What is fencing?

The skill of using hand-held weapons, especially the sword, for self-defense, for sport, or as a martial art.

What is a martial art?

A martial art is a practice that takes the asocial force of violence and enfolds it into the web of culture.

Violence is a human universal. So are hunger and the mating urge. The function of human culture is to mediate these realities and make civilized life possible. Rather than eating our food raw, we have cuisine. Rather than dragging our mates off to our caves by their hair, we have courtship and marriage rituals. Rather than ambushing and assassinating our rivals, we practice martial arts. The form of the practice may include varying degrees of combat training, sport, exercise, spirituality, and other human endeavors, but all martial arts have two things in common: They are abstracted from the realities of personal violence, and they involve indoctrinating the practitioner into a particular culture and mindset.

What is historical fencing?

Historical fencing is usually considered to be the use of weapons that precede the three "classical" weapons (foil, épée, and sabre) taught today as the core curriculum of European fencing. Historical practice took place on the same continuum of martial arts practice we see today, ranging from recreation to sport (albeit often a rougher, more dangerous sport) to gentlemanly accomplishment to preparation for combat. Usually, the skills of using such weapons have been reconstructed from treatises. However, some "historical" weapons (sword and dagger, the 19th century dueling sabre, great stick, flail, etc.) come down to us in a living tradition. (I would term these, with classical fencing, as traditional fencing.) Therefore, we will consider "historical" fencing as the use of weapons from the era before the universal acceptance of the "classical three."

Having said this, I will also maintain that the biomechanics and technical development and understanding developed by the study of classical fencing is invaluable in understanding historical fencing, especially rapier and smallsword. The Italian dueling sword, for instance, is essentially a shorter, faster rapier, and the principles of its use remain unbroken from the sixteenth century to today. Likewise, there is a great deal of common ground between two-handed sword and great stick. The idea of a radical break with the past dissolves the closer one looks at the evidence.

What is classical fencing?

Good question, and one that has been answered in many ways: martial (fencing "as if the weapons were sharp"), technical ("clean" fencing), historical ("fencing as practiced in the nineteenth century"), and by what it's not (fencing "without orthopedic grips" or "without electric scoring"). We should probably include an idea of orthopraxy in our definitions: I.e., it is fencing strictly in the mode of one of the two great national schools, that of Joinville (France) and that of the Scuola Magistrale in Naples (Italy).

Each of these definitions has its merits, but each is also open to criticism. First of all, the weapons are not sharp, we can not simulate the stress of lethal combat without actually risking killing someone, and in foil-play (the venue par excellence for the classical style) one does things, such as compound attacks, that would be foolhardy to attempt with sharp weapons. Likewise, one can fence "cleanly" with an orthopedic grip and using electric scoring apparatus, but conversely, I have also seen plenty of rather non-classical "dry" fencing. Though Joinville and Naples had their curricula, their graduates almost immediately began to transform their teachings. (Épée fencing, for instance, was a late development and one not always taught by the more conservative masters save in case of the duel. Are we to say there is no "classical" épée? Likewise, what of Terrone's ingenious, if eccentric, Right and Left Hand Fencing?) Finally, we are twenty-first century people, not nineteenth-century people, and in any case there was a division between "classical" and "non-classical" fencing even back then.

Having considered these definitions, I would define contemporary classical fencing as a martial art, with emphasis on the art. That is, it is predicated by rules and practices, that, while conventional in nature, are abstracted from the realities of combat in earnest. Of course, sport fencing is also conventional and abstracted from the same basis. However, the nature of classical fencing is fundamentally conservative and seeks to continue past practices, rather than improve on them. Furthermore, like all martial arts, and all arts in general, it has a gestalt, an aesthetic, which must be experienced to be understood. It is also, needless to say, a highly precise and technically correct form of fencing. Lastly, it is a form of acculturation, demanding that its practitioners conform to the norms of gentlemanly behavior.

What does this idea of "conventionality" mean? It means that there are agreed-upon rules and, more importantly, a spirit behind the rules. Both fencers have agreed to subordinate the ends (getting the touch) to the means (maintaining classical form and intent). Accordingly, one can not fence classically unless one's adversary has also agreed to fence classically, though a well-trained classical fencer should be able to at least defend him- or herself from a non-classical fencer of equivalent experience and skill.

That such an understanding exists is beyond argument: I have seen fencers who have never met previously, each coming from different classical lineages, fence together for the first time with a complete understanding of one another, "their parries, attacks, and returns, all rhyming together," as Louis Rondelle has put it. I myself have experienced this with fencers coming from as disparate locales as Paris and California. In some of my favorite fencing experiences, who got the touch was almost besides the point (pardon the pun)—it was the result of correct fencing, with both fencers working together in something more resembling collaborative musicianship than combat (and perhaps with the same sense of one-upsmanship). One makes the touch because one has done the right thing in the right manner—and, of course, the adversary must be a party to this. It is not an easy thing to do, but requires that one put more emphasis on fencing well than on scoring—and, of course, it presupposes that one has the skill to begin with.

