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How do you teach youngsters about truth in a culture that says there is no truth? It's not easy—as I know from experience.

Over recent months, I've taught worldview to groups of bright young students. With each group, I had the same distressing experience. When I presented a classic example of a self-refuting moral proposition, they just didn't get it.

An example: The late Christopher Reeve, in his wheelchair with a breathing tube, was testifying before a Senate committee. Reeve dismissed moral objections to embryonic stem-cell research, claiming that the purpose of government is "to serve the greatest good for the greatest number."

I then asked the students, "What's wrong with this picture?" When I got no answers I dropped heavy hints. Only one student gave the correct answer: If what Reeve advocated actually were our governing philosophy, he would not have been there to testify. Who would spend millions to keep him alive when that money could help thousands?

I don't know whether the students lacked analytical skills or were just confused, but when I explained the inherent contradiction, the lights went on. When I discussed the concept of absolute truth, and the fact that it is knowable, there was an occasional nod of understanding, but it was clear I was breaking new ground. These students, mind you, were products of Christian homes and schools.

This lack of worldview awareness is appalling—but it's exactly what George Barna has found in his recent polls: Just 9 percent of evangelical students believe in anything called absolute truth. What does this say about the job our schools, our families, and our churches are doing?

Let's tackle the schools first. Many Christians—like Prison Fellowship president Mark Earley, who spent 13 years in public office—support the public school system. They believe Christian students ought to be part of it and provide a Christian influence. Mark has practiced what he preaches, sending his six children to public schools.

But for the first time in his life, Mark is having real doubts. The problem is that diversity training—in which students are told it's wrong to make truth claims of any kind—has been impressed in the minds of our children. This twisted interpretation of tolerance makes it an offense even to make truth claims—or judge the ideas and behaviors of others.

Parents, whether their children are in public or Christian schools, must carefully scrutinize the worldview being taught. If necessary, they should confront school officials.

Second, we must examine what our churches are teaching our kids about truth—assuming they're teaching anything. Youth leaders are good at activities like laser tag and Ultimate Frisbee. That's fine: Draw kids in. But they must couple this with a bracing dose of worldview instruction. In the Wilberforce Forum, we've been trying out some sample curriculums—and discovering young people hunger for it. We'd better ground our students in worldview thinking before they leave for college, where professors challenge everything they believe.

Even if our kids do get trained at church, the family must supplement it: around the breakfast table, reading devotionals that tackle worldview questions, and at other times critiquing films, analyzing the news, and unmasking unbiblical teachings in everything from popular music to television commercials.

Lay people can do this. A friend, Nancy Fitzgerald, has been teaching basic apologetics for teens in her home for years. Between 150 and 200 kids come for a lecture, then break into groups to discuss the material. They often continue the discussion later via e-mail. The results among the kids—an ability to boldly witness to the truth—have been spectacular.

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December 2004, Vol. 48, No. 12