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FeedbackKATHERINE MacLEAN--------------------------------------------------------------------------------“WHY DID LEONARDO write backward?” The year was 1995. A pupil had asked the question.William Dunner switched on the lights suddenly, showing the class of ten- and twelve-year-olds blinking in the sudden glare.“He was in danger of his life,” he said seriously. “Here”—he tapped the pointer against the floor—“give that last slide again.”The pupil at the back of the room worked the slide lever, and Da Vinci’s Last Supper, which still showed dimly on the screen, vanished with a click and was replaced by an enlarged sketch of a flying machine. Under the sketch was time-dimmed writing, the words oddly curled and abbreviated. It was backward, as if the slide had been put in the wrong way.“He was writing ideas that no one had ever written before,” said William Dunner. The teacher was tall, angular, and somewhat awkward in his stance. He stared at the faded cryptic writing, selecting his words with the care of someone selecting footsteps along the edge of a precipice. “Da Vinci had seen things that should not have been there—the symmetry of sound waves—the perfect roundness of ripples spreading through each other, and, high up on a mountain he had found sea shells, as if the sea and the land had not always been where they were, but had changed places, and perhaps some day the sea would again close over the mountain top, and mountains rise from the depth of the sea. These thoughts were against the old beliefs, and he was afraid. Other men, later, saw new truths about nature. They were not so brilliant as he, but they risked their lives to teach and write them, and they gave us the new world of science we have today. Leonardo had great thoughts, but he wrote them down in silence and hid them in code, for if the people guessed what he thought, they might come and burn him, as they had burned some of his paintings. He was afraid.”He tapped the base of the pointer on the floor and the slide vanished with a click and was replaced by the Last Supper. Again the dim figure of Christ sat at the long table with his friends.A chubby little girl put up her hand.“Yes, Marilyn?”“Were they Fascists? I mean, the people that Leonardo was scared of?” It was an obvious identification. Fascists tortured people and suppressed ideas. The pupils who knew a little more history stirred and giggled to show that they knew better.“Stand up, please,” he said gently. She stood up. It did not matter what the question or answer was, as long as they stood up. Standing up while the class sat, being alone on stage in the drama club he had started for them: learning to stand and think alone.“No, not Fascism. It wasn’t their government which made them cruel.” Mr. Dunner made a slight sad clumsy gesture with the hand that held the pointer. “You might say it is a democratic thing, for in defending the old ways people feel that they are defending something worthy and precious.” He ran his gaze across their faces as though looking for something, and said firmly, “Logically, of course, nothing is wrong which does not injure a neighbor, but if you attack a man’s beliefs with logic, he sometimes feels as if you are attacking his body, as if you are injuring him. In Leonardo’s time they held very many illogical beliefs which were beginning to crumple, so they felt constantly insecure and attacked, and they burned many men, women and children to death for being in league with Satan, the father of doubts.”In the painting on the screen the figure of Christ sat at the long table. The paint was blotched and cracked and his face almost hidden.Mr. Dunner turned to it. “No, it need not be Fascism. The rulers of a corrupt government may have no beliefs or ideals left to defend. The Roman government would have pardoned Christ, the bringer of a new belief, but it was his own people who slew him, preferring to pardon a robber and murderer instead.”He pointed with the stick. “He is eating with his disciples. He has just said “One of you will betray me.” Observe the composition of—”There was a slight stirring and whispering of disapproval. The things he had said were puzzling and almost violent, and sounded different from things they had been taught were true. They did not want him to return to the usual kind of lecture. A question was passed among them in quick murmuring and agreement. A boy raised his hand.“Yes, Johnny?”“Why is it democratic?” He was almost defiant. “Burning people.”“Because it was an expression of the majority will. The majority of people have faith that the things they already believe are true, and so they will condemn anyone who teaches different things, believing them to be lies. All basic progress must start with the discovery of a truth not yet known and believed. Unless those who have new ideas and different thoughts be permitted to speak and are protected carefully by law, they will be attacked, for in all times men have confused difference with criminality.”The murmur began again, and the boy put up his hand. “Yes, Johnny?”