Considering Kata and The Flower of Battle

Deborah Klens-Bigman, Ph.D.

In the dark days of October 2001, I covered the Western Martial Arts Workshops for FightingArts.com, the online martial arts journal. The event was held at Riverside Church, a Gothic Revival warren of mullioned windows and dim lighting on Manhattan's Upper West Side. It was a difficult time generally, and some of the non-New Yorker participants lamented the cancelled flights that prevented this or that renowned European teacher from attending. We locals were mostly happy to be alive. I found it comforting to immerse myself in a mock-medieval world that was so removed from what the past month had brought (but with some decidedly modern twists, such as women participants' zeal for whacking each other (and men) with broadswords).

During the course of the weekend, I happened on Bob Charron's class, based on the teachings of the Flos Duellatorum (also called "Fior di Battaglia") - in plain English - "The Flower of Battle." Charron has spent many years researching, translating, and finally interpreting the techniques laid out in this 15th century manuscript, authored (more or less, as these things go), by a gentleman named Fiore dei Liberi.

Fiore dei Liberi was an Italian master who was probably born around 1350 and died sometime before the mid-15th century. He was well-educated for his times, as were his noble students. According to the Flos, he studied combat arts for 40 years, and successfully fought five famous duels before setting pen to paper – er – vellum.

Fiore eventually attained a post as a master at arms at the court of Nicolo III, Count D’Este. The Flos was written for the noble, well-educated elite of this sophisticated court. It is the second oldest manual of combat arts found thus far in the West (the oldest is a 13th century fragment on fighting known as Tower Manuscript I.33).

There are three extant versions of the Flos, named for the library collections where they may be found: the Getty-Ludwig, the Pierpont-Morgan, and the Pissani-Dossi (also called the Novati). Scholars believe the three manuscripts were student copies made around 1410. Fiore’s original text has not been found, at least not yet.

Of all of them, the Getty is apparently the most complete, containing lavish illustrations and whole paragraphs of text describing fighting techniques. The Morgan copy is less complete than the Getty, containing fewer techniques, but it also has a fair amount of descriptive text. The Pissani-Dossi version consists of the illustrations with rhyming couplets rather than much prose text.

What is most interesting to students of the martial arts (and not just Western martial arts) is the structure of the Flos. The techniques themselves begin simply and become increasingly complex. At the beginning of the Flos, the partners engage in empty-hand techniques. As the MS continues, the partners advance to daggers, then swords, and finally, to lance techniques on horseback. It is not simply the progression that is worth noting; Charrron's work on the Flos suggests that the principles and techniques introduced in the empty-hand sections are utilized again and again with various weapons. (I do not know if Charron's investigation has led him to reproduce the horseback techniques for analysis. I think at least, not yet.)

Techniques are depicted between individuals of unequal skill, since this is, indeed, a teaching manual. One, who wears a crown, is obviously a master, while the uncrowned partner is apparently, a student, or “scholar.” In advanced techniques, both partners wear crowns, with the higher-ranking person identified by a garter worn under one knee. These later sections introduce counters to previously successful techniques.

Then there is the segno, a plate inserted in the manuscript after the illustrations of basic stances in the Novati version (Figure1).

Figure 1 - The Segno. Flos Duellatorum Pissani-Dosi MS Carta 17 A.

The plate shows a man surrounded by animals from a Medieval bestiary. At the top, above the man’s head, is a lynx holding a pair of calipers. At his right sits a lion and at his left hand, a tiger, who holds an arrow. At his feet, there is an elephant, bearing a castle on his back. According to Charron, the animals represent philosophical concepts that would have been recognizable to any educated person of the time, including Fiore’s noble students.

The lynx, with his calipers, represents precision and reason. The lion stands for justice and the law, while the tiger opposite him represents speed and impetuosity. The assumption is that the opposites control each other; i.e. the noble lion controls the wild tiger. The elephant represents strength, stability and maybe also reliability.

In between the animals are descriptions of the various guard positions (what we would call kamae). The qualities of the different guards relate to the characteristics of the animals depicted.

One of the differences often cited between Western and Asian martial arts is the lack of metaphysical concepts underlying practice. It’s like Fiore was reading our wistfully collective minds by providing what was a state-of-the-art (at the time) philosophical basis for his techniques.

