Chinese soldier photographed by Harrison Forman. While part of a series of issues distributed in 1938 captions indicate that these images were probably taken in the early 1930s. Source: The Forman Collection in the University of Wisconsin Milwaukee Digital Archives.
Deciphering an Icon
Recently I came across a few of Harrison Forman’s wartime photos, probably taken in the early 1930s, but circulated to newspapers and (re)published in 1938. While his photos of militia groups following the 8th Route Army (discussed here) remain less well known, these particular images have gained a quasi-iconic status. I suspect that they, and other similar images, helped to define popular Western notions of China’s struggle during the late 1930s. This also makes them of interest to students of Martial Arts Studies as they prominently feature swords and what appears to be a display of China’s traditional military culture.
Still, as I reviewed these photos I found myself wondering what was really going. Were these images actually taken in the field? Or were they composed by Forman himself? And if latter, how were such images of martial masculinity meant to be read? Why do so many of Forman’s photographs, as well as other images from the period, go to such great lengths juxtaposing the coexistence of “modern” military weapons with “traditional” martial culture, squeezing both elements into ever more complex symbolic frames? Lastly, what does this suggest about the ways in which the Republic era revival of the martial arts was used to shape China’s image on the global stage?
To fully answer these questions, we may need to compare Forman’s photos to some less well-known images of Chinese soliders collected and distributed in the late Qing and early Republic period. Doing so suggests the existence of certain key symbols which quickly gained a remarkable degree of stability in the popular imagination. Yet while the image of a Chinese soldier or martial artists holding an oversized blade has been stable, its social meaning has varied greatly. Many players, both within and outside of China, have deconstructed and contested these images. Controlling the visuality of the martial arts has been a key tool in a series of debates about the nature of the Chinese state and nation. A few of the ideas of the theorist Rey Chow may help to launch this investigation.
The Eternal Swordsman
Few images within the Chinese martial arts have proved more durable than the traditionally trained swordsman openly practicing his trade in the age of the gun. He can be seen everywhere, from Japanese postcards to Hong Kong kung fu films. But what sort of “person” is this individual?
In an attempt to negate both views he relates to his readers a curious incident of “War Dancing” (what we would term the performance of a solo martial arts set) in the middle of a fire fight which he observed as both rebel troops (who held the city) and imperial soldiers contested control of a graveyard outside of Shanghai. Meadows set the scene by describing the artillery and armaments of both sides. By this point in the war both parties were armed primarily with Western cannons, state of the art European made muskets and a surprising number of revolvers. He described the order of battle as being similar to that seen in the Crimean War with heavy volleys of fire being exchanged between groups of soldiers who were either sheltered behind the city’s walls, or moving between “rifle pits” and the sorts of cover that the graveyard landscape afforded. All of this was very similar to what one might have observed in a European conflict of the time.
Yet similar should never be confused with identical. While playing no part in the actual siege, Meadows notes that “cold weapons” were evident on the battlefield. One Imperial spearman, having nothing to contribute to an exchange of gun fire, took shelter behind a building with Meadows and other Chinese onlookers. Another soldier, armed with a sword and rattan shield, approached the battle differently. He walked out into an open area (where a companion was firing a musket at rebel forces) and proceeded to demonstrate his sword set, all while shouting insults at the enemy, slashing at imaginary opponents and tumbling over his shield.
On a substantive level he contributed little to the battle. Indeed, one suspects that most such skirmishes were actually decided by the artillery. Nor was this individual the lone exception. Meadows told his story because he believed it would convey something about the nature of the conflict to his readers back in the UK. Very similar reports were also lodged by British soldiers involved in the First and Second Opium Wars in Southern China, and much later by units participating in the costly march on Beijing during the Boxer Rebellion. It is an often overlooked fact that by 1900 the Imperial Chinese troops had weapons just as advanced as any of the Western nations that came to save the Legation. Yet battlefield martial arts displays, usually attributed to “possessed Boxers,” remained fairly common. All of this seems to bear an uncanny resemblance to Forman’s much later photograph.
Accounts such as these are why so many Westerners became obsessed with the image of the sword wielding Chinese boxer, soldier or pirate. The basic image might be labeled in a variety of ways. Yet in each case it seems to have invoked the same combination of fascination and disgust. It would be more difficult to think of a better example of Rey Chow’s critique of “visualism,” in which modernity functions by reducing people or ideas into two dimensional depictions, than the early 20th century explosion of photographs of Chinese men wielding swords.
Such images facilitated the mental, and then political, classification of China, justifying its imperial occupation. A close reading suggests that many of these classifications rest on seeming contradictions. While focusing on men, their subjects are emasculated through an association with obsolete technology, poverty or backwards superstitions. Chinese territory is potentially dangerous, yet in need of Western protection and guidance. And when modern weapons occur in an image, rather than focusing our attention on the breakneck speed of social change, the existence of traditional tools subconsciously reinforces the notion that China is somehow eternal. A land without history can never change. It is a country without a future.
Late Qing portrait of the Changtu Prefect and his personal guard. Photographer unknown (at least by me).
Such notions would likely have been projected onto this image by early 20thcentury Western viewers as well. Once again, notice the prominent juxtaposition of modern (Western) weapons with their traditional (Chinese) counterparts. Judging from the legible inscriptions in this photograph, Douglas Wile has concluded that it is a portrait of the Prefect of Changtu (now part of Liaoning Province) and his personal guard. Obviously, such an image would have been taken prior to the 1911 revolution.
At that time the long Mauser rifles with WWI era “roller-coaster” sights seen in this photo would have been state of the art. And having a couple of guys with halberds standing at a door or gate would also have made a lot of sense. Yet one suspects that rather than a well-armed bodyguard, post-Boxer Rebellion viewers would likely have seen one more piece of evidence of a nation incapable of change. In certain quarters such images (invoking fears of beheadings for minor offenses) were taken as powerful justifications for the preservation of Western legal privileges (such as extra-territoriality) and even colonial “guardianship.” The observation and dissemination of images of the “traditional” martial arts was often coopted by the forces of imperial discourse. That is vital to remember as it strongly suggests that there was nothing inevitable about the reemergence of similar images in the post-WWII era as anchors of the post-colonial discourse. Bruce Lee probably would have played quite different to audiences in 1901.
The production and widespread dissemination of such images in the early 20thcentury opened Chinese society to conflicting social pressures. On the one hand there was immense pressure to “modernize,” making the nation equal to the Western powers. This would mean discarding much or all of China’s traditional culture. Yet Chow has also warned her readers of another danger in these situations. As “ethnic” individuals in colonial situations grapple with the meaning of their identity, perhaps by trying to find domestic sources of pride or strength necessary to resist imperialism in their own autobiographies, they risk internalizing the dominant critique of their culture and performing an increasingly two dimensional act of what was once an authentic culture as they respond to a set of critiques that were likely based on (malicious) misunderstandings.
A vintage Japanese postcard showing images (likely taken in the late teens or twenties) of “Big Sword Units training their bravery.”
Perspective matters. And it is interesting to think about the role of both bodily experience and cultural expectations in shaping one’s perspective. Meadows wrote in an era when it was increasingly evident swords had little utility on the battlefield, but they were still very much part of Western 19thcentury military life. By the Republican era that had changed. The Japanese situation was more complicated.
Our next image was taken from a Japanese postcard, probably produced during the 1920s, which shows Chinese soldiers, dressed in smart civilian clothing, demonstrating their sword forms. We have already read numerous accounts of demonstrations such as these (particularly those staged by General Ma), but it is interesting to see that Japanese publishers decided that there was an market for such an image at home.
The Japanese discourse towards China in the 1920s and 1930s was much more belligerent than anything seen in the West. One need not carefully analyze their literature or trade practices for hints of imperialist discourses. You only needed to watch where their armies marched or read their formal diplomatic declarations. This is not to say that their popular culture was not of immense interest. Japanese youth literature of the period tended to portray China as a land of adventure where adventurous boys could not just serve the nation, but prove their worth. And the increasing militancy of government mandated martial arts practice in Japanese schools helped to ensure that the nation’s youth would be prepared to do just that.
It goes without saying that within this internal nationalist discourse the sword (or more properly, the katana) meant something entirely different from what it signaled on the pages of the North China Herald or New York Times. While a traditional symbol, it did not denote national backwardness. Rather, it was a symbol of national identity. And it became the vessel for much more positive cultural content. It represented the notions of sacrifice, spiritual determination and individual physical strength placed in the service of the nation. It represented that aspect of primoradial Japanese identity that both made it distinct, but also well suited for global competition among its national peers.
One byproduct of mandating years of state sponsored kendo or judo training was the creation of a large number of individuals who were bound to be at least somewhat curious about Chinese martial practice. One suspects that the young men who collected these postcards may have been intrigued by images of solo-forms practice (rare in modern kendo), and the different sabers favored by the Chinese. Yet it is highly unlikely that such an image would have struck them as a symbol of national backwardness. Indeed, the Chinese soldiers in this image were dressed much more “progressively,” and in a more Western manner, than Japanese Kendo students.
Such an image, while highlighting differences in national martial practices, likely would have suggested the existence of the sort of cultural affinities that supported the logic of Japan’s desired “co-prosperity” sphere. Once again, images of the Chinese martial arts might be used to undermine notions of China’s national independence, but now for very different reasons. Rather than pointing to the backwardness of these practices, the Japanese could instead claim to be best positioned to promote their future development.
A second angle of Forman’s iconic photo, this time with an improved and more dynamic composition. Source: The Forman Collection at the University of Wisconsin Milwaukee library.
All of this may be part of the answer to our initial question. Yet we still have not considered the evolving Chinese interpretation of this key image, or what they might gain from cooperating in its reproduction and global distribution. The Japanese postcard is important as it suggests that such images did not actually undermine one’s claim to modernity, or legitimacy within the nation state system, in an absolute sense. Even more important than the production of these images was how their interpretation was negotiated, destabilized, contested and claimed on the world stage. This was a project that an increasing number of Chinese reformers would turn their attention to in the 1920s and 30s, re-entering a space that had been largely dominated by outside voices since the Boxer Uprising.
Much like the Japanese architects of Budo, Chinese social reformers carefully searched their history and culture for the tools to resist imperialism. Part salvage project, and part nation building exercise, such impulses had given rise to the “self-strengthen” movement in the late 19thcentury which saw in the martial arts strategies for resisting the West through “Yin power.” Later (in the 1920s and 30s) similar impulses would be promoted by the “national essence” and guoshu reformers.
Yet just as Chow warned, the harnessing of Yin power was first premised on the acceptance of often skewed externally inspired narratives of national weakness. It is well worth remembering that it was Chinese journalists and intellectuals who harped on the image of “the sick man of Asia”, not their counterparts in New York or London. The promotion of China’s “traditional” martial arts seemed a ready-made cure for this self-imposed cultural syndrome.
Many of China’s more liberal reformers disagreed with these prescriptions. Accepting that superstition and backwardness were at the root of China’s weakened state, the May 4th Reformers favored a much more enthusiastic embrace of Western social, economic and cultural institution. They were inherently suspicious of attempts to save China’s future by reimagining what its past practices had been. The disastrous events of the Boxer Uprising were still too fresh in their minds to embrace Jingwu’s (or later guoshu’s) promises of a modernized and reformed martial art placed at the disposal of the nation. Chow’s work on the various strategies involved in the construction of “ethnic images” would seem to be a fruitful place to begin to untangle the debate between these two factions as to what role (if any) the martial arts should play in the creation of New China.
All of this suggests a new perspective from which to view Forman’s original photograph. KMT officials and the guoshu reformers embraced the traditional martial arts because they saw in them a chance to disrupt Western expectations about Chinese society. Yes, domestic unity and nation building were their primary goals. Yet the KMT constructed a public diplomacy campaign around guoshu (foreshadowing in significant ways the PRC’s current wushu strategy) because they perceived an opening to demonstrate-through staged spectacle and newspaper story-that China was in fact strong, courageous, and modern. Better yet, it possessed a unique culture capable of making important contributions to global discussions.
It is interesting to read Forman’s photograph within the framework of that ongoing contest of ideas. The old and new are contrasted not just within the right and left side of the frame, but even within the two halves of the swordsman’s body. In one hand he holds a dadao, China’s now iconic sword. In the other we see Mauser 88 rifle (either a Chinese produced copy or an imported German model). While it is often claimed that the dadao was issued only because the Chinese were too poor to produce modern rifles, this photo problematizes such statements.
While genetically descendent from the Mauser rifles carried by the private bodyguards seen above, it should be noted that these examples have been altered in significant ways. The barrels are shorter, carbine length, conversions and the complex WWI era sights have been replaced with something simpler and lower profile. In short, the Chinese small arms seen in this photo are more or less identical to the modified bolt action rifles then being issued by countries like Japan, Germany, the USSR and the UK. Clearly this soldier does not cling to his dadao out of sheer necessity. In this photograph it serves another purpose.
The fact that this image exists in two forms (one with two soldiers, the other with three) confirms our initial suspicions that the composition is an artificial one arranged by Forman, rather than a spontaneous display of Chinese martial culture. As such we must begin to consider how its creator meant for this image to be read by the public.
The University of Wisconsin Milwaukie archives (which holds the original version of this image) have also preserved three of the original captions that it was distributed with. Editors who bought the image through a newswire service were free to choose any of these when they ran the photo. Interestingly, each of captions reads slightly differently. The first view is the most negative, placing the sword within the symbolic realm of backwardness and superstition. In many ways it is a continuation of press traditions from the turn of the century.
Caption 1: “The ‘big sword man’ as the symbol of the warrior of traditional China. He was brave, agile, and fought his enemy hand-to-hand. He lasted into the twentieth century, gradually accepting the rifle as a weapon for modern warfare. The Japanese invasion of China in 1931 finally convinced the Chinese to discard the outmoded ‘big sword,’ even as a secondary weapon as here shown in the invasion of Manchuria.”
These observations notwithstanding, the dadao remained common throughout WWII. Produced in large numbers by innumerable small shops, they were issued both to second line militia units as well as to fully equipped professional troops who carried them as the Chinese answer to the Japanese Katana or the British/Indian/Nepalese Kukri (a topic near and dear to my own heart). Given that American newspapers were full of headlines about China’s “big sword troops” in 1938, I am not sure how many editors would have decided to run this caption.
The second possibility reads as follows: “’The Spirit of Ancient China.’ Big Swordmen -great hand-to-hand fighters, in the old traditional manner – with a modernly equipped trooper of Chiang Kai-shek’s famed 88thDivision. (Photographed in North Station).”
This caption is interesting as it begins the process of presenting the dadao to the Western reader in a “spiritualized” fashion. Yet it is still fit within the Western motif of romanticism for “vanishing China.” Regardless, it is difficult to accept that this individual is fully representative of that past as he too carries a rifle identical to that possessed by the “modernly equipped trooper.”
Finally, the third and most interesting caption reads: “The Spirit of Ancient China! – The fellow with the big sword. In the crook of his arm is modern China – the trooper with the steel helmet and modern rifle. Together they oppose Japan.”
