 Challenges
and Rewards
Translating and
Working with Sources of Mare
By David Kite
ARMA Scholar
December 2012
 Uniquely
among the martial arts of the world, students of the martial arts of Europe
have at their disposal numerous records detailing the application of close
personal combat. These primary sources exist as both textual and pictorial
documents, and while the number of surviving sources grows beginning about
the 18th century, for our period (about 1300 to 1650 AD), they are much
more rare. However, since many of these works have become available, either
in print or online, the average practitioner has an unprecedented opportunity
to study them on their own. Working directly with these materials provides
many benefits to the martial arts student, but it also poses a number
of challenges. This essay discusses some of those challenges, as well
as illuminates some of the invaluable benefits gained from working directly
with the source material.
Parallel to the availability of sources in general, for many years,
one of the major challenges and limitations facing the martial arts practitioner
was simply a lack of translations. Even the works originally written in
English were difficult to understand, partly due to the archaic language,
and partly due to the lack of a broader understanding of the art. Today,
a large number of manuals are available in translation, but many important
works remain untranslated. However, even available works can be difficult
to find on the web, and even modern printed editions have limited print
runs, so copies can be difficult to come by.
However, even the availability of translations presents its own challenges,
particularly when they are ambiguous or inaccurate, which becomes apparent
in the case of multiple translation of the same work. Every translation
is inherently also an interpretation, so it is important to remember that
no matter how literal or accurate a translation, it is still filtered
through the lens of the translator. As such, it is subject not only to
that individual's understanding of the art of fighting, but also the original
language, the original author's intent, as well as the translator's ability
to translate that meaning into his own language.
Translating a text is certainly no easy task. Reading often poorly legible
scripts written in archaic languages is difficult enough. However, even
when reading and understanding a text becomes fairly straightforward,
deciding how best to render it in another language so that it is both
understandable and remains faithful to the original adds quite a lot of
complexity to the process. Often, words have different meanings depending
on context, if they can even be efficiently translated at all, and when
translating, choosing one word over another can drastically alter an interpretation
or obfuscate meaning.
It is easy to assume that working with a source written in the native
language of the reader (albeit an ancient version) would mitigate these
problems, but this is not necessarily the case. Variations in spelling
is the most obvious problem encountered, but is also the most easily surmountable.
More difficult are archaic standards of syntax and grammar. English works
specifically are, in a word, verbose. The written language, in many cases,
was much closer to the spoken language than it is today, with the result
that frequently labyrinthine sentences often span the bulk of a single
page and more.1
The contents of our source materials can provide more difficult challenges.
The completeness of a work, and even the level of detail either in the
text or illustrations can have a dramatic affect on the reader's understanding.
In longer technical works, such as master Joachim Meyer's Gründtliche
Beschreibung, information and explanations of useful fighting concepts
are not always presented in complete or discrete chunks. Because most
fighting concepts are universally applicable across weapons, information
introduced in one section may be further expounded upon in one or more
later sections. As a result, it becomes important to read an entire work
in order to gain a more complete understanding of an author's teachings,
even if you are not interested in a particular weapon. This is problematic
if a work is not available in its entirety, such as Paulus Hector Mair's
manuscripts. Although scans of two of his entire treatises are available,
translations of the whole work currently are not.
Further complicating this is the fact that not all of our surviving
materials were intended to be instructional works, or include entire methods.
The "Solothurner Fechtbuch," for example, provides numerous
illustrations but no accompanying text, and seems to have been intended
as a presentation piece, much like a modern coffee table book.2 Other
works, such as MS Harley 3542 ("Man yt Wol") demonstrate somewhat
the opposite problem; that of sparse or cryptic text with no illustrations.
The 14th century verses of the master Johannes Liechtenauer could be included
here if it weren't for the fortunate survival of several copies with accompanying
glosses.
Finally, one of the most challenging, as well as potentially the most
limiting, aspects of working with the source material is how to actually
use them. These challenges and limitations can be manifest in how we view
both the text and the illustrations. Swordsmith Peter Johnsson remarked
in his lecture on Medieval sword design that a sword is a thing designed
to be in motion.3 These martial arts
are no different; they are an activity. Their texts describe motion. The
illustrations are two-dimensional static representations of three dimensional
figures in motion. It is very easy to approach these source works with
false assumptions, particularly in terms of range and timing or leverage,
and also the fluid nature of personal combat. How literally are we to
interpret this material? When we see an illustration of a figure standing
in guard facing an opponent at sword's length, should we assume we are
also to "stand in guard" at a comparable length? If we see a
technique illustrated with a certain foot position, range, or binding
at a certain point on his opponent's blade, are we to assume our application
must follow suit exactly? Or do we have room to maneuver? The same
is true of textual descriptions. When explaining a technique or fighting
concept, the authors often went beyond explaining just the technique or
concept itself, adding important but otherwise extraneous material. It
is often difficult to determine what are actually the important details
of the technique or concept itself, and what is simply an action leading
up to, or following from it.