But perhaps the most striking similarity to Asian martial arts techniques is that the Flos was not written to teach battle skills per se. The noble author was actually writing for, and teaching, his noble patrons. The techniques outlined in the Flos could conceivably be used for self-defense, but one of its key purposes was to train young noblemen to acquit themselves well in tournaments and other gentlemanly tests of martial skill, such as officially sanctioned duels. While this might disappoint some, when you look at the Flos it is not hard to believe. The Flos falls into line with later Western manuals of swordsmanship in that people with means, who might command, but are not that likely to actually fight on the battlefield, would also have the resources and time to formally train.

The Flos and Fiore’s career suggest he was teaching what in use, temperament and structure was a Western martial art. Unfortunately, in the way of things Western, Fiore’s art gave way to more complicated, technically advanced means of fighting. Until Charron, it seems no one really took seriously the idea that modern a martial artist could bring Fiore’s ancient system back to life after more than five centuries of neglect. So, here’s the question: Can one really recreate a Western martial art?

Japanese martial practices are to some extent passed down - physically, verbally, even pictorially in some cases. It is generally acknowledged that not all elements of a given style have taken the march through time. Some techniques have been preserved and others given up (I think this is at least as likely as to assume they have been “forgotten.”) Tamiya Ryu Iaijutsu, Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto Ryu and Yagyu Shinkage Ryu are examples of martial traditions that have been in almost continuous practice. All of these styles have scrolls created by teachers and students that have been handed down through generations of practitioners, but, more importantly, the techniques have been kinetically passed along. Scrolls are not videotape; like Fiore’s Flos, they are keys to technique and aids to memory rather than step-by-step how to’s. Without physical practice, the scrolls (or vellum) have little meaning in themselves.

Of course some other Japanese arts are also recreated (think judo) or even invented (think ninpo). (1). Nearly all Japanese martial practices lapsed during the Western Occupation after the Pacific War. Some teachers died in the interim, some gave up. Some modified techniques to make them less "martial," partly as a condition of being allowed to teach them again, in some form, or out of a sense of defying Japan's early 20th century militarism. A small few were able to keep their practices more or less intact, through what I expect was stubborn determination.

Some say all martial arts are "re-created," as the reasons for practice have evolved over time, from possible actual fighting techniques to a middle-class recreational pursuit, to pick an extreme line of progression. Every generation finds its own reason for practice. Looked at in this way, arguments for “authenticity” are moot (see Donohue 1997).

That does not stop some practitioners from romantically yearning for some sort of "authenticity," not realizing that it is a naïve idea. Perhaps they hope against hope that some miraculously detailed scroll, together with some ancient proto-video tape or magic lantern show exists that shows some long-ago master performing techniques as he originally conceived them.

Some may assume that a manual like the Flos affords more re- creative detail than art forms that are passed down over time, like a fly caught in amber. The Flos has several tantalizing aspects that would make one think it was feasible - clear illustrations, a logical order, a philosophical underpinning that, though based in a Medieval way of thinking, is somewhat intelligible to us today. However, in all likelihood, we are only perceiving a reasonable facsimile of what Medieval teachers like Fiore were thinking. Charron's work shows that it is possible to devise a system of martial arts training based on Fiore's manuscript, even if questions of authenticity are obviously impossible to settle with any finality.

But is the Flos actually better, somehow less intruded upon by modern sensibilities, sitting forever in three antique book collections, unsullied by interpretations of subsequent masters, serene in its glass coffin - I mean case - like Snow White, until the handsome prince, Charron or some other educated guy, wakes it with the kiss of acquired knowledge?

It ain't necessarily so; at least, I don't think so.

Charron, for his part, has worked for years on interpreting the techniques depicted in the Flos, but he is no way satisfied that he understands what is really happening in some of them. His research, done in comparison study with other techniques we know were done in the same time period, has led him down enough blind alleys to give him a healthy sense of self-doubt about what he is doing.

For example, the verses in the Pisani-Dossi (Novati) version that accompany these ancient masters, students, and ubermasters are obscure to say the least:

I’m well ready to throw you to the ground:

If you don’t have the contrary, I’ll do it now (Fiore n.d. 3).

Though there is some technical description in the other two versions, there isn’t much, and a certain amount is obscured by both the dialects (an ancient Northern Italian mixed with Latin) and the poetic sensibility of the author. Charron has found that the illustrations seem to be accurate, as far as they go.

