In the eighteenth century, men carried swords, and fencing was taken rather seriously by anyone who followed the “open carry” policy of the times. Monsieur L’Abbat recognized that those who carried “small” swords would profit from his expertise. This recognized master swordsmen at the Academy of Toulouse wrote a book on the subject with chapters on “guard,” “pushing quart,” “feints,” and “fighting left-handed men.”* Not only does he explain his fencing principles and techniques, but he also provides a list of his main points.
Among his list of 43 points are the following five:
#5. “Be not angry at receiving a Thrust, but take care to avoid it.”
#7. “Do not endeavor to give many Thrusts, running the Risque [sic.] of receiving one.”
#11. “Do nothing that’s useless, every Action shou’d tend to your Advantage.”
#18. “Before you applaud a Thrust given, examine if Chance had no Hand in it.”
#19. “In Battle let Valour [sic.] and Prudence go together, the Lyon’s [sic.] Courage with the Fox’s Craft.”
As I read his points, I asked myself whether or not he is advising just swordsmen or everyone. Aren’t these fencing instructions applicable to our daily lives, particularly when we find ourselves in contentious circumstances? We might all agree that peaceful resolutions are preferable to violent ones, but sometimes we need to parry an attack and thrust home our point.
Boxers and martial artists know the first bit of advice that is a twofold principle for survival. In most arguments and matters of contention, someone is going to get through defenses—logical or physical. One can’t, however, let a punch, kick, or a “thrust” foil—to use a fencing term—one’s ability to both defend and counter. Turning to anger places control in the “fight or flight” amygdalae and often leads to rash behavior. Adrenalin associated with such a response is useful in moderation, but too much of it coursing through the body erases any previous training in defensive and offensive maneuvers. All professional fighters know they are going to be hit; they just can’t concentrate on the punch or kick that gets through, or they’ll lose their offensive capability. Also, as the second part of the advice suggests, the best place to be when someone throws a punch or starts a meaningless argument is somewhere else. No one can stab a person who isn’t in the area. If you aren’t in the same place as the attacker…
The second bit of advice tells us that those who “give many thrusts” have to be close to their opponents. Proximity means that the opponent has a chance to thrust the foil. And similarly, swinging wildly during a fight has more drawbacks than advantages. Arms extended in swings and thrusts eventually tire and leave the body and the head vulnerable to counter swings and thrusts.
The third bit is practical and is a matter of economy. In the heat of any battle—or any contentious encounter—all energy needs to be focused on the most efficient means to victory (however it is defined). Economy of action, like economy of an argument, achieves a goal rapidly.
The fourth bit of advice is rooted in the role chance plays in everyday life and special occasions. One might applaud an outdoor wedding’s beautiful setting under favorable skies, but since weddings usually require planning, the weather for the day is only a matter of chance, even in an arid climate: Strong winds and even sandstorms or excessive temperatures can spoil the day. It would be foolish to think that luck plays no role, and that skill is the only avenue to success. Footballs are oddly shaped and bounce erratically. That someone is facing the goal and recovers a fumble and then runs uncontested for a score isn’t always a matter of training and prowess. The goddess Fortuna likes to meddle in all sorts of human affairs, including arguments and physical conflicts. Numerous battles have turned on her wheel of fortuitous or inimical circumstances, such as the heavy rains that altered the battles at Fort Necessity and at Agincourt (the latter by chance occurring after ploughing, forcing the French knights to ride through heavy mud).
In his fifth bit of advice, L’Abbat recognizes the role of courage, but only in conjunction with skill, technique, practiced responses, and some unexpected creative moves. Alexander’s crossing the river toward his Persian enemy took considerable courage, but its unexpectedness is what foiled the enemy’s will. Creativity’s role is evident in many human interactions, especially in battles of any kind. Scipio’s having his men step aside while his Carthagenian opponent’s elephants charged, enabled him to hit the beasts from the side and from behind. Whenever we fall into recognizable patterns, we lose the element of surprise. In any swordfight or argument, the more creative person has a decided advantage.
Ours is not an age of swashbucklers, but it is an age with seemingly interminable thrusts that require parries. In a time when people don’t carry swords, ideologues who wander about under a policy of “open carry opinions” try to thrust their points on others. Almost three centuries after he wrote The Art of Fencing, L’Abbat provides advice still applicable not only to physical confrontations, but also to our current mental ones.