Here we begin to see what Forman may have intended with the curious composition of this photograph. Rather than invoking the historical memory of accounts like that by Meadows, his meaning was more symbolic. One soldier, representing the national essence, spread a protective arm (holding a highly symbolic weapon) over the head of his comrade busily taking aim at an (imaginary) opponent. This photography was never intended to be a historical, let alone an ethnographic, document. Rather it was a symbolic argument about the relationship between the Chinese nation and the state. In the great debate over the shape of “New China,” Forman was making clear his sympathies with the national essence position.
Soldiers demonstrating a dada set before a crowd celebrating the donation swords and helmets to the war effort.
Conclusion
This global rehabilitation of the Chinese sword in the Republic era suggest that the government’s “Kung Fu diplomacy” efforts paid off. Once a symbol of backwardness within an imperialist discourse, by 1938 it was at least possible to see a sword wielding soldier as a symbol of national strength. Of course Westerners were also fascinated with the Japanese katana, and that seems to have provided a mental map for bringing the dadao back into the political lexicon.
The fact that three possible captions were circulated with this iconic image is an important reminder that symbols are never self-interpreting. Each image holds many possible meanings, some of which overlap, while others may even contradict. While the Chinese swordsman has proved to be surprisingly resilient, his meaning has been far from stable. Various political and social reformers (not to mention martial artists) have attempted to destabilize, contest and renegotiate this figure. While the reproduction of “ethnic images” was conserved, the political implications that they have carried over the 20th century has varied drastically.
Likewise, the meaning, values and goals of the martial arts are not set in stone. While certain bodily techniques may be stable over a period of 100 years or more, their social function and meaning has changed. They too have been subject to successive rounds of destabilization, negotiation and interpretation. If surveyed over a period of one or two centuries, a wide variety of period practitioners would likely agree on the appearance of the Chinese martial arts, but would hotly debate their meaning or purpose. Chow’s theories of ethnicity and visuality suggest some of the reasons why that would likely be the case.
A foreign martial arts teacher practices at Wudang. Source:
Barnum’s Daughter
I was recently watching the news when I saw a brief segment on “the last” Japanese swordsmith. The whole things is a little overwrought as there are lots of individuals making swords in Japan today, and (multiple) government offices in place to make sure that they will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. While alarmist, I am no longer surprised by this sort of rhetoric. For better or worse, it has become a defining feature of the modern martial arts and all of the other cultural practices that are associated with them. I usually just brush it off. Yet it can be jarring to those who have less experience with it.
By any metric Heather* is a pretty worldly individual. A Hollywood veteran and longtime producer of reality TV shows (touching on everything from home improvement to dating contests), she could only be described as a modern daughter of P. T. Barnum. She can regale one with tales of writing room misbehavior or the wholesale fabrication of budget numbers on those home renovation shows that dominate the American dream. She had recently “retired” and moved to Ithaca to take up a teaching position, and at the time of this conversation we lived in the same apartment complex.
Heather approached me on her bike as I was working through a new jian (double edged straight sword) set. “Hey, I didn’t know you were a martial artist!” she proclaimed. “That is what finally chased me out of TV.” Asking for clarification it turned out that it was not actually Wudang Jian that had done her in. Rather, she had been working on the project titled “The Last Samurai”* when she finally decided to retire. I asked her to explain, which she did at length, finally concluding
“Look, I don’t know anything about the martial arts, but I know a racket when I see one. That guy wasn’t “the last Samurai.” What does it even mean to be a “Samurai” in Japan today? And God only knows how any of this could have been significant to the poor kids we dragged over there to meet him.”
After pausing to ruminate she continued, “That was how I knew it was time to get out. Sure, the dating shows are all staged, and no one has yet pulled a dish out of the oven that actually looks like it does on the Food Network. I could do all of that. But when it came to martial arts documentaries, it was a sign. I just knew I couldn’t do this anymore. That’s when I knew it was time to do something real, and finally put my MFA to good use.”
I had never heard this part of Heather’s story before and stood there at an actual loss for words. After a career spent fabricating the budgets of home improvement shows, it was martial arts mythmaking that finally brought down a jaded Hollywood producer.
A trip to any public park in China would seem to indicate that the average of traditional martial artists is increasing. At the same time these individuals may have a greater need for strong social networks and more resources to devote to finding them.
The Last Masters
As I reflected on the recent story of the “last” Japanese swordsmith (who, I suppose, is responsible for outfitting the aforementioned “last” Samurai) it occurred to me that that these were not just any random lineage myths or poorly researched newspaper articles. Rather, they were widely shared stories that lamented or prophesized the end of the martial arts altogether. Indeed, they have acquired the status of cultural touchstones. Both practicing martial artists and the mainstream media seem to relish stories promoting some teacher, or school, as either the first or (more commonly) the last of their kind.
All sorts of practices and institutions come to an end, and yet the media rarely remarks on their passing. The martial arts are, if nothing else, survivors. While the end of the Chinese martial arts has been regularly prophesized since the end of the Ming Dynasty in the 17thcentury, they are still going strong. Given their frequently predicted demise, on some level I think it would be appropriate to conceptualize the Asian martial arts as a community that exists in a state of perpetual revival (understood in the Religious Studies sense of the word). Yet what makes the image of the end of Kung Fu, the last Viking or the final Samurai so appealing? Where do these images get their emotional appeal, and why are they embraced with seemingly equal enthusiasm by those both within the traditional martial arts community and those who only know these practices through their mediatized image? As we unravel the puzzle of the perpetual demise of the martial arts, we may gain additional insight into the modern social functions which these practices perform.
Yang Style Taiji in Shanghai, 2005. The traditional Chinese martial arts are always forced to create a sheltered space within the larger community. Source: Wikimedia.
“Tradition” as Fetish in the Martial Arts
As we review the various historical essays within Kung Fu Tea’s archive, one might be forgiven for concluding that the Chinese martial arts are not so much a smoothly transmitted system as an assortment of stochastic discontinuities held together by the fervent belief that they ought to be (or at one point in the distant past were) a cohesive whole. I find it useful to sit back and consider how much (or rather, how little) my Wing Chun training (a product of the 1950s) has in common with either the Dadao clubs of the 1930s, or the Red Spear village militias of the 1920s. These two distinct visions of the Chinese martial arts were among the largest social movements of their day. Collectively they trained and organized many millions of people. And yet the Red Spear militias that once rules China’s northern plains seem to have had little impact on the surviving martial arts. If this is true for huge social movements that existed less than 100 years ago, how much further removed is my understanding of the Chinese martial arts from one of Qi Jiguang’s Ming era soldiers, or an ancient scholar-warrior welding a bronze sword?
Nevertheless, the threads of culture provide continuity that bridges our personal, localized or purely internal, experience of reality. It is here, rather than in embodied practice, that scholars might start their search for a more stable understanding of the Chinese martial arts. More specifically, it is within their long tradition of shared stories, literary references, venerated figures, imagined geographies and even values (though these do tend to shift from era to era) that Chinese martial culture finds (and contests) its central coherence. It is within this most basic stratum that our search must begin. And it is here that we first encounter the uniting fear of the “end” of martial practice.
Within a Confucian lineage system intergenerational transmission, whether genetic or social, is the great responsibility. Fathers must have sons to inherit the land, and in turn they must provide sacrifices to the ancestors. Knowledge, which existed in perfect clarity in the past, must be faithfully transmitted. The martial arts, understood as systems of military defense at both the local and imperial levels, was no exception. Driven by the importance of the military examination system, archery manuals became one of the most successful genres of popular literature in the late imperial period. Likewise, the act of boxing is irreducibly social. Neither teacher nor student can exist without the other.
It is thus interesting to note that within the very first stratum of existing Chinese martial arts manuals (16thcentury) we find authors like Qi Jiguang and Yu Dayou already concerned that the nation’s hand combat practices are in decline and in need of revival. Cheng Zhongyou likewise undertook his important study of the Shaolin pole method both because he wanted to make it available to other members of the gentry seeking to train village militias, but also because he was worried that their “original” method would be lost in a deluge of second-rate imitators. Already within the oldest stratum of printed (sometimes commercially distributed) works on the Chinese martial arts, we see a concern with their end. This is truly remarkable as these same authors (and many other nameless instructors within their generation) were responsible for laying the foundation of the martial arts that we now enjoy today.
This basic complex of social values largely survived the transition to ideological nationalism, and market-based methods of transmission, during the late Qing and early Republic period. In the period of “self-strengthening” (1860s-1890s) the entire nation was seen as under threat, and the martial arts came to be understood by some individuals as a way of preserving what was essential within Chinese society to resist the West. Thus fears about the disappearance of boxing could be mapped directly onto a larger historical dilemma. Likewise, Republic era reformers sought to place the traditional martial arts at the disposal of the nation building project, and (drawing on the Japanese example) saw within them the tools necessary to forge China into a single, modern, people. When individuals foresaw or debated the end of boxing, they were at the same time ruminating on the nature of the modern Chinese state, its values, and relationship with society.
Yet such discussions still emerge with some frequency in the Western media and martial arts circles. And it goes without saying that the cultural values that underlay these discussions are quite different from traditional Confucianism’s concerns with faithful transmission on the one hand, or the sorts of all-encompassing nationalisms that characterized the 1930s on the other. Is there a single theoretical lens which we might apply to the narrative of the vanishing Kung Fu master which both explains the popularity of the story today, while still (within reason) shedding some light on its previous manifestations?
Martial arts historians and social theorists alike would probably begin by pointing out that it is quite significant that the West encountered these hand combat systems during the great period of imperial expansion in the late 19thcentury, and then again during the era of the consolidation of the global financial order in the immediate aftermath of WWII. This suggests that we cannot separate the social function of the martial arts from the emergence of late capitalism and modern consumer culture.
Indeed, modern capitalism plays the pivotal role in the post-WWII dissemination of the Asian martial arts. It gave rise to a set of economic, social and personal insecurities which came to define Western culture, and then promised the delivery of goods, ideas and practices that could solve these same issues. The first two of these issues are perhaps the easiest to understand. The rapid opening of markets to global trade flows always creates sets of winners and losers as the increased flows of new types of goods eliminate some jobs and threaten the fabric of traditional communities. While most individuals will be better off (in the long run) as the national economy expands, they will now be forced to deal with the basic existential questions of life (who am I, what is my purpose) without the support of the types of traditional communities and institutions that sought to provide those answers in the past.
The surplus of goods which modern capitalism facilitates seems to always be accompanied with a deficit in social meaning. Increasingly individuals are left to their own devices to determine what makes them unique, which groups (if any) they are part of, and what larger purpose they are meant to fill. Unsurprisingly individuals seek to find meaning within the sorts of goods and experiences that they consume. For instance, I might signal, and develop, a certain type of identity through the clothing that I wear, the type of car that I drive (or don’t drive), and the hobbies that I fill my free time with.
Yet in a world where everything can be purchased, and any individual with the same set of means might purchase a similar set of goods, how secure is such an identity? The perfectly interchangeable and anonymous nature of markets threatens the ability of these institutions to provide answers for the terrible existential questions of human existence that are always looming in the darkness. One logical response to this is to remove certain goods from the universal marketplace, thus preserving their cultural power by providing a non-economic gateway to their use. This strategy has been seen many times in history, but in the current era it seems to most closely approximate our current anxiety over cultural appropriation.
Several theorists have noted that we respond to the anxieties and threats of the modern consumer society by seeking something that exists beyond mere economic exchange with which to anchor identity. Given their importance to the counter-culture movement of the 1950s-1970s, Asian philosophies, religions and modes of aesthetic expression were often adopted as strategies for resisting the commercialization and hollowing-out of Western life. Chinese Daoism, Japanese film and, of course, the martial arts all exploded into the popular consciousness as a new generation sought to find a better set of values to anchor their lives in a rapidly changing post-War West. Strictly speaking, none of these things were actually “new.” Most of these images and ideas had been available to Westerners since the 1920s. The supply was already present. It was the post-war reevaluation of modern life that provided an explosion of demand.
Nevertheless, one must think carefully about how individuals, from the late 1940s to the early 1960s, actually encountered these ideas and practices. The old standby is to assert that Judo or Karate was popularized by vets returning from the occupation of Japan (or perhaps a stint in Taiwan). There is certainly some truth in this statement. And yet most of the vets who took up martial arts in the 1960s had never been stationed in Okinawa, Japan or Taiwan. Some key individuals and future tastemakers had. Don Draeger and R. W. Smith are both important examples of how a certain vision of the Asian martial arts was exported to the West.
Yet the vast majority of individuals who followed in their virtual footsteps had neither the life experience or financial means to travel East and South East Asia, documenting the martial arts. Some may have encountered aspects of these systems as “dirty fighting” in boot camp. Yet for the most part they came to Judo, Karate and later the Chinese martial arts through newspaper and magazine articles, TV specials and commercial transactions carried out in strip mall dojos dotting the American post-war landscape.
The central paradox of consumer culture is now laid bare. It promises to sell us goods, ideas and practices that can substitute for the loss of older types of community. Yet the very fact that such goods can be purchased by anyone leads us to question their authenticity and efficaciousness. If personal-transformation and escape from the woes of late capitalism can really be purchased for $60 a month, and I hand over my $60, what exactly have I escaped?
Once we have reached this point a variety of thinkers, from Slavoj Zizek to Jean Baurdrillard, could be invoked to help. Zizek’s work on “Western Buddhism” is in many ways particularly relevant here. But I would like to turn to a different source as it brings the discussion back to the frequent appearance of the words “last” and “first” in our discussions of the martial arts. Specifically, Amanda Fernbach’s 2002 Fantasies of Fetishism: From Decadence to the Post-Human(Rutgers UP) deserves consideration.
Specifically, the logic of Fernbach’s argument suggests that procumers (consumers who simultaneously produce Western martial arts culture through their participation in these systems) seek to solve the essential dilemma of counter-culture consumerism by reformulating their practice as a type of fetish. While the martial arts will continue to be distributed through a competitive marketplace this move relieves the latent anxiety about the authenticity of these goods. Specifically, discourses focusing on the origins or ending of an art serve to form a relationship between the practice and its students in which the now fetishized art becomes a powerful tool of its own marketing as well as a symbol of its own legitimacy.
Fernbach notes that the origins of the notion of “fetish” seems to lie in the colonial trade that occurred between Portugal and West Africa. Fetish goods were spiritually powerful, culturally defined, objects which could not be traded. Their exchange lay outside of normal economic channels, and they were believed to have a transformative effect on individuals or communities. Given our attempt to apply all of this to a discussion of the martial arts in the early and mid-twentieth century, it is important to note that the core concept of the fetish really derives from imperialist discourse and denotes an area that is somehow insulated from socially corrosive market forces.
This notion (focusing on the object which resisted exchange) would go on to inform the basic anthropological definition of the fetish which saw them as otherwise mundane objects thought to be endowed with tremendous spiritual powers (often used in worship). More specifically, they could grant great strength or ability to someone with the proper knowledge of their use. Freud took this basic notion and instead focused on the absence, or the fear, that might cause one to seek out a fetish in the first place. Fernbach finds his treatment of the concept wanting in a number of respects.
Karl Marx, on the other hand, found modern fetish goods within the Western economic marketplace. Here the good most certainly exchanges hands through trade. Yet some aspect of its value (perhaps its prestige, or ability to act as a status symbol) might outstrip its actual utilitarian worth. The fetish is thus a second good, encoded in the value of the first, which we might purchase within a marketplace.