But the biggest sticking point for Charron is the philosophical concepts that surround and underpin Fiore's techniques. When I asked Charron about the meanings in the segno, he responded that we had to look at it with the mind of a Medieval noble. Easy for him to say; unfortunately, I seem to have left my medieval mind in my other suit. Here is the thing; When we look at the elephant that is depicted at the feet of the man in the segno for example, we see an animal that most of us have seen in zoos, a few of us have seen as work animals (or maybe on TV), and virtually none of us have ever seen live, in the wild. However, to a Medieval European, even a noble one, an elephant was a fantastic creature. To cite an example, let’s look at Medieval scholar Isidore’s description of far-away, more or less human, creatures:

The Cynocephali are so called because they have dogs’ heads and their very barking betrays them as beasts rather than men. These are born in India…The Blemmyes, born in Libya, are believed to be headless trunks, having mouth and eyes in the breast…(in Lowney 2005, 18)

We should note that Isidore’s Etymologies was consulted for up to ten centuries after its 6th century composition. Scholar Chris Lowney notes ten new editions of Isidore’s work were produced after the 1400’s, right up through Fiore’s time (2005, 19). That Fiore used an elephant to represent stability and reliability may make sense to us, we think, but what the hell did it mean to him? I mean really?

In my purely anecdotal and admittedly limited study of Japanese sword kata (and in other classical movement forms, like Japanese classical dance and Western ballet), the transmission from body to body has worked well. Notation for ballet did not exist until recently and even at that, interpreting it assumes, and requires, knowledge of ballet technique, or it is all but useless. Moreover, it is by no means a complete description. Movement notation is more like a set of reference points to hang the memory of the dance on. Revivals of say, Balanchine ballets are enormously influenced and helped along by dancers who originally took part in them. They, in turn, train other dancers, who, in turn, will pass along knowledge of Balanchine's techniques and choreography to generations to come (at least, as long as people are buying season tickets). The tragedy of Martha Graham's company not being allowed to perform her work due to a copyright dispute is not that we simply can't see it, but that it may be lost altogether in twenty years or so, as the people who trained with her are unable to pass it, physically, along. Anyone who sees live dance as opposed to film or videotaped performances knows exactly what I mean. Video is the vellum manuscript of today. It records the dance, but it is not the dance.

This is because body-to-body is also mind-to-mind. As most experienced iaidoka know, the kuden (spoken tradition) is as important as physical training.
Though my study of sword forms is unique and necessarily small, it always impresses me to see someone else do Muso Shinden Ryu, for example, and to easily recognize kata. Instructor Phil Ortiz recently treated one of our New York Budokai classes to old film of Otani Sensei and several other teachers of Muso Shinden Ryu and Tenshinsho Jigen Ryu iaido. He and I were both pointing out and naming kata being performed. That is one of the beauties of body-to-body (and mind-to-mind) transmission. We know it when we see it, because we know it.

All this assumes that the teacher is a qualified one who knows what she’s doing. It's true that unqualified people can and do establish themselves as teachers of various movement traditions. In that case, a teacher could (a) simply not teach what she doesn't know, and therefore stuff is lost; or (b) (my personal favorite) fill in gaps with independently derived interpretations that (unless she is clairvoyant) are probably not part of the original practice.

One does not have to look far to find over-interpreted aspects of stuff creeping into people's practices (see Klens-Bigman, 1999). I have seen videotape of Americans practicing some sort of kenjutsu with himo (a thin sash) tied around their regular-sleeve keikogi. One ties one's kimono sleeves back with himo to keep them out of the way. If your sleeves are not in the way, you don't tie them. However, some teacher saw the himo being used somewhere, thought it looked cool, and decided to make it part of his school's uniform for kenjutsu, without knowing its proper function. However, one person’s cool is another person’s silly.
While costume elements are a benign aspect of invented tradition, techniques can be invented as well. We were once introduced to a kumidachi practice, wherein one of the kamae involved holding the sword horizontally above one's head. For that reason, Otani sensei referred to the kamae as torii - that is, the gate found at the entrance to Shinto shrines. Unfortunately, he only showed us the technique that one evening, then disappeared on one of his long business trips to Japan. The sempai who took over responsibility for teaching, with not much more experience than we had, could not remember the technique properly and filled in the gaps himself. What started as "torii" became "toriai" and took on a different character than what we were originally shown. Eventually, it was dropped from the repertory, since none of the sempai could agree on what its function was, let alone what it was called. We chose to abandon, rather than reinvent the technique, and it was probably just as well.

