CHAPTER XXX.

CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.

Proverbs or Verses.

"Sell not thy conscience with thy goods."

"You may often feel quite heavily on your back what you take lightly on your conscience."

"There is a policeman in every man's conscience; you may not always find him on the beat."

"A quiet conscience sleeps in thunder."

"Conscience often stops at a mole-hill and leaps over a mountain."

"A little stone may upset a large cart."

"A pebble in the streamlet scant

Has turned the course of many a river.

A dew-drop on the baby plant

Has bent the royal oak forever."

"He that contemns little things shall perish little by little." "My conscience has a thousand several tongues."-Shakespeare.

It is a pretty long word that we have for a subject to talk about today and you may not know just what I mean. Watch me first as I write it down.

It begins, you see-C-o-n-s-c-i-e-n: what is it going to be, do you think? "Conscience," you suggest? Yes, it has something to do with Conscience. But it is a word twice as long.

We will go on with it now: C-o-n-s-c-i-e-n-t-i-o-u-sn-e-s-s. There it is. You know the word, even if it is a long one. But what does it mean?

"Why," you tell me, "it implies obeying one's conscience; doing what one's conscience tells one to do." Yes, I answer, but rather hesitatingly, as you observe. It may mean more than that or less than that or just that, according to circumstances.

Suppose, for instance, you were to hear of a man who had been tempted to steal $1,000 because the money

had been put in his way, and it was easy for him to carry it off. Now if he refused to give in to the temptation and did not steal the money, would you say he was a conscientious man?

"Yes and no," you answer. Why do you put it in that way? I ask. "Because," you explain, "he might obey his conscience under a big temptation like that, and yet not be what we should call conscientious."

But why so? He had obeyed his conscience and would not steal all that money. "True enough," you add, "but that was a big temptation. He could know plainly that it meant stealing, that it was robbery, and that he would have to go to prison if it was found out."

You think, then, that resisting a temptation in fear lest he might have to go to prison if he was discovered, would not be conscientiousness? "Certainly not," you insist.

Suppose he were perfectly sure that he would not have to go to prison, because he would not be found out, what if under those circumstances he refused to submit to the temptation? In that case he would be obeying his conscience?

"Yes?" You mean, then, that he would be a conscientious man? "No, not necessarily," you continue. Why not? I ask. "Because," you reply, "it is a very big thing or a very wicked thing which he has been tempted to do, and he may find it easy to resist such a big temptation.

How would it be, for example, if an employer were engaging a young man for work, where the employer would have to put a great deal of trust in the one whom he engaged, because there would be much temptation: if, now, he were told that this person had had an opportunity to steal $1,000 without being found out, and had not done it, would he feel perfectly safe in employing the young man? "No, not by any means," you answer. But why not? Did he not have the fact before him, that the person could resist temptation?

"True," you exclaim, "but a person may be able to resist a big temptation like that, and not resist a little

one." You do not assume, then, that obeying one's conscience in important matters always shows that one is a conscientious man? "No, indeed," you tell me.

Then how do we usually apply these words, "being conscientious," if it is not with regard to resisting temptations to steal large sums of money? "Why," you point out, "we use the word rather with regard to the person who has the habit of 'being strict' about small things, the very small temptations rather than large

ones.

What is the phrase I just heard from you, which you have not used before; something about "being strict.' What do you mean by that? Usually we employ these words with other people, insisting that they shall do quite as they have agreed to do or what we demand that they shall do. Can it imply more than that? "Certainly," you assure me, "it can mean 'being strict' with one's self."

In what way, for instance? "Why," you continue, "one might be careless about compelling one's self to do everything one had intended to do, about keeping one's resolutions exactly, and so overlook one's resolutions in small things."

You think, then, that one can be strict with one's self, just as one can be strict with other people? Which comes easier, do you suppose? "Oh," you tell me, "of course it would be easier with other people than with one's self."

And what kind of a habit are we considering when we talk about being strict with one's self? "Conscienticusness ?"

Do you think that a boy or girl, or even a grown man or woman, could pass for being a good sort of a person, be called a good boy or a good girl, a good man or a good woman, in a general way, and yet not have this habit of being strict with themselves or "being conscientious?" "Perhaps, in one way," you reply.

How is that possible? "Oh," you continue, "there is a way of being fairly honest and strict in the presence of others or when other people are around, and yet

being rather careless or less strict when one is altogether by one's self."

I am afraid that is true. Some persons may pass for being really good, trustworthy people, while, after all, in the long run, they prove otherwise, because they have not that habit of being strict with themselves when they are alone.

As a rule, which do you fancy is the easier, to be conscientious when others are looking at you and know what you are doing, or being conscientious when no one is there to see you or watch you? "Why," you admit, "it comes harder when one is all by one's self." Why? I ask again.

"Oh, for one reason," you answer; "because when we are alone we are not concerned by what other people may think of us in case we are not very strict about what we are doing."

NOTE TO THE TEACHER: In a subsequent series of lessons dealing with "The Home" we take up the subject of "EyeService," in connection with the lesson on "Obedience." Hence while we start this theme in the lesson on "Conscientiousness," perhaps it may be well to avoid the term "eye-service" and let it come in with the future lesson in the "Home Series." On the other hand, too much cannot be said in a roundabout way with regard to this point of being strict with one's self when no one is watching.

Can you tell me of any way by which a person could be careless and not show conscientiousness, even while such a person would resist big temptations? Do you suppose it ever happens, I ask you, that a person could steal, without really thinking or knowing that he was stealing. "Yes," you reply, hesitatingly.

In what way, for instance, would you suggest? "Why," you explain, "one might borrow something, as was pointed out in a previous lesson, "and then forget to return it, because it was a very little thing."

You mean that it would be stealing just the same, even if it was a little thing? "Yes, in a sense, it would,' you answer. Could a person actually return what he had borrowed, and still be guilty of any stealing?

What if the thing we have borrowed has been

slightly injured, just a very little, and we return it without saying anything about it. What do you call that? "Oh," you say, "it would be a kind of a deception." Yes, but anything more? "It would be mean," you assure me.

True; anything further? "Yes," you admit, "it would be a kind of a stealing." Quite so. Now do you see how one might steal in such a small way?

"And still," you add, "the person would know what he was doing." Are you sure, however, that this always happens? What if a person should borrow something and injure it, and forget all about it when returning it?

"Yes," you admit, "but that would not be exactly right, it would show that such a person was not very strict with himself if he could injure what he had borrowed and then forget all about it." What would be the trouble, then? I ask. "Why," you explain, “it would show that he was not a very conscientious person.'

You see, we are coming to the point I have been talking about; how one can be strict about important things and not conscientious about small things, so that one can even steal without thinking about it, or knowing that one is stealing.

Do you think it ever might occur, for instance, that a person would go and take some little thing from a brother's or sister's room and forget to return it, or even lose it? "Yes, that might happen," you say. But would it be right? "Why," you add, "if it were a very small thing, what would it matter?" True, I answer, but it was something that belonged to another, even if it was a little thing. What ought he to have done?

"Oh," you suggest, "he should have gone and asked his brother or sister, to begin with, before taking the thing." Do you think that we may injure the things belonging to our brothers and sisters, without intending to, exactly, just by being careless? "Yes," you admit.

And what would you call that? Is it honest? "Not wholly," you answer. But would it be really wicked?