Students should learn about the long-standing values of truth

Host: The afternoon light spilled through the library’s tall windows, breaking into shards across the dust-filled air. Bookshelves rose like quiet cathedrals, lined with spines faded by time and touch. Outside, the city hum was faint — the distant murmur of youth, laughter echoing across stone courtyards, the soft flutter of notebook pages in wind.

Jack sat at a long oak table, one arm resting against a stack of books, the other holding a pen that hadn’t written for some time. His eyes — sharp, grey, unyielding — scanned the open page before him but seemed to read something deeper, something he didn’t trust.

Across from him, Jeeny sat cross-legged, a soft woolen scarf around her shoulders, a quiet warmth in her posture. A small lamp glowed beside her, casting golden light over the worn pages of Plato’s Republic.

Between them lay a single sheet of paper with Howard Gardner’s words printed in elegant type:

“Students should learn about the long-standing values of truth, beauty, and goodness, think hard about them, and interrogate them skillfully.” — Howard Gardner

Jeeny: “I love that. Truth, beauty, and goodness — the old trio. It’s what education was supposed to be about before it became a race for grades and careers.”

Jack: dryly “You mean before it became realistic.”

Jeeny: “Realistic?”

Jack: “Yes. Before people stopped pretending that every student’s soul is a philosopher’s garden waiting to bloom. The world doesn’t need dreamers anymore, Jeeny. It needs engineers who can fix bridges, doctors who can fix bodies, and programmers who can fix systems. Beauty doesn’t keep the lights on.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked faintly, a slow, rhythmic echo against the vast quiet of the room. Jeeny closed her book, her eyes steady on him.

Jeeny: “You think education is only about fixing things? Then who fixes the soul? The one who builds machines, or the one who understands why we should?”

Jack: smirking “The soul doesn’t need fixing. It needs discipline. Values are subjective — what you call truth might be someone else’s illusion.”

Jeeny: “But that’s exactly why Gardner said we should interrogate them. Not to worship them blindly, but to question, to understand why they matter.”

Jack: “And what if, after interrogating them, you find there’s nothing there? That truth is just perspective, beauty just preference, and goodness just social convenience?”

Jeeny: “Then the interrogation wasn’t deep enough.”

Host: A flicker of wind moved through the open window, stirring a few pages on the table. The light dimmed slightly, and the silence grew tense, alive, as if the very books around them leaned in to listen.

Jack: “You sound like one of those professors who still believe in ideals. Tell me, Jeeny — where’s truth in politics? Beauty in poverty? Goodness in war? You think students can learn those from a classroom?”

Jeeny: “Not from a classroom — from reflection. From facing those contradictions head-on. You don’t teach goodness by shielding people from ugliness; you teach it by helping them see through it.”

Jack: “Idealism again.”

Jeeny: “Wisdom, Jack. There’s a difference.”

Host: Jack leaned back, his chair creaking, his face caught between irritation and thought. Jeeny’s tone remained gentle but firm, like a teacher who refused to surrender a lesson to cynicism.

Jeeny: “Think about what happens when students stop learning truth, beauty, and goodness. They become clever without conscience. Efficient without empathy. Powerful without purpose. Do you really want that world?”

Jack: “It already exists.”

Jeeny: “Exactly — because we stopped teaching those things.”

Host: The rain began, faint at first, tapping the windows like a slow rhythm of agreement. Jack rubbed his temple, his voice softening, though his skepticism remained intact.

Jack: “So, what are you suggesting? We turn schools into temples of philosophy again? Feed kids Plato and Aristotle until they believe in absolutes?”

Jeeny: “Not absolutes — awareness. The courage to ask what’s true, what’s beautiful, what’s good — and not settle for easy answers. Gardner didn’t mean indoctrination. He meant skillful questioning. Thought that sharpens conscience, not just intellect.”

Jack: “And where’s that gotten us? Questioning hasn’t brought harmony — just more division. Everyone’s interrogating everything now. Truth’s become a battlefield.”

Jeeny: “Because people interrogate for victory, not for understanding.”

Host: Her words hung in the air like the echo of a struck bell. The rain grew heavier, a soft roar now, blurring the lights beyond the window. Jack turned toward it, watching droplets slide down the glass like melting time.

Jack: “You really think the old values can survive in this world? Truth, beauty, goodness — they sound... quaint. Outdated.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. They’re the only things that don’t age. What’s outdated is pretending we can live without them.”

Jack: “You speak as if they’re constants — laws of nature.”

Jeeny: “Aren’t they? Even when buried, they pull us back. When lies collapse, we crave truth. When ugliness overwhelms, we hunger for beauty. When cruelty reigns, we reach for goodness. They’re not outdated — they’re our default setting.”

Host: Jack said nothing for a while. The clock ticked, the rain whispered, and the lamp flickered in the dim gold light. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, more personal.

Jack: “You know, when I was in college, I used to believe that. I thought if I read enough, studied enough, I’d find meaning — truth, beauty, whatever you call it. But then I saw how easily people twist those words to justify anything. Every tyrant claims to serve ‘truth.’ Every manipulator claims to act for ‘goodness.’”

Jeeny: “Because they separate the words from the heart. Truth without empathy becomes tyranny. Beauty without humility becomes vanity. Goodness without reason becomes control. That’s why they must be studied together — they balance each other.”

Jack: “So they’re like a moral trinity.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “A human one.”

Host: A faint smile crossed Jack’s face, fleeting but real. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

Jack: “You know, Gardner might have been right. Maybe we should teach students to interrogate these values — if only so they stop being slogans.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. To make them living questions again. To make truth an adventure, beauty a discipline, and goodness a responsibility.”

Host: The rain slowed, turning into a gentle drizzle. The light softened into amber. The library seemed to breathe again — less solemn, more alive.

Jack: “And what happens when the questioning never ends? When truth keeps shifting under the microscope?”

Jeeny: “Then the search is the truth. The honesty of the pursuit — that’s what gives it meaning.”

Jack: nodding slowly “You make philosophy sound like a compass, not a map.”

Jeeny: “It is. The map keeps changing, but the compass — the values — still point north.”

Host: Jack leaned forward, the pen he’d ignored all afternoon now turning slowly between his fingers. He wrote something on the margin of the page — a single word: north.

Jeeny noticed, smiled, and closed her book. The rain had stopped completely now; the clouds were breaking, revealing streaks of light through the window — soft, forgiving, almost holy.

Jack: “You think students can still be taught to look for that compass?”

Jeeny: “They already have it. They just need someone to remind them to trust it.”

Host: The camera lingered as the two sat in the quiet library, surrounded by the ancient whisper of books — echoes of voices who had once asked the same questions.

Host: Outside, the sunlight returned, spilling through the windows, scattering dust like golden stars. The world beyond still rushed and roared, but inside, two minds sat in fragile harmony — bound by a truth both old and urgent.

Host: For all the cleverness humanity builds, the soul still hungers for three things it cannot outgrow:
truth to see clearly, beauty to feel deeply, and goodness to live rightly.

Host: And perhaps, as Gardner once wrote, the greatest education is not in answers — but in learning to interrogate those three, skillfully, and never stop.