Each of these definitions of the fetish are related to the others. Yet the original notion of an area (seemingly) protected from the corrosive effects of trade seems most relevant to what we see-or seek-in modern martial arts. Still, Freud’s very different take on the problem reminds us that what is often most important in understanding human behavior is the fear of the thing that is lacking.
Nor is the Marxist interpretation without some merit. As with any good in the marketplace, one must increase the demand for your product through advertising. Creating discourses that fetishize aspects of the martial arts communicates to consumers that they will receive value that goes above and beyond the simple instruction that we are outwardly paying for. For instance, when I put my child in a Taekwondo class she doesn’t just learn the basic kicks and punches that I am paying for. Undoubtably there will be a brochure in the school’s lobby informing me that she will also gain “self-confidence,” “discipline” and the ability to “work with others.” These are all core social values and a good example of the Marxist theory in action.
Still, I suspect that there is a more primal layer of myth creation that underlies all of this, one better explored through the older anthropological understanding of the fetish. As adult consumers look for a tool of self-actualization, guided perhaps by latent Orientalist notions about a “purer” East, they build a belt of protective fetish fantasies around the martial arts precisely to “save them” from the taint of the mundane. Perhaps the easiest of these fantasies to construct (and hence the most widespread) is that of origins and endings.
Such stories effectively sperate the martial arts from the world of endlessly repeatable consumer consumption by positing the existence of temporal discontinuity. It is time itself (or what Eliade might have called “sacred time”) that places the martial arts beyond the reach of “mere consumerism,” but not actual consumers. That which has vanished from the world can no longer be sold, even if I feel that I can access some aspect of this shared sacred past in my weekly Kung Fu classes. To be on the verge of disappearance is to also to be on the verge of having the sort of cultural surplus that we always bequeath of the long lost masters. To be the “last master” is to be remembered. At least in our more romantic imagination. One suspects that in real life practices vanish precisely because no one cares to remember them at all.
Likewise, something on the verge of extinction is also a candidate for revival. Ip Man became the “grandmaster” not because he was the first, or the best, Wing Chun practitioner. Rather, he was venerated by generations of students in Hong Kong and the West for “saving the art” from extinction. Whether that was actually the case is a topic for another day. But I don’t think that anyone doubts that Ip Man has come to be seen as an epochal figure in the Southern Chinese martial arts that the “generation” of most modern Wing Chun students is now counted from. His career is interesting precisely because it illustrates how closely linked the death and rebirth of an embodied identity can be, not just in historical practice but also in the stories that we come to tell.
To be a member of the last (or first) generation of an art is find a place in history that appears to be beyond the whim of market forces. As witness to historical events it is hoped that one gains a sense of identity and purpose. Indeed, one may even wish for a bit of immortality. Given the universal appeal of these outcomes it is perhaps not surprising that media markets, in both the China, Japan and the West, have fetishized the imminent death of the martial arts. This often functions as a democratizing move. Lamenting their passing, or attempting to spark their revival, have become critical modes by which countless students experience these practices. And many more media consumers are exposed to the same feelings (often in a more nationalistic or cultural guise) as they consume news stories about the disappearance of these once great cultural artifacts. When these fetishes are exposed (throwing us back into the “desert of the real”), the result can be the sort of destructive feeling of disillusionment that Heather experienced upon actually coming face to face with Japan’s “last Samurai.”
Any student of martial arts history can illustrate, in great detail, that we are not the first generation to read premature obituaries of Kung Fu’s passing. Nor, through the simple process of extrapolation, are we likely to be the last. Yet when examined through the lens of Fernbach’s theory of the fetish it quickly, becomes apparent that the sorts of popular narratives that we tell about the death and rebirth of the martial arts are very important. The process of fetishization which she outlines (and is particularly amenable to the study of physical or embodied practices) suggests not just a mechanism by which these practices yield real transformative influence on the individual level, but also suggests much about the social ills that they seek to respond to. A theoretically informed examination of the martial arts suggests much about the terrain that lays behind us, and what we might yet become.
*All names and program titles have been changed to protect the innocents.
As the indomitable Professor Farnsworth would say, good news everyone! The long anticipated Martial Arts Studies Reader (Rowman & Littlefield, 2018) is now shipping. Weighing in at 244 pages, and featuring articles by over a dozen of the most respected names in the field, this volume is sure to be referenced for years to come. Its timely chapters can easily be integrated into a wide variety of course reading lists. And if you look closely, you may even find my latest paper on the lightsaber combat community. This book will be of interest to both scholars and practitioners seeking to understand the evolution and social meaning of the modern martial arts. Featuring articles by Peter Lorge, Douglas Wile, Meaghan Morris and D. S. Farrer, it is sure to find a place on all of our holiday gift lists.
Speaking of which, D. S. Farrer has been kind enough to post the text of his chapter on performance ethnography. His paper opens a window onto the sorts of content that one will find in the Martial Arts Studies Reader. It also provides students with a great discussion of one of the most important research methodologies being employed in the field today. Take a look at the volume’s table of contents, read Farrer’s chapter, and order your copy today!
Table of Contents
Introduction: “What, Where and Why is Martial Arts Studies?” Paul Bowman
2. “Early Chinese Works on Martial Arts” Peter Lorge
3. “The Battlefield and the Bedroom: Chinese Martial Arts and Art of the Bedchamber” Douglas Wile
4. “Martial Arts by the Book: Historical European Martial Arts” Daniel Jaquet
5. “The Phone Book Project: Tracing the Diffusion of Asian Martial Arts in America Through the Yellow Pages” Michael Molasky
6. “Martial Arts, Media, and (Material) Religion” Esther Berg-Chan
7. “Liminoid Longings and Liminal Belonging: Hyper-reality, History and the Search for Meaning in the Modern Martial Arts” Benjamin N. Judkins
8. “‘He’s an Animal’: Naturalizing the Hyperreal in Modern Combat Sport” Janet O’Shea
9. “Martial Arts as a Coping Strategy for Violence” Sixt Wetzler
10. “Performance Ethnography” D. S. Farrer
11. “Martial Arts Studies and the Sociology of Gender: Theory, Research and Pedagogical Application” Alex Channon
12. “Masculinities, Bodies, and Martial Arts” Dale C. Spencer
13. “Martial Arts as Embodied, Discursive, and Aesthetic Practice” Tim Trausch
14. “Carnival of the Drunken Master: The Politics of the Kung Fu Comedic Body” Luke White
15. “Learning from Martial Arts” Meaghan Morris and Paul Bowman
Chapter 10: Performance Ethnography
DS Farrer
The human mind is apt to perceive many things, and more so according as its body can be disposed in more ways. —Spinoza, Ethics IIP14 (1977: 52)
Performance ethnography, where the researcher sets out to learn a martial art, or other skill, is a somatic extension of participant observation where the body may become both subject and object of research. This chapter traverses essential features of ‘how to do’ performance ethnography in martial arts research, thereby introducing a methodological toolkit to a new generation of ‘fighting scholars’ (García and Spencer 2013). Perfor-mance ethnography itself, however, is an open quarry for further research. Hence, in addition to a discussion of practical, methodological concerns, this chapter aims towards a fresh theoretical understanding of performance ethnography in terms of ‘immanence’ and ‘emergence’, where the method facilitates creative outcomes, knowledge or theory to surface from within a community of martial artists, dancers or other skilled practitioners (Deleuze 1988, 76).
In recent years Louis Cha’s novels have become subjects for comic book artists.
The Loss of Heroes
The Chinese martial arts community has lost two giants. The death of Rey Chow (who was instrumental in jumpstarting Bruce Lee’s martial arts films) and Louis Cha (who wrote under the name Jin Yong) comes as a double blow. Granted, neither man is remembered primarily as a practitioner of the martial arts. Yet as story tellers they had a huge impact on the development of the shared web of signs, meanings and desires that would shape the development of the Chinese martial art community from roughly the 1950s until the present. As scholars we need to pay close attention to this cultural web as it is the software that structures the human experience. While not strictly determinative, none of us will strive to accomplish that which we cannot imagine.
Both of these figures are deserving of an essay. Yet at the moment I find myself drawn to reflect on Cha. His stature as a literary figure, and frequent forays into modern Chinese politics (both from the editorial page and his service on various governmental committees) are fascinating in their own right. Yet I will admit to having some ambivalence regarding the cultural impact of his novels. To put the question simply, I find myself wondering what Hong Kong’s martial culture would look like today had “Jin Yong” accepted a newspaper job in Taipie in 1947 rather than Hong Kong.
Simply asking such a question smacks of heresy. In many ways Loius Cha is synonymous with Hong Kong, his adopted home. He was the co-founder, and long-time editor, of the Ming Pao daily, a major publication. While Cha is still remembered for his blistering anti-Beijing editorials during the Cultural Revolution, he became the first (non-Communist) Hong Kong resident to meet with Deng Xioping as he sought to steer China on a more open path. And with over 100 million copies sold (not counting untold pirate editions), as well as derivative films, TV programs, radio dramas, comic books and video games too numerous to count, Cha’s novels are quite possibly Hong Kong’s most important cultural export within the Chinese cultural zone. Yet his impact on the Southern Chinese martial arts has been complex.
Perhaps the best way forward would be to review the contours of a remarkable career as we ask how it was that Cha, and a generation of immigrants like him, came to call Hong Kong home. This may suggest something about Cha’s impact on the development of Southern Chinese martial culture in the post-1949 era, as well as the continuing echoes and reverberations of his legacy today.
I should state for the record that I do not claim to be an expert in the analysis, or criticism, of Cha’s work, and have only read a few of his in novels in translation. I am sure that there are others who are better qualified to write an essay such as this. Nor is that admission an artifact of false modesty. The immense popularity of Cha’s novels have actually sparked the creation of an entire academic subfield (some of which even appears in English) dedicated to the study of his legacy. Still, his influence on the world of actual Chinese martial arts practitioners has been so great that I cannot leave his passing in silence. The complexity of his relationship with this community seems to stretch far beyond the platitudes that we encounter in his many newspaper obituaries.
Jin Fong reviewing a copy of his own work. Source: BBC
Making a Hero
Like so many others, Cha first arrived in Hong Kong as a way station as he was headed somewhere else. He was born as Zha Liangyong in 1924 in Zhejiang province. His family had deep, multigenerational, scholarly credentials and it was only natural that Liang would also find a career in literature. But his pathway was far from straight. He exhibited his trademark penchant for fiery political rhetoric as a youth and was expelled from high school in 1941 after publicly denouncing the KMT’s government as “aristocratic”. Indeed, he would continue to identify himself as “anti-feudal” and “liberal” throughout his life.
After graduating from (a different) high school in 1943, Cha was accepted at the Department of Foreign Languages at the Central University of Chongqing. His initial plan was to become a foreign service officer or diplomat. However, he quickly dropped out of this program, and applied to study international law at Soochow University.
To help finance his studies Cha took a job in journalism with a major British owned paper. Fortuitously his company transferred him to the Hong Kong office in 1947. Things did not go well for all of Cha’s family who stayed behind after the Communist takeover in 1949. His father was arrested as a counterrevolutionary and executed in the early 1950s. Critics, like John Christopher Hamm (who has written one of the best English language studies of Cha’s work), note that his early novels are marked with a profound awareness of the plight of exile, alienation and loss. Like so many others who had come to Hong Kong for business or work, it quickly became apparent that there was no going home. Cha would be forced to build a new life in a largely Cantonese city under British colonial rule.
In the early 1950s Cha befriended Chen Wentong, a fellow journalist, who worked at the same paper. He encouraged Cha’s interest in writing and in 1955 (writing under the pseudonym Jin Yong) he began to produce the first of the serialized wuxia novels that would make him famous. In English this story’s title is typically rendered The Book and the Sword.
In 1959 Cha and his high school classmate, Shen Baoxin, established the Ming Pao daily newspaper with Cha serving as editor. The small paper started off as a home for “Jin Yong’s” increasingly popular novels, but it has since grown to be on the largest Chinese daily papers. In its first two decades Cha was responsible for writing not just the serialized novels but also the daily editorials and many small features. It is reported that at times he was publishing more than 10,000 characters a day.
In total Cha produced 14 novels and a single short story under the Jin Yong pseudonym. Then, in 1972, he retired and announced that he would concentrate on consolidating and editing his already extensive literary legacy. This was a complex undertaking as these novels had first appeared as serialized newspaper columns, which operated under their own set of literary conventions. In 1979 Cha released the first “complete and definitive” set of novels, many of which had been streamlined or slightly reworked in the editorial process.
The 1970s-1990s were a period of increased political activity in Cha’s life. He had always maintained an interest in politics (often understood through a more traditional Chinese cultural lens focusing on “the national interest”). Initially this led Cha to make many enemies on the left when he forcefully denounced the Cultural Revolution. Still, his reputation as someone capable of bringing together complex competing perspectives led to an invitation to meet with Deng Xiaoping and his subsequent appointment to the committee drafting Hong Kong’s Basic Law. Cha resigned that position in 1989 in protest over the Tiananmen Square Incident. Yet in 1996 he was once again working on the important Preparatory Committee, prior to the 1997 handover.
Not content to rest on his literary or political laurels, Cha pursued his lifelong fascination with Chinese history by pursuing a Doctorate in Oriental Studies at Cambridge University. His degree was awarded in 2010 when he deposited his dissertation focusing on imperial succession in the early Tang dynasty. Cha remained an important public figure throughout his life and his works have remained popular. A highly publicized English language version of his Condor Heroes series released its first installment in 2018. Cha died on October 30th2018, at 94, after a long period of illness.
John Christopher Hamm has argued that it is impossible to understand Jin Yong’s meaning or social significance without thinking very carefully about the environment that this literary phenomenon emerged in. Hong Kong’s newspapers were already well acquainted with the notion of serialized martial arts novels well before Cha’s arrival in the city. Indeed, the region had a rich, well-established, tradition of Kung Fu novels stretching back through the 19th century. Many of these were firmly rooted in Cantonese colloquialisms and local heroic figures. While one must be careful not to draw what were always shifting social borders too strictly, these stories typically appealed to the transient workers and merchants who came to Hong Kong to do business before returning (either at the end of a season or a career) to some other location in the Pearl River delta.
With the national upheavals of the late 1930s and 1940s, the city’s complexion began to change quite rapidly. Increasing numbers of displaced persons made their way to Hong Kong in an effort to escape the turmoil elsewhere in China. Since these Northern immigrants had the means to travel, they were often better off financially and more educated than much of the local population. Following the 1949 liberation of China by the Communist Party, they streamed in, effectively overwhelming the Guangdong culture that had dominated Hong Kong since its inceptions. It is interesting to note, parenthetically, that Ip Man and Louis Cha arrived in the city within a year and a half of each other, though they represented different cultural currents.
Like Cha these individuals slowly came to the realization that the 1949 crisis was not a limited event like the others that had marked China’s tumultuous 20thcentury. Rather than a temporary haven, Hong Kong had become their home for the imaginable future. Cultural clashes were common. Local Cantonese residents referred to these newcomers as “outlanders.” For their part the Northern refugees tended to see Hong Kong as a cultural wasteland. Cantonese culture was dismissed as backwards and new radio stations, theater groups and even newspapers quickly sprang up to cater to these northern “outlanders” who brought their own ideas about what modern Chinese life should be.
