Situating the Transcendentals: Three Tips for Implementing Truth, Goodness and Beauty in the Classroom

 “The True, the Good, and the Beautiful” is an incredibly melodious and tantalizing phrase; one that is almost guaranteed to catch the attention and appreciation of any prospective parent of a school that utilizes it. But more than any other oft-repeated slogan in classical education, it is in real danger of becoming a pure cliché that is rarely historically situated or explained in detail. The fact is, this ubiquitous “triad” is a fairly recent formulation, which is not to say that it is an inaccurate summation of the consensus of the Western tradition on the meaning of life lived at its highest. But teachers, administrators, and students would do well to consider some of the unique complexities of these “Transcendentals” (as they are commonly termed) as they pursue the mission of renewing education in a world that is thirsty for them. There are several metaphysical paths we might take to grasping the Transcendentals, but the classical tradition seems to be assertive enough on at least three principles of embodiment, without which the True, the Good, and the Beautiful must remain ambiguous or absent in the classroom.

1. The Transcendentals demand a consideration of all the faculties of the soul and the various modes of knowing which they foster. Truth, Beauty, and Goodness can also be stated in terms of Logical, Aesthetic, and Ethical; or Reason, Sensibility, and Morality; or Head, Heart, and Will. All of these are interdependent on each other for their essence, making any separation of the “triad” into its components very tricky. But the phrase covers all the ways in which a person comes to knowledge, and hence classical education would do well to resist any temptation to prioritize any one of the faculties of the soul over the others. There has been a major recent trend to compensate for supposed damages done by an overreliance on bare calculating intellect by stressing beauty, desire, mystery, and wonder. All of which are commendable. But nor should we settle for neglecting logic and analysis at the expense of cultivating the will and the affections. Tastes, thoughts, and habits must all be brought into alignment with the dictates of natural law, the contributions of Western thought, and, for theologically-oriented schools, the milieu of Scripture. These areas must be integrated seamlessly across all disciplines as much as possible. Education is about the unveiling of reality to see the beauty behind it. Education is also about the assimilation of truth. Not less is it about knowing and doing the good and the right.

            Further, there is a strong experiential element to the Transcendentals. Plato recognizes this when he proclaims via Glaucon, in Republic VI, that the “true philosophers” are the “philotheomenas of truth” (475e). This word translates to “lovers of sight” or “lovers of vision.” The eyes of the soul must be nurtured and guarded just like the physical eyes. The spiritual gaze finds its most worthy object when it delights in what is most fundamentally real. Truth and Goodness should be perceived on a deep level by aid of Beauty, all of which inspire the soul to nobility (one translation of that multifaceted Greek word kalon, which encompasses both “beautiful” and “good”). So we should think of the role of Beauty in education as involved with fostering proper tastes and delights, just as Truth sparks proper thoughts and Goodness proper deeds. With this in mind, schools should strive for an absolute egalitarianism of head, heart, and will. For example, math class has a reputation of being very analytical and “head-centered.” The teacher should recognize that he needs to incorporate the aesthetic and moral senses of number in order to complete his students’ understanding. Similarly, music and art are not just about aesthetics. The significance of right choices (Goodness) and right conception of pattern and order (Truth) must enter the classroom as well.

2. Simultaneously, the Transcendentals demand a sober recognition of the pitfalls and limitations of all these faculties. Even without an expressed theology of original sin, there is no way to circumvent the fact that none of the soul’s faculties are wholly adequate to take students all the way to the pure vision of the great invisible realities. We are all of us beset with meddling vices, poor habits, distracting inclinations, errors of thought, and deficiencies in judgment—what both Aristotle and Scripture term hamartia (“missing the mark”). Education in the Transcendentals cannot be reduced to an easily-codified strategy wherein we plug souls into a pedagogical machine and watch with satisfaction as fully-formed humans are deposited out the other end. If nothing else, this is because teachers are just as affected by hamartia as their students. The analogy of “life as a work of art” can be a dangerous one, but it is helpful insofar as it helps us know that the process of living well—and teaching others to do so—requires an immense investment of time, love, care, and fortitude.

            Again, one need not hold any particular theological dogmas to appreciate that human nature needs some outside guidance—divine intervention, if you will—to overcome its infirmities. No great thinker about the Transcendentals failed to realize this. Left to our own devices, we will never bring our thoughts, appetites, and actions into accord with the Transcendentals. Without the assumption that divine fortuity is needed for complete illumination, the Transcendentals become something we must vainly strive for through our own capacities instead of hoping, praying, practicing, and meditating on the kalon, confident that it will meet us with the force of revelation. Am I suggesting that one needs to begin with even the most basic conception of God for this to happen? I see no way around it. Am I also suggesting that, for Christian schools, catechesis is a prerequisite for earnest study of anything else? This too follows inexorably from the premise.

3. Finally, the Transcendentals must be seen as entirely real, belonging to an actual realm of the transcendent. This last observation is the simplest, and implied in the other two. At no point must any teacher or student be allowed to think of the Transcendentals as contingent on one’s own caprice. You can spout the phrase all you like, but if you are unafraid to tell any student to their face that “true/good/beautiful for you but not for me” is a pernicious falsity, your teaching will be severely hampered. Increasingly it appears as if humility ought to be considered the queen of virtues for a generation that gravely lacks it. To take one’s thoughts, feelings, and activities captive to the authority of what millennia have agreed to be of primary importance for existence—this is the prerequisite for true nobility, for true kalon. Through miscue, strife, and yes, suffering; the student comes to know the inevitability of higher authority. And here, perhaps, it is the Christian contribution of agape—sacrificial love poured out on behalf of someone who desperately needs it—that is a more effective pedagogical guidance than eros, which can risk focusing too much on the self. How exquisitely satisfied is the teacher who leads his wanton but earnest students away from temporal indulgences to such an exclamation as Glaucon makes in the Republic as he listens with rapture to Socrates’ description of the Form of the Good: “This is an inconceivably beautiful thing you’re talking about!” (509a). Only he who is led to effacement of himself will find himself. This is a very old paradox, but like a great many old ideas, flourishing attends its implementation.