The Weekly Warfare   Musings martial from across the SCA

Ruairc Ua Aedh, or however it is his people choose to call themselves, has talked about “the one percent” left over after one accounted for the “why” and “how” of swordplay. He called it many things. The “headspace” or the “mental game.” As he put it, “ethereal” and a “nebulous arcane cluster of concepts.” The grave mistakes which he bravely described in his essay–and I must give him credit for having the strength of character to own and dissect his mistakes for the good of others–present an interesting question which he did not answer. Why did this happen? A rapier fighter with far more battle experience than myself acted brashly and endangered his teammates. I cannot speak for the Irishman, nor can I blame the sudden lapse on his birth (I’ve met my fair share of gentle Irishmen who don’t give to wanton anger. And likewise, some of my own countrymen whose tempers could set houses ablaze.)

That remaining one percent, I contend, is not as intangible as one might think. That one percent is biology. Specifically, the emotional brain. We forget that, ultimately, we are animals. Chimps with sticks, if you will. A bit over-simplified, but not without merit. The emotional brain governs those unconscious parts of our behavior that “just happen.” Sometimes, it gets in the way. Other times, it’s immensely useful. I think one important component that gets overlooked sometimes is the “Fight or Flight” response. The Adrenaline Rush. This is one that rapier teachers should keep in mind concerning new students.

A word about myself: I have a heightened, almost hair-trigger “fight or flight” response of my own; I was not always like this. Unfortunately, it is common for people with severe anxiety, particularly that brought on by military service, a car crash, a near-fatal injury, or some other form of severe or excruciating trauma. The root cause of my hair-trigger is not important to this situation. What is important, however, is that I find myself everyday navigating the fine line between Fight and Flight. It is a struggle.

Before I continue, ask yourself this: Why do you get angry when you lose? Do you ever freeze, even for a second, when you see the tip of your enemy’s sword coming head-on once you realize that there is nothing you can do about it? Do you remember how you felt the first time you tried to fight, whether at practice or at an event? How long did it take before you stopped flinching in a mêlée? Or do you still flinch? Panic grips you, even if it’s fleeting. Why panic? You’re in no danger, aren’t you?

Aren’t you?

Every time we cross blades, we engage that instinct. And as Ruairc demonstrated, you can’t wholly train it out of someone. In fact, we don’t want to. Consider an animal. The more desperate their situation, the more wild and panicked they become. The desire for flight necessitates a fight, particularly if there is a predator at hand. We must remember that it is only quite recently did we really hold dominion over the earth and all of its creatures–and even that part is debateable. None of our direct ancestors were predators. For as long as small furry creatures have been around, we in some shape or form have been prey. There is not a single primate on earth that can brandish the title of “Apex Predator.” They might eat smaller creatures, but there has always been something bigger to eat them. I mention this in order to introduce another point: evolution is highly conservative. The traits that work best stick around. As a result, the instincts and behaviors nestled in the emotional brain have been refined over millions of years. Thus, aggression is not predatory; it is a response to perceived mortal peril–namely, fear. Similarly, anger is the pursuit of dominance; when we assert dominance over another living being, we control it and thus protect ourselves from that very being. There is no human alive who can easily tolerate helplessness. Even in a fight, it is a sickening feeling to know that you are wholly at the mercy of your host–you can only hope that you will get away alive if he’s feeling generous that day.

But wait. We live in a time of modern comforts. This is not our way of life; it is a recreation, something we do on weekends in our leisure time. We’re not living in trees constantly on the lookout for hawks and leopards; nor are we living in hutches in a time when human life itself had little value. Why, then, panic over anything?

The emotional brain, the “flight or fight” response, the whole array of subtle instincts and quirky behaviors innate to primates still remains very useful. The emotional brain can override the rational brain, but at the end of the day the man most likely to survive the fight is the man who can walk away before it begins. In fact, one could argue that “flight or fight” is how human intelligence gradually evolve. Another discussion for another time. It is wrong to think of the emotional brain and the rational brain as somehow opposing forces. They work together, often without us realizing it.

Begin with the novice. We all were at one time. The “flight or fight” response overrides most everything else once in a fight. There is no technique, but there is the unshakeable will to survive. The people who choose to stay and fight become better swordsmen. The ones who walk away live to see another day. With fewer bruises. The novice picks up technique through both conditioned behavior and through deep thought. Here is the interplay of emotion and reason. The emotional brain governs “muscle memory” while the rational brain breaks down each move and justifies why that is “the right way.”

After this point, the game changes. Our emotional brain has all the tools we need to win a fight, but it needs the direction of the rational brain. In a true fight-to-the-death, we could probably rely heavily on instinct and ingrained skill. The faster and quicker-thinking of the two would win. There’s much more at stake. But we are fighting for sport, not for country. Primarily we need our rational brain to pull us back, to remind us to stay safe and that we are not actually in mortal peril. And yet, we need that emotional brain to believe with just enough intensity that our lives are in grave danger.

Thus, there is that delicate balance. The “mental game” as our Irishmen deftly put it. However, I don’t think that the “mental game” has all that much to do with our host. Very skilled swordsmen can afford the occasional move that spooks the opponent and throws them off just enough to force a mistake. But survival is rarely a game of wits; rather, it has more to do with a test of wills. Are you ruthless enough to dominate and thoroughly vanquish your enemy before he can do the same to you? The “mental game” instead is how we weigh the emotional and the rational. There are a multitude of ways to do this, no doubt a part of it being that you engage and distract the rational brain just enough to let the emotional brain do its part. And naturally, either one can get pulled into a different direction just a little bit before suddenly, we’re off-kilter. That off-kilter feeling can cause a cascade and suddenly, “Fight or Flight” takes over completely. This is when it is crucial, in the games we play, to obey the “Flight” part of that response. I am not ashamed of the number of bouts from which I have walked away because of that instinct’s sudden grip on my psyche.

Mêlée presents probably the biggest challenge for any beginner because that is when the danger feels most real. This is also when the individual has the least amount of control, instead suddenly at the mercy of both opponents and allies. A mêlée is when fencers are most dangerous because they are measuring their response to the perceived peril around them. Chaos has never been kind to the human brain.

But where does that leave us?

This means a small shift in language and thought. Rather than constantly reining in that response, it should be re-channeled. The “Fight or Flight” response is both the boon and bane of our sport (and every sport, for that matter), so it must be taken in those equal measures. When teaching students, we should immediately introduce the concept and reassure them that they are going to panic. If anything, they need to just let the panic happen and move through it. The sooner we can actively desensitize ourselves to the triggering situation and the panic itself, the safer we will be in our sport. The recognition of this response is especially important for trying to teach people with that hair-trigger as these students have special needs. If a teacher can recognize how acute the response is in the student, the better they can help the student overcome this additional barrier to improvement. Fighting becomes an insurmountable challenge if you fear that one extra blow will make you utterly snap.

This is only the beginning of the discussion, of course. As Ruairc pointed out, the masters of yore did not discuss this so-called “mental game.” But they didn’t because there was no need. A skilled swordsman could never approach his fight the way we do now–he simply didn’t have that luxury. Times have changed. The masters still have much to teach us about this timeless art. But let’s not forget that we live in a different era. Perhaps it will be left to one of us to pen our own manuals.