*Monsieur L’Abbat, The Art of Fencing, or, the Use of the Small Sword, translated by Andrew Mahon, himself a “professor of the small sword in Dublin, Printed by James Hort, at the Sign of Mercury in Skinner-Row, 1734, and available online at https://www.gutenberg.org/files/12135/12135-h/12135-h.htm#CHAP_XXVI
Among his list of 43 points are the following five:
#5. “Be not angry at receiving a Thrust, but take care to avoid it.”
#7. “Do not endeavor to give many Thrusts, running the Risque [sic.] of receiving one.”
#11. “Do nothing that’s useless, every Action shou’d tend to your Advantage.”
#18. “Before you applaud a Thrust given, examine if Chance had no Hand in it.”
#19. “In Battle let Valour [sic.] and Prudence go together, the Lyon’s [sic.] Courage with the Fox’s Craft.”
As I read his points, I asked myself whether or not he is advising just swordsmen or everyone. Aren’t these fencing instructions applicable to our daily lives, particularly when we find ourselves in contentious circumstances? We might all agree that peaceful resolutions are preferable to violent ones, but sometimes we need to parry an attack and thrust home our point.
Boxers and martial artists know the first bit of advice that is a twofold principle for survival. In most arguments and matters of contention, someone is going to get through defenses—logical or physical. One can’t, however, let a punch, kick, or a “thrust” foil—to use a fencing term—one’s ability to both defend and counter. Turning to anger places control in the “fight or flight” amygdalae and often leads to rash behavior. Adrenalin associated with such a response is useful in moderation, but too much of it coursing through the body erases any previous training in defensive and offensive maneuvers. All professional fighters know they are going to be hit; they just can’t concentrate on the punch or kick that gets through, or they’ll lose their offensive capability. Also, as the second part of the advice suggests, the best place to be when someone throws a punch or starts a meaningless argument is somewhere else. No one can stab a person who isn’t in the area. If you aren’t in the same place as the attacker…
The second bit of advice tells us that those who “give many thrusts” have to be close to their opponents. Proximity means that the opponent has a chance to thrust the foil. And similarly, swinging wildly during a fight has more drawbacks than advantages. Arms extended in swings and thrusts eventually tire and leave the body and the head vulnerable to counter swings and thrusts.
The third bit is practical and is a matter of economy. In the heat of any battle—or any contentious encounter—all energy needs to be focused on the most efficient means to victory (however it is defined). Economy of action, like economy of an argument, achieves a goal rapidly.
The fourth bit of advice is rooted in the role chance plays in everyday life and special occasions. One might applaud an outdoor wedding’s beautiful setting under favorable skies, but since weddings usually require planning, the weather for the day is only a matter of chance, even in an arid climate: Strong winds and even sandstorms or excessive temperatures can spoil the day. It would be foolish to think that luck plays no role, and that skill is the only avenue to success. Footballs are oddly shaped and bounce erratically. That someone is facing the goal and recovers a fumble and then runs uncontested for a score isn’t always a matter of training and prowess. The goddess Fortuna likes to meddle in all sorts of human affairs, including arguments and physical conflicts. Numerous battles have turned on her wheel of fortuitous or inimical circumstances, such as the heavy rains that altered the battles at Fort Necessity and at Agincourt (the latter by chance occurring after ploughing, forcing the French knights to ride through heavy mud).
In his fifth bit of advice, L’Abbat recognizes the role of courage, but only in conjunction with skill, technique, practiced responses, and some unexpected creative moves. Alexander’s crossing the river toward his Persian enemy took considerable courage, but its unexpectedness is what foiled the enemy’s will. Creativity’s role is evident in many human interactions, especially in battles of any kind. Scipio’s having his men step aside while his Carthagenian opponent’s elephants charged, enabled him to hit the beasts from the side and from behind. Whenever we fall into recognizable patterns, we lose the element of surprise. In any swordfight or argument, the more creative person has a decided advantage.
Ours is not an age of swashbucklers, but it is an age with seemingly interminable thrusts that require parries. In a time when people don’t carry swords, ideologues who wander about under a policy of “open carry opinions” try to thrust their points on others. Almost three centuries after he wrote The Art of Fencing, L’Abbat provides advice still applicable not only to physical confrontations, but also to our current mental ones.
*Monsieur L’Abbat, The Art of Fencing, or, the Use of the Small Sword, translated by Andrew Mahon, himself a “professor of the small sword in Dublin, Printed by James Hort, at the Sign of Mercury in Skinner-Row, 1734, and available online at https://www.gutenberg.org/files/12135/12135-h/12135-h.htm#CHAP_XXVI
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