Most of us allocate a great deal of attention to our conscience — although the whole idea of its significance is subject to a host of factors. For example, ethical doctrines, moral autonomy, individual acts, philosophical and religious interpolations. Yet, the interesting part is, all of us consign ourselves to one pivotal role — that of being the absolute judge of our and sometimes others’ conscience. While such a standpoint may relate to the characteristic of right or wrong, the rules of the conscious game often emanates from external sources that connect our different acts rather than specific instances.
Put simply, our conscience accommodates most universal rules that define our behaviour in a given situation, not to speak of all its delicate complexities, omissions, and commissions. This includes all the claims and counterclaims that confront us with regard to moral opinion and principle within us — which approves or rejects our decisions. You’d think of the whole picture as a fixated ethical dilemma, whose resolution takes into consideration every moral determinant associated in the context of our conscience — irrespective of what one’s attitude or belief towards morality is. This explains why our idea of the conscience is quantified and celebrated as a distinctive possession divinely implanted in our conscious awareness and conscious wakefulness, as also in the precincts of a relaxed, meditative state, including sleep — the most therapeutic element that nature has endowed us with since the beginning of time.
It is obvious in the context that conscience is not so much about our ability of judging moral problems — it has much to do with mirroring atypical feelings which preclude our opinion. This is a simple statement; also profound. Just think of it. The everyday language we speak is nothing but the expression of our conscience, whatever our emotional state is — whether we are happy, troubled or serene. Yet, the whole purpose of it reflects in our psyche as sound or shaky. In other words, it is our conscience that dazzles, elates, sinks, or floats with our thoughts — whether or not we make logical deductions or wrong observations from accepted or rejected facts.
A good conscience may not always reflect a harmonious conscience. A bad conscience, likewise, could just as well be as divergent from bad reasoning. This is simply because our conscience approves or disapproves our decisions on moral equations and conduct from a point of view that is much higher than our intellectual bearings, or accomplishments. It is, in other words, a form of feelings that corresponds to every shade of colour in its varying intensities — yet, it is always distinctive and, at times, beyond description.
This brings us to the idea of right and wrong, including approval and disapproval as modes of behaviour. From time immemorial our ancient sages and philosophers have qualified and quantified every nuance of right and wrong and vice versa. In so doing, they have endowed us to take our stand, depending upon the various manifestations of conscience that resides in us, while knowing fully that they are relatively different from one individual to the other and cannot emote the same feeling that one may, as a rule, attach to others’ acts that are simple and also diverse.
What does this suggest? That we must always look for a common ground — and, not what our conscience approves or disapproves, but as to what actually determines our conscious approval, or disapproval. This is the best path towards finding fundamental similarity in every context of our life as a whole.

(The writer is a wellness physician, independent researcher and author)
Rajgopal Nidamboor