Conversely, the modern sport of fencing is about scoring points within the context of the modern rules and electrical scoring. It is OK to be struck by one's adversary if one lands one's own touch a fraction of a second earlier, or performs a symbolic "taking of the blade" or has priority from the "extending arm." Many of these actions are derived from the classical practice but abstracted into conventional signs. A touch is defined as setting off the electrical equipment, which has led to a number of innovations such as the flick. One also has five or fifteen touches in which to experiment and gauge the adversary and a smooth, even surface to play on. The weapons are called such only by tradition; there is no idea of them representing "real" swords. Modern fencing is accordingly much faster, more athletic, less cautious and places more emphasis on tactics such as clever use of infighting and footwork designed to quickly close distance or remove oneself from reach than on elaborate bladework. There is also, as a result, less emphasis on broad technical development (particularly at the lower levels) than on performing a smaller amount of actions with rapidity and accuracy.

I will also say what classical fencing is not: It is not "better" than the modern sport of fencing by any objective standard, or something that will give you a magical advantage over a more skilled fencer in a "real duel." I personally wouldn't want to face an "A"-rated épée fencer with sharp weapons. Anyone with that level of training and athleticism will be able to adapt to the conditions in which they find themselves, no matter what they are—not to mention that they would be trained to go for the more lethal (and risky) hit to the torso, rather than the relatively "safe" extended target. Of course, no one duels any more, at least in the Anglophone world; the last duel I know of took place in France in the late '60s. Anyone who makes such a boast is only displaying their own ignorance.

On the other hand, all that being said, if I had the hypothetical choice of five years' classical training versus five years of competitive training before having to fight a duel, I would certainly take the former, since the heart of classical fencing is inculcating the fundamentally conservative habits that will keep one alive in a frank encounter. I would also hope my adversary had made the same choice!

I would also argue for classical fencing's aesthetic superiority. In the modern sport, there is no sense of collaboration: One seeks to to frustrate the adversary, to dominate him, to shut down his plans, to intentionally miscue him and cause him to go awry. After being defeated in a classical bout, one ideally has a sense of being outclassed by a superior artist; after being defeated in the modern sport, one often feels run over by a truck. However, de gustibus non est disputandum. We live in an age where the zero-sum game is the law of the land.

Conversely, fencing in a classical style, however we define it and however skilled one might be, is not going to win you very many modern competions (and if you're interested in that sort of thing, you shouldn't be looking for a classical salle anyway). I would even say that it will give you a positive disadvantage in a modern competitive context. Classical fencing is an activity that must be judged on its own merits and by its own standards.

Do you teach stage combat?

While I've put together some over-the-top choreographies for fun and done some choreographed demos, I don't do stage combat. Rather, I teach real fencing done at full speed and intent with appropriate safety equipment. Stage combat is a separate art meant to cooperatively produce a reaction in a complicit audience by not striking someone, while much of the art of fencing is to produce a reaction in a non-cooperative adversary in order to strike them. It therefore requires a different approach to be done safely. However, I can recommend some good stage combat teachers.

Do you teach sport fencing?

Not as my main vocation. I don't think I'm bad at teaching the modern sport, but it's not my primary interest and there are already a lot of good coaches in Western and Central Massachusetts who are much better at it than I am. If you're interested in USFA competition, I recommend Doug Jacobs in Worcester and Paul Sise in the Pioneer Valley.

Do you compete?

I have participated in classical and historical competitions, and even done well in some. However, while some competition experience is certainly valuable, competing and teaching are separate skills. Some people are good competitors; some are good teachers; a rare few are both. Nor is it necessary to compete to be a "good" classical or historical fencer. This is one of the good things about classical and historical fencing: Though there is the opportunity to compete, it's not all about competitive results. Conversely, the point of the sport of fencing is competition.

So, why are you certified as a sport fencing coach when you teach classical and historical fencing?

There are no independent, professional certifying or teaching bodies in the US for historical fencing and only one (the California-based Fencing Masters' Program) for classical fencing. Rather, one sets oneself up as an instructor based upon the say-so of one's own teacher or by the ability to attract students. While, on the one hand, I am not an advocate of over-regulation, on the other hand, the potential for abuse in such a system is obvious. Having an independent professional body say that I am a competent, professional, and ethical instructor with the requisite background in fencing theory and pedagogy means that my students can be assured that I know what I'm doing. Furthermore, the science of kinesthetics has developed an awful lot in the past century: In the classical era, one was taught what to do, but not necessarily how to do it. Some natural athletes became good fencers; others were awful. On the other hand, while I believe the teaching of classical and historical forms can be enriched by the pedagogical methods that have been developed over recent decades, the unspoken concern that sport fencing will "corrupt" other methods is not an issue—the intelligent and technically knowledgable individual can easily distinguish between martially sound practice and the artifacts of the modern sport. (Lest one forget, my original training is entirely from the classical tradition.)

Finally, I think that if one is going to teach the history of fencing, one should have a good understanding of the current history. Fencing did not simply begin a long slide after a supposed golden age in the 1880s, and even "classical" forms continue to transform. It is important to know what one might encounter and be able to deal with it. For instance, the classical ideal is to use very little but very precise footwork, combined with techically adept bladework—but one should also know how to deal with an adversary who refuses to give the blade, tries to draw one into making errors with tactical footwork, and closes the distance explosively in the modern fashion.

