“Conscience is the best moralizing book we have, it should be looked into most often,” said B. Pascal. What is conscience? Is she really our best adviser?

In the above text, VF Tendryakov raises the problem of conscience and its influence on a person. I would like to note the relevance of this problem, because it is the conscience that helps us to exercise moral self-control, to evaluate the actions we perform.

Arguing over the problem, the writer tells that he had to do bad things many times: he lied to teachers, did not restrain given word, and once on a fishing trip he took a chub off someone else's rope, but each time the narrator managed to find an excuse for himself. However, the case described in the above fragment made him think seriously. The lyrical hero was in a reserve regiment across the Volga. Volunteering to get bread with the foreman, he stole half a loaf of bread, which he later regretted for a long time. And if every time he found an excuse for himself, now the hero did not look for excuses: "I am a thief, and now ... this will become known ... to those who, like me, have not eaten anything for five days."

The narrator suddenly noticed how beautiful those soldiers from whom he stole. The realization came to him that this beauty is spiritual: “Among beautiful people- I'm ugly. Long years the author experienced pangs of conscience for what he had done, sought to gain self-respect by doing good deeds. The case described in the text became a real lesson for the narrator, who allowed himself to commit a bad deed and acted out of conscience.

The author seeks to convey to the reader the idea that by committing bad deeds, a person goes against an important moral feeling - against conscience. I fully agree with the opinion of VF Tendryakov, because it is not easy for people who have chosen the path of dishonor in life.

Awareness of the moral significance of the actions taken is often expressed in the form of emotional experiences - feelings of guilt or "remorse". So, in the story of V.P. Astafiev “The Horse with a Pink Mane”, the reader is presented with a boy who has committed a bad deed and sincerely repented.

Having gone for berries, he, under the influence of his friends, decides to deceive his grandmother. Instead of strawberries, the boy puts grass on the bottom of the basket, and this deception is not immediately revealed. But the conscience torments the child immediately after the act. The hero firmly decides to confess, but does not have time to do so before his grandmother leaves for the city. Upon the return of his grandmother, the boy runs away from home, weeps bitterly and repents of his deed. Seeing the sincere repentance of her grandson, the grandmother gives him a gingerbread - a horse with a pink mane, which he really dreamed about. The narrator recalls this moment as one of the brightest in his life. Therefore, the described case became the main one for the boy. moral lesson in life, and the hero owes this lesson not only to the generosity of his grandmother, but also to his conscience.

So, conscience is a moral category, without it it is impossible to imagine a real person. It is no coincidence that the theme of conscience is touched upon in the works of the classics of world literature. So, in the epic novel L.N. Tolstoy's "War and Peace" Dolokhov, on the eve of the Battle of Borodino, makes an unexpected act - he apologizes to Pierre. He asks to forgive him for everything that happened between them. At the most crucial moments of his life, Dolokhov “takes off his mask”, exposing all his best spiritual qualities. It is obvious that he now realizes how important purity of conscience is for a person, especially in difficult times. war time. In addition, the hero manifests himself as a decent person during the release of prisoners, among whom is Pierre. Thus, during the period of the general tragedy in Dolokhov, in this cruel man, prone to bragging and crazy antics, a conscience wakes up that ennobles him.

Summing up, I would like to say that if wrong behavior leads a person to a "troubled conscience", then the honest fulfillment of one's duties, one's duty, on the contrary, leads to moral satisfaction with oneself and to a special state called "clear conscience".

Updated: 2018-02-04

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That was the first quiet night in broken Stalingrad. A quiet moon rose over the ruins, over the snow-covered ashes. And I couldn’t believe that there was no longer any need to be frightened by the silence that flooded the long-suffering city to the brim. This is not a lull, peace has come here - a deep, deep rear, guns are thundering somewhere hundreds of kilometers away.

The writing

Very often a person manages to maintain a kindness of heart and a pure and sincere desire to help his neighbor even in the most difficult situations.

In this text, V. D. Tendryakov makes us think about what makes a person a person? How to preserve humanity in the most terrible conditions?

The author recalls an episode from his military past, when a German hospital caught fire on one of the rare quiet nights. The writer draws our attention to the fact that at that terrible moment when the wooden building caught fire, there was not a single indifferent person: both Russian and German soldiers were united by a common desire to help. All borders were erased, at that moment there were no enemies: Russian and German soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder and together “let out a single sigh”. And in the eyes of everyone, "the same expression of pain and submissive helplessness" froze. One of the heroes of the story, Arkady Kirillovich, noticing a crippled German trembling with fear and cold, gave him his sheepskin coat. And later he shares what he himself did not see, but what impressed him: in a fit of humanity, one of the Germans rushed into the fire with a cry, and a Tatar rushed after him, both were seized with a thirst to help and both died at the same moment.

