But How Do You Know?

One very common question that comes up with historical fencing research is, "How do you know you're right?" This challenge arises because there are no living traditions and we're all working out of manuals of varying quality and even what's available is limited in scope. Confounding matters are the influences of modern and classical fencing, alongside the emergent adaptations that come with SCA or HEMA practices. How do we know?

There are a few parts to the answer. First and foremost, it is 100% true that we can't ever be 100% certain, but that's also a boring, tedious, and specious bit of reasoning. If we make a few assumptions, we can actually figure out quite a lot:

1) My senses are not deceiving me in a meaningful sense, i.e. I am not a brain in a jar experiencing a vivid hallucination, etc.

2) My brain is very good at misleading my perceptions of my experiences to gloss over interference. We all have a big black dot in the middle of our vision that we successfully pretend isn't there, for example. 

3) The physics of macroscopic objects are extremely well understood.

4) Human anatomy as it relates to the musculoskeletal system is extremely well understood.

5) A more elegant solution is better than a less elegant solution. 

If you disagree with any of that, then I don't know how we can talk about much of anything. 

The next challenge to overcome is to understand what good evidence even looks like. There are not going to be studies that prove particular points if a study is unnecessary once you understand the concepts involved. There are no studies to show that a matchstick's flame and a stovetop both burn your skin in the same way: if you understand what heat is, that's all that's necessary. This is where a lot of people stumble, thinking that evidence is inconclusive because there isn't a definitive study out there proving that a particular way to lunge is better than others. Studies take time and effort and money, and such a topic is easily resolved by looking at the muscles involved and noticing, for example, that quadriceps are much larger than calves. If someone is sufficiently scientifically ignorant, no amount of evidence will satisfy them because it won't match their incorrect expectations.

It turns out that if we apply those 5 concepts above, we can become very certain we are right if we satisfy all of them, in turn using #5 as the litmus test for whether or not a competing interpretation is better or not.

Applying #1, we acknowledge that reality exists and that some interpretations will therefore be superior to others. Some differing methods may be equally good and also different (Thibault vs. Fabris give opposite advice for the same reasons regarding blade contact, for example), but some methods will also be objectively worse than others.

Applying #2, we acknowledge that familiar things likely feel more comfortable, even if they're worse. Our brains will mask many flaws as a matter of course, so initial ease is largely irrelevant. The science of gait analysis reveals that many people struggle with walking, despite being perfectly capable of getting around and having done so, albeit poorly, for decades. 

Applying #3, we acknowledge that any interpretation that contradicts classical mechanics is wrong. Full stop, wrong. F = ma, Newton's Laws of Motion are laws, and so on. You may not understand them fully (I don't!), but they are understood.

Applying #4, we acknowledge that human bodies all work more or less identically, and that the notion of "everyone is different" is true in the dangerously reductive sense of truth. Every body has some variance, and some obvious outliers exist (if I lose a few fingers, my fencing may have to make drastic alterations in relevant aspects), but the vast majority of differences are superficial and of secondary concern. You probably aren't very different from anyone else, and big muscles with better leverage are going to stronger than small muscles with less leverage. 

Applying #5, we acknowledge that #3 and #4 tell us which interpretations have more merit, and we also acknowledge that interpretations with fewer parts are likely to be better because of their efficiency. For example, lunging by pushing through your heel is a more elegant method than through the ball of your foot, since it uses larger muscles and fewer joints, thereby adding strength and stability. This is true even if your brain is used to the less elegant way and masks its inefficiencies from your perception.

How do we know things? By being scientific about our application and by applying rigor judiciously, then adhering to the best current interpretation right up until a better one comes along.

Nothing else works, period. And we know that, too.