The Ming Pao daily was one of these institutions. And as Hamm notes, Jin Yong’s novels were a clear departure from the local kung fu tales that had previously dominated Hong Kong story telling. Acutely self-aware, his stories focused not on local heroes, but epic tales of contests for control of the Central Plains during periods of foreign occupation. When the heroes suffered their inevitable defeats, they retreated to the fringes of the empires and went into exile, just as Jin Yong’s readers had.
This is not to say that Jin Yong’s work didn’t have immense appeal, or that it was incapable of reaching a cross-over audience. As so many writers have recently noted, his novels have proved to be culturally enduring precisely because they speak to individuals across the geographic, ideological and economic lines that have traditionally divided the Chinese cultural area. They have managed to do so in large part by advancing an appealing, nuanced, vision of Chinese nationalism. Self-determination and cultural identity seem to rest at the heart of Cha’s understanding of patriotism. And in his later works he goes to lengths to praise China’s many ethnic minorities (particularly the ones that have contributed to its martial arts traditions) advancing a more open and liberal vision of what Chinese nationalism might be.
All of this is combined with a reverence for traditional Confucian values, particularly when they order the relationship between teachers and students, family members or leaders and followers. Yet the feudal past, in which all of his stories are set, is not accepted uncritically. Cha remained deeply suspicious of the feudal and aristocratic, and so his characters can be seen to wrestle with, and critically examine, practices that no longer work in the “modern” world of the 14thor 15thcenturies.
A lack of Cantonese colloquialisms notwithstanding, these themes were likely to have a broad appeal within Hong Kong society. Cha made sophisticated discussions about identity, belonging and the nation available to those with a variety of educational and cultural backgrounds. Yet these stories always originated from a specific place, or point of view. Nor can one help but wonder what other vision of martial arts culture they displaced, or pushed to the margins, as Jin Yong attained a sort of hegemonic dominance within the Wuxia genre. In my own research I frequently run across accounts of martial arts students in the 1960s and 1970s who, while enthusiastic to learn the southern martial arts, carried with them different visions about the values or identities that motivated these systems. Generational conflict over such matters is not unique to this case. Though as I read one testimonial after another as to how critical Cha was to defining the world view of a generation of Southern martial artists, I cannot help but wonder what he displaced, and to what degree he helped to shape the disjointed expectations of the period. Indeed, in my own account of Wing Chun’s history during the post-war era, Jing Yong’s novels are more likely to play the role of “loyal opposition” than protagonist.
Cha, second from left, in 1960, with the cast of the film “Return of the Condor Heroes.” Source: The New Yorker
The Journey North
The burgeoning hostility of local Hong Kong residents towards Northern visitors or residents is nothing new. It is easy to find recent newspaper articles and editorials referring to Northerners as “locusts” who sweep in to consume not just cheap goods, but increasingly the best real estate and jobs, pushing long-time residents ever further from the center. In the wake of his death some individuals openly wondered whether a figure like Cha could succeed today given the open hostility to immigrants. The great irony, of course, is that the majority of Hong Kong’s “legitimate” residents today were once northern transplants themselves, and Cha’s stories helped their parents to negotiate an environment that was not always friendly, familiar or welcoming.
By becoming the quintessential Hong Kong storyteller (a lack of Cantonese roots notwithstanding) Cha is once again acting as a cultural bridge. Amidst all of the anxiety about the death of the Hong Kong film industry, and the future of the Southern Chinese martial arts (which are being priced out of the city by skyrocketing rents), it is easy to forget that in some ways the Cantonese martial arts heroes are now more popular than ever throughout the PRC. Ip Man has become a household figure (and his art has exploded in popularity) not just because of his association with Bruce Lee. Rather, Wilson Ip’s 2008 film and its many successors have been key in spreading this bit of Southern culture throughout the mainland.
It has been noted (by myself and others) that the vision of Ip Man that these films conjure does not bear a close resemblance to the real life (and rather well documented) figure. In the place of the undeniably mercurial and modernist Ip Man, what do these films present? A figure that in many ways splits the difference between the traditional Kung Fu genre and one of Cha’s stories. Yes, the action is still gritty and “realistic” with minimal wire work. But we now have a hero who exemplifies martial virtue, who demonstrates Confucian values in his relationships, who is a patriot who fights for China, and in defeat he retreats in exile to the edge of the empire. Does that sound familiar?
The flavor of these films is undeniably influenced by the Hong Kong tradition. Yet the mold that shapes the stories bears an uncanny resemblance to the ideal hero (a patriot who endures rather than wins) as laid out in Cha’s many novels. Where as Ip Man and Louis Cha had once existed as contemporary historical figures, whose lives ran on parallel tracks, their legacies now interact in complex ways. Rather than simply displacing the Pearl River Delta’s traditional Kung Fu narrative, Cha seems to have provided a pattern by which its heroes can travel North, testing their own fortunes in the Central Plains.
While I have a few connections in New York City’s TCMA community, it has always been my experience that one turns up different sorts of insights by getting out and exploring the terrain on one’s own. It was with that notion in mind that my wife and I set out to reconnoiter the older Manhattan Chinatown, which now seems almost quaint when compared in scale to its larger and more vibrant neighbor in Queens. The weather was great, and we got some memorable photos of tourists from China stopping to take photos of Chinese-American businesses and families. The gods of globalization move in mysterious ways.
The afternoon was not a total bust. We briefly made contact with two people working on Xingyi in a local park, though it was abundantly clear that no manner of martial art was going to distract the local residents from the many card games that dominated the district. After purchasing a book (by my friend Mark Wiley) from a local martial arts business, we were able to learn a little more about the neighborhood’s martial arts scene. Things sounded quiet, but we found out about two other instructors (Taijiquan and Wing Chun) who occasionally taught in the same park.
Still, there was very little evidence of the vibrant martial arts scene that had been so prominent during the late 1970s and 1980s. While the gentrification that has reshaped so much of the island was less evident south of Canal Street, Chinatown evolves and changes, like everything else. It seems that the warehouse schools which I read about in memoirs and doctoral dissertations have suffered the same fate as many of the more colorful elements of New York life.
In search of some historical perspective my wife and I next visited a local non-profit dedicated to preserving as much of Chinatown’s local and oral history as possible. The young employees (all in their 20s) thought that our subject sounded fascinating. Yet as they searched their databases and various key-word indexes they didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything useful. While they approached their job with infectious enthusiasm, they freely admitted that most of the neighborhood’s older residents didn’t share their zeal for preserving the past.
In fact, convincing older Chinese-Americans to sit down for oral history interviews was proving to be every bit as difficult as one might suspect. While there was some interesting history available on various musical and opera societies, once the tape recorders were turned on no one seemed willing to admit to knowing anything about martial arts instruction or Lion Dancing. In fact, the young researchers who staffed the office were hopeful that as a “total outsider” I would have better luck than them when it came to interviewing individuals and ferreting out this chapter of the historical record.
The situation was even bleaker when looking for resources that might discuss martial arts training in the pre-war period. Outside of a few stories and names, not much of substance seems to have survived. Giving me a mournful look, my ever-earnest historical guide explained that with so few surviving sources much of the texture of the community had been irrevocably lost. So ended my hopes of unearthing a rich trove of New York’s early Chinese martial arts history.
Or so I thought. Research is a funny thing. All of our sources are oddly specific, and even the most comprehensive database catches only a fraction of what is already sitting in some archive or library. While conducting a search for Chinese newsreel footage of martial arts practice during the Guoshu decade (1928-1938), I stumbled across something much more valuable. I found perhaps the best preserved and oldest footage of North American Southern Kung Fu practice that I had yet seen. Even better, it was shot on the same New York City streets that my wife and I had recently explored.
The Footage
Anyone interested in viewing this film can do so by clicking this link. This priceless visual record has been preserved on a reel of out-takes and raw newsreel footage that is held by the Historic Film archive. The entire reel is quite important as it helps to contextualize how images of the Chinese martial arts were classified and framed at the time of their production and cataloging. All of the clips on the reel were produced during the 1920s and most of them focus on scenes of entertainment. The period’s jazz tradition is well represented, and scenes of Chinese-American life find themselves juxtaposed with visual records of the African-American community. It should be noted that there are multiple recordings of Chinese New Year Festivals on the reel, suggesting a persistent interest in the subject.
At minute 19:42 viewers will encounter footage of a New Year celebration which happened on January 10th, 1929. In addition to the more common scenes of enthusiastic crowds, fireworks and Lion Dancing, two minutes of footage was also shot of the sorts of martial arts exhibitions that accompanied these festivals. While such exhibitions are occasionally noted in period newspaper reports, this is the most complete visual record of such a performance (in North America), that I have yet encountered.
This material rewards a close examination. None of this footage has been narrated, nor are there scene cards. As such I suspect that most of this material was probably treated as “out takes.” Still, it’s a rich source. While we might lament that we only have two minutes of material, by the standards of a 1920s newsreel, two minutes is an eternity.
This footage is composed of a series of much briefer clips (most ranging in length from 10 to 30 seconds) which focus on the performance of individual martial artists, all performing on a single day in what appears to be the same crowded outdoor venue. In total 11 sequences are shown, each focusing on some sort of forms performance. Both unarmed and weapons sets are represented in the sample, as well as a few two-person weapons sets. (For the sake of clarity this post is discussing only the martial arts demonstration, and not the excellent Lion Dance footage found on the same newsreel which probably deserves specialized treatment of its own).
If we assume that most of these sets could be introduced, set up and performed in about two minutes, it seems that the original demonstration was at least 22 minutes long. Even more remarkable is that very few individuals (maybe one or two) made any repeat performances in this show. Thus it took at least a dozen martial artists to stage this demonstration.
Most of the individuals in the show were wearing regalia suggesting that they had just come from (or were headed to) Lion Dancing. The standard uniform appears to have been a white shirt, black bowtie and Kung Fu pants, but a number of individuals can also be seen to wear the typical street clothing of the period. All of the performers in this film are male (though I have seen newsreel footage of female martial artists in NYC in the 1930s). Some are dressed as common laborers, while other have the air of shopkeepers or clerks.
A detailed breakdown of the film is as follows:
19:49-19:53 Unarmed Solo Set 1 (conclusion)
19:54-20:05 Unarmed Solo Set 2 (opening)
20:06-20:29 Unarmed Solo Set 3 (opening)
20:30-20:36 Solo Weapon, Eyebrow Staff
20:37-20:40 Solo Weapon, Southern Style Long Pole
20:41-21:08 Solo Weapon, Pudao
21:08-21:22 Solo Weapon, Hudiedao (Butterfly Swords)
21:23-21:32 Two Man, Long Poles
21:33-21:52 Solo Weapon, Rattan Shield and short saber
21:53-21:55 Two Man, Spear vs. Shield and Sword
21:56-22:00 Two Man, Spear vs. Shield and Sword
Analysis
So what sort of demonstration are we looking at? To begin with, one of remarkable sophistication. The conventional narratives suggest that modern Chinese martial arts schools, as we know them today, did not begin to appear in Chinatowns in cities like New York, San Francisco and Toronto until the 1950s. Prior to that it is not the case that the martial arts were never taught. Rather, their instruction tended to be sponsored by the various fraternal societies, theater groups and criminal organizations that dominated much of these neighborhoods’ associational life. Indeed, as Charlie Russo has demonstrated in his book on the Bay Area martial arts community, the first generation of public instructors often opened their school after having first established a reputation in community these group. For their part, the various Tongs are generally thought to have been more interested in training “street soldiers” capable of collecting gambling debts, acting as bouncers in a variety of establishments and dealing with belligerent tourists.
Still, the existence of this film problematizes any attempt to bifurcate early 20th century Chinese-American martial arts into a “practical” pre-war phase and a post-war era that might be more recognizable. While it seems unlikely that any of the individuals received their instruction in public commercial martial arts schools in New York City during the 1920s (to the best of our knowledge there simply weren’t any), it is now clear that there were a large number of individuals who were regularly gathering to train in the traditional martial arts. Further, staging a Lion Dance and demonstration with as many individuals as we see on this film suggests a fair degree of organizational sophistication. While they may not have been organized as a public school, it would appear that their institutional Kung Fu must have been pretty good.
What about their physical practice? All of this film was shot from a single elevated camera angle, so the various martial artists move in and out of the frame. This combined with the repetitive nature of many Southern sets, and the short duration of most of the clips, makes it very difficult to positively identify the various forms being displayed. After sharing this film with Hung Gar instructors on various continents, and a couple of Choy Li Fut students, we were not able to identify any of the sets with 100% certainty. Most of the unarmed and weapons work bears a resemblance to pre-Wong Fei Hung style Hung Gar. Alternatively, the one set in which we see the rattan shield and sword combined with tumbling is highly suggestive of some sets that are still practiced in Choy Li Fut.
Identifying these sets has proved to be somewhat frustrating. The film suggests that the general movement culture (or possibly “habitus”) of the Southern Chinese folk arts have remained remarkably consistent over the last century. It was genuinely interesting to see how the seventh performer moved with the hudiedao. Figuring out just what these guys were doing might be an important clue in reconstructing the early TCMA community as it existed in New York city during the 1920s. If anyone has any insights into the identities of these sets (or better yet, the martial artists) please leave a comment below.
While I have a few connections in New York City’s TCMA community, it has always been my experience that one turns up different sorts of insights by getting out and exploring the terrain on one’s own. It was with that notion in mind that my wife and I set out to reconnoiter the older Manhattan Chinatown, which now seems almost quaint when compared in scale to its larger and more vibrant neighbor in Queens. The weather was great, and we got some memorable photos of tourists from China stopping to take photos of Chinese-American businesses and families. The gods of globalization move in mysterious ways.
The afternoon was not a total bust. We briefly made contact with two people working on Xingyi in a local park, though it was abundantly clear that no manner of martial art was going to distract the local residents from the many card games that dominated the district. After purchasing a book (by my friend Mark Wiley) from a local martial arts business, we were able to learn a little more about the neighborhood’s martial arts scene. Things sounded quiet, but we found out about two other instructors (Taijiquan and Wing Chun) who occasionally taught in the same park.
Still, there was very little evidence of the vibrant martial arts scene that had been so prominent during the late 1970s and 1980s. While the gentrification that has reshaped so much of the island was less evident south of Canal Street, Chinatown evolves and changes, like everything else. It seems that the warehouse schools which I read about in memoirs and doctoral dissertations have suffered the same fate as many of the more colorful elements of New York life.
In search of some historical perspective my wife and I next visited a local non-profit dedicated to preserving as much of Chinatown’s local and oral history as possible. The young employees (all in their 20s) thought that our subject sounded fascinating. Yet as they searched their databases and various key-word indexes they didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything useful. While they approached their job with infectious enthusiasm, they freely admitted that most of the neighborhood’s older residents didn’t share their zeal for preserving the past.
In fact, convincing older Chinese-Americans to sit down for oral history interviews was proving to be every bit as difficult as one might suspect. While there was some interesting history available on various musical and opera societies, once the tape recorders were turned on no one seemed willing to admit to knowing anything about martial arts instruction or Lion Dancing. In fact, the young researchers who staffed the office were hopeful that as a “total outsider” I would have better luck than them when it came to interviewing individuals and ferreting out this chapter of the historical record.
