As I sit in smokey yurts made of bones and yak skin, surrounded by surprisingly ethnically diverse tribal elders, I am often asked “what is good in fencing?”. I am just as often (i.e. never) asked “what makes a good fencer?”. I touched on the question in my last post and it has being weighing on my mind ever since. In the last few days, during breaks from pushing a massive millstone around and around in the middle of the steppe, I have formed a few opinions. Here they are…
Is ‘good’ something that exists in an objective sense?
This is supposed to be a blog about Historical Martial Arts and I am hitting you straight away with some sort of introductory philosophical question. What I am trying to get at is whether or not fencing is ‘good’ simply because it wins bouts and/or tournaments?
If the aim of HMA was simply to win competitions then it would be fine, we wouldn’t even be asking this question. But the hobby is a beautiful multi-faceted gem, presenting each viewer with an image of ‘good’ that is as individual and nuanced as they are themselves. This subjectivity is what brings contradictions and tensions into existence. You can be a ‘good’ fencer and never win convinced you are rubbish. You can also triumph with some god-awful dross and still think you are ‘good’.
I think that ‘good’ is mostly a subjective idea and it is about the thing being the way you want it to be. The criteria we use to assemble our objectives are complicated and so deeply rooted in our selves that we have real trouble untangling them. We may (again due to our psychological make ups) not even be able to realise that our definitions of good are actually constructed. Criteria can be internalised and believed so strongly that we come to act as if they are external forces of nature, that they have some essential existence that we are simply observing and reacting to. I don’t think that’s the way this reality functions.
If you were to ask a child what their favourite colour is, you might get an explanation, like ‘green is the colour of my dad’s tractor and I really like it so I really like green’, but you could just as well get ‘red is the best colour’. This kind of opinion is an example of how internally constructed opinions can be seen as objective fact. There’s nothing wrong with it (nothing is right or wrong, save thinking makes it so), but it does demonstrate a certain lack of critical engagement with one’s own beliefs. As it happens red is actually the best colour but that is for a later time.
The Game of fencing
Sparring and competitive fencing, in this martial art that we all do is (as far as I know) meant to be an analogue of a sword fight, maybe a wrestling match. One which doesn’t include the fairly essential event of someone getting chopped, stabbed or sliced. To make this analogue work we put in place restrictions on which behaviours are permitted and what we accept as ‘success’, in place of crushing our enemies and seeing them bleeding at our feet (I paraphrase). We have created a sword-fight-like game.
This game is divorced from the real and has imposed rules. One thing that people are extremely good at is ‘gaming’ rulesets. We are clever apes, we are able to learn a set of pre-existing conditions (rules) and very rapidly work out how to meet our own needs/aims without breaking the rules, minimising our efforts and the chances of being stopped by other players of the game. This is actually one of our greatest capacities (as a species, I mean) and there’s nothing wrong with it. Wrong is merely an ethical category created to steer peoples’ behaviour, anyway…
So, we game the rules; we come up with strategies for winning and we employ them. It is highly possible that the techniques we use to win our shiny objects are not the same as the historical techniques we set out to learn when we study and interpret treatiesises[sic]. Come to mention it, it’s totally possible that the given individual never set out to learn historical techniques at all. They may have set out to learn enough to win the shineys and nothing else.
Technically Speaking
As it happens I don’t think that winning medals is what I am trying to do. I love getting a medal as much as the next person, but that’s actually not what I am here for. I get more of a dopamine hit from landing a high quality, clean Zwerchau than I do from winning (and that happens about as often it has to be said).
The ruleset, the restrictions I have accepted as defining my endeavours, don’t fit in with the medal-hound mindset. They don’t mesh all that well with the scholarly field either to be honest. I see techniques and styles and I say to myself, I want to be able to do that, what’s more I want to use that on an opponent who is dead set against it. I want to have people say to me, after seeing me fence:
“I saw that [technique] you used on [opponent]. You pulled that off really well, much better than the last time I saw you try it. Could you tell me the exciting story of how you managed it!”
I am vain and desperate for validation in this cold and indifferent universe, so this type of result (if it ever happens) is what I want.
I want to be proficient with the tools and techniques I have selected. I want to use them effectively in an oppositional situation. I want them to work (i.e. achieve success in that particular exchange/bout) and I want recognition from my peers for all of this. Competitive success doesn’t have to give those things. So I don’t particularly care if I don’t achieve it (in the long-run I mean, I get salty when I lose, natch).
As I discussed above, the performance of quality techniques is not the only way to win a competition. Doing just what is required to win more points than you opponent is not a guarantee of good technique. Hand-tag and fast parrying from a point-forward guard might win me points, but I doubt many people are going to come up to me afterwards to compliment me on the inelegant, repetitive nature of my fencing. So there would be a disconnect between the quickest route to competitive success and the internal criteria for quality I have set myself. I might win, but I would hate myself afterwards.
