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.