There is also the issue of cross-cultural interpretation. The salle d'armes, for instance, is a particularly French cultural institution, and not only is it impractical to give instruction using the same methods and same language, but particularly French concerns (solidarité and equalité, for instance) don't even enter into the American mentality. This leads to a question long considered by practitioners of Japanese koryu: Can one really "authentically" practice the martial art of a certain culture (or certain time and place) transposed to another context?

Do I need to be physically fit to do classical or historical fencing?

In a word, yes. To correctly perform actions in time requires a certain level of balance, strength, flexibility, and body awareness—not that of an elite athlete, but that of a reasonably fit human being. However, these things can be acquired! If you are not currently in shape, learning to use a sword gives you far more motivation to take up and pursue a fitness regimen than joining a gym. The key to lifetime fitness is to find an activity you enjoy and to practice it regularly.

How can you train on days when you're not fencing? Be as active as possible. Walk instead of driving (or park as far away as you can). Think of ways to make fencing postures and actions part of your daily routine. Brush your teeth en garde. Make disengages around doorknobs. Take up a complementary daily exercise: riding horses, yoga, dance, walking, and swimming all blend well with fencing. Alexander Technique helps with body awareness and integrated movement.

By way of encouragement, I am not a particularly talented athlete—but I have been able to become a technically correct and "good" fencer by hard work and perspiration. This is part of what makes a good teacher: Because I've been through it, I can show you how.

Why should I study with a teacher when I can read the "manuals" myself?

Like many people, I first became aware of, and involved with, historical swordsmanship in the early '90s. Also like many people, I tried to figure out how to fence through a combination of reading texts, studying history and material culture, transferring ideas from other martial arts like escrima and karate, and practical experimentation (in my case, in the SCA). The end result was only confusion and frustration. I soon realized that, no matter how smart or well-educated I might be, I would need teaching in western swordsmanship in order to understand these source materials. (I date my years in the Art with the commencement of my formal training.)

The vast majority of medieval and renaissance martial arts works are most explicitly not manuals, but rather written for an audience already familiar with the art of fencing and, in the case of the medieval texts, the teachings of a particular master. There is no medieval "longsword for dummies." However, the universal principles of distance, time, blade opposition, etc., have not, and can not have, changed in the intervening centuries. Applying these principles is not obvious: As in other martial arts, one must be shown how. Also, once one knows one set of answers to the questions posed by the realities of a combative situation, as well as the western way of analyzing the situation itself (which has been consistently based on Aristotelian physics), one can better understand how to use the historical principles and techniques described in the treatises to answer the same question in a different way—while bearing in mind that the historical master's answer might be very different from the classical solution, and that some things, like grappling and disarming techniques, might be very hard to find in modern traditions.

Furthermore, once one has internalized the movement discipline imposed by training in a western martial art, one not only better understands the source text, but one's solution to the universal problems posed by combative situations, lacking specific instruction in the often-ambiguous source material, will be authentically western and "correct." It will not be "authentic" in the sense that you will not be identically replicating "period" fencing—but then, this is an impossibility, since you are a twenty-first century person, with a twenty-first century mentality and body, and in any case, we have no video tapes from that era. (I would go so far to say that the quest for "authenticity" is a historiographical fallacy: While some things are universals, there is much specific to our era.) Finally, you will benefit from the biomechanical efficiency and coordination, as well as the tactical thinking, that are imparted by a living tradition. (At the same time, one must be careful not to transpose anachronisms: There were no spins in longsword, as in modern canne de combat.)

Why bother?

This is a good question: Why? Classical or historical fencing won't get you into college or to the Olympics. Then again, the world of sport fencing might not be your cup of tea, either. Here are some things that classical and historical fencing offer to their practitioners:

• Comradeship with like-minded romantics worldwide
  
  
• Broad applicability to self-defense with a variety of implements, or even unarmed
  
  
• The opportunity to compete in classical and/or historical tournaments, if one so chooses
  
  
• A slower, more technically-oriented pace of learning
  
  
• More suited to those who feel they lack the athleticism necessary for the modern game (though certainly not unchallenging!)
  
  
• A rather cerebral martial art
  
  
• A love of history
  
  
• Health and fitness
  
  
• A holistic approach to educating the mind and body
  
  
• A connection to Western philosophy and intellectual traditions
  
  
• A sense of accomplishment
  
  
• Training in gentlemanly courtesy in an age of studied decadence
  
  
• Because it's beautiful

Classical fencing and historical fencing do not currently have the resources or depth of field of the modern international sport of fencing. However, they are in no way inherently "better" or "worse." Faced with an obesity epidemic and, worse, an epidemic of unexamined lives spent in front of TV screens, we should be encouraging everything that gets people off the couch. As the movement grows and more and more people come to realize the value that these pursuits can add to their lives, they will hopefully come into its own. The intention behind this site, and my activites on and off the piste, is to advance these ends.