Authenticism under the Big Tent

Companie Golden Lyon members have long struggled with the affliction of high purpose; we are all the sort of people who are driven. In short, we're geeks. We geek at parties over details discovered in a fifteenth-century painting, over discoveries in Menagier, we reminisce fondly about an almost otherwordly feast that happened on a long-ago September night. We are excited by what we're learning and making and doing.

The real fun happens when like-minded folks join us. We often refer to that feast night because we all experienced that "medieval moment", when we dined in the candlelight, conversed about our purpose, and spent a few hours just being part of our setting - the tents, the tablewares, the food. Like a play, the setting of a period encampment absorbs the people into the milieu; the feeling of reality transcends the show.

Three Stags, 2005

We hope that our joy - our entertainment - inspires others. More people to have fun with! The resistance to our approach is frankly rather baffling, but then again, we've got these high ideals. Striving is valuable; intellectualism is laudable, good enough is seldom good enough.

To us, mediocrity is failure and success is beating our own personal best.

It's unapologetically elitist, I suppose. And this paints a bright red plastic target on our backsides, because in our society (the greater Western one, not the SCA), success is frequently resented. Certainly non-ethical success should have no expectation of respect, but for those who work hard, study hard, and strive, surely there is value? Not so fast, Cupcake.

We are frequently baffled. If we're encouraging others to do what we do, we're condescending; if we just do for ourselves, we're insular. If we create period encampments we're elitist, and if we camp in the midst of modern tents, we miss out on our sense of enchantment. The problem with "you play your way and I'll play mine" is that my gothic fitted dress and cormarye enhances your game; your metallic-trimmed t-tunic and barbecue diminish mine.

The SCA frequently thinks of itself as a Big Tent. We take all sorts, from a wide variety of times and places, with a huge range of interest and activity levels, and with all sorts of personality types. We tolerate cell phones and Coke cans, and expect golf carts at big events. The governing documents require only an "attempt" at historical clothing, and we find - on all sides - that the very term is utterly and widely subjective. Since there's no modifying adverb, everything from a towel tabard and blue jeans, to a toe-to-head reproduction-quality ensemble is equally acceptable.

The Big Tent paradigm has an ironic effect of shuffling all dwellers toward the center. We discourage outliers on either end of the continuum; those on one end are artfully (or not so artfully; I've seen some on the extreme end actively shunned) encouraged to come up to the norm, and those of us on the opposite end are resented for placing the bar too high. When we are successful, we become a subtle threat to the status quo.

A recent blog post about creeping mundanity by David Friedman [1] cogently explained the situation framed within this year's Pennsic War. There's an incremental acceptance of things that are strikingly outside of the milieu of the SCA happening all over the Society; the Big Tent is getting bigger. We used to joke about Klingons and elves at Pennsic; we now see seventeenth-century pirates and even nineteenth-century Steampunks at the bigger events. Granted, we also see more exemplary stuff - but the "non-period" seems to be gaining, while authenticists still struggle with success and acceptance.

Mr. Friedman points out:

Within the SCA, any attempt to maintain a medieval ambiance is under pressure from two directions. One is the fact that doing things in a period way is harder and less convenient than doing them in a modern way—one reason why, outside the SCA, modern technology exists. A Coleman stove is less trouble to turn on, turn off, and cook over than a campfire. A flashlight is a more convenient device than a candle lantern. If we insisted on doing everything in as completely period a way as possible we would do very little and there would be very few of us doing it—the mistake I think of as making the best the enemy of the good. The least unsatisfactory response to that problem, in my view, is to regard mundane conveniences as a necessary evil to be minimized but not eliminated—while at the same time using the problem of how to minimize them, how to provide period alternatives, as a valuable spur to learning more about how medieval people lived.

Authenticists want to be that valuable spur. Our energies tend to ebb and flow in the effort to lead by example and fight what is occasionally active hostility. CGL organizes workshops for anyone and everyone that only household members attend; we teach classes at large events and collegia. We're going to be doing our signature "guerrilla workshops" at Battlemoor this month, inviting anyone into the camp to learn something authentic. We find mixed reactions to period feasts at events. When we are active, we gain some traction; when we get tired and discouraged, or when Real Life intrudes, the gains that we have seen slip away.

The really discouraging thing is how few notice when it's gone.

[1] I'm sure that Duke Cariadoc would be utterly baffled by the concepts of blogging, authenticity, the SCA, etc...