Continued from yesterday.

In the postmodern era, which some see as coincident with the post-Christian era, an era in which the tethers connecting ethics and morals to Christianity have loosened, there is no such thing as truth—even Christians speak in terms of cultural norms and choice.

Those who see recent history in this way understand the rash, mercurial nature of youth as evidence of being unsettled, of erratically searching for completeness or grounded-ness, connection, or authenticity (take your pick).

Furthermore, they see this search complicated by the fact that socializing is much more mediated or media-centered, like texting, chatting on Facebook, or watching reality television.

I’m sympathetic to this view, but it is ultimately a cynical position. While technology certainly has come to dominate much of our time that used to be spent in face-to-face conversation, it is not the root of evil. Used conscientiously, technology like Facebook and Twitter become effective ways to create and seek out community.

In my view the biggest problem is articulated by Didion’s concern for children who were never taught the “games” that hold society together.” By games I think she means a whole raft of cultural knowledge: manners, customs, songs, stories, traditions, etc.

Until now, I’ve never thought of myself as much of an E.D. Hirsch follower, someone who believes that cultural literacy is key to being an effective reader, thinker, and citizen, but I think I’ve been in denial.

The majority of my students, who are supremely driven and, for the most part, curious, often lack not just basic knowledge of science, American history, and literature, but suffer from a dearth of what I consider to be fundamental and important cultural experiences, like reading out loud as a family, and attending plays and museums.

I am encouraged by a recent NEA study revealing that Americans spend more money on the performing arts than movies. Arguably, the performing arts are a way of transferring and imparting a great deal of knowledge and experience, as they require one to be present—there—engaged, and curious. I’m thinking now of the history, civics, and moral lessons I gleaned from such American classics as Huckleberry Finn, The Great Gatsby, Death of a Salesman,and The Crucible.

I’m thinking also of the way that seeing the work of Grant Wood, Georgia O’Keefe, and Jackson Pollock up against the work of Monet, Picasso, and Romare Bearden has helped me to understand that style is both a deep expression of one’s personality and values, as well as a something that is the result of a dialogue with tradition and culture.

By looking or attending you agree to participate communally, ritually in the age-old contemplation and appreciation of beauty, in the revelation and making of meaning, and, if the work/performance is really good, in a transcendent moment of connection with…what? The Collective Unconscious?

Or, perhaps, it’s a who—the who that made the what, or is the origin of the what.

Here is where Arcade Fire and Aslan’s book intersect for me: whichever way you formulate the question, it’s the what that we are constantly searching for and can’t agree on—we can’t even agree if a what even exists, or if it is just some profound chemical reaction that we have been habituated into thinking is the presence of God.

When I think prescriptively about where to find the center in a world that asks me to constantly decenter myself to more kindly and ethically navigate, I must, if I am a Christian (and I am), return to the authenticity not of my life but that of Jesus.

If I do not, then I am like the preacher Hazel Motes in Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Bloodpeddling a Church Without Christ.

I understand that some might say that I am not leaving much room for the tenets of Islam, or for those of other faith traditions, or those who do not adhere to any tradition.

My response is informed by German theologian Johannes Metz’s book Poverty of Spirit: I am convinced of man’s poverty. I am convinced that we are not our own light, and I understand the danger of believing that we are. In this regard, nihilistic school shooters and fundamentalist suicide bombers are just two sides of the same coin.

By recognizing and embracing our common poverty, we can better understand the ways that God, Yahweh, Allah, Christ, Abraham, and Mohammed are not merely rich symbols or exemplary role models, but the embodiment of what all humans yearn for when feeling adrift in the vacuum: the promise of living a spiritually rich life here and now, of being light for others, and much-needed reminding that despite life’s sorrow and tragedy it is sacred; that it is worth living, and protecting.

I recognize that it probably appears a bit absurd to find such affirmation of life’s greatest mystery in listening to music while reading (which is what I do most days), but I find it no more absurd than devoting one’s life to studying brain chemistry, being an opera singer, or gardening.

But, more importantly, I also recognize that what typifies youth is not yet knowing how you will spend your life, and the feeling that it might not get any better than this. This is all the more reason to give young people tools and experiences that will truly sustain them: bread instead of stones, fish instead of serpents.