Peter had long had an extremely unfavorable view of philosophy, but now his father reminded him unpleasantly of the literary arts as well, for he continued: “The author Tolstoy also says that abstemiousness is the first step toward freedom. Man has many slavish desires, and in order for the struggle against all of them to be successful, one must begin with the most elemental ones: gluttony, idleness, and lust.” Professor Lindner was accustomed to pronouncing any of these three terms, which occurred frequently in his admonitions, as impersonally as the others; and long before Peter was able to develop a concrete notion of what was meant by “lust,” he had already been introduced to the struggle against it, along with the struggle against gluttony and idleness, without giving any more thought to the matter than his father, who did not have to give it any thought because he was certain that this was where basic instruction in self-determination begins. And so it happened that on a day when Peter did not yet know sensual pleasure in its most desired form but was already slinking around its skirts, he was surprised for the first time by a sudden feeling of angry revulsion against the loveless way in which his father habitually connected sensual pleasure with idleness and the craving for food. As he could not risk saying it directly, he had to lie, and cried: “I’m a simple person and can’t compare myself with writers and philosophers!”—and though he was agitated, the words he chose were not ill-considered.

His educator did not respond.

“I’m hungry!” Peter added, still more passionately.

Lindner responded with a pained, disdainful smile.

“I’ll die if I don’t get enough to eat!” Peter cried, almost bawling.

“A person’s first response to all intrusions and offenses from without occurs through the vocal organs!” his father instructed him.

And the “pitiful shrieks of the desires,” as Lindner called them, died away. Peter did not want to cry on this particularly manly day, but the need to develop verbal agility in self-defense weighed terribly on him. He could think of nothing further to say, and at that moment he even hated lies, because one had to speak in order to use them. In his eyes, bloodlust and wails of lament alternated. At this point Professor Lindner said kindly: “You need to impose serious discipline on yourself in practicing silence, so that it’s not the thoughtless and uneducated person in you that speaks but the one who is prudent and well brought up and whose words communicate peace and firmness!” And then, with a friendly face, he lapsed into reflection. “I have no better advice, if one wants to make others good,” he disclosed to his son the conclusion he had come to, “than to be good oneself; Matthias Claudius also says: ‘I cannot conceive of any other way than to be oneself the way one wants children to be!’” And with these words, Professor Lindner amiably and resolutely pushed the dessert away from himself—even though it was his favorite, rice pudding with sugar and chocolate—without tasting it, and by means of this loving obduracy forced his teeth-gnashing son to do the same.