decrees than with washing the feet of the poor. “The Church did not accept the protection of the Emperor Constantine,” Illich once quipped with a sharp tongue, “rather, it sold itself to the Emperor’s protection.” In short, the Church traded its soul for a seat at the emperor’s table.

From Healers to Masters: The Church’s Descent into Control

The corruption didn’t stop there. The Church, in its newfound obsession with control, started morphing into something that looked less like a community of believers and more like a corporation obsessed with metrics. It went from feeding the hungry and caring for the sick to drafting rules, enforcing penances, and collecting indulgences. The institution that was supposed to set people free now held them in chains, both literal and metaphorical.

And let’s not mince words: the Church, which preaches poverty and humility, sits atop a fortune that could feed entire nations. The Vatican’s immense wealth is measured in priceless art, properties, and billions in investments, while its priests sermonise on the virtues of giving to the poor. And then there’s the dark stain that refuses to fade, the child abuse scandals that rocked the Catholic Church to its core. It’s not just the abuse itself that damns the Church but the systemic cover-ups, where those in power protected abusers rather than victims. The Church, which was supposed to be a shepherd to the vulnerable, instead sacrificed its flock to protect its own.

Illich would have seen these actions as the ultimate betrayal: the institution that was meant to heal and protect became a predator, wielding its moral authority as a shield against accountability. If ever there was an example of “the corruption of the best is the worst,” this is it.

From Spiritual Healing to Social Control

Illich’s critique of the Church extended beyond its spiritual mission to its role in the realms of medicine, education, and social welfare. Historically, the Church had been a key provider of these services. However, as Illich saw it, these functions, which began as genuine acts of charity, were gradually absorbed into the bureaucratic machinery of the Church and, later, the state.

Take healthcare, for instance. In the Middle Ages, monasteries were places of refuge and healing, where the sick could find comfort and care. But Illich argued that as the Church institutionalised these practices, it turned healing into another method of control. Hospitals became places where bodies were managed, not nurtured. As Illich put it, “When the Church became the primary caretaker of men’s souls, it soon became the master of their bodies as well.” The art of healing, once a holy act of mercy, was swallowed up by a system more interested in the patient’s compliance than their well-being.

A Church That Lost Its Soul—And the Institutions of Today

Fast forward to today, and Illich’s critique feels eerily prophetic. If the Church of the Middle Ages was guilty of selling out its mission, what about the so-called guardians of virtue in our modern world? If Illich were here now, he’d probably have a field day tearing into today’s institutions with the same ferocity.

Let’s start with the media, which was once revered as the watchdog of democracy, a place where the truth would shine a light on the dark corners of power. Today, it’s become a megaphone for whoever’s paying the bills. The same media that once sought to hold power accountable now gladly serves it up on a silver platter, stoking fear, spreading propaganda, and enforcing narratives that keep the public in a state of perpetual outrage. Illich would see this as the ultimate betrayal of trust. The “corruption of the best,” indeed.

Or look at the world of Big Tech, those shiny Silicon Valley giants that promised to connect us all and set information free. They began (those who weren’t CIA ops that is) as the scrappy disruptors, champions of free speech and open access. Now? They’re the gatekeepers, deciding which voices get heard and which are silenced. The very platforms that once promised to empower the individual have become tools of surveillance, censorship, and manipulation. Illich, ever the sceptic of centralised power, would have warned us: “The illusion that we can control technology blinds us to the extent to which technology controls us.”

Conviviality as a Way Forward: Illich’s Hope in a Broken World

So, what’s the way out of this mess? For Illich, the answer lay in a return to conviviality. He didn’t mean a naïve return to the past, but rather a conscious choice to create spaces where human beings could thrive outside of oppressive institutions. “Tools,” he wrote in Tools for Conviviality, “must serve life, not manage it.” The key was to reclaim our autonomy and build communities where people help one another, rather than waiting for some distant institution to solve our problems.

Imagine a world where we’re less dependent on top-down systems and more focused on grassroots initiatives, local food co-ops instead of corporate supermarkets, open-source software instead of surveillance capitalism, community gardens instead of factory farms. It’s not about rejecting technology or institutions entirely but about ensuring that they serve us, not enslave us.

The Double-Edged Sword of Modern Institutions

Here’s the harsh reality: the same institutions that promise progress and liberation often become the very things that oppress us. Whether it’s the Church of Illich’s day or the tech giants of ours, the story remains the same. The corruption of the best truly is the worst because it takes what is supposed to be sacred and profanes it. And the damage is all the more insidious because it’s hidden behind a veneer of virtue.

Illich’s challenge to us is clear: reclaim what has been lost. Push back against the forces that would control us, whether they wear clerical collars, business suits, or tech-company hoodies. If we can learn anything from his critique, it’s that the greatest betrayals don’t come from our enemies, they come from those we once trusted to protect what’s good.

Maybe it’s time to stop outsourcing our souls to institutions that have long since sold theirs. Because in the end, Illich’s warning rings true: the corruption of the best is truly the worst. And unless we reclaim our lives from the machinery of control, we risk becoming its willing prisoners.