Vladimir Fedorovich Tendryakov believes that absolutely in every person, no matter who he is, no matter what situation he is in and no matter what he has experienced, there are unspent reserves of humanity. And nothing can kill a person in a person - "neither the dislocations of history, nor the fierce ideas of mad maniacs, nor epidemic madness."

I fully agree with the author's opinion and also believe that it is impossible to destroy the spark of mercy, kindness, compassion in a person - everything that includes the concept of "humanity", it can only be extinguished for a while. And it is this sincere feeling that can unite people and correct all the "dislocations of history."

Main character novel by M.A. Sholokhov "The Fate of Man" possessed a huge amount of unspent love, tenderness, kindness and compassion. The author introduces us to a huge layer of Andrei Sokolov's life, and we are convinced that fate has prepared for him many cruel trials. War, captivity, hunger, wounds, the hero lost all the people close to him and plunged into complete loneliness, but even all this could not kill a person in Andrei Sokolov. Sokolov gives his unspent love and tenderness to the homeless child, little Vanya, whose fate was similar to the fate of the protagonist: life was also not generous to him. Andrei Sokolov was able to dig out a grain of humanity in his charred heart and give it to the boy. Vanya became the meaning of life for him, the hero began to take care of Vanya and give him all the kindest and purest that remained in the soul of the main character.

In the story of A.S. Pushkin " Captain's daughter“humanity united all classes. Whatever each hero is, no matter what position he is in, he always finds a place in his soul for a good and bright feeling. Pyotr Grinev does not take revenge on Shvabrin for any of his atrocities. And this despite the fact that an atmosphere of impunity and cruelty reigned around, and Shvabrin caused the hero enough harm. Also, Pugachev, despite the huge number of murders to achieve his goal, did not kill Peter, and not only because he once did not let him die, but also out of a sense of humanity in relation to Savelich. And Maria, in all her actions, was also guided only by kindness and a desire to help - including when she asked the empress for mercy on her beloved. Although the girl had recently lost her parents and found herself in difficult circumstances. All the heroes, despite the difficult situation around their lives, were able to keep in their souls those feelings, thanks to which they continued to remain human.

Thus, we can conclude that what makes a person such is the desire to do good, to be merciful and responsive to the misfortune of others. And even if this feeling is hidden deep behind fear and vague moral guidelines, it still exists and is still capable of exploding "the ice of hostility and indifference around itself."

In the text proposed for analysis, the famous Russian writer V.F. Tendryakov raises the problem bad deeds.

The author in his own way comprehends and reveals this problem. The writer tells that he had to do bad deeds many times: he “lied to the teachers”, and also “given the word not to fight and did not restrain him”, but his last act made him think about what he had done earlier. Despite the fact that each soldier in the company was given a certain amount of bread, he decided to steal more, because “he hadn’t eaten anything for five days,” but his colleagues quickly noticed the loss. Having experienced a huge herd and humiliation for what he had done, the author changed his idea of ​​\u200b\u200blife and no longer stole, even tried to gain self-respect by doing good deeds.

VF Tendryakov expresses his point of view clearly and unambiguously. He believes that bad deeds make a person ugly and ugly, however, in order to realize this, a person must feel all the shame and humiliation for what he has done.

I fully share the position of the author. Indeed, we all do something bad in life, someone is tormented by conscience, and he immediately tries to apologize to others, others get used to it and therefore do their vile deeds again and again. It all depends on the person himself and on whether he has a conscience or not.

In support of my opinion, I want to cite as an example the work of M. Gorky “Chelkash”, in which the main character, Grishka Chelkash, having gone on a “case” with a young guy named Gavrila, gets into a fight with him over the proceeds for the work done. Gavrila was very young and inexperienced, seeing a large amount of money in the hands of Chelkash, decides to rob him, taking all the proceeds. The author in his work showed how terrible the actions of people who succumbed to human vices can be.

F. M. Dostoevsky in his work “Crime and Punishment” shows the beggar Rodion Raskolnikov, who killed two innocent people and robbed an apartment. He did not think about morality, he thought about his problems, overshadowing his mind. After what was done, Rodion realized his mistakes, realized that he had done terrible things in order to test his “theory”.