What makes it ‘Good’ then?
Quick answer. You do.
You set out with criteria for success and if you achieve your aims then you are a good fencer. There are a whole raft of criteria available to us, some we pick up from the learning we do when we develop our skills and some we bring with us as part of our personality packages. This doesn’t mean you can just pick up a sword, wave it around and be “I think I am good, so I am”.
As we are a community, a group of individuals engaged in the same activity, there is a certain amount of shared criteria and a need to be accepted and recognised as meeting them. This is particularly relevant as the activity is inherently at least a paired one. You can say you are the greatest but that would need to be proven by recognition (of some kind) by your peers.
Competition, to certain degree, is how this is done. You learn your skills but they are only going to be valid if they stand up to execution in the adversarial event of a bout. Your level of success isn’t all that important, as long as you are seen to be trying to do the right things. If you have a desire to be successful in terms of victories, that is your criteria and failing to achieve it wouldn’t necessarily exclude you from being seen as ‘good’.
Technical quality plays a very important role. I have seen many bouts by practitioners at all levels, where the loser of the bout displays real skill and they prove themselves as being good without needing to win. You can see that they are trying to do proper techniques, they have the form but they just don’t win. You wouldn’t say they are bad fencers. It’s always a bit frustrating when you see the loser trying good fencing only to be defeated by ‘gamed’ fencing that lacks technical and historical quality.
Historical Validity
This is another source of success criteria that is peculiar to HMA. We are supposed to be recreating the martial skills of previous periods using the manuals produced at those times. If we are doing that or are able to intellectually defend our techniques based on their historical origins, then we should be thought of as good fencers. Again competitive success isn’t required by this criteria. Some excellent practitioners, full of knowledge and ability don’t even attempt to compete but they are still good. Low intensity sparring and other less competitive situations are an excellent way of demonstrating the quality of your fencing. The fact that they ‘wouldn’t work in a tournament’ or aren’t allowed due to the damage they might cause to your opponent (see: just about half of Fiore) doesn’t matter. Their historical origin is enough.
There is a bit of back-and-forth here. If someone is never successful in sparring or competition and uses the fact that their pet techniques are outlawed as the reason they never win, that smells like sour grapes. Competition (and sparring) does require some gaming. We are playing within a ruleset and almost all of the various styles have parts that can be and are employed to gain success within a bout. If your fencing is ineffective within the game, then the fact that you aren’t allowed to break your opponent’s arm probably isn’t the only reason you got beaten.
My personal position on this is that I have internalised the need to be doing ‘proper’ techniques as a criteria for success. I judge my own performance in exchanges not just on whether I score points but on the degree my execution matches my understanding of the historical move I was attempting. If my Duplieren is on point but I go a double hit, I am more concerned about the technical deficiency that I need to work on than on than the loss of the point/exchange.
Conclusions
As I said in my Master’s Dissertation: it’s not really about reaching conclusions. These topics are ‘unanswerable’ as they touch on issues which are purely subjective and in fact deal with the concepts of objectivity vs. subjectivity. I can tell you what I think is good, what I think good even means, and that has no bearing on you, nor on what you believe good is.
If I had one aim for this post it was to explore the relative concept of ‘good’, to encourage readers to engage with their own practice critically and realise that they are the agent which ultimately sets the criteria for success. If you are unhappy with your HEMA Ratings score or how you did at the last tournament that’s fine and natural, but you shouldn’t let it ruin your fun in fencing.
Enjoyment is a factor. Nobody really enjoys being bad at what they’re doing but it doesn’t have to be all unicorns and sparkles (although that would be cool). You can enjoy the process of learning, of failing and getting better about as much as you can enjoy endless victory parades, being carried on the backs of your adoring fans. Well nearly.
It takes some doing but if you are critically engaged with the criteria you have constructed, you can find success and enjoy satisfaction without the need for competitive performance. There’s even an arguement to suggest that this type of success, judged against your own standards, can be deeper and more authentic than the ‘mere’ external validation of medals. My lack of medals might be contributing to my position here…
Look inside your own motivations, examine what you really want to achieve and see what you can do about it. What’s more, look at all the other criteria, besides scoring points, you are carrying and enjoy satisfaction wherever you find it. You lost all your exchanges, but wow, your footwork was so much better than last time. Your strikes were badly timed and your hands kept getting hit, but your choice of strike was always appropriate to the threat you faced. Wonderful. You are a good fencer and let nobody tell you different!
Thanks for reading my wafflings. I hope they entertained you for a while. If you want to chat about them or let me know what you think on the subject you can comment below or contact me through the Wrathful Peasants page.
The Wrathful Peasant 