Birth rates are falling. All around the world, societies are failing to undertake the most fundamental task of any civilization. The problem is most acute in the developed world but is hardly limited to the wealthiest nations.

The economic problems associated with collapsing fertility have been the subject of much handwringing by economists and policy wonks who have found few straightforward solutions. Countries that buoy population (and thus, economic productivity) through mass immigration may succeed in delaying some of the economic problems but at the cost of creating a whole host of other social, cultural, and political problems.

Ross Douthat pointed out recently how strange it is to be in a position where policy experts the world over are searching to find ways to get people back in the practice of having babies.

For all of history – right up until yesterday – the laws, customs, and morals surrounding sex and marriage were almost entirely concerned with restraining one of the most powerful and fundamental urges of the species. Today, the challenge is reversed, and policymakers are scrambling to discover which cocktail of incentives and nudges might induce citizens to have more children.

There are certain factors that have an obvious connection to collapsing birth rates. Ubiquitous contraception and industrial-scale abortion leap to mind.

But there are less obviously malign factors that contribute to the decline in birthrates, too. In his recent book, Family Unfriendly, Timothy P. Carney looks at some of the ways our culture makes it unintentionally harder for parents to raise children: from zoning laws and housing policy to car-seat regulations and the ballooning demands (in both time and money) of uber-competitive youth sports.

Taking some of the pressure off of parents – a healthy lowering of expectations for what constitutes “success” – can help remind parents (and would-be parents) that raising the next generation can and ought to be a profoundly fulfilling and joyful vocation. Not surprisingly, faith, family, and strong local communities all factor significantly into Carney’s analysis and proposed remedies.

In another recent book, Hannah’s Children, Catherine Pakaluk interviewed mothers of large families to better understand what about these women’s lives makes them resistant to the trend of low birthrates. Pakaluk’s primary conclusion is summed up thus:

The testimonies in this volume, offered by women at all levels of engagement with paid work, suggests that we look to the strength and vitality of living religious communities. It is in the temple where we find those reasons of the heart that justify the life-altering personal sacrifices that come with having more than one or two children.

Birth rates are falling, not merely because of the economic pressures of policy decisions, but because would-be parents are no longer confident that raising children is a worthwhile endeavor. From a worldly perspective, they are simply deciding that kids aren’t worth the trouble and expense. Against a broader horizon – a transcendent, religious horizon – all of this changes.

As man has lost a sense of transcendence, he has lost a proper appreciation for natural goods, too. It turns out that when we human beings turn our backs on God, all of creation – even that part of creation we call “human” – begins to fade into meaninglessness. Carney calls this phenomenon “civilizational sadness.”

It might be comforting to think that, however dire things may be “out there” in the “secular world,” those of us rooted in religious communities might be spared the spiritual ennui and moral lassitude that seem to both accompany and drive the phenomenon.

But this would be a mistake.

First, the social, economic, and political fallout from decades of collapsing birth rates will affect even the most devout and insulated of religious communities. The faithful may not be “of the world,” but they are necessarily and unavoidably “in the world.”

Second, while tight-knit religious communities do provide some resistance to falling rates of marriage and family, if you ask an unmarried Catholic under, say, 45, they will likely tell you the Catholic dating scene is a mess. “Hopeless” is a common descriptor.

More and more single Catholics are turning to dating apps, even as they express exasperation with them. Fewer and fewer people are meeting in person, especially in the sort of low-stakes, social environments that allow people to get to know one another over time.

We long ago jettisoned courtship rituals and social expectations for how a “lady” or a “gentleman” ought to behave in mixed company. I’m not just talking about sexual morality, but basic manners. The result is that young men and women are left to navigate social encounters (of the sort that are already prone to a certain level of awkwardness) bereft of guidelines or shared expectations for how to act toward the other.

Imagine having to reinvent social conventions from scratch every time you meet someone new!

Today’s breakdown in Catholic dating and marriage among devout Catholics can’t be adequately explained by a loss of a sense of transcendence. These are people who understand marriage as both a vocation and Sacrament, who pray devoutly, and who long for children and families of their own. You’ll find them at Mass every Sunday. What might the Church do to help such people?

By way of a partial answer, here’s some advice my uncle once gave to a young Catholic man who was intent on finding a wife. “You’re looking around for someone to marry,” my uncle said, “But what you ought to be looking for is someone to dance with.”

There’s great wisdom in that.

The most beautifully articulated theology of marriage is of little immediate help to someone who doesn’t know how to find a date. The Church must, by all means, keep teaching the truth about marriage and family. But when it comes to those Catholic singles who are already “all in” on the theological front, we might begin simply by helping them find someone to dance with.

Grace builds on nature; we can start by finding ways to give nature a chance.