The beauty of the Flos lies in its sparseness, but it is also a danger. There will always be a lack of depth to picking up a Medieval fighting manual since we can never know the social milieu that produced it, even if, with many years of work, we are able to replicate the techniques we see there to some extent. Nature, as they say, abhors a vacuum, and Charron, to his credit, is trying like hell not to give in to the temptation to fill it. But it's frustrating.

However, in a Japanese martial art that has enjoyed some kind of continuous practice, a certain, perhaps small amount of that mindset might still exist in what is passed down through generations of practitioners. It is not only the movement that is being passed along, it is also the verbal vocabulary, and the mental/philosophical underpinning that is being passed along too. In his exhaustive study, Miyamoto Musashi, His Life and Writings (2004), Kenji Tokitsu interviewed several contemporary practitioners of Niten Ichi ryu, the style Musashi founded. Tokitsu hoped to establish some idea as to what was in Musashi's head in determining some of the more cryptic parts of the his Book of Five Rings through the sword techniques as they have been handed down. Though Tokitsu in no way resolved some of the enigma that surrounds the work, the insights of the teachers he interviewed give us some idea of where Musashi may have been coming from - more so than if Tokitsu had confined himself to manuscripts alone. Moreover, the evolving, underlying reasons for practicing martial arts continue to give meaning to contemporary students, even if those meanings have changed substantially over time.

While there are plenty of puzzles behind old styles of martial arts, I suspect those who practice a traditional Japanese martial art have more clues to them by virtue of passed-along knowledge than someone who simply comes upon Fiore's Medieval puzzle, armed with only a liberal arts degree and the desire to dig around (even if it is along with the best of intentions).

Is there a best solution to this dilemma, and if so, what is it? Maybe it can be found in a tradition that has both written scrolls and an uninterrupted, to the extent that is possible, lineage of practitioners that together create an unbroken line of transmission.

But, it depends on what is important to you.

If romance is more important, then it makes sense to pick out something that interests you and invest it with the fantasy of your choosing. There must be a Klingon batlith school out there somewhere. (There are still one or two martial arts schools in NYC - and probably elsewhere - whose techniques are based almost solely on the martial arts movies of the '60's and '70's. Think about it.)

If neither romance nor history is important to you, pick out modern (i.e. sport) budo. Good exercise, fun and no mental heavy lifting.

In the case of the Flos, Charron, if he ever hopes to realize his recreation of Fiore's system, with have to come up with his own meanings for practice, acknowledging that no amount of careful research is going to uncover all of the secrets of 15th century Italy. The techniques that he has researched seem to work on a practical level, and informally, philosophically as well. Already he admonishes students with "How's your elephant?" emphasizing stable body positions as a part of practice. Publication of his interpretive efforts has yet to come about, however. The Flos is like a set of nesting boxes – take off a lid and there is another box inside. Moreover, some of the boxes are missing altogether.

What about those of us who practice the descendants of the ancient forms? I guess our consolation is (1) the techniques still work, on myriad levels, with many meanings; and (2) we can point to our ancient forbears, even though we cannot imitate them.

Note:
(1)    Of course, interpretation of the extent of ‘creation” or re-creation” for these and other art forms remains in flux. Most newer arts claim descent from earlier forms, whether objective analysis backs up that assumption or not.

Bibliography

Donohue, John J.
1997 “Ideological Elasticity: Enduring form and changing function in the Japanese martial tradition,” Journal of Asian Martial Arts, 6:2, 10-25.

Klens-Bigman, Deborah
1999    “Borrowed ritual, invention of tradition: the construction of the ‘traditional’ martial arts dojo” http://ejmas.com/proceedings/GSJSA99klens.htm

2003    “The Flower of Battle: An Interview with Bob Charron” (parts 1 and 2). www.fightingarts.com.
Knights of the Wild Rose
n.d.     Flos Duellatorum (Pisani-Dosi (Novati) version). www.varmouries.com/wildrose/fiore

Lowney, Chris
2005    A Vanished World: Medieval Spain’s golden Age of Enlightenment NY:Free Press

Tokitsu, Kenji
2004    Miyamoto Musashi – His Life and Writings Boston: Shambhala Pub.

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