The situation was even bleaker when looking for resources that might discuss martial arts training in the pre-war period. Outside of a few stories and names, not much of substance seems to have survived. Giving me a mournful look, my ever-earnest historical guide explained that with so few surviving sources much of the texture of the community had been irrevocably lost. So ended my hopes of unearthing a rich trove of New York’s early Chinese martial arts history.
Or so I thought. Research is a funny thing. All of our sources are oddly specific, and even the most comprehensive database catches only a fraction of what is already sitting in some archive or library. While conducting a search for Chinese newsreel footage of martial arts practice during the Guoshu decade (1928-1938), I stumbled across something much more valuable. I found perhaps the best preserved and oldest footage of North American Southern Kung Fu practice that I had yet seen. Even better, it was shot on the same New York City streets that my wife and I had recently explored.
The Footage
Anyone interested in viewing this film can do so by clicking this link. This priceless visual record has been preserved on a reel of out-takes and raw newsreel footage that is held by the Historic Film archive. The entire reel is quite important as it helps to contextualize how images of the Chinese martial arts were classified and framed at the time of their production and cataloging. All of the clips on the reel were produced during the 1920s and most of them focus on scenes of entertainment. The period’s jazz tradition is well represented, and scenes of Chinese-American life find themselves juxtaposed with visual records of the African-American community. It should be noted that there are multiple recordings of Chinese New Year Festivals on the reel, suggesting a persistent interest in the subject.
At minute 19:42 viewers will encounter footage of a New Year celebration which happened on January 10th, 1929. In addition to the more common scenes of enthusiastic crowds, fireworks and Lion Dancing, two minutes of footage was also shot of the sorts of martial arts exhibitions that accompanied these festivals. While such exhibitions are occasionally noted in period newspaper reports, this is the most complete visual record of such a performance (in North America), that I have yet encountered.
This material rewards a close examination. None of this footage has been narrated, nor are there scene cards. As such I suspect that most of this material was probably treated as “out takes.” Still, it’s a rich source. While we might lament that we only have two minutes of material, by the standards of a 1920s newsreel, two minutes is an eternity.
This footage is composed of a series of much briefer clips (most ranging in length from 10 to 30 seconds) which focus on the performance of individual martial artists, all performing on a single day in what appears to be the same crowded outdoor venue. In total 11 sequences are shown, each focusing on some sort of forms performance. Both unarmed and weapons sets are represented in the sample, as well as a few two-person weapons sets. (For the sake of clarity this post is discussing only the martial arts demonstration, and not the excellent Lion Dance footage found on the same newsreel which probably deserves specialized treatment of its own).
If we assume that most of these sets could be introduced, set up and performed in about two minutes, it seems that the original demonstration was at least 22 minutes long. Even more remarkable is that very few individuals (maybe one or two) made any repeat performances in this show. Thus it took at least a dozen martial artists to stage this demonstration.
Most of the individuals in the show were wearing regalia suggesting that they had just come from (or were headed to) Lion Dancing. The standard uniform appears to have been a white shirt, black bowtie and Kung Fu pants, but a number of individuals can also be seen to wear the typical street clothing of the period. All of the performers in this film are male (though I have seen newsreel footage of female martial artists in NYC in the 1930s). Some are dressed as common laborers, while other have the air of shopkeepers or clerks.
A detailed breakdown of the film is as follows:
19:49-19:53 Unarmed Solo Set 1 (conclusion)
19:54-20:05 Unarmed Solo Set 2 (opening)
20:06-20:29 Unarmed Solo Set 3 (opening)
20:30-20:36 Solo Weapon, Eyebrow Staff
20:37-20:40 Solo Weapon, Southern Style Long Pole
20:41-21:08 Solo Weapon, Pudao
21:08-21:22 Solo Weapon, Hudiedao (Butterfly Swords)
21:23-21:32 Two Man, Long Poles
21:33-21:52 Solo Weapon, Rattan Shield and short saber
21:53-21:55 Two Man, Spear vs. Shield and Sword
21:56-22:00 Two Man, Spear vs. Shield and Sword
Analysis
So what sort of demonstration are we looking at? To begin with, one of remarkable sophistication. The conventional narratives suggest that modern Chinese martial arts schools, as we know them today, did not begin to appear in Chinatowns in cities like New York, San Francisco and Toronto until the 1950s. Prior to that it is not the case that the martial arts were never taught. Rather, their instruction tended to be sponsored by the various fraternal societies, theater groups and criminal organizations that dominated much of these neighborhoods’ associational life. Indeed, as Charlie Russo has demonstrated in his book on the Bay Area martial arts community, the first generation of public instructors often opened their school after having first established a reputation in community these group. For their part, the various Tongs are generally thought to have been more interested in training “street soldiers” capable of collecting gambling debts, acting as bouncers in a variety of establishments and dealing with belligerent tourists.
Still, the existence of this film problematizes any attempt to bifurcate early 20th century Chinese-American martial arts into a “practical” pre-war phase and a post-war era that might be more recognizable. While it seems unlikely that any of the individuals received their instruction in public commercial martial arts schools in New York City during the 1920s (to the best of our knowledge there simply weren’t any), it is now clear that there were a large number of individuals who were regularly gathering to train in the traditional martial arts. Further, staging a Lion Dance and demonstration with as many individuals as we see on this film suggests a fair degree of organizational sophistication. While they may not have been organized as a public school, it would appear that their institutional Kung Fu must have been pretty good.
What about their physical practice? All of this film was shot from a single elevated camera angle, so the various martial artists move in and out of the frame. This combined with the repetitive nature of many Southern sets, and the short duration of most of the clips, makes it very difficult to positively identify the various forms being displayed. After sharing this film with Hung Gar instructors on various continents, and a couple of Choy Li Fut students, we were not able to identify any of the sets with 100% certainty. Most of the unarmed and weapons work bears a resemblance to pre-Wong Fei Hung style Hung Gar. Alternatively, the one set in which we see the rattan shield and sword combined with tumbling is highly suggestive of some sets that are still practiced in Choy Li Fut.
Identifying these sets has proved to be somewhat frustrating. The film suggests that the general movement culture (or possibly “habitus”) of the Southern Chinese folk arts have remained remarkably consistent over the last century. It was genuinely interesting to see how the seventh performer moved with the hudiedao. Figuring out just what these guys were doing might be an important clue in reconstructing the early TCMA community as it existed in New York city during the 1920s. If anyone has any insights into the identities of these sets (or better yet, the martial artists) please leave a comment below.
A period depiction of Ming Soldiers involved in the Piracy Crisis which inspired Qi Jiguang’s now famous discussion of military training. Source: Ming Qiu Shizhou Taiwan Zoukai Tu (Victory in Taiwan by Qiu Ying [pseudonym Shizhou] of the Ming, 1494 – 1552). Click here to learn more about this important source.
Translator’s Note
Here is the full translation of the Qi Jiguang’s Fist Method as it appears in the Wubei Zhi, offered as a follow-up to my initial discussion of the challenges of translating this text into English verse. If you are coming to this discussion for the first time, you may want to read that initial essay before proceeding on. I want to make this available to everyone who expressed interest and to anyone else who might find it helpful. I do not intend this to be authoritative or even unchanging. Input and discussion is always wanted and appreciated. I hope you find it enjoyable to read.
Historical context
“拳經捷要篇 -The Essential Chapters of the Fist Cannon” was first published in Qi Jiguang’s seminal training manual “JiXiaoXinShu”. It was later republished in the Wubei Zhi in it’s complete form. Understanding the content of this work is dependent upon understanding its historical contexts both in the military and broader social or societal arena.
Social
There are several social factors of this period in the Ming Dynasty that one must take into account when trying to place this treatise in its proper context. The traditional hereditary military system was breaking down. There were simply not enough officers or soldier being produced from those families to keep the Ming military at its former glory. The breakdown of Ming forces contributed to a rise in social violence including, rebellions, highway men and banditry, organized cannibalism, and other fairly horrific behaviors that occur when populations become desperate and have nowhere to turn.
While violence and crime were important factors in daily Ming life, there were also more positive influences. Printing and publishing saw an enormous rise during the Ming as did literacy. With a more literate populace, the demand for books of all types grew. Printed books became big business. The publishing boom of the 16th century produced thousands of texts to be consumed by a growing lettered class. It is in this environment that we find the rise of the martial arts/military treatise purchased by non-military readers.
As the Literati grew in numbers, more and more books on every subject were produced. Those with an interest in military or martial affairs now had the ability to study these topics even if not born into the military class. People like Mao Yuanyi who wrote and compiled the largest written document on military affairs in the Chinese language, the Wubei Zhi, were able to access this information without being a memberof a hereditary Military family. This brought an entirely new perspectives to discussions of the martial arts.
It is difficult to say when the Martial arts manual that we know today truly came about, but we have little evidence of these texts prior to the Ming dynasty. Surviving martial art texts from before the Ming are often vague and general, offering more strategic and tactical insight and philosophy than step by step instruction of technique. The true illustrated martial arts text was, more than likely, a product of the Ming publishing boom as the audience for such texts grew.
Qi’s first book “JiXiaoXinShu” was published in this environment and one can make a convincing case that this is the oldest example of a martial arts manual for the training of individual skills. Where as prior, this information was mostlikely held by the military families as “trade secrets,” Qi decided to include examinations of various martial arts for the battlefield and focus on the individual training of troops.
Military
Qi Jiguang wrote “JixiaoxinShu” in the late 1500’s near the end of the Ming Dynasty. The circumstances of his writing this book and subsequently re-editing it later, concern the Woku Coastal pirate crisis. The Woku, more commonly referred to as ‘Japanese Pirates’, were an enormous problem for the Ming at the end of the 1500’s. These bands of raiders, which consisted of mostly local Chinese citizens (often former fishermen or merchant sailors), werebankrolled or under the command of self appointed Japanese Sea Lords. They operated under the nose of the Ming government, effectively undermining their trade war with Japan.
Not only were the raids themselves a security problem for the region, but due to rampant corruption, many local authorities were actually collaborating with the Woku. This allowed them to bring their raids far inland and away from the coast. They were able to reach and pillage communities that were previously considered safe.
Assigned to the region was another famous and influential writer of the Ming dynasty, General Yu Dayou, author of “Jian Jing”. General Yu was frustrated with the lack of support he received from the Capitol, who in turn withheld funds and equipment due to lack of real progress in the crisis. General Yu insisted that he needed more fire arms and ships to adequately meet the threat. The government refused.
When General Qi arrived on the scene, he knew that asking for material support would be a fools errand. Instead, he came up with progressive if not novel approaches to the lack of technology and men available to them. He formed a mercenary army, consisting of volunteers from the affected farming communities. He specially chose these people as they were used to hard work, they were defending their homes, and they would be paid for their trouble. The problem was, that in the past, soldiers and military personnel came primarily from the hereditary military families and had some experience in the act of warfare. This system had begun to break down in the mid-Ming, which also contributed to the public’s general lack of faith in the imperial forces.
Because these recruits were not from traditional military back grounds, there was a need to train them from the ground up. It is this method that Qi later detailed in his treatise “JiXianXinShu”- the New Methods of Military Effectiveness. One of the unique features of this book is that it is one of the first military treatises to cover the training of individual martial arts by soldiers. Since the men he was using a the time did not have formal training in military exercise or fighting on the battlefield, Qi included the training regimens for several weapons and one chapter devoted to empty handed technique.
The martial arts that Qi choose to represent in his writing is linked to the strategies that he devised for the crisis. The spear takes the lead followed by the shield and dao, sported by archers with both conventional and fire/explosive arrows.At the end of the section is talk of the staff and finally is the bare handed section. Qi’s reason for including unarmed martial art is, as he states, mainly for conditioning and keeping the troops occupied and focused. While these techniques may have found some direct application in friendly wrestling bouts of the sorts that soldiers have while encamped, even Qi states in his introduction that there is little use for such things in the theater of war.
The Art Represented
Much of our discussion of Qi’s unarmed method must remain conjecture. The names of each technique are familiar to modern practitioners of Chinese martial arts. Many of these names appear in several separate martial traditions. Taijiquan, for instance, shares a fair number of these names within the various lineages of the art. Some historians have taken this to mean that this document is the direct antecedent to the art of Taijiquan. While it is difficult to say if there is a direct connection, or if Qi’s writing indicate the survival of an art that has been practiced since the Ming, it should be remembered that the names and techniques described here are actually shared by several styles including Baji, Fanzi, Pigua, Cha Quan, Tang Lang (mantis), and many others. Qi says that he has taken these techniques from various sources. It could be that the origins for the names are to be found in them, and thus may indicate an unbroken “lineage” into modern times.
However, if one looks at the situation of new conscripts learning new skills and bringing them back to their home villages, a migration of common names through a wide variety of people and communities does not seem so far fetched. Let’s remember that Qi’s book was published and sold to non military readers as well and that it did gain a following among the literati. If these techniques were used in the training of provincial troops from surrounding areas, these men would take these technique, names, and sequences home with them and repurpose them for the needs of the community. It is in my opinion easy to assume that this is at least one factor in the creation of styles that share technique nomenclature yet no apparent technical base or common lineage.
The techniques themselves seem to be centered around what could be deemed “fast wrestling” today. Fast wrestling is a sport in which wrestling moves are performed as quickly as possible and points are scored with successful throws without the use of extended ground fighting. Essentially, pin them as fast as you can. Battlefield techniques do not usually include lots of wrestling. But grappling and wrestling are far more useful than hitting in this context. Qi admits that this is included for exercise and conditioning only and has little direct relevance to war.
Qi also makes the claim to have extracted these techniques as the best examples from the famous styles being practiced during the day. He then lists many of them with the impression being given that this is very much like a hybrid style made up of techniques from others. Some may be tempted to call this “mixed martial arts.” However, I believe it is an error to equate the purpose of Qi’s fist method with the modern sport of MMA. Martial arts have always borrowed and taken from other arts to add and expand their own. It does not follow that the mixing of techniques from different traditions was particularly rare or frowned upon. The sport of MMA is a mix of martial art for a single purpose of getting the most effective techniques for submitting your opponent. The use of fighting in the armed forces is much broader and, in Qi’s method, the unarmed exercises serve health and fitness purpose almost exclusively. In that sense at least, it is not that different from many modern practitioners of taijiquan practice today.
Translation notes
Qi Jiguangs’s Empty-handed method is perhaps one of the best known Ming era martial arts texts. This is in large part due to the fact the many of the names of techniques used in this text are still found in martial arts today. Many traditions (most notably Taijiquan) cite this document as an early predecessor to the modern arts they practice. These arts often refer back to this document without much in the way of analysis. As the names are often popular, they have over the years acquired some conventional glosses. I have made a directed effort not to simply use these familiar translations but rather to render the name in as clear language as I can to describe the action taking place or to give a clearer context with the language. No doubt this might cause some initial confusion amongst readers who are looking at this through the lens of their own art. But, I am approaching the text as a separate practice, however influential it might have been.