Thus, people who bad thing sooner or later come to their senses, because every person has such a feeling - conscience. It helps a person to look at himself from the outside and understand what he was guilty of. However, some simply need to feel shame and humiliation for what they have done, because only in this way they will be able to see how “ugly and ugly” they have become from the outside.

Source text.

We all spent a month in a reserve regiment across the Volga. We, this is so, are the remnants of the units defeated beyond the Don, which have reached Stalingrad. Someone was again thrown into battle, and we were taken to the reserve, it would seem - lucky, some kind of rest from the trenches. Rest ... two heavy lead biscuits a day, cloudy water instead of stew. Sending to the front was greeted with joy.

Another farm on our way. The lieutenant, accompanied by the foreman, went to clarify the situation.

Half an hour later the foreman returned.

- Guys! he announced enthusiastically. - I managed to knock out: two hundred and fifty grams of bread and fifteen grams of sugar on the snout!
Who will get bread with me?.. Come on! “I was lying next to him, and the foreman pointed his finger at me.
a thought flashed in my mind ... about resourcefulness, cowardly, nasty and dull.
Right on the porch, I spread my raincoat, and loaves began to fall on it - seven and half more.
The foreman turned away for a second, and I put half a loaf under the porch, wrapped the bread in a raincoat, and put it on my shoulder.
Only an idiot would expect the foreman not to notice the disappearance of a loaf cut in half. No one touched the resulting bread, except for him and me. I am a thief, and now, right now, in a few minutes this will become known ... Yes, to those who, like me, have not eaten anything for five days. As I!
In my life, I happened to do bad things - I lied to teachers so that they would not put a deuce, more than once I gave my word not to fight and did not keep my word, once while fishing I stumbled upon someone else's confused line, on which a chub was sitting, and took it off the hook ... But every time I found an excuse for myself: I didn’t learn the task - I had to finish reading the book, I fought again - so he himself climbed first, removed the chub from someone else’s rope - but the rope was swept away by the current, mixed up, the owner himself would never have found him ...
Now I'm not looking for excuses. Oh, if only I could go back, get the hidden bread, put it back in the cape!
From the side of the road towards us with an effort - every bone aches - soldiers began to rise. Gloomy, dark faces, bent backs, lowered shoulders.

The sergeant-major opened his cape, and the heap of bread was greeted with respectful silence.

In this respectful silence, a bewildered voice was heard:

— And where?.. There was half a loaf!

There was a slight movement, dark faces turned towards me, from all sides - eyes, eyes, a terrible alertness in them.

- Hey, you! Where?! I ask you!

I was silent.
An elderly soldier, whitened blue eyes, wrinkled cheeks, a gray chin from stubble, a voice without malice:

“It will be better, boy, if you confess.
There is a grain of strange, almost unbelievable sympathy in the voice of the elderly soldier. And it is more unbearable than swearing and amazement.

- Why talk to him! One of the guys raised his hand.

And I involuntarily twitched. And the guy just adjusted his cap on his head.

- Don't be afraid! he said contemptuously. - Beat you ... get your hands dirty.

And suddenly I saw that the people around me were strikingly beautiful - dark, exhausted by the campaign, hungry, but their faces were somehow faceted, clearly stuccoed. Among beautiful people, I am ugly.
Nothing is worse than feeling unable to justify yourself to yourself.
I was lucky, in the communications company of the Guards Regiment, where I ended up, there was no one who would see my shame. By petty deeds over and over again, I won my self-respect - I climbed first on a line break under heavy fire, tried to take on a coil with a heavier cable , if he managed to get an extra pot of soup from the cook, he did not consider it his prey, he always shared it with someone. And no one noticed my altruistic "exploits", they thought it was normal. And this is what I needed, I did not pretend to exclusivity, I did not even dare to dream of becoming better than others.
I never stole again in my life. Somehow I didn't have to.

Personality is a topic that frightens me more than one with its unbearable complexity. The formation of personality, its susceptibility, dependence, emotional and rational features ... great minds wandered here, as if in a forest, not reaching the reserved answers.

Full text: (on the exam was in abbreviated form).

The writing

Often, the dishonorable or simply thoughtless actions we have ever committed return again in the form of moral and spiritual torment. V.F. Tendryakov in this text invites us to think about the problem of conscience.

War is inhumane, and during these fatal events it is difficult to maintain coldness and prudence in actions. In wartime, most of the actions are performed against the backdrop of general hunger and suffering, and instead of morality and spirituality, people begin to be driven by human instincts. The narrator introduces us to a story from his life, in which he is a direct participant in military events. The hero describes his condition as extremely difficult: he felt severe hunger and permanent fatigue, and therefore he more resolutely went on about the "thought" - "cowardly", "nasty" and "dull", which he later regretted for a long time. This “thought” appeared at the moment when the foreman took the narrator with him to get bread, and, exhausted by hunger and fatigue of the soldiers, he decided to steal half a loaf from the total mass of provisions. The hero focuses our attention on the stupidity and thoughtlessness of this act, on his own selfishness, because everyone was starving then, as well as on subsequent pangs of conscience, and calls this case the most disgusting in his life - and he had to steal not for the first time. “Among beautiful people, I am ugly,” he writes, calling the rest of the soldiers “beautiful”, and leads us to the idea that this case of theft has become the most “dirty” and immoral in his life, and therefore he “does not steal” anymore. had to."

The author believes that conscience is a guideline that helps a person to perform actions, starting only from moral convictions. It is conscience that gives a person the opportunity to soberly evaluate himself and his actions, drawing certain conclusions, it is also the judge and executor of the sentence in the event that the actions committed by a person diverge from the norms of morality and morality.

It is impossible not to agree with the opinion of the writer. I also believe that conscience is the chief judge and helper of a person, capable of giving us the opportunity for a worthy and morally pure existence. It is conscience that does not allow a person to follow the lead of a “cowardly, nasty, dull” little thought and thereby not fall in his own eyes and in the eyes of others.

The hero of the novel F.M. Dostoevsky's "Crime and Punishment" at a difficult moment in his life decided, following his theory, to try to step over the man in himself, killing, as he then believed, a person unworthy of existence - an old pawnbroker. Of course, this act could not pass without a trace: after the deed, the hero suffered for a long time, experiencing moral and physical suffering, and only faith and sincere recognition of what he had done could help him. The conscience did not allow the hero to believe in the reality of his inhumane theory, and the example of Sonya Marmeladova showed that a righteous and “pure” life is much more harmonious than the life of a murderer.

The problem of reducing is raised in his story “The Horse with a Pink Mane” and V.P. Astafiev. The protagonist, pushed by the neighborhood kids, decides to deceive his grandmother. Having stolen some of the berries from a basket filled with strawberries for sale, and putting grass in their place, he hoped to remain without punishment, but his conscience did not take long: she begins to torment Vitya immediately after the deed, preventing him from sleeping. Later, the boy, in tears of remorse, apologized to his grandmother, receiving the long-awaited gingerbread for this, and with it a very important moral lesson.

Thus, we can conclude that by doing things that are right from the point of view of conscience, we not only exalt ourselves in our own eyes, but gain inner harmony and happiness, which in modern realities is already something exceptional.

In my life, I happened to do bad things - I lied to teachers so that they wouldn’t put a deuce, more than once I gave my word not to fight with my street enemy Igor Ryavkin, and I didn’t hold back my word, one day while fishing I stumbled upon someone else’s confused line, on which sat a fat one, like a log , a chub yellowed from old age, and took it off the hook ... But every time I found an excuse for myself: I lied to the teacher that I was sick, I didn’t learn the task - I had to finish reading the book that they gave me for one day, I fought again with Igor, so he himself climbed first, removed a chub from someone else's rope - fishing theft! - but the line was swept away by the current, mixed up, the owner himself would never have found it ...

Now I'm not looking for excuses. Oh, if only I could go back, get the hidden bread, put it back in the cape! But, straightening his shoulders, wringing his cap, the foreman-breadwinner paced, not one step behind him.

I would be glad if German planes flew in now, a stray fragment - and I'm gone. Death is so familiar, something more terrible is waiting for me now.

From the side of the road towards us with an effort - every bone aches - the soldiers began to rise. Gloomy, dark faces, bent backs, lowered shoulders.

The sergeant-major opened his cape, and the heap of bread was greeted with respectful silence.

In this respectful silence, a bewildered voice was heard:

And where? .. There was half a loaf!

There was a slight movement, dark faces turned towards me, from all sides - eyes, eyes, a terrible alertness in them.

Hey, you! Where?! I ask you!

I was silent.

Do you think I'm a fool?

I wanted more than anything in the world to return the stolen bread: may it be thrice cursed! return, but how? To lead people behind this hidden bread, to take it out in front of everyone, to do what has already been done, only in reverse order? No I can not! But they will still demand: explain - why, make excuses ...

Cheeky face of the foreman, angry twitching of aimed pupils. I was silent. And dusty people with dark faces surrounded me.

I remember brothers! I still haven’t survived from my mind - there was half a loaf here! Pressed on the go!

An elderly soldier, whitened blue eyes, wrinkled cheeks, a gray chin from stubble, a voice without malice:

It will be better, boy, if you confess.

I was petrified silent.

And then the young ones exploded:

Who are you tearing, nit?! You tear at your comrades!

From the throat of the hungry!

He wants to eat more than us!

Such people are born in the world ...

I myself would have shouted the same thing and in the same astonished-hating voice. I have no forgiveness, and I do not feel sorry for myself at all.

Well, raise your face! Look into our eyes!

And I looked up, and it's so difficult! I must raise, I must endure my shame to the end, they are right to demand this from me. I looked up, but this only aroused new indignation:

Look: staring, not ashamed!

What a shame that is!

Well, there are people...

Not people - lice, someone else's blood is full!

Dude, you'll be better off.

Why talk to him! One of the guys raised his hand.

And I involuntarily twitched. And the guy just adjusted his cap on his head.

Don't be afraid! he said contemptuously. - Beat you ... Get your hands dirty.

And I wanted retribution, if I had been beaten, if only!.. It would have been easier. I twitched out of habit, the body lived apart from me, it got scared, not me.

And suddenly I saw that the people around me were strikingly beautiful - dark, exhausted by the campaign, hungry, but their faces were somehow faceted, clearly stuccoed, especially the guy who adjusted his cap: "Beat you - get your hands dirty!" Each of those surrounding me is handsome in his own way, even the old soldier with his blue eyes in red eyelids and a gray chin. Among beautiful people - I'm ugly.

Let him choke on our bread, let's share what we have.

The foreman shook his strong fist in front of my nose.

If you don't take what's hidden, I won't take my eyes off you! And here you - do not wait - will not break away.

He turned back to the cape.

God! Could I now eat that criminal bread that lay under the porch - it is worse than poison. And I did not want to count on bread rations. Though small, but punish yourself!

For a second, a familiar senior sergeant flashed in front of me. He stood all this time behind everyone - his face is impassive, consider that he also condemns. But he understood better than others what had happened, perhaps better than myself. The senior sergeant also seemed handsome to me now.

When the bread was divided, and I forgot to stand aside, two people approached me sideways: a peasant in a sprawling cap, a button nose, flabby lips in a wet smile, and an angular Caucasian, half of the physiognomy immersed in gloomy unshaven, velvet eyes.

Little brother, - in a careful whisper, - you are wasting your time. Three to the nose - everything will pass.

Right, but done. Ma-la-dets!

Can you tell us where? You something inconvenient, and we - instantly.

Delym on three, on conscience!

I sent them as best I could.

We walked for more than a day. I didn't eat anything, but I didn't feel hungry. I didn't feel tired either. A lot of different people passed me by these days. And most struck me with their beauty. Almost everyone ... But there were also ugly ones.

A peasant with flabby lips and an unshaven Caucasian - yes, jackals, but still they are better than me - have the right to calmly talk with other people, joke, laugh, I don’t deserve it.

In the oncoming column, two embittered and tired soldiers are dragging a third - young, torn to pieces, his face striped from dirt, from tears, from loose snot. Raskis on a campaign, "labushit" - this is more often not from physical infirmity, from horror at the approaching front. But this one is better than me - it “gets better”, mine is irreparable.

On the wagon, the rear foreman - chrome boots, ryakha, like a piece raw meat, - of course, steals, but not like me, cleaner, and therefore more honest than me.

And on the side of the road near the dead horse, the dead rider (he was bombed) is happier than me.

Then I was less than nineteen years old, thirty-three years have passed since then, everything has happened in my life. Oh no, I was not always pleased with myself, I did not always act with dignity, how often I was annoyed with myself! But to feel disgust for myself - I don’t remember this.

Nothing is worse than feeling unable to justify yourself to yourself. The one who carries it in himself is a potential suicide.

I was lucky, in the communications company of the Guards Regiment, where I ended up, there was no one who would see my shame. But for some time I did not fall to the ground at the sound of an approaching shell, I walked under the bullets, straightening up to my full height - they will kill, let it not be a pity at all. Suicide at the front - why, when and so easy to find death.

Over and over again, by petty deeds, I won self-respect for myself - I climbed first on a line break under heavy fire, tried to take on a heavier cable spool, if I managed to get an extra pot of soup from the cook, I didn’t consider it my prey, I always shared it with someone . And no one noticed my altruistic "exploits", they thought it was normal. And this is what I needed, I did not pretend to exclusivity, I did not even dare to dream of becoming better than others.