Time and the Sword — Also, Sword & Laser Interview!

Time works differently when there are swords involved.

I don’t mean by that the old “everything moves in slow motion” adrenaline-pumping effect associated with true oh-shit-I-will-die-in-the-next-ten-seconds panic.  That kind of adrenal time-dilation goes away after your first few minutes on a fencing strip, if you ever feel it at all—a modern fencer is as safe as anyone in history ever has been when menaced with a blunt blade.  The blade’s made to bend, not pierce.  You, intrepid D’Artagnan, are  wrapped in kevlar-reinforced armor and wear a ballistic-test mask that makes the sport almost completely unmarketable due to the fact that all players appear to be transformations of the same white-jacket-and-cheese-grater 3d model.  (I guess we could maybe wear different color socks?)

No, I mean that time is more flexible.  Controllable.  Traversable.  Amenable to influence.

We’re conditioned—especially those of us who grow up in the US-schools environment—to waiting for the next stimulus from the outside world and responding accordingly.  We don’t often think about adjusting the tempo of the world around us; email comes in and must be answered.  Walk sign turns to little dude and the street must be crossed.  Onions are browned, garlic must be added.

Fencing, though, puts you on equal footing with “the outside world”—reduced and concentrated on the strip in the form of some dude with a sword.  The outside world wants to stab you.  The outside world moves in patterns—maybe it likes a 1-2 disengage for example, or  advance lunges.  The outside world not only knows how it wants to attack you, it knows how you’re likely to respond to its  attack, and as a result it knows how to set traps.  And so on and so forth.  If you limit yourself to pure reaction, you end up frantic, at the mercy of the outside world’s time, and that’s a loser’s game.  Give the outside world enough time, and it will skewer you.  Sometimes it will skewer you on accident.

Fortunately, you have a sword, and can reclaim time for yourself.

For example: I have a tendency to retreat when I’m in a bind—say, when I’ve been caught in a parry.  I’m a reasonably athletic guy; I can retreat very quickly, and most of the time get myself out of danger.  But that “RUN AWAY!” move is pretty limited: among other problems, it only works at one speed (as fast as possible!), which makes it easy for a smart opponent to incorporate into his (or her) game.  Once I start the move, I have very little control.

But if, instead of running away, I stay in the bind—well, then things get interesting.  Held as I am in a parry, I can nevertheless choose how and when to try my next attack on a different angle.  I can sense when my opponent begins her (or his) riposte, and perhaps catch her in a bind of her own.  I can begin infighting (basically trying to find a way to stab the other fencer even though we’re way too close for proper stabbing) immediately, or I can create an extra beat or two of room, waiting for my opponent to make a mistake.  I can build tension by drawing out an action, or I can break it by pressing rapidly for advantage.  An simple change presents me with a huge range of options for shaping time.

Now, I don’t think the message here is “commit to the attack”—since part of the reason I feel like I see more options by staying in the bind is that I’m not just listening to instinct.  Staying in the bind, I feel like Frank Herbert’s human being in the trap; by suppressing the animal response (“move as fast as possible to save myself!”) I’m able to see a whole range of other options and approaches to time.  It’s possible that a fencer whose natural tendency was to bull-rush into engagements might see more options if she were to retreat instead; I don’t know.  I’m no coach.  I barely know which end of the sword goes in the other guy.

But I think this sense of time control applies beyond the martial arts.  It’s easiest to see there, because the whole outside world gets reduced to the form of our opponent—but the same issues apply to ethical dilemmas, to email, to love and poetry and boardroom meetings.  How do we instinctively respond to stimuli?  How can we open up more options for ourselves?  How can we create room to play about inside our own lives?  In a way this is just another face of the karmic determination issue to which I’ve returned again and again over the last few weeks.  (Fence for social justice!)

Tempo, by Venkatesh Rao, is a great book on this very subject, if you want to read the musings of someone who actually knows what he’s talking about.  Or, you know, you could get yourself an epee and find a gym!

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A few postscripts!

1: I was on the Sword & Laser podcast last week!  The show is totally cool, I had a great time, and you can see it here now:

2. A while back I posted a link to this piece of killer fan art for Choice of the Deathless, by Piarelle on DeviantArt.  I may have mentioned back then that I love fan art—there’s no feeling like the sense you’ve inspired someone to create something awesome.  Someone must have wanted to ensure I had a great week, because a couple days ago designer Glinda Chen sent me this amazing piece based on Two Serpents Rise.  Thumbnail below, click through for full glory:

Isn’t that awesome?

Hope y’all are having a great week!  See you around.