One specific note that should be pointed out is the translation of the word “Quan” 拳. While the word is a familiar suffix denoting a martial art, it is used in a few different ways in this text. In the past the word has ben translated as “boxing”. I have stayed away from that gloss for the most part as its is imprecise within the discussion we are currently having. I will at times translate it as “fist” to stay within the idiom, but when discussed in general terms, I have used the rather wordy “unarmed techniques/combat”. By using both approaches I hope that it reads more naturally without forcing the reader to code switch as much.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Ting from the Great Ming Military blog, Clifford Lao, and Ma Xianfeng for their invaluable help and input in the subtleties of Literary Chinese and Ming history. Thanks also go to Ben Judkins for allowing me the platform to present my work. It is my sincerest wish that practitioners of martial arts will find these at the very least interesting if not illuminating to past practices. I also hope that it encourages more people to make their own translation attempts of these texts. Multiple perspectives are always needed.
Any errors are my own and I accept any and all criticism or correction.
[While this art is not very useful for preparing troops (for war), it can help with excess energy, or as an initial practice of martial arts. However, most people cannot become strong this way. They only listen to their own ears (only do movements with which they are familiar). Therefore, this section is placed at the end of the other sections as per it’s significance. Chapter 14]
Unarmed combat seems to offer nothing in the way of the preparation for large scale war, but the exercising of the hands and feet forms habits for moving the limbs as a unit, making this practice a doorway to learning the art (of war).This chapter is provided last to complete the preparation of skills.To learn the fist (unarmed techniques) it is necessary to have the body mechanics lively yet simple, the hand work simple yet keen,footwork is light, giving the ability to advance and retreat at will and legs that can leap and jump. How wonderful it is; To rise high and fall low, and how fierce; the chopping across with the fists, how quick; lively grasping for the sky, and how soft; to know how to endure and evade. For this reason I have chosen 32 of the best unarmed techniques, each one follows from the previous, with applications to an opponent, it can be adapted in unpredictable ways. How refined, how deep! The uninitiated will watch you and claim you are a supernatural master. A common saying; “The fist hits without knowing”, surely it is like trying to cover your ears before the thunder.They say no provocation, no resistance, just one action will bring them down; attack will provoke resistance, then ten attacks of their own will follow. Play the game but remember the larger lesson, Those that strategize and plan will be victorious.
The Ancient Schools of the Fist; Taizu has 32 stances of long fist, also six step fist, monkey fist, decoy fist, the names of the stances each have their own qualities, but in reality they have a great amount of similarities and only small differences. Today the styles of note are Wen Family 72 step Fist, 36 locks, 24 throws of Testing Horse, 8 dodging turns, and 20 short (hits). Lu hong’s 8 take downs, although it is strong, it does not match the “cotton fist” or “Short Hit”. ShanDong’s Li BanTian’s kicks, Eagle Claw King’s grappling, 1,000 throws of Zhang’s throwing (method). Zhang BaiJing’s striking. The staff methods of Shaolin Temple and QingTian compliment each other, Yang Family Spear and Baozi style staff, this is all we have today, although they have their own strengths. Some systems may have the upper and not the lower, or have the lower and not the upper, victory may be possible for one man, but this is not a comprehensive approach. If each Family Fighting method is combined and practiced, the principle of the Mountain Snake Formation, strike the head and the tail must follow, strike the tail and the head must follow, strike at their body and both head and tail must react. This is what is meant by upper and lower are together, and victory is certain.
Overall, the practice of the fist, saber, spear, fork, trident, sword, halberd, archery, hook, scythe,and others in this class, first have the fist method to train the movement of body and hands.And therefore, this method of unarmed combat is the wellspring of martial arts. Here the movements are transmitted by illustrations of the stances, explanation of the secrets, introducing the student to the method. Those that have learned this will surely test the enemy, do not be ashamed of the outcome, instead, ponder why you were victorious or how you were defeated. Make a concerted effort and experiment for a long time, if you lack courage your skill will be shallow, good fighting surely decides the essence of the art. The ancients have said; “The exulted artist is a man with great bravery”, trust this without reservation.
余在舟山公署，得參戎劉草堂打拳，所謂「犯了招架，便是十下」之謂也。此最妙，即棍中之連打。
When I was in ZhouShan, I was able to train with Liu Cao-Tong in boxing at the public hall, they say “If one commits only to blocking, ten more blows will come”,just as with the very clever staff attack of chaining strikes together.
1.
懶扎衣出門架子
變下勢霎步單鞭
對敵若無膽向先
空自眼明手便
Lǎn zhā yī chūmén jiàzi
biàn xià shì shà bù dān biān
duì dí ruò wú dǎn xiàng xiān
kōngzì yǎn míng shǒu biàn
Tie Your Coat and come outside,
Single Whip with sudden stride,
Without the courage to advance,
Sharp eyes fast hands will have no chance.
2.
金雞獨立顚(顛)起
裝腿橫拳相兼
槍背卧牛雙倒
遭着叫苦連天
Jīnjīdúlì diān (diān) qǐ
zhuāng tuǐ héng quán xiāng jiān
qiāng bèi wò niú shuāng
zāozhe jiàokǔliántiān
Golden Rooster stands on top,
Present your leg then sideways chop,
Rush in low and Trip the Bull,
They cry to heaven loud and full.
3.
探馬傳自太祖
諸勢可降可變
進攻退閃蒻生強
接短拳之至善
Tànmǎ chuán zì tài zǔ
zhū shì kě jiàng kě biàn
jìngōng tuì shǎn ruò shēng qiáng
jiē duǎn quán zhī zhì shàn
Testing Horse was Song TaiZu’s,
Stances all can drop and move,
Attacking and dodging will give you strength,*
Receive their punches in short range
4.
拗單鞭黃花緊進
披挑腿左右難防
槍步上拳連劈揭
沉香勢推倒太山
Ǎo dān biān huánghuā jǐn jìn
pī tiāo tuǐ zuǒyòu nán fáng
qiāng bù shàng quán lián pī jiē
chénxiāng shì tuīdǎo tài shān
Crossed Single Whip firmly pries it’s way in,
When finding it hard from their kick to defend,
Rush in with continuous, liftings and chops,
Knock down Tai Mountain into low stances drop.
5.
七星拳手足相顧
挨步逼上下隄籠
饒君手快腳如風
我自有攪衝劈重
Qīxīng quán shǒuzú xiānggù
āi bù bī shàngxià dī lóng
ráo jūn shǒukuài jiǎo rú fēng
wǒ zì yǒu jiǎo chōng pī zhòng
In The Seven Star Fist, the hand follows the feet,
Stepping in close, upper lower to beat,
The enemy limbs are fast like the wind,
My own heavy chops will disturb them to win.
6.
倒騎龍詐輸佯走
誘追入遂我回衝
恁伊力猛硬來攻
怎當我連珠砲動
Dào qí lóng zhà shū yáng zǒu
yòu zhuīrù suì wǒ huí chōng
nèn yī lì měng yìng lái gōng
zěn dāng wǒ liánzhū pào dòng
Ride the Dragon Inverted to feign a defeat,
As they enter I turn and reveal my deceit.
His attack it is fierce his hits they are strong,
But my beating continues, he can’t last for long!
7.
懸腳 虛餌彼輕進
二換腿決不饒輕
趕上一掌滿天星
誰敢再來比亚
Xuán jiǎo xū ěr bǐ qīng jìn
èr huàn tuǐ jué bù ráo qīng
gǎn shàng yī zhǎng mǎn tiān xīng
shuí gǎn zài lái bǐ yǎ
Hang up the Leg as bait for a trick,
It’s not easy to follow when I switch it to kick,
My Palm makes him see the heaven and stars,
To fight me again, afraid all of them are.
8.
丘劉左搬右掌
劈來腳入步連心
挪更拳法探馬均
打人一著命盡
Qiū liú zuǒ bānyòu zhǎng
pī lái jiǎo rù bù lián xīn
nuó gèng quánfǎ tànmǎ jūn
dǎ rén yīzhe mìng jǐn
Hill Attack changes left with a palm to the right,
They chop, I come in with a heart level strike,
Further I go with Testing the Horse,
With one hit I end them with just the right force.
9.
下插勢專降快腿
得進步攪靠無別
鉤腳鎖臂不容離
上驚下取一跌
Xià chā shì zhuān jiàng kuài tuǐ
dé jìnbù jiǎo kào wú bié
gōu jiǎo suǒ pī bùróng lí
shàng jīng xià qǔ yī diē
Hidden Below drops down fast with the legs,
Step in and knock them downoff a few pegs,
Hooking the foot and locking the arm,
Feint high, go low, trip and do harm.
10.
埋伏勢窩弓待虎
犯圈套寸步難移
就機連發幾腿
他受打必定昏危
Máifú shì wō gōng dài hǔ
fàn quāntào cùnbù nán yí
jiù jī lián fā jǐ tuǐ
tā shòu dǎ bìdìng hūn wēi
Lying in Wait for the beast in it’s den,
The inch step corrals them like they’re in a pen,
Continuously kick with the legs and the thighs,
Receiving a hit means they surely will die.
11.
拋架子槍步披掛
補上腿那怕他識
右橫左採快如飛
架一掌不知天地
Pāo jiàzi qiāng bù pīguà
bǔ shàng tuǐ nà pà tā shí
yòu héng zuǒ cǎi kuài rú fēi
jià yī zhǎng bùzhī tiāndì
Throwing Technique enters, splits and then hangs,
Take advantage with kicks fearing them seeing your plans,
Fly to the left across from the right,
Fend off with one palm and out go the lights!
12.
拈肘勢防他弄腿
我截短須認高低
劈打推壓要皆依
切勿手腳忙急
Niān zhǒu shì fáng tā nòng tuǐ
wǒ jié duǎn xū rèn gāodī
pī dǎ tuī yā yào jiē yī
qiè wù shǒujiǎo máng jí
Defend from their legs with Pluck the Elbow,
I intercept close watching high and then low,
Chopping and pushing and pressing you need,
To hit them not rushing your hands or your feet.
13.
一霎步隨機應變
左右腿衝敵連珠
恁伊勢固手風雷
怎當我閃驚巧取
Yīshà bù suíjīyìngbiàn
zuǒyòu tuǐ chōng dí liánzhū
nèn yīshì gù shǒu fēngléi
zěn dāng wǒ shǎn jīng qiǎo qǔ
Instant Step waits for the time it can change,
Kick with both legs when you come into range,
Their stances are solid, their hands like the wind,
Why accept the attack when I can dodge it to win?
14.
擒拿勢封腳套子
左右壓一如四平
直來拳逢我投活
恁快腿拳不得通融
Qínná shì fēng jiǎo tàozi
zuǒyòu yā yī rú sì píng
zhí lái quán féng wǒ tóu huó
nèn kuài tuǐ quán bùdé tōngróng
Grabbing and Seizing envelopes the foot,
Left and Right press Si Ping standing with root,
A straight punch comes in, lively I throw,
So that his kicks and his punches, they all are too slow.
15.
井欄四平直進
剪鐮踢膝當頭
滾穿劈靠抹一鈎
鐵樣將軍也走
Jǐng lán sìpíng zhíjìn
jiǎn lián tī xī dāngtóu
gǔn chuān pī kào mǒ yī gōu
tiě yàng jiāngjūn yě zǒ
Blocking the Well stance goes directly ahead,
Scissor their knee while blocking the head,
Roll, pierce, chop, lean, wipe off, and hook,
Armored Generals themselves to their cores will be shook.
16.
鬼蹴腳槍人先著
補前掃轉上紅拳
背弓顛披揭起
穿心肘靠妙難傳
Guǐ cù jiǎo qiāng rén xiānzhe
bǔ qián sǎo zhuǎn shàng hóng quán
bèi gōng diān pī jiē qǐ
chuān xīn zhǒu kào miào nán chuán
The Ghost Kick begins and shoots out toward them first,
Rush in, turn and hit them, their heart will then burst,
Stand with them on your back like a coat,
An elbow to the heart is no playful joke.
17.
指當勢是箇丁法
他難進我好向前
踢膝滾躦上面
急回步顛短紅拳
Zhǐ dāng shì shì gè dīng fǎ
tā nán jìn wǒ hǎo xiàng qián
tī xī gǔn cuó shàngmiàn
jí huí bù diān duǎn hóng quán
Directed Defense Stance has feet like a “T”,
My defenses make it hard to attack me freely,
Kick the knee, turn, and jump up to their face.
Fast Red Fist short range to show them their place.
18.
獸頭勢如牌挨進
恁快腳遇我慌忙
低驚高取他難防
接短披紅衝上
Shòu tóu shì rú pái āi jìn
nèn kuài jiǎo yù wǒ huāngmáng
dī jīng gāoqǔ tā nán fáng
jiē duǎn pīhóng chōng shàng
The Beast Head comes in if the opponent is near.
When we meet, my quick footwork will grip him with fear.
Feint low, go high, they cannot defend,
Receive his short chops and charge into them.
19.
中四平勢 實推固
硬攻進快腿難來
雙手逼他單手
短打以熟為乖
Zhōng sìpíng shì shí tuī gù
yìng gōng jìn kuài tuǐ nán lái
shuāng shǒu bī tā dān shǒu
duǎn dǎ yǐ shú wèi guāi
Middle Siping is pushing with root,
Hard attacks and quick footwork are both rendered moot,
With two hands their one hand is quickly subdued,
A short hit from here is skillfully shrewd.
20.
伏虎勢側身弄腿
但來奏我前撐
看他立站不穩
後掃一跌分明
Fú hǔ shi cèshēn nòng tuǐ
dàn lái zòu wǒ qián chēng
kàn tā lì zhàn bù wěn
hòu sǎo yī diē fēnmíng
Subduing the Tiger leans back for a kick,
But, he returns my attack I must brace forward and quick.
I look and see that his stance is not steady,
I sweep him behind before he is ready.
21.
高四平身法活變
左右短出入如飛
逼敵人手足無措
恁我便腳踢拳捶
Gāo sìpíng shēn fǎ huó biàn
zuǒyòu duǎn chūrù rú fēi
bī dírén shǒuzúwúcuò
nèn wǒ biàn jiǎo tī quán chuí
High Siping method is agile and changes,
Like flying zig zag in and out of short ranges
Block the enemy limbs so they cannot attack.
My foot it may kick and the fist can beat back.
22.
倒插勢不與招架
靠腿快討他之贏
背弓進步莫遲停
打如谷聲相應
Dào chā shì bù yǔ zhāojià
kào tuǐ kuài tǎo tā zhī yíng
bèi gōng jìnbù mò chí tíng
dǎ rú gǔ shēng xiāngyìng
Inverting Thrust does not provoke with a guard,
With quick tripping legs their foundation bombard,
Stretch the back like a bow, step in with a dash,
The valley will echo with the hit’s sudden crash.
23.
神拳當面插下
進步火焰攢心
遇巧就拿就跌
舉手不得留情
Shén quán dāngmiàn chā xià
jìnbù huǒyàn cuán xīn
yù qiǎo jiù ná jiù diē
jǔ shǒu bùdé liúqíng
Spirit Fist blocks in front to invade down below,
Step in, gather fire, use your chest as bellows,
Meeting skill, simply seize them and make them fall down,
Raise your hand to prevent them from gaining new ground.
24.
一條鞭橫直披砍
兩進腿當面傷人
不怕他力粗膽大
我巧好打通神
Yītiáo biān héngzhí pī kǎn
liǎng jìn tuǐ dāngmiàn shāng rén
bùpà tā lì cū dǎn dà
wǒ qiǎo hǎo dǎtōng shén
One Lash hacks across and down,
Block their legs and face them down,
Fear not men who’s strength is crude,
They’ll talk with gods through my hits true.
