The following essay was posted some years ago on Facebook by a friend of mine and recently re-posted. As the essay was Sir Sten’s and not the writing of my friend, it was suggested I copy and paste to share it. Thus, I am posting it here , because I feel it is important to consider. — Brian
On Winning
by Steen Jensen
AKA SCA Sir Sten Halverson, Baron
1994
To Radnor and Rat
Winning is not chivalrous. Winning is fortunate, and should never be more.
At first glance, the knightly virtue of Prowess would seem to demand winning as its proof. If you strive for quality in your fighting, will not your victory over the field demonstrate your success? Yes, it will, but it should not. A combatant’s reward should be Prowess itself, not its results; to be concerned overly with victory is to fall victim to Vanity, to feel the need to demonstrate your Prowess to others rather than to yourself. In the romances, in history, knights triumphed through the inspiration of love, the faith in God, or duty to a lord, but never simply for the thrill of victory. Even William Marshal, untouchable in battle, is remembered for his loyalty and consistency much more than for being a brute on the field. Those for whom victory by itself had value were the black knights in history and in literature.
Doesn’t victory, properly motivated, have some value? Shouldn’t a proper knight have about themselves an air of success, and won’t Prowess on occasion produce victory? Yes, though for its negative values, it should be a thing that occurs but is never striven for. However much we find value for winning in Prowess and Franchise (knightly bearing), we find that value’s reverse in Courtesy and in Generosity. To strive for victory is to reduce your foe to no more than an obstacle to your goal; to want victory is to rob that possibility from your opponent. The discourtesy and greed of such a desire outweighs any value victory might have to Prowess and Franchise. A true knight will trust themselves to fate rather than selfishly seek victory; they will fight for many things, but never for themselves.
Am I saying anything that isn’t obvious? As I spell this out, I feel that most combatants would nod in agreement. But it is a thing that plagues me, this desire for victory, this need. I find that it is consistently creeping in among my better motivations and having its influence. How about that new helm? It is not authentic for me, but it has good glancing surfaces. Why not toss in an open face so that I can see and breathe? Let’s shave a few pounds off my shield. Let’s cut my armour to a minimum, for the weight, so that I can move better. I can still look good, with a fine surcoat, but I’m not authentic anymore. I’ve turned our re-creation into a sport. And I’ve been driven not by any knightly virtue, but only by my desire to excel, by my vanity triumphing over all. Even getting ready for Crown, those extra practices, places victory in too high a light. A Crown, or a Coronet, or any major tournament, should be no more than an interruption in our normal schedule of practice. The victor should be that person upon whom fortune smiles, or who is greatly inspired by the love of their consort, or simply whose prowess, gained humbly and not through need, triumphs.
Then what are the reasons for fighting? I offer three. Before combat, I salute the Crown of our Kingdom. Duty to the Crown and to its people is thus the first of my motives. The duty of a combatant, and especially off a knight, is service in arms on the tournament field or at war. If I am able, I am bound by my fealty to fight (I might consider If I Am Able in a different essay). To the people, I am bound to my role as an inspiration to chivalry. The field is my stage, and I owe a duty to the populace to shine. Thus, in some tournament ceremonies, a salute to the populace is included.
Do honor to the person for whom you fight this day. The honor you bring to your consort is the second motivation. As brightly as I shine upon the field, that light should show for my lady love. As I fight for gain, that gain should be for honor and honor only, and should be lain in the hands of that person for whom I fight. Only the victor’s consort receives the wreath upon the field, but the consorts of all should carry the greater reward of the honor gained for them by their champions. In this I fear we fail; in history and within our society, renown clings more to the combatant than to his inspiration. But once a year, I do attend a tournament where I go nameless, and fight only as the champion of my lady. On that day, I feel much more the knight than I do on most other days of the year.
And salute your most honored opponent. Joy of combat is the last true motivation. When someone comes to me to learn to fight, my first lesson is that of joy. Was that fun? If it wasn’t, you should not fight. You must love this thing we do–its exhilaration and technique, its pain and wonder as a test of honor, its service to Crown and consort. Joy will carry you through times of onerous duty and pained honor. It is the one constant granted to us, and when it finally leaves then it is time to hang our weapons upon the wall.
A desire for victory is not part of chivalry. Fight for the Crown, for the people, for your consort, for joy, but not for yourself. Victory is a powerful lure, but resist it. Fighting is a test of much more than just Prowess. Salute your Crown, your people, your consort, and your most honored opponent; steel yourself against ambition and hold yourself to duty, love and joy; then allow the fates, however you might understand them, to select the winner.
(This essay also appears in Chronique, Issue #9, William the Marshal & Early Tournaments.)