But there is another reason for shrinking audiences, and, in my view, it is the fault of the arts. The performing arts have sometimes — too often — placed themselves on a pedestal. Too often, the performing arts are something to be approached only in black tie. Too often, they are positioned to be consumed only by the elite. To be genuflected to.

This should not be. In music, the “arts for the elite” restriction was challenged successfully in the 18th century when Mozart took symphonies and operas from the palaces on the hill and put them in the music halls on the streets.

Somehow, we have reverted. When I worked at Carnegie Hall in the 1980s, I learned that in the 20th century, an 11th commandment was added to the tablets: Thou shalt not applaud between movements. May lightning strike you.

Let me tell you a story. During the New Jersey Performing Arts Center’s (NJPAC) first season, a quartet composed of Isaac Stern, Yo-Yo Ma, Emanuel Ax, and Jamie Laredo appeared on our stage for the first time. I was beyond nervous. Here was Isaac Stern, my boss for almost a decade at Carnegie Hall, coming to play for the first time in an arts center that I had helped to design and build. The lights were lowered, the music started. To me it sounded glorious. And then, this audience — this audience of whom perhaps 50 percent were new to classical music but wanted to see what this big new performing arts center in Newark was all about — broke into spontaneous and heartfelt applause after the first movement of the first piece. I didn’t know what to think. And I considered going home.

Instead, I screwed up my courage and rushed backstage at intermission. There, outside his dressing room, was Yo-Yo Ma, perhaps the nicest celebrity on the planet. I said, “Yo-Yo, I hope it didn’t upset you when the audience applauded after the first movement.” I shall never forget his words in return. “Larry,” he said looking me dead in the eye, “what I’m about to tell you I really mean. The next time I play here, you can put in the program, in capital letters, that it’s OK for people to applaud during movements.”

This notion of secular music being revered like holy prayer was not always the case. When Beethoven premiered his only violin concerto in 1806, the three movements weren’t even played in succession. The violinist Franz Clement, for whom the concerto was written, inserted a violin sonata of his own composition between the first and second movements. That’s not all. He played this piece on one string with the violin held upside down. While it wasn’t documented, I’d bet my last stuffed shirt that there was applause — plenty of applause — between movements that night.

Howard Gardner of Harvard has written extensively about multiple intelligences. What he means by this, I think, is simply that people — children — learn in different ways. Some learn in highly analytical and cognitive processes. Others learn empirically. Some learn through the arts. And it’s not just learning — it’s also the development of identity, discipline, self-esteem, and the capacity to enjoy the world.

Not every child is an A student who can go to graduate school at Princeton. Not every kid excels at soccer and gets recruited by college coaches. Some kids are good at dance or theater or can play jazz trumpet really well. This is how they connect and evolve. Some children may have no talent for the arts, but still find that their worlds are rocked — and changed — by live performance.

I see this almost every day at NJPAC. When I watch 500 children at a live performance of Tom Chapin and Friends or the Paper Bag Players, when I see them on the edges of their seats, the expressions on their faces, the laughter, the cheers — when I compare this to watching kids, including my own, with that lobotomous blank stare as they watch the DVD of Legally Blonde for the fourth time — I know that the argument for live performance and what it does to nourish the human soul is not an empty one.

Whether it’s experiencing 80 musicians backed by a chorus of 100 doing Beethoven’s Ninth, seeing the Alvin Ailey Dance Company performing its signature piece, Revelations, or hearing Mick Jagger and the Stones in a 20,000-seat arena and feeling your heart thump to “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” live performance surely is like nothing else. In fact, the Rolling Stones may be Exhibit A: the Stones, who define rock ’n’ roll for at least two generations. The Stones, who personify agelessness, sexual permissiveness, and adolescent rebellion — even if you’re 62. The Stones, who in three bars of “Brown Sugar” can turn this year’s James Madison medalist into a dancing fool. Live performance shapes the human developmental experience in a way that is unique — it’s an argument that almost makes itself.

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