25.
雀地龍下盤腿法
前揭起後進紅拳
他退我雖顛補
衝來短當休延
Què de lóng xià pántuǐ fǎ
qián jiē qǐ hòujìn hóng quán
tā tuì wǒ suī diān bǔ
chōng lái duǎn dāng xiū yán
Ground Dragon trains the legs to go low,
Lift them then enter with a heavy red blow,
They run from me, fine, I will still take the day,
Rushing in close to block, stop or delay.
26.
朝陽手偏身防腿
無縫鎖逼退豪英
倒陣勢彈他一腳
好教他師也喪身
Zhāoyáng shǒu piān shēn fāng tuǐ
wú fèng suǒ bī tuì háo yīng
dào zhènshì dàn tā yī jiǎo
hǎo jiào tā shī yě sāng shēn
The Hand of Dawn’s body slants defending from feet,
Seamlessly lock them to compel a retreat.
Knock Down the Pillar by quickly kicking their thigh,
Teach them so well, their own master will die.
27.
鷹翅側身挨進
快腿走不留停
追上穿莊一腿
要加剪劈推紅
Yīng chì cèshēn āi jìn
kuài tuǐ zǒu bù liú tíng
zhuī shàng chuān zhuāng yī tuǐ
yào jiā jiǎn pī tuī hóng
The Eagle’s Wing inclines in close,
Footwork fast and continuous,
Chase them down and kick through their base,
Chop, shear, and push you must keep the pace.
28.
跨虎勢那移發腳
要腿去不使他知
左右跟掃一連施
失手剪刀分易
Kuà hǔ shi nà yí fā jiǎo
yào tuǐ qù bù shǐ tā zhī
zuǒyòu gēn sǎo yīlián shī
shīshǒu jiǎndāo fēn yì
Ride the Tiger moves and kicks,
Hide your legs with subtle tricks,
Sweep your heel both left and right,
The hand can slice them like a knife.
29.
拗鸞肘出步顛剁
搬下掌摘打其心
拿鷹捉兔硬開弓
手腳必須相應
Ǎo luán zhǒu chū bù diān duò
bān xià zhǎng zhāi dǎ qí xīn
ná yīng zhuō tù yìng kāi gōng
shǒujiǎo bìxū xiāngyìng
The Crossed Phoenix Elbow steps out poundingto start,
Then fast going under to palm strike their heart,
Like an eagle with talons grab and tear them asunder,
Surely hand must unite with foot that is under.
30.
當頭炮勢衝入怕
進步虎直攛兩拳
他退閃我又顛踹
不跌倒他他忙然
Dāngtóu pào shì chōng rù pà
jìnbù hǔ zhí cuān liǎng quán
tā tuì shǎn wǒ yòu diān chuài
bù diédǎo tā tā máng rán
Block the Head Canon charges in with out fear,
Step in like a tiger, throw both fists like a spear,
When they dodge I will trip them and stomp them again,
Even if they don’t fall they must start again.
31.
順鸞肘靠身
搬打滾快他難遮攔
復外絞刷回拴
肚搭一跌誰敢爭先
Shùn luán zhǒu kào shēn
bān dǎgǔn kuài tā nán zhēlán
fù wài jiǎo shuā huí shuān
dù dā yī diē shuí gǎn zhēngxiān
Tame the Phoenix by leaning and use the elbow.
Move, strike, and roll, they have no where to go,
Return to the outside and twist them to bind,
Throw them down, to fight back they’d be out of their mind.
32.
旗鼓勢左右壓進
近他手橫劈雙行
絞靠跌人人識得
虎抱頭要躲無門
Qí gǔ shì zuǒyòu yā jìn
jìn tā shǒu héng pī shuāng xíng
jiǎo kào diē rén rén shí dé
hǔ bàotóu yào duǒ wú mén
Banners and Drums comes in to suppress,
Approaching them chopping like crossing the chest.
Everyone sees the throw with the twist,
Embracing the Tiger no way to resist.
End
A contemporary depiction of Qi Jiguang’s troops from the recent film, “God of War.”
Notes
* Readers may note that this is alternate translation of this passage and differs from the one discussed in the previous post. As previously noted, this is an evolving work and I am open to ideas and suggestions:
Testing Horse was Song TaiZu’s,
Stances all can drop and move,
Advance attack, retreat to dodge,
Come in close with a fist barrage.
oOo
About the Author: Chad Eisner is a martial arts practitioner and instructor in Ann Arbor Michigan, teaching Ma She Tongbei and Taiji Quan. His experience in Chinese martial artsand as a professional interpreter have naturally lead to a fascination with the translation of Ming dynasty martial arts texts. He is also the co-founder of Terra Prime Light Armory which uses historical based weapon arts to create lightsaber and fantasy martial arts for use in competition, performance, and learning.
He, Yuming. Harvard-Yenching Institute Monograph Series. Vol. 82, Home and the World: Editing The “Glorious Ming” with Woodblock Printed Books of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Asia Center, 2013.
Lorge, Peter Allan. Chinese Martial Arts: From Antiquity to the Twenty-First Century. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2012.
_____________. War, Politics, and Society in Early Modern China, 900-1795. Warfare and History. London: Routledge, 2005.
Ma, Mingda馬明達. 無系列Wu Xi Lie. chu ban. ed. Vol. A113-A114, 武學探針Wu Xue Tan Zhen. Taibei Shi: Yi wen chu ban you xian gong si, 2003.
Mao, Yuanyi茅元億. 武備志Wu Bei Zhi. [China: s.n. ; not before, 1644] Map. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/2004633695/.
Miracle, Jared. Now with Kung Fu Grip!: How Bodybuilders, Soldiers and a Hairdresser Reinvented Martial Arts for America. McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2016.
Qi, Jiguang戚繼光. Wu Shu Xi Lie武術系列. chu ban. ed. Vol. 6, Ji Xiao Xin Shu.績效新書 Tai bei shi: Wu zhou, 2000min 89.
Sawyer, Ralph D. The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China =: [wu Jing Qi Shu]. History and Warfare. Boulder: Westview Press, 1993.
Shapinsky, Peter D. Michigan Monograph Series in Japanese Studies. Vol. 76, Lords of the Sea: Pirates, Violence, and Commerce in Late Medieval Japan. Ann Arbor: Center for Japanese Studies, The University of Michigan, 2014.
“A Sword Fight.” 1917, magic lantern slide showing Wang Wen-lin and Wang Shhh-Ching. Source: The Digital Collections of Springfield College.
Zombies
The air is distinctly crisp, the end of October is upon us, and Halloween rapidly approaches. Clearly, it is time to talk about zombies. We seem to go through periods of collective fascination with the image of empty human husks shambling across a barren landscape, neither truly alive or dead. These monsters fascinate us not because of their cunning or strength. Taken one at a time they are incapable of accomplishing any goal. Their only defining characteristic is a paradoxical immunity to death. They just keep walking across the historical landscape.
Jurgen Habermas had a lot to say about zombies though, to the best of my knowledge he never used the term. Rather than the Walking Dead on the outskirts of Atlanta, he was more concerned with the sorts of failed states that sometimes appeared on the historical stage. In his writing on the “Legitimization Crisis” (1973) he noted that the loss of popular support didn’t always result in revolution or state collapse. Instead one often encountered a situation where the institutions of government continued to amble along (often for an improbable length of time), and yet found themselves unable to effectively call on society’s resources to accomplish their core political goals. The government had clearly lost its authority, yet no replacement could be seen on the horizon.
Both a social theorist and public intellectual, Habermas is one of the great thinkers of the 20thcentury. This does not mean that his work has been universally accepted. He famously clashed with Derrida, and Habermas wrote a widely cited essay in the early 1980s taking aim at the excesses of post-modern thought. Still, as the Western democracies approach a critical historical crossroads while gripped by social and political paralysis, it’s hard to see his work on the origin and nature of the legitimization crisis as anything other than prophetic.
To oversimplify, Habermas began by asking students to think carefully about how authority emerges and functions within a social system. Such systems are composed of the governmental institutions (both formal and informal) that wield authority, socio-cultural considerations (values, identities, norms, etc) and economic exchanges (who gets what resource). In a well-functioning social system it may not be necessary to split out these various realms as they will tend to blend into one another, supported by overarching social discourses. Individual values will uphold political authority, as will economic markets.
Issues arise when competing discourses emerge and the fractures between these realms become more pronounced. Or we might imagine them as being constructed or reconstructed by a new set of competitive discourses. More specifically, a “crisis of legitimacy” erupts when citizens cease to believe that a political system reflects their socio-cultural values, or that the old values that it is based on continue to have utilitarian (political/economic) value. In this instance their “life world” (lebenswelt) ruptures. One would hope that the political system would adapt to the new reality, but that is never the only possibility. It might rupture into competing factions (civil wars) or simply shamble along as a failed state, incapable of drawing on the creative resources of society.
That brings us back to the zombies. One does not have to watch the news for very long to realize that modern nation states are not the only institutions that can suffer this fate. Indeed, we are increasingly surrounded by all sorts of economic and cultural institutions who have been crippled by rapid social change. If I were to level a single criticism at Habermas it would be that he drew the boundaries of his discussion of the legitimization crisis much too narrowly, focusing primarily on states. Historical investigation would seem to support the hypothesis that all sorts of other social values and cultural institutions must fall into crisis before the nation-state (typically a very resilient entity) is imperiled. Thus, for the logic of Habermas to be true at the macro level (something that is hard to empirically test) it must first hold true at the at the micro level (which is more easily observed).
Admittedly, such a project would explicitly contradict Habermas’ avowed goal to re-establish “grand theory” as a valued realm distinct from the plebeian world of “empirical testing.” I personally have always been a bit suspicious of “grand theory,” probably because it is not very helpful when one is attempting to write local history. In any event, good theories should be portable, and all sorts of “life worlds” (including the martial arts) could be thought of as possessing governing structures, social/cultural values and mechanisms of economic exchange. In fact, one would be hard pressed to come up with a more apt description of the social structure of traditional martial arts communities.
A detailed look at a pair of Shuang Gau. This is pair measures 95 cm in length and may be of a similar vintage to the swords seen in these images. Source: http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com/s1015_full.html
Who Killed Kung Fu?
It is not difficult to perceive the signs of a legitimization crisis within the traditional martial arts. Class enrollments are down almost across the board and many schools struggle to stay open. Traditional styles are openly derided in one-sided contests with MMA or Muay Thai stylists on social media. There even seems to be fewer martial arts movies.
Yet not all of the trends are easily interpreted. There is more high quality popular, and even academic, publishing on these systems being produced and consumed than ever before. Judged by the quality of the information we have access to, we are living in the golden age of kung fu scholarship. Yet popular magazines are struggling. While the potential market for information on the traditional martial arts is expanding in terms of the number of serious readers, its dollar value has radically diminished. While this trend has hurt traditional publishers and book sellers, more small scale “prosumers” are putting out content (typically on Youtube or Facebook) than ever before.
The general state of affairs might best be summed up as one of confusion. The leading traditional forces that have structured the Chinese martial arts community still exist. We still have large lineage-based schools. There are a number of stylistic and regional associations, as well as commercial producers of both books and training gear. Yet they all seem unable to lead the community toward a meaningful revitalization effort. In the mean-time, large numbers of students adopt unorthodox modes of practices or simply leave the martial arts all together.
As with zombies, I am not aware that Habermas ever mentioned the martial arts community. Yet if he did, I suspect that he would not be surprised by the general state of affairs. Drawing on the more sociological aspects of his work, I he would note our situation is particularly complicated as we face a legitimization crisis on not one, but two, fronts. Further, these two sources of tension might interact with each other in complicated ways. All of this, in turn, stems from a change in the cost of communication, making transformative contact between people much less expensive than it had been. Yet to see how a change in one social variable (the price of communication) might lead to two slightly different types of legitimization crises, we first need to revisit the last era of major social/political realignment within the Chinese martial arts.
During the Republic period internal communication within China was relatively expensive. Even the Chinese government, which dedicated substantial resources to the project, found it practically impossible to transmit its point of view on critical diplomatic issues to citizens in Western countries. In this sort of situation, effective communication required a sponsor with substantial resources. This forced the Chinese martial arts into alliances with various political actors. Traditionally these had either been the Imperial military, or local social elites who needed to maintain a degree of order within their own village, marketplace or clan. As such, Chinese martial arts networks derived their legitimacy from their relationship with regional or clan based identities. At the risk of vastly oversimplifying a complicated situation, it was their tight alignment with these narrow forces that gave them access to (and legitimacy within) local communities.
None of this was particularly helpful to the wave of national reformers who came to power after 1911. Seeing the importance of budo in the creation of a cohesive and modern Japanese state, they wished to do something similar in China. Yet that required talking and thinking about the martial arts in a fundamentally different way. What had been particularistic and local now needed to be universal and open. Whereas local elites had benefited from their relationship with martial arts societies, these allegiances needed to be transferred to the national level.
A variety of new institutions were created to do just that. Formal establishments like the New Wushu and Guoshu movements sought to give the state direct control over the organization of local martial arts societies. Other reformers (such as the Jingwu movement, and much of the Taijiquan community) favored a less statist (but equally nationalist) strategy in which universal creation myths were promoted and “lineage” communities that may have once been very local were reimagined as being national in scope.
It should be remembered that this new vision of the Chinese martial arts did not emerge in a vacuum. Rather, it was the result of a sophisticated debate on what the “new China” should be. Nor was the victory of these views immediate or even total. A full blown legitimization crisis emerged within the Chinese martial arts. The Guoshu program looked very powerful on paper, but most of China’s local martial artists simply ignored its tournaments and directives as they did not directly address their values or local needs. Worse yet, many intellectuals within the May 4thmovement openly derided its goals and methods. The result was a long legitimization dispute which Jon Nielson and I described in our book.
Yet from this transformation arose the system of allotting “authority” within the traditional Chinese martial arts that most of us now take for granted. A system of dual legitimization was created. Formal political institutions (first Guoshu, and later Wushu) claimed legitimacy through their adherence to scientific and modernizing principals which placed the martial arts at the disposal of the state. This became the dominant way in which the Chinese martial arts were legitimated within the PRC. In this case the “political element” of the community was a set of actual formal institutions answerable to the government. Outside of that realm, a new set of “traditions” were made available to national, and then universal, communities. Regardless of your location or country of birth, one could experience some aspect of the Chinese nation by studying in any one of these open, commercial, schools. They reconfigured China’s traditional folk arts in such a way that they were now available to students anywhere in the world. This social system gained dominance in Taiwan, the South East Asian diaspora and the West.
A “Sword Dancer” by Hadda Morrison. Source: Harvard Digital Archives.
Recent changes within the Western social realm have created a new set of challenges for this second mode of legitimization. The rise of a renewed emphasis on empirical verification in many places in Western society during the 1970s-1990s posed a direct challenge to all sorts of “arguments by authority”. One of the places that we can see this playing out is in an erosion of public trust in all sorts of “expert” bodies. The decline of traditional religious communities might be another place (though here we must also account for the modernization and related secularization hypotheses).
Rather than allowing either the nation or “tradition” to arbitrate what techniques were effective (and therefore legitmate), a new generation of martial artists, not culturally beholden to the norms of the previous systems, advocated putting such practices to the test. This tendency has long been present in the West. Indeed, we can even see it in Bruce Lee’s writings in the 1970s. Yet by the 1990s this was increasingly the dominant current of thought which would give rise to practices like the Mixed Martial Arts.
It is critical to realize that the traditional arts involved in these disputes are in crisis not simply because they often lose in Youtube challenge matches. Being repeatedly pummeled in viral videos certainly doesn’t help their cause. Yet even if they were to win there would still be an almost identical crisis of legitimacy as the older generation of Masters (who hold the keys of “tradition”) no longer have the ability to determine when violent conflict is publicly allowed and how it will be socially interpreted. Under these circumstances even a win represents a loss of standing for the traditional faction as it suggests that young fighters training under “scientific conditions” can succeed largely without their blessing.
I was recently part of an (extended) conversation that illustrated this situation quite nicely. It began when I was chatting with a Wing Chun instructor of my own generation about the state of the art today. While others take a dim view of “kids these days,” he has a cheerful disposition and is something of an optimist. He is also an outspoken advocate of placing non-cooperative sparring (often with people from outside your style) at the center of serious Wing Chun training.
Needless to say, doing so tends to have a definite effect on one’s body structure. You can still apply Wing Chun concepts to most competitive sparring sessions, but it doesn’t look like a sticky hands drills. Nor does it look like anything you would see in the unarmed forms (unless you really knew what you were looking for). In fact, my own Sifu (who also engaged in some similar practices) often told me that in actual combat my fighting should not look like Wing Chun. I shouldn’t necessarily appear to have any style at all. My movements should just appear to be clean and effective.
As more and more Wing Chun students start to spar at local “open mat nights,” my friend was happy to note that he could see visible changes within the physical culture (perhaps the “habitus”) of the younger generation of students. At least that was his opinion. He noted that the tactical and athletic issues facing students today are vastly different than sixty years ago when Ip Man (who, for the record, was also an innovator) began to teach in Hong Kong. Our approach to the art needs to adapt just as his did.
This opinion was not shared by an older instructor in the same field who I had spoken with some time earlier. Sparring, especially with random individuals from outside one’s style, was a problem in his view. It led to students becoming “confused.” What the younger sifu saw as an “effective defense” in a practical situation, he perceived only as sloppy and ill informed. Indeed, he proclaimed that this wasn’t kung fu at all. Mirroring a criticism I have heard dozens of other times, he decried such sparring as “mere kickboxing,” and proclaimed that in fact no actual martial art was being practiced. In his view, if one’s Wing Chun did not look the same in a fight as in the training hall, it wasn’t Wing Chun at all. Nor was he willing to concede that modern combat sports (such as boxing, kickboxing or MMA) might be “authentic” martial arts that also required huge amounts of dedication and training.
Beyond merely being a difference of opinions, it is also worth noting that these instructors drew their personal authority from very different sources. The more senior instructor leaned heavily (as one might guess) on tradition and lineage as a source of authority. The younger coach based the legitimacy of his views in large part on the success of his students in many local mixed style tournaments. In the social world of the older Sifu, only the authorized guardians of tradition were able to judge if something met the criteria of “good” Wing Chun. But in a public boxing match, anyone can add up the points on the score card at the end of a fight.
The real threat to traditional modes of legitimization within this particular community is not that the younger Sifu’s students might be seen losing a fight on Youtube. Authorities have always found it easy to explain away “dissidents with bad attitudes” when they lose. The actual crisis occurs when more modern interpretations of Wing Chun are seen to publicly win, providing an alternative framework for judging the legitimacy of someone’s training practice.
Beyond this we must also consider the economic basis of these arts. Who can teach, and who can profit, from the dissemination of knowledge? While related to the issue of authority, movement in this area can also trigger a distinct set of legitimization crises.
In a 2014 paper, Adam Frank looked at the issue of “family secrets” in one Taiji community regarding who was authorized to benefit from teaching or withholding this information. When this community had few contacts outside of China, and little opportunity to benefit from lucrative teaching positions in Europe and North America, there was less concern as to who taught this material. Once the international profile of the school began to rise, a reconsolidation occurred in which some previously authorized teachers were marginalized within the community, thus reassigning the “right” to teach the complete art to a smaller number of “family members.”
Students of Martial Arts Studies are free to have a variety of opinions about this, and all sorts of values are implicated in the story that Frank lays out. Yet from Habermas’ perspective, such an outcome was not unexpected. One would naturally expect that the economic aspect of how benefits are apportioned within the community to match the “political” dimension of how authority is defined. In a stable social system those who are widely perceived as the legitimate teachers should be the one’s to economically benefit from the spread of the community. This would provide them with an incentive to make sure that the system perpetuates itself.
Yet these bearers of tradition are not challenged only by shifts in social/cultural values. The radical decrease in the cost of communication has impaired their ability to monetize their authority, even in areas of the community that share their values. Selling books and magazine articles was, in the past, a critical aspect of building a strong community. From the 1970s-1990s it allowed leaders to both profit from their teaching while ensuring that their understanding of a system’s values and techniques remained hegemonic. Again, in a stable social system the political, economic and social discourses reinforce one another.
The rise of social media dealt a serious blow to the martial arts publishing industry. In its place we now have an explosion of Youtube channels in which the very same senior students and junior instructors (and sometimes simply random class members) who would have previously been the core consumers of centrally distributed materials, are now producing their own instructional content.
This is an important phenomenon as it reflects a shift in the values within the underlying social system. It is easy to criticize the uneven quality of much of this free material, but even a sceptic must stand back and admire the sheer volume of information that is now being produced. While in a previous generation one might have defined their identity (at least in part) by the sorts of media that one bought and consumed, individuals now make similar judgements based on what they produce and disseminate. In the age of the “prosumer” (or producer/consumer), broadcasting your views on Wing Chun has become a valid way of performing one’s membership in this community. Needless to say, this explosion of free communication has made it nearly impossible for the guardians of tradition to dominate the economic exploitation of the art.
Indeed, many of the most profitable and fastest growing areas within the TCMA seem to be the most marginal. The announcement of newly discovered lineages, weapon sparring leagues, or attempts to “rediscover” lost arts through the interpretation of historical texts all elicit excitement. And at least some of these things should. Yet in some respects they all diminish the center’s ability to monetize its claims to traditional, lineage based, authority.
A photograph (probably 1930s) showing a marketplace martial arts demonstration. Note the Shuang Gau led by the man on the left. Source: The personal collection of Benjamin Judkins
The Stakes
So how does it all end? Within the popular press we are frequently treated to dire predictions about the death of kung fu. I think it is worth remembering that the martial art have suffered other legitimization crises in the not so distant past and they are still very much with us today. Indeed, a brewing crisis seems to be exactly what opens to the door to “political change” (in the sense that Habermas used the term) within a social system.
Perhaps the most obvious possibility is that the utilitarian and empirical values that are widely held by practitioners of the various arts come to be written into our collective understanding of their “traditional” identity. Given that these notions of “tradition” were almost entirely socially constructed in the 1920s-1950s, that may be less difficult than one might at first glance suppose. Indeed, if you carefully read the front-matter of many of martial arts books produced between the 1910s and the 1940s you will discover that in point of fact the martial artists of the Republican period can provide a lot of ideological cover for today’s rationalizers and modernizers. Alternatively, a shift in our current social values might lead Western consumers back towards a more community focused appreciation of the martial arts at some point. These sorts of trends are very difficult to predict in the long run.
A less pleasant possibility, however, is increasing schism. The issues in these disputes are not merely ones of style or effectiveness. While those points may be debated, more fundamental questions about our core social values and identities are clearly implicated in all of this. How do we know good kung fu when we see it, and who is allowed to make that determination? As Paul Bowman noted, the gap between traditional modes of establishing authority, and those favored by either utilitarian norms or academic training (in the case of historical debates), is unlikely to be bridged. It is when a substantial segment of the community increasingly tunes out, or simply walks away, that we see the emergence of zombie institutions. They continue to shamble along, but with no real ability to draw on the resources of their members or to respond to their essential demands. It remains to be seen how all of this will play out in the current era, but like the younger Sifu discussed above, I remain optimistic.
This weekend has been a blur of activity. Friday evening was consumed by the first “open mat” sparring night at the Central Lightsaber Academy (which was a blast), Saturday was devoted to a day-long seminar on Sicilian knife fighting (a grimmer vision of weapons training), and about half of Sunday was spent helping out with the Autumn open-house at another martial arts school here in Ithaca. I have barely had time to upload my photos and draft out some quick field-notes.
Still, a nagging feeling emerged as I began to meditate on these very different events. While I have not had time to fully develop these ideas, I thought that it might be helpful to write down a few of my impressions. The golden thread uniting and giving meaning to each of the activities seemed to be a “hidden” discussion on the problems of transmission and market viability within the martial arts.
Or maybe that is not entirely correct. The discussion happened openly in the second event. I hope to write a fuller account of the Sicilian knife seminar led by Sifu John Crescione in a future post. But from a social scientific perspective, one of the more interesting things that came up was a debate as to whether it would really just be better to let this art die out. Granted, no one in the room thought that this was a good idea, but Sifu Crescione noted that many of the “old timers” back in Sicily who had learned and studied practical knife fighting as a family based “combative practice” saw no point in taking on students or promoting themselves within the current revival of the Italian martial arts. For them, knife fighting was a direct response to a violent environment and teaching strangers better ways to kill each other was not a wise course of action. If a changing world no longer required these skills, so much the better.
For other instructors, Sicilian knife fighting’s true value was found in areas outside prison yards and narrow alleys. It could give individuals a chance to reconnect (and even re-imagine) their heritage. Acting as an intermediary between the “old master” and interested foreign students might open social and economic pathways for a more professionalized generation of instructors. Finally, there is a very exciting renaissance in all sorts of traditional Italian martial arts (including stick, knife and sword), and these skills have a special historical and cultural value within that context.
The complex dialectic relationship between regional identity and more universal notions of understanding national identity is one of the things that I find most interesting about this area. Yet equally important is the emergence of a thoughtful conversation seeking to tackle the relationship between martial practice and violence in a changing social environment. How a given master of the art defined the relevant community (his family, his city, a national organization, a global network) has an important impact on how they understand the future of the art.
These conversations are far from unique. They are happening in many places within the martial arts world. Consider the reoccurring debates as to whether the traditional Asian arts are dying in the West (and the East too for that matter). I note that these debate(s) happen in the plural since I am aware of written discussions of this topic dating back to the 16th century, roughly 300 years before the Chinese martial arts as most of us know them came into being. More recently, this was a popular topic in the 1910s, the 1920s, the 1940s, 1950s and the 1970s (post-Cultural Revolution in the PRC). The Chinese martial arts seem to exist in a state of a perpetual revival and re-invention, and the desire to “save” them is one of the motivations driving them into the future. I suspect that social elites within the Chinese martial arts community understand this, and that is why they so often push the narrative that kung fu is dying. Nothing brings a community together quite like the threat of extinction.
Still, knowledgeable critics might point out that, “this time it is different.” The rise of modern combat sports (such as MMA or competitive BJJ) has sapped the traditional arts of their air of invincibility. As a result, it is harder to make the argument that these practices are “cool” no matter how many times Bruce Lee’s image finds itself on a magazine cover. Still, boxing was a mainstay of American sporting life in the 1960s and 1970s, just when the martial arts were coming into vogue. And a quick review of the humor of that same period leads me to suspect that most people never viewed karate or judo as infallible.
A more serious problem might be the current real estate market. Old buildings are being redeveloped and rents are high. Gentrification is a problem in many cities. All of this has proved problematic for many martial arts schools and gyms. In my own research I have seen multiple schools lose their locations in an area of the country where real estate prices are relatively stable. In global cities like Hong Kong and Guangzhou (the home of the southern Chinese martial arts) the combination of declining student enrollment and skyrocketing real estate values have created a true crisis. That is an empirical fact.
When looking at cities like Hong Kong, New York or London, land is the one thing that they just aren’t making any more of. While many martial arts can be trained with minimal equipment, they all need space (more so if one practices with weapons). So maybe this time it really is different?
Which brings me to another one of my weekend activities, the open house that I was tapped to help-out with at a local school here in Ithaca. To be honest, I thought that there probably wouldn’t be much for me to do. It was one of those spectacular October days that comes too rarely. Who wants to spend their afternoon learning about the new class schedules when you could be outside taking in the fall leaves?
To my surprise the answer turned out to be about a hundred people. The school was so packed with potential students that one needed excellent kung fu just to make it to the cheese platters. One would never guess that the martial arts were “dying” as you surveyed this sea of humanity. Many of the institution’s current students were hard at work chatting up potential recruits for the school’s various classes.
That last detail, the multitude of the classes offered, is probably the critical part of this story. While this particular school has some very solid Asian martial arts (Silat, JKD, various types of kickboxing), it also offers a wide range of other fitness and martial arts training. Various types of strength and conditioning classes are offered, as is a vibrant after school program for kids. A local BJJ teacher rents space there, as do more yoga and Pilates instructors than I can keep track of.
I am sure that many of you are familiar with schools that use this sort of business model. Yes, real estate prices are high. But the class rooms in this building see very little down time. The end result is that rather than competing, the various types of modern and traditional martial arts, combative classes and fitness’s groups, actually end up subsidizing each other.
This isn’t to say that there is anything easy about running a school that looks like this, or that the strategy always succeeds. I have even heard some instructors criticize these sorts of arrangements as “selling out,” seeing them as sign of decay from the situation in the 1980s or 1990s where every class or style might maintain its own storefront and absolute sovereignty. But what if we looked just a bit further back in time? What might we discover about the “good old days?”
A quiet neighborhood in Hong Kong. Source: Photo by Russell Judkins.
As I milled around the packed open-house I found myself thinking about Alberto Biraghi’s memoir a Hung Ga Story: Me and Master Chan Hon Chung. This was a bit of a surprise as Hung Ga was one of the few arts that was notable by its absence at this event. But something about the turnout, and the relationships I saw between people within the crowd, reminded me very strongly of Biraghi’s account (which I have previously reviewed here).
Once again, the problem was real estate. This is not the first era in which this has become an issue within the Chinese martial arts. In truth, it has never been particularly easy to run a kung fu school in Hong Kong. Most Sifus during the 1970s did so by teaching in the evenings in their own apartments after all of the furniture was cleared out of the way. That is a reality that is often overlooked in all of the discussion of “roof top schools.”
The basic issue was that Hong Kong was already a densely crowded place in the late 1940s. The waves of refugees that poured in during the early 1950s, and then again in the 1960s, filled the city to a bursting point. Rents were high in comparison to wages, and if one was lucky enough to own a building, or a group of apartments, it wasn’t clear that running a martial arts school offered the best return on one’s investment (even in a period where the martial arts were relatively popular).
Biraghi provides a fascinating account of his various stays in Hong Kong during the 1970s, and his narrative offers insight into how instructors navigated these harsh economic realities. What became evident as I read his account was that his teacher’s social standing in the neighborhood was not simply a result of his title of Sifu. Or rather, much more went into that title than simply running a martial arts school. It certainly helped that he controlled access to real estate in his building.
Chan Hon Chung’s property was