Similarly, when two sources present a technique in similar ways but
with dissimilar details, are we to believe the authors actually had different
understandings of that technique or concept, or that the techniques are
actually different? Or were their explanations simply two different applications?
In other words, are we missing the forest for the trees? For example,
what is it exactly that makes the strike known as a Krumphau a
Krumphau, or what is the underlying concept of the duplieren
explained by Sigmund Ringeck? Can we diverge from his example technique
and still be faithful to the duplieren concept, or is the divergence
a bastardization?
Despite these difficulties, however, there are many worthwhile benefits.
Working directly with the surviving source material provides a much more
intimate understanding of these martial arts. Any historian will laud
the value of studying primary sources over secondary sources. While working
with a secondary source certainly has merit, and can provide very detailed
information about a subject, it can never be more than a study or survey.
By contrast, the primary source is the history. In working with
primary sources, we are therefore not limited to modern interpretations
of historical context. In most cases, and in varying amounts of detail,
the authors expound upon their own views and opinions. Reading primary
sources tells us exactly what the authors said, and how they understood
the art (supposing of course they were successful in clearly articulating
their meaning).4
Working with original languages has similar benefits to working with
primary sources in general. In doing so we gain a deeper understanding
of the primary source itself, as well as the author's intent and the martial
art in general, without having it filtered through the lens of a translator.
Where most secondary sources such as history books tell us about a topic,
even a translation of a primary source only gives us the translator's
interpretation of the author's meaning, as discussed above. This remains
true even when you yourself are the translator, but here there is no intermediary,
and the transmission is more direct.
Building from this, working directly with more than one source will
also deepen our understanding. As stated earlier, different sources provide
different details, and in varying quantities and qualities. By studying
more than one source, we can use one to inform our interpretation of another.
Hans Talhoffer's early 15th century fight manuscripts, for example, provide
little textual information. It is only after we have gained an understanding
of the martial arts from other, more robust, sources that we can then
appreciate what Talhoffer offers us.
Another benefit stems from the simple advantage that a written tradition
has over an oral tradition. Unlike most Asian martial arts as they are
practiced, we actually have written catalogs of our martial art. Instead
of relying solely on our own memory, or even the memory of our instructors,
we can use our source material as reference guides, which was certainly
one of their original functions. As a result, we know we are practicing
an authentic martial art. We don't need to take it on faith from someone
who must admit they also are taking it on faith. Another advantage of
this is that our art, in essence, is frozen in time. Provided, of course,
that our interpretations are correct, we know that a given element or
technique was used in a given area at a given time. We can also be reasonably
certain that the materials have not mutated or deteriorated in their effectiveness
due to the "living tradition" haunting many Asian martial arts.
While the source material does not, and cannot, provide a comprehensive
catalog of lessons, we can still be reasonably certain of what the Art
comprised.
Speaking for myself, the greatest reward is the satisfaction I get from
the study for its own sake. By working directly with the source material,
I am able to see things for myself. I am able to pursue my own course,
answer my own questions, make my own discoveries, and draw my own conclusions.
When I find myself facing the many challenges this pursuit entails, overcoming
the challenges becomes its own reward.
Notes:
1 For a demonstration
of what I mean by the difference between a spoken and written language,
try reading aloud a paragraph or two from a book (scholarly works are
especially illuminating), or even this essay, and listen to how it sounds.
Then, record a conversation between you and a friend, or just you speaking
freely about a topic, and then transcribe it exactly as spoken. The differences
should be readily apparent. This may also explain why when someone reads
a speech they have written, it often sounds stilted or incomprehensible
when compared to someone who simply speaks while giving a lecture.
2 David Lindholm refers
to these types of manuals as "books of splendor" in his article
"Das Solothurner Fechtbuch: Giving it Voice," contained
in Masters of Medieval and Renaissance Martial Arts (ed. John Clements).
He includes "certain Talhoffer" manuals and the manual of Paulus
Kal among them, and stresses that these manuals are "books first
and manuals for fighting second." He further suggests that these
manuals were commissioned as works of art and as aids to memory, as opposed
to didactic presentations.
3 This was a fascinating
lecture, is discussed on several forums, and as of this writing is available
for viewing here: http://forums.dfoggknives.com/index.php?showtopic=23706&pid=223115&st=0&#entry223115
4 Unfortunately, one
major danger with taking primary sources at their word is the issue of
copy errors, a problem which plagues both manuscripts and printed books
alike. Even copies of a book within a single print run can have substantial
variations, as errors were discovered and amended during the printing
process, and earlier copies were not always corrected.
See
Also:
Between
Canon and Art
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