It is no longer possible to trust an institution, to believe that, despite the human weaknesses inherent in our humanity, there are organizations that place the general interest above the particular interest, that pursue the common good while disregarding their own. Transcendence continues to exist, but it is no longer common, it is now singular, linked to individuals or close-knit communities who share common values for a time, in order to bind themselves together in the face of danger; but as soon as the danger has passed, the community dissolves, and each individual returns to his or her own interests. It is therefore necessary to examine the factors that lead certain religious institutions to claim a dimension that is not merely organizational, but which receives its stamp from a spiritual and less visible source. To do this, we propose to take as our starting point an apparently banal affair of morals involving two Dominicans, which highlights mechanisms that are generally passed over in silence. In fact, the two Dominicans in question experienced alternating periods of quasi-idolatry and strong disapproval. Yet it seems to us that, through the case of these two Dominicans, the place of the Catholic Church in the world is at stake. What is the future of this Church, is it eternal, or is it doomed to disappear? In the case of Jean Vanier, Thomas Philippe and Marie-Dominique Philippe, the accusations against each of them were made after their death, through often anonymous testimony and without the benefit of a defense lawyer or cross-examination of the alleged victims. Of the six female figures presented in Tangi Cavalin's French book (l’Affaire, Ed. Cerf), the first (Odette de Beaulieu) bears witness to the charisma (spiritual as well as physical) that Thomas Philippe exuded in his youth. He attracted both men and women to him. The fourth (Alix Parmentier) is presented not as a victim, but as an accomplice guilty of abuse (based on the testimony of a seminarian-turned-priest who remains anonymous, and who believes he was a victim while being madly in love with her). Only three women publicly claim to have been abused. In Tangi Cavalin's account, which has been picked up by all the media, the Philippe brothers (and indirectly Jean Vanier) are sexual perverts who have camouflaged their perversity under a mystical theology. In the account proposed in this article, the Philippe brothers and Jean Vanier are guilty of having instituted a form of governance that leaves room for possible disorder, but the accusations of sexual abuse levelled against their persons appear to lack any solid foundation. By formulating dogmas about Mary and then considering Mary and the Church to be two faces of the same supernatural reality, the Catholic Church has put forward an image of itself as free from sin, as immaculate by a grace received from Christ. The revelation of sexual abuse in America and Europe (pending revelations about the Catholic Church in Africa) runs counter to this ideal of purity that the Catholic liturgy proclaims for its Church. For decades, the bishops' main concern has been to hush up scandals and neutralize the victims' voices. With today’s revelations, natural reaction is to try and salvage what can be salvaged by throwing overboard anything that might present a hint of sexual corruption. Because what's at stake is the purity of the Catholic Church, it seems necessary to eliminate all those who have behaved in a way that is sexually inappropriate by today's standards, even if they are dead and unable to defend themselves. Our thesis is that the absolute quest for purity is not inspired by the Spirit of God, but by human motivations that come under the understanding of psyches. That sexual abuse should be the subject of denunciation, police investigation and human judgment is a necessity for life in society. The Church must not be above the law. If religious, priests, bishops or cardinals commit abuse, they must be judged and serve their sentences if found guilty. On the other hand, for the Church or religious or social groups to enact their own norms to punish people in the media without giving them the opportunity to defend themselves is not only contrary to human law, but also contrary to the Gospel. If we cease to consider the Catholic Church as God's people on earth, and instead approach it as a religious institution with its own particular approach, its own doctrines, its own particular history - in short, if we approach the Catholic Church with a secular scientific approach, as we can do for any human institution - then it is possible to ask questions that would be ludicrous if the Catholic Church were considered as instituted by God. The same deconstruction that has been carried out on leaders of divine right (recognizing that a head of state is a human being subject to human desires and interests, even if he aspires to something greater) must be carried out on organizations of divine right (recognizing that they are governed by historical, sociological and cultural influences, even if they refer to something greater, something transcendent). Questions of priestly celibacy, papal primacy, hierarchical and clerical organization cease to be theological questions and become anthropological ones. If God exists, and if Jesus is the awaited Messiah who reveals Him and remains present in Humanity through the Holy Spirit, what then are the organizational choices that make it possible in a given era, in a particular context, to bear witness to and account for this transcendence? Understanding the Catholic Church as a human organization with a religious purpose enables us to look at organizational choices from an anthropological perspective, i.e. from the angle of incarnation. This does not mean excluding the divine dimension, but it does mean that transcendence is expressed in concrete, human institutions, marked by historical, geographical and cultural contingencies. Thus, choices of governance, such as the extent of the pope's powers (the equivalent of a CEO in international corporations) or the power of synods (akin to general assemblies) and their composition, must be examined in their concrete consequences as they are today, and not as they were in the Middle Ages in a Europe then dominated by conflicts between secular and religious power. The Second Vatican Council marked a major break with the tradition of the Catholic Church. Pope John XXIII made a radical break with the practices of his predecessor. Instead of believing he held the truth, he opened doors and windows to gather the feelings of the diverse Catholic bishops and give them constitutional expression. Pope Francis is seeking to continue on this path by extending this openness to the whole Catholic people through the synodal process. In doing so, he is coming up against major organizational issues. It is not possible to physically gather all these people together. The chosen approach was to give the national bishops' conferences a degree of autonomy to gather the requests, feelings and opinions of Catholics at parish level. The bishops collect the information, synthesize it and pass on what they consider to be the most important, culminating in a universal (Catholic) synthesis. Clearly, this process rests with the bishops and the conferences. They are the ones who decide what is worthy of interest and what is not. No process of validation by the Catholic people or negotiation between diocesan or Roman authorities and local Catholics is foreseen. It's just a matter of information feedback, spectacular though it may be, but with no capacity to make other points of view than those of the bishops heard. The practice that has really succeeded in bringing about profound change in institutions is one in which entities have designated delegates who have met physically and been able to deliberate collectively on the measures to be taken to adapt the state of a country or institution to its context. In France, this gave rise to the French Revolution, which was the catalyst for the transformation of Europe. In the United States, it gave rise to a federal unity which, from the founding fathers to the death of President Franklin Roosevelt on April 12, 1945, enabled the United States to emerge from a slave-owning economic system and defend freedom throughout the world. As these examples show, such an approach is uncontrollable. Something inconceivably revolutionary can come out of such a meeting of delegates. However, this practice is not new to the Catholic Church; it has existed and continues to exist in the form of diocesan synods. In the 1990s and 2000s, most French dioceses set up this type of synod. Delegates were appointed or elected, with segmentation of the various components of the diocesan Church: geographical parishes, religious congregations, charitable movements, youth, women, etc. The aim was to achieve a common understanding of the diocesan Church, a diversified and fairly comprehensive representation of the players that make up the diocesan Catholic Church. These diocesan synods brought about a profound renewal in the dioceses. The emblematic example is undoubtedly that of Poitiers, where the then bishop implemented the reforms suggested by his synod assembly.