Yesterday I had coffee with an author who is in the process of writing a book on Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace. The sun was setting on an unusually warm and windy February day, and an orange glow provided the perfect backdrop for Andy's animation. I could almost touch and taste what that book in particular and Tolstoy's works in general mean to him. "We've been together for over twenty years," he said, taking a hard look with his Russian guide at such universal themes as perseverance, suffering's role as teacher, and an unadulterated appreciation for the gift of life. Andy's own walk through life has been marked by Tolstoy's literary footsteps; his eagerness to share with his readers his love for War and Peace is palpable. I'll be first in line for his book.

Literature matters. Music matters. Theater matters. Sculpture matters. Poetry matters. History matters. And, of course, philosophy matters. Exposure to the Humanities broadens and deepens our own humanity. Study and discussion enlarges our sense of possibility. We are poverty-stricken without a look at Michelangelo or a listen to Mozart, a night of theater with August Wilson or Puccini and Verdi arias sung by Kiri Te Kanawa, a reading of Annie Proulx's Brokeback Mountain or a recitation of Maya Angelou's verses. Three examples of the power of the Humanities to give hope, to offer a new direction, and to change lives spring to mind:

First, a trip to Rafe Esquith's Room 56 at Hobart Elementary School in Los Angeles. Gangs and beggars patrol the streets and police make their presence known in the hallways. In the warmth of his classroom, however, each year Esquith directs his fifth graders in a year-long effort that culminates in their performance of Shakespeare's Hamlet. Children for whom English is a second language contemplate and then memorize soliloquies by Polonius and Ophelia. What?! Why? How? Watch it happen on DVD in "The Hobart Shakespeareans," directed by Mel Stuart. This experience will be alive for these children to draw on for confidence and fortitude for the rest of their lives. "To be or not to be...."  Yes, that is the question.

Second, a look at the fight against generational poverty waged by unlikely warriors such as Plato and Emily Dickinson. How in the world can reading and reflecting upon Plato's Myth of the Cave assist a single parent on welfare? What can Dickinson's "I Dwell in Possibility" mean to someone without work or the requisite skills to find employment? Earl Shorris, who has been the driving force behind the Clemente Course in the Humanites, gives us the answer:

"If one has been "trained" in the ways of poverty, left no opportunity to do other than react to his or her environment, what is needed is a beginning, not repetition. The humanities teach us to think reflectively, to begin, to deal with the new as it occurs to us, to dare. If the multi-generational poor are to make the leap out of poverty, it will require a new kind of thinking-reflection. And that is a beginning.... The philosophy of the Clemente Course grows out of an idea put forth by Robert Maynard Hutchins: "The best education for the best is the best education for all." The application of that thesis to the alleviation of poverty was not entirely of my own making, however. It came to me while I was in a maximum security prison in Bedford Hills, New York-just visiting, of course. I asked a prisoner, Viniece Walker, why she thought people were poor. Nicie, who has since become a good friend, said that it was because "they don't have the moral life of downtown," by which she meant Manhattan south of Harlem, where she grew up. Thinking she had probably undergone a religious conversion while in prison, which is not unusual, I asked rather casually what she meant by "the moral life." What a surprise when she said, "Plays, museums, concerts, lectures, you know." I said, "You mean the humanities." And she looked at me as if I were some kind of cretin: "Yes, Earl, the humanities." On my way back to the city I made the connection between Nicie's idea and my own education. It was the beginning of the Clemente Course." (You can read the interview in its entirety here.)

My friend Andy Kaufman and his college students share the wisdom waiting in War and Peace with incarcerated youth at a juvenile correctional facility. His "Books Behind Bars" project touches all involved as they share thoughts about: "What makes for a 'successful' life? How can i be true to myself? What is my responsibility to others? Given that I will die, how should I live?" (Click here for a brief interview with Andy.)

"The best education for the best is the best education for all." How about that? What has a prized book meant to you? Does one special poet soothe and motivate you? How does that piece of music make you feel every time? What historical revelation helped you make sense of your life? Can you count on intellectual riches to lighten your step and show you the way? When did you see alternatives to the only life that you had ever known? Why does that particular philosophical theory serve as your catalyst for change?

What if everyone could answer those questions? Imagine. Why shouldn't everyone be given the opportunity to answer those questions? Who decides who is eligible to read a sonnet or qualified to listen to a symphony? Why a condescending hoarding of the Humanites, why an underlying assumption that the arts either aren't needed in some lives or can't be grasped?  Can philosophy or the history of jazz be appreciated only by certain groups of particular socio-economic standing? This mindset shares unfortunate kinship with cuts to community action agencies: "It's a measure of where we are as a country that this has not been a bigger news story," Herbert laments. Why aren't the Hobart Shakespeareans front page news? What about all the good accomplished by community action workers? Why haven't we heard from some of the graduates of the Clemente course? Why wasn't Andy's interview national news? What can be learned about our society from notebooks written by incarcerated youth in response to Tolstoy?

John Stuart Mill claimed in 19th century England that for all our inventions and material progress, the development of the human being lagged woefully behind. I remember a friend in his last year of medical school chiding me that the study of Ethics was but one of many electives for students to choose during their last semester; their serious studies winding down, at last the hospital residents-to-be could relax. An elective! What would Mill think now?