Insincerity alienates love and rots away authority.—Bulwer
The value of conscientiousness is principally seen in the benefits of civilization.—Charles Kingsley
"Conscientiousness is a scrupulous regard to the decisions of conscience." When we say a duty was performed "religiously," it is the same as a duty done conscientiously. Conscience does not teach us what is right; we learn that from experience, and in many other ways. It simply tells us to do the best we know, and reproaches us when we do otherwise.
Some one has well said: "We can train ourselves to be conscientious, to be responsive to conscience, to obey it; but conscience itself cannot be educated. It is like the sun. We may so arrange our house as to receive the largest amount of sunlight; but the sun itself cannot be changed either for our advantage or disadvantage. As a house with ample windows is illuminated within by the rays of the sun, so is a well-trained life filled with the light of conscience." We may therefore define conscientiousness as the inborn desire to do that which is right and just.
Conscientiousness, which is, as we have just seen, another name for justice, is a trait to be cultivated among young people in their sports, in family life, and in school. A boy is unjust who refuses to "play fair"; a girl is unjust who deprives a friend of anything properly hers. Young people may be unjust in their words, in their thoughts, or in their actions; and the greatest watchfulness is needed to prevent us from failing in this important matter.
One's sense of justice may be increased by thoughtfulness as to his duty to himself, as well as to others; and by demanding very rigid observance of every law of conduct which commends itself as needful to ideal character. "There is only one real failure possible in life," said Canon Farrar, "and that is, not to be true to the best one knows."
"I can remember when you blackened my father's shoes," said one member of the British House of Commons to another in the heat of debate. "True enough," was the prompt reply, "but did I not blacken them well?" The sense of right-doing was sufficient to turn an intended insult into a well-merited compliment, and to increase for him the esteem of his fellow-members.
"Whatever is right to do," said an eminent writer, "should be done with our best care, strength, and faithfulness of purpose."
Leonardo da Vinci would walk across Milan to change a single tint or the slightest detail in his famous picture of "The Last Supper."
Rufus Choate would plead before a shoemaker justice of the peace, in a petty case, with all the fervor and careful attention to detail with which he addressed the United States Supreme Court.