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Title
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Fencing and the Teaching of Fencing
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Date
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June 1941
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volume
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6
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issue
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3
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page start
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14
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page end
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15
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content
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en
Fencing and the Teaching of Fencing
By DR. HERBERT SANBORN
Vanderbilt University
I was very much interested in the article by Alda Nadi in the last issue of The Riposte in respect to the teaching of fencing in America. In common with most lovers of the sport, I was in agreement with much of what Mr. Nadi had to say.
There is, indeed, too little respect for the expert, not merely in fencing but in every other line of endeavor in America. In a relatively young country where everyone, only a few short years ago, was his own butcher, baker, and candlestick maker, little importance is placed upon the relative skills of others. As increased population has made more intensive specialization possible and necessary, respect for these specialized skills has, in many cases, been withheld. Even today, there are communities in parts of the country where a skilled carpenter or plumber, who has every right to insist on doing nothing but these special things, would be out of work most of the time. People still insist on doing these things for themselves. To such a self-sufficient people, it is therefore conceivable that they would not be impressed by any claim that there is a special technique for using the foil, sabre, or epee. Their approach would be to buy foils and masks and then, God help them, proceed to fence.
In many communities, there is a natural skepticism with respect to the existence or infallibility of any particular technique. Its natives believe that anybody, given a proper cudgel or blade, might develop a perfect system of attack and defense in the use of such tools. In other words, we find ourselves in the position of the primitive fencers who, with a trust in their capacity that had never been demonstrated properly, simply set to work to discover or invent the natural or artificial way of handling such tools in order to get the best results. This was the beginning of the process which has led down to our modern techniques, none of which is accepted today as the perfect system by any of its rivals.
Up to the period of artificial fencing, there must have been a natural elimination process by which those fighters who did not have the correct theory of fencing did not survive to teach and pass on their theories. We must also grant the possibility that, even here, some who had bad theories were so gifted physiologically as to counterbalance defects in their own theories. These survived, unfortunately, to pass on their defects to the next generation. I believe, however, that, in spite of this, most of what all of us regard as genuinely solid doctrine in our fencing today is the result of some such practical elimination process.
With the advent of artificial combat (including the absurdities of European journalistic “duelling”), certain theoretical fencing gained the upper hand, which, in a period of serious duelling, would have been too dangerous to receive consideration. Systems for winning matches were developed that would doubtlessly have kept the undertakers busy taking care of the followers of these systems if they had been engaged in genuine combat. That is one reason why many of us cannot subscribe to a theory of fencing, simply because it has shown itself expedient in the winning of matches. Similar considerations would apply not merely to whole theories but also to particular aspects of those theories—that is to particular movements.
On the other hand, where we have to do with developments that are not based upon mere success but upon sound thinking in fencing, that is, upon a theoretical development from basic principles, it seems that we are more likely to discover, or rather invent, movements and combinations of movements that shall be correct and harmonious within the system. That is why I myself do not agree with the notion that a special American technique of fencing can be developed out of a mixture of elements selected from competing systems. Such eclecticism is, of course, typically American; but here, as everywhere else, it is the manifestation of a lack of style, such as we see when a Grecian building is surmounted by a Gothic steeple, or in a building that may be described as Queen Anne in front and Mary Ann behind. In other words, it seems to me better to take any style of fencing, like the French or the Italian, and develop it along its own lines than to attempt any admixture. Even though such admixtures should lead to success, we might easily be led astray in our evaluation of them.
Now, I believe that in some of the communities I have referred to, and perhaps even in more sophisticated communities, little harm and perhaps considerable good results to fencing in general from the individual who may set himself up as a teacher, after preparing himself chiefly by the study of a book. I say this after having undergone considerable irritation myself at seeing just that sort of thing happen in communities where I have lived. At first sight, it seemed to me that people were being deceived into the belief that they were being taught the art of fencing, whereas they were actually being mistaught movements that were so incorrect that they would later have to be unlearned if the pupil went on to a higher stage of the game. After teaching fencing to beginners for a considerable period of time, I have changed my mind to a considerable extent. In the first place, very few of the beginners ever go any farther. They find, if they ever do go on, that fencing is far from being so simple as they had thought, and they acquire a respect for accomplished technique, and perhaps an interest in and a certain knowledge about fencing that constitutes the necessary background for the inquisitive and interested spectator, without which no sport can be even remotely popular. They may become, like the baseball and football fans, a critical or fairly critical constituency for the sport. Even such futile endeavor in fencing as they may have been engaged in, might further an interest in the sport in general. For the more sophisticated beginner, one can only utter an emphatic "caveat emptor" and suggest that he secure the best teacher available. But all of us will agree, I think, that even the worst fencing is better than no fencing at all, and even the worst sort of a beginning may in certain cases develop into good or fairly good fencing if the interest of the individual is strong enough.
Moreover, even with relatively typical fencers it is plain that all of them diverge from a theoretical norm, much as all of us in our handwriting may develop individual peculiarities. Our peculiar physiological structures cause us to diverge widely from the styles of our friends, even though in the beginning we all started to imitate the identical Spencerian model for fine handwriting. If we should attempt to pass on these individual peculiarities, it is plain that we should be doomed to failure, except perhaps in those rare instances where a similarity of bodily structure and also of psychic temperament make the proposed imitation obvious and facile.
Finally, as a summing up of all this, it is hardly necessary to emphasize the fact that while it is fairly certain that nobody in the strict sense can teach what he does not know (although warnings are said to be quite as potent as examples), it is also equally obvious that not everybody—perhaps nobody—knows exactly what he does in specific cases, and also that not everybody can teach what he really does know. That is why we have in most fields of athletics especially great teachers who have not been great performers, and great or practically perfect performers who have been only poor or mediocre teachers.
