others, have I become depraved, and wandered from the path. And
therefore I think that the solution of the problem, which I have
found in my own case, will be applicable to all sincere people who
are propounding the same question to themselves.

First of all, in answer to the question, "What is to be done?" I
told myself: "I must lie neither to other people nor to myself. I
must not fear the truth, whithersoever it may lead me."

We all know what it means to lie to other people, but we are not
afraid to lie to ourselves; yet the very worst downright lie, to
other people, is not to be compared in its consequences with the lie
to ourselves, upon which we base our whole life.

This is the lie of which we must not be guilty if we are to be in a
position to answer the question: "What is to be done?" And, in
fact, how am I to answer the question, "What is to be done?" when
every thing that I do, when my whole life, is founded on a lie, and
when I carefully parade this lie as the truth before others and
before myself? Not to lie, in this sense, means not to fear the
truth, not to devise subterfuges, and not to accept the subterfuges
devised by others for the purpose of hiding from myself the
deductions of my reason and my conscience; not to fear to part
company with all those who surround me, and to remain alone in
company with reason and conscience; not to fear that position to
which the truth shall lead me, being firmly convinced that that
position to which truth and conscience shall conduct me, however
singular it may be, cannot be worse than the one which is founded on
a lie. Not to lie, in our position of privileged persons of mental
labor, means, not to be afraid to reckon one's self up wrongly. It