“It turns out that public declarations of righteousness tell us remarkably little about private character and are not a substitute for integrity.”
Christianity belongs in politics. That sentence may surprise some readers, but I believe it. Just as socialism, liberalism, conservatism and every other worldview have a legitimate place in a democracy, so too does Christianity.
Politicians do not stop being people of faith when they enter public life, nor should they. The problem begins when faith stops being a source of values and starts becoming a claim to moral superiority.
Jeffrey Donaldson’s convictions for multiple historical sexual offences have prompted understandable shock within unionism and beyond. The BBC’s Spotlight documentary, which aired allegations about aspects of his private life has added another layer to an already extraordinary political collapse.
Yet one of the broader political questions raised by the affair has remarkably little to do with Donaldson himself and more to do with whether parts of Northern Ireland’s political culture confused Christianity with self-righteousness.
For decades, politicians, particularly within the DUP, have approached issues such as marriage equality, abortion, and LGBT rights as moral battles. Political language often moved beyond the language of governance and into the language of judgement, and society was presented as divided between those defending Christian values and those driving moral decline.
There is nothing unusual about politicians allowing faith to shape their convictions. The difficulty arises when political identity becomes dependent on asserting who is righteous and who is not. Christianity, at least in its scriptural foundations, does not sit comfortably with that posture.
Jesus belongs in politics in the sense that his teachings about justice, mercy, and human dignity inevitably shape how believers view public life. But the Jesus of the Gospels did not seek out sinners in order to shame them. He sought them out to show them compassion. He repeatedly warned against those who advertised their own righteousness while remaining blind to their own failings.
He spent time with tax collectors, spoke with those on the margins, and consistently clashed with the religious authorities of his day. His most pointed criticism was often directed not at those living imperfect lives, but at those who believed themselves to be morally secure.
For years, some of our politicians spoke as though morality could be legislated and virtue measured by whom you condemned. It turns out that public declarations of righteousness tell us remarkably little about private character and are not a substitute for integrity.
However, this is not the first time that we have witnessed such hypocrisy. Iris Robinson famously described homosexuality as an “abomination” while speaking with apparent certainty about moral order in society. Her subsequent affair with a 19-year-old boy undermined the authority from which she had spoken.
The point is not that politicians should be expected to be morally perfect. They will fail, as all people do.
Once a politician’s legitimacy rests on being seen as more righteous than others, their public role is subsequently judged on performance of virtue rather than on policy or competence, creating a fragile political identity which can collapse dramatically when private life diverges from public image.
It also distorts the political conversation itself. Instead of debating how to govern a diverse society, politics becomes a contest over moral boundaries, who belongs, who does not, and whose way of life is acceptable.
In such an environment, contradiction is almost inevitable. Human beings are imperfect, and political systems that rely on displays of purity tend to produce instability when those imperfections inevitably surface.
This is not a uniquely Northern Irish phenomenon. Across different political traditions and countries, movements that centre on moral certainty often struggle most with moral complexity. The more politics becomes about declaring what is right and wrong in absolute terms, the less room there is for the messy realities of human behaviour.
If anything, it runs counter to the core of the Christian message. The Gospels repeatedly emphasise humility, repentance and the universality of human imperfection, warning against those who are convinced of their own righteousness. That is why the danger in politics is the transformation of Christianity into a tool of self-justification.
Donaldson’s downfall will rightly be remembered for the severity of his criminal conduct. Nothing about the wider political implications should obscure that. Nor should it be used as a lens through which to judge every politician of faith.
But it invites a more uncomfortable reflection on a political culture that, for a time, placed heavy emphasis on moral certainty.
As such, voters should not distrust Christians but be wary of anyone who asks to be judged by their sermons rather than their actions.
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