“I like inventors. I like inventions. I like things to change.” He was speaking for the class. It was a question about people disliking changes. The teacher hesitated oddly.“Stand up please.”The boy stood up. He had a thin oval face with large brown eyes which he narrowed to hide his nervousness. The other children in the class turned in their seats to look at him.“You said you like things different,” the teacher reminded him. “That’s a good trait, but do you like to be different yourself? Do you like to stand up when the others are sitting down?” The boy licked his lips, glancing from the side of his eyes at the classmates seated around him, his nervousness suddenly increased.Mr. Dunner turned to the blackboard and wrote “sameness.”“Here is the sameness of mass production, and human equality, and shared tastes and dress and entertainment, and basic education equalized at a high level, and forgotten prejudices, and the blending of minorities, and all the other good things of democracy. The sameness of almost everybody doing the same thing at once. Some of the different ones who are left notice their difference and feel left out and alone. They try to be more like the others.” He curved a chalk arrow, and wrote “conformity.” Johnny, still standing, noticed that Mr. Dunner was nervous, too. The chalk line wavered.The arrow curved through “conformity” and back to the first word in a swift circle. “And then those who are left feel more conspicuous and lonesome than ever. People stare and talk about them. So they try to be more like the others. And then everybody is so much like everybody else that even a very tiny necessary difference looks peculiar and wrong. The unknown and unfamiliar is feared or hated. All differences, becoming infrequent, look increasingly strange and unfamiliar, and shocking, and hateful. Those who want to be different hide themselves and pretend to be like the others.”He moved the chalk in swift strokes. The thickening circle of arrows passed through the words: sameness, conformity, sameness, conformity, sameness…He stepped back and printed in the middle of the circle, very neatly, “STASIS.”He turned back to the class, smiling faintly. “They are trapped. And they don’t know what has happened to them.”He turned back to the blackboard and drew another circle thoughtfully. This one wavered much more. “These are feedback circles. All positive feedbacks are dangerous. Not just man but other social animals have an instinct to follow, and can fall into the trap. Even the lowly tent caterpillars are in danger from it, for they crawl after each other in single file, and if the leader of a line happens to turn back and find before him the end of his own line, he will follow it, and the circle of caterpillars will keep crawling around and around, growing hungry and exhausted, following each other until they die.”Johnny licked his lips nervously, wishing Mr. Dunner would let him sit down.Miraculously the teacher’s eyes met his.“I stand up,” said Mr. Dunner softly to him alone. “If everyone else went sledding, could you go skating alone, all by yourself?”He could see that it was a real question: Mr. Dunner honestly wanted him to answer, as if he were an equal. Johnny nodded.“It would take courage, wouldn’t it? Sit down, Johnny.”Johnny sat down, liking the tall shy bony teacher more than ever. He was irritably aware of the stares and snickers of the others around him. As if he’d done something wrong! What did they think they were snickering at anyhow!He leaned both elbows on the desk and looked at the tcacher as if he were concentrating on the lecture.The bell rang.“Class dismissed,” called Mr. Dunner unnecessarily and helplessly over the din of slamming desk tops and shouts as everybody rushed for the door.Glancing back, Johnny saw the teacher still standing before the blackboard. Beside him the projected image of Leonardo’s painting glowed dimly, forgotten, on the screen.At his locker, Johnny slipped his arms into his jacket and grabbed his cap angrily. Why did they have to scare Leonardo? Grownups! People acted crazy!Outside they were shouting, “Yeaaa-ahh yeaaa-ahh! Charlie put his cap on backward! Charlie put his cap on backward!” Charlie, one of his best pals, stood miserably pretending not to notice. His cap was frontward. He must have put it right as soon as they had started to call.Johnny hunched his shoulders and walked through the ring as if he had not seen it, and it broke up unconcernedly in his wake into the scattering and clusters of kids going home. Johnny did not wait to get into a...
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