ide of the question.
The child ought to learn the truth about its sex instinct. Most
important of all, the child who has indulged in auto-eroticism ought to
be helped to get rid of his or her sense of guilt. This sense of guilt
is the primary evil of self-abuse; abolish it, and the child is on the
way to a self-cure.

How many children can go to their teacher and make confession of sex
troubles? Very few. It is the teachers' fault; they set themselves up
as moralists, and a moralist is a positive danger to any child.

Not long ago I was addressing a meeting of teachers in south London. At
question time a woman challenged me.

"You have condemned moralists," she said; "do you mean to say that you
would never teach a child the difference between right and wrong?"

"Never," I answered, "for I do not know what is right and what is wrong."

"Then I think you ought not to be a teacher," she said.

"I know what is right for me, and wrong for me," I went on to explain,
"but I do not know what is right and wrong for you. Nor do I presume to
know what is right or wrong for a child."

I was pleasingly surprised to find that the meeting roared approval of my
reply.

* * * * *

Macdonald had to attend a funeral to-day, and he asked me if I would take
his classes for an hour. I gladly agreed.

"Give them a lesson on psychology," he said; "it will maybe improve their
behaviour."

I went over to the school at two o'clock, and Mac introduced me, although
I had already made friends with most of the children in the playground
and the fields. Mac then went away and I sat down at his desk.

"We'll have a talk," I said, "just a little friendly talk between you and
me. I want to hear your opinions on some things."

They looked at me with interest.

"Why," I said, "why do you sit quiet in school?"

Andrew Smith put up his hand.

"Please, sir, 'cause if we don't the mester gies us the strap."

"A very sound reason, too," I commented. "And now I want to ask you why
you sometimes want to throw papers or slate-pencils about the room."

"Please, sir, we never do that," said little Jeannie Simpson.

"The mester wud punish us," said another girl.

"But," I cried, "surely one of you has thrown things about the room?"

Tom Murray, the bad boy of the school (according to Mac), put up his hand.

"Please, sir, I did it once, but the mester licked me."

"Why did you do it, Tom?"

Tom thought