Chapter 20 – As the Twig is Bent opens with a story about a man in a rural French village who tried to improve the lives of local boys through art and literature. Though initially met with disinterest due to the boys’ impoverished lives, the man’s efforts gradually stirred a deep appreciation for beauty in his students. These lessons—centered around art, architecture, and cultural treasures—planted lasting seeds of curiosity and dignity, nurturing a deeper view of life beyond material hardship. His legacy lived on in those boys, many of whom carried his influence into adulthood, cherishing beauty and meaning in a world often dominated by survival. This tale underscores how even modest efforts can have a profound and lasting impact on the lives of others. It suggests that beauty, when introduced early, can offer more than aesthetics—it becomes a guiding force, enriching one’s outlook and inner life across time.

The author draws a parallel between that village and modern cities, pointing out how children, especially those from poor backgrounds, often lack exposure to anything uplifting or artistically enriching. Urban schools are described as bleak, their design doing little to inspire or educate the senses. The effort to surround children with beauty—through pictures, sculptures, or colored walls—isn’t simply decorative but transformational. It’s believed that an environment rich in culture can improve not only education but also self-worth and community pride. Aesthetic appreciation isn’t limited to wealth or class, as shown by a cleaning woman who unexpectedly developed a deep joy in arranging artworks she’d once never known. Her reaction proves that exposure to art and design has the power to awaken something universally human—regardless of background or education.

This leads to a broader critique of assumptions made about the poor, especially the belief that they lack the capacity or interest to appreciate beauty. Too often, society rushes to judgment, labeling their tastes as crude without offering them access to finer things. In truth, their longing for grace and dignity is no less valid than anyone else’s. The anecdote about a charwoman who admires delicate objects despite misunderstanding their historical value shows that the heart responds before the intellect can analyze. Her delight, though imperfect in execution, represents an instinctive reverence for beauty that speaks across class lines. These examples remind us that taste can be nurtured and developed—what is needed is opportunity and exposure, not judgment.

A striking insight is offered by comparing French aesthetics to the dreariness of American cityscapes. In France, even the poor grow up surrounded by harmonious architecture and public spaces that train the eye to recognize proportion and elegance. This unconscious education results in a populace that naturally resists ugliness. Meanwhile, in many American cities, ugliness is inescapable, especially for the poor, compounding the misery of poverty. Beauty should not be considered a luxury but a human need, as essential to dignity as nutrition is to health. Where environments offer little more than concrete and grime, aspirations are stifled, and imagination shrinks. By contrast, the presence of visual refinement—even in modest doses—can elevate daily existence.

The chapter also presents a compelling argument that exposure to beauty must be part of a child’s development, not an afterthought. A group of women in the city had taken this idea seriously, transforming schools with carefully chosen prints and casts of classical art. Their work, accomplished with relatively little money, brought joy and inspiration to both students and teachers. The impact was immediate and lasting. Composition topics were drawn from the artworks; the rooms felt more dignified, and children learned not just facts but how to see. The process of aesthetic development—through gentle exposure—can begin with simple changes: painted walls, well-placed prints, and a few reproductions of great sculptures. This initiative reveals that even the most practical environments can support the growth of imagination and personal identity.

One of the most stirring sections of the chapter reflects on a theatrical scene in a French play where a striking character—a factory worker—demands more than fair pay. He calls for access to beauty, insisting that “man does not live by bread alone.” This line encapsulates the central thesis of the chapter: that without art, poetry, and beauty, the human experience remains incomplete. This is not a romantic sentiment but a social imperative. As long as beauty is hoarded by the privileged, society fails in its moral obligation to uplift all. Children in poor neighborhoods deserve to know that their environment can be more than functional—it can be inspiring, affirming, and even sacred in its own right.

Finally, the chapter challenges a damaging belief: that taste is fixed, like height or eye color, and cannot be taught or improved. This assumption, widely held, has killed countless initiatives aimed at bringing culture to the poor. The argument that feeding them is more important than inspiring them is exposed as false. Yes, nourishment matters, but nourishment for the spirit cannot be ignored. The ability to recognize beauty should not be reserved for the affluent. To deny the poor exposure to art is like denying them air or light—it’s a form of cultural neglect. In its essence, this chapter is a call to action: invest in the soul, especially where it has been most starved. Only then can a society claim to be truly just.