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Sense of Life

Rediscovering Leonardo
by Marcus Bachler

Recently I read a review of the life of Leonardo da Vinci. Leonardo is one of those figures of popular legend that everyone knows something about. Many will have heard of his famous art-works such as the “Mona Lisa.” However, you may be less aware of his investigations into medicine and the natural sciences

He was omnivorous, fascinated by everything from the nature of the Moon to the way “they carry grapes in Cesena”; he composed treatises on geophysics, acoustics, geometry and the flight of birds. He specialised in stage design and military hardware; he sketched out an automaton or robot, and designed flying machines that in the past century were found to work. He wrote notes to himself of a cryptic and obsessive nature: “Describe what sneezing is, what yawning is . . . Describe the tongue of the woodpecker.” He was endlessly and eagerly curious, alive to the wealth of the world, so prodigal of his genius that he lavished it in a thousand directions; his own capacity for learning and knowledge was so intense that only the world could satisfy it (and perhaps not even then).

 
This passage reminded me of something from my youth. It reminded me of my ideas about enquiring minds. I too wanted to know everything I could about the world around me. That is why I became a scientist. I wanted to understand how and why things worked as they did. At the time I wondered why other children around me didn’t also have the same passion. They could only show a feigned interest in order to pass exams. I thought that if only we would all put our heads together we would all come up with the solutions to all unanswered questions. Why did others seem to be so uninterested? I even went so far as to fantasize about a society composed entirely of scientists. (This idea was not pinched from Plato’s republic, because I was not aware of it at the time.) “But what about all the other jobs that need to be done?” some would ask me. I replied that everyone could divide their time between science and other work.

Indeed, there are many examples of successful “scientists” who did not have one specific career in their lives. Life and living were their careers. Take for example Antoine-Laurent Lavoisier (1743–1794), tax-collector and discoverer of oxygen, or Gregor Mendel (1822-1884), Austrian Catholic Monk and discoverer of the principles of genetics. These are people who discovered great things by answering questions to satisfy their own curiosity. They didn’t need anyone to give them an official career title; they didn’t need to be filed into a specific category. Sadly though, throughout history many have been unable to truly be themselves within the constraints of society. It is no wonder that passionate thinkers such as Leonardo felt as if they had to isolate themselves.


 The mark of genius is the love of solitude. Leonardo himself remarked that the artist should “remain solitary” even though “I tell you, you will be thought crazy.” This was especially true in 15th-century Italy, where the society of others, in particular of the family, was considered the true cradle of humankind. Only in solitude could he truly become himself — or, rather, only then could he fully experience the vision of himself that he kept before him. Only in solitude could he draw on the full power of his mind and imagination working together. That is why Leonardo, like Shakespeare and Newton, seems forever enigmatic and elusive. His solitariness is as much part of his fame and reputation as his life in the world.


This was an “individualist” rebellion against social conventions and restraints. The solitary inventor in Galt’s Gulch is not influenced by the collective, but lives by his or her own ideals. The strong individual does not let him or herself be swayed by convention or measure themselves “solely” through the evaluation of others.

 Among Leonardo’s contemporaries were Perugino and Botticelli; he does not mention the former, and criticises the latter. One gains the impression that Leonardo was not interested in his colleagues. No doubt he already sensed within himself that genius, that spirit of ascendancy, which would lift him above them. It is not for nothing that he spent so much time on contriving devices that would allow human beings to fly. It is as if he always imagined that he had wings.

 
And indeed, I no longer worry about why no one else at school or beyond school ever gave a damn about solving the mysteries of the world around them.  If I look beyond the sheep mentality that dominates so much of our daily lives, that pushes us towards the expected norm - then I can see that Leonardo and his wings have been here with me all along.
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