Editorial
After his brief visit to the Vatican, Cardinal Malcolm Ranjith returned to Colombo and told the people that they must follow their conscience. He spoke about how, throughout Sri Lanka’s modern history, the country has repeatedly chosen shortcuts instead of principles, political convenience instead of proper procedures, and temporary solutions instead of confronting difficult truths. The statement was simple, powerful, and deeply political. But it also opened a question far older than any government, constitution, or election: what exactly is conscience, and who has the moral authority to question the conscience of others? One cannot speak continuously in the name of conscience without eventually standing before the same mirror. Many Sri Lankans may wonder what a great Catholic intellectual such as the late Father Tissa Balasuriya would have said if he were alive today to hear Sri Lanka’s second Cardinal speaking about national morality, justice, and responsibility.
A person who speaks in the name of conscience must also accept the responsibility of examining his own. Conscience is not a weapon to be used against opponents. It is not a political slogan or a convenient argument. It is a burden carried by every human being, especially by those who claim spiritual authority. In Catholic theology, conscience is not simply personal opinion or political instinct; it is the deepest place where a person encounters moral truth. The Second Vatican Council, in Gaudium et Spes, declared that “in the depths of his conscience, man detects a law which he does not impose upon himself, but which holds him to obedience.” That teaching creates a difficult challenge for every religious leader. The question is not whether leaders have the right to speak about conscience. They do. The question is whether they are prepared to apply the same moral examination to themselves.
The Gospel of Matthew records Christ’s warning: “First take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.” It remains one of the most uncomfortable teachings for anyone who holds authority because it demands self-reflection before public judgement. It is easy to expose the failures of governments, politicians, and opponents. It is much harder to question one’s own actions, decisions, and silence.
Cardinal Ranjith has often spoken about corruption, injustice, national decline, and the suffering of ordinary people. These are legitimate concerns. A Church that ignores injustice abandons its own mission. The Catholic tradition has always insisted that faith cannot be separated from human dignity and social responsibility. From the writings of early Christian thinkers to modern Catholic social teaching, the message has remained consistent: power must serve truth, not protect itself. However, moral authority becomes weaker when the standards applied to others are not equally applied to oneself.
Sri Lanka’s history is filled with difficult questions about identity, nationalism, and exclusion. Since 1956, the country has faced the consequences of political choices built around language, ethnicity, and majoritarian identity. Many critics argue that these developments contributed to a deeper process of Sinhala-Buddhist political dominance and created wounds that continue to affect the country today. Any serious discussion about Sri Lanka’s future must confront these historical realities, not only the mistakes of the present. A conscience that condemns today’s injustice but ignores yesterday’s suffering is an incomplete conscience.
The Catholic Church’s demand for truth and justice regarding national tragedies, including the Easter Sunday attacks, is legitimate. Victims and their families deserve answers. Those responsible for crimes must face accountability. But justice cannot become vengeance, and public pain cannot become a substitute for proper legal processes. The Catholic tradition has always distinguished justice from punishment driven by anger. Even those accused of serious crimes must be judged through evidence and due process because human dignity does not disappear when someone becomes unpopular.
When calls for extreme punishment become louder than calls for complete truth, another question of conscience emerges: is justice truly being served, or is public anger being transformed into political pressure? The Church has a moral responsibility not only to demand accountability from governments but also to defend the principles that protect every person from arbitrary power. A Church that demands justice must also defend fairness. A Church that speaks about human dignity must defend dignity even when it is inconvenient.
There is also another unanswered question surrounding leadership itself. Cardinal Ranjith has remained a central public figure years after reaching the usual retirement age for bishops. While a bishop’s resignation requires acceptance by the Pope, public figures with moral influence naturally face questions about transparency, responsibility, and the purpose of continued leadership. Religious authority is not only about occupying a position; it is about demonstrating humility and knowing when authority itself must be questioned.
The ancient Christian tradition teaches that leadership is service. Christ washed the feet of his disciples. He did not seek power as a privilege; he demonstrated sacrifice as a duty. The search today is not for a perfect cardinal, a perfect politician, or a perfect institution. Such things do not exist. The search is for a conscience that applies the same standard everywhere — to governments, communities, opponents, supporters, and itself.
Including the Cardinal.
A nation does not move forward because one group claims moral superiority over another. It moves forward when those with influence have the courage to ask the most difficult question of all: Have I truly followed my conscience, or have I only used conscience to judge others?
