My parents neglected my social training. I am sorry they did. They were
careless about my clothes and my personal appearances. I am sorry for
it. But I am supremely grateful for their religious and spiritual
training. Every day of my life I am grateful. I would rather belong to
the church than belong to any other organization or society or club. I
would rather be a church member than receive any honor or decoration in
the world.

It amuses me when I read novels written by those who never had any
religious faith or who have lost it, novels that describe religious
training in the home as producing unhappiness and hypocrisy and
morbidity, the atmosphere one of thick gloom. As I look back on my
childhood, it seems to me that our house was full of laughter. Table
conversation was enlivened with mirth. If there ever was a merry
household, it was ours. Our daily existence was full of fun, and
Christmas, New Years, Fourth of July, and birthdays were delirious.

This is normal and natural and logical. Religious faith is a central
heating plant--it warms and energizes one's whole existence. It gives a
reason for life itself, for development. It gives a philosophy for
conduct, and, far more important, it _emotionalizes_ conduct even more
strongly than athletics and patriotism.

Of all essential things, the most essential in married life and in the
bringing up of children is religion. When two people are engaged and are
making plans for living together, they are sure to discuss religion. You
remember how suddenly Marguerite turned to Faust and asked him
point-blank, "Do you believe in God?"

A chief reason why bringing up children is so difficult is that example
is so much more important than precept. I am a qualified literary
critic, although I never wrote a novel; I am a qualified drama critic,
although I never wrote a play; I am a qualified baseball and lawn tennis
critic, although I never was a first-class player. But when parents
endeavor to bring up children to reflect honor on the family and be
useful members of society, the parents must set a good example. A man
once wrote to Carlyle asking him if he ought to teach his little
children to say prayers. The severe Scot replied: "Yes, but only if you
pray yourself. Don't teach them anything in which you yourself do not
believe."

The Scot was right. To teach little children to say their prayers when
the parents never say them themselves is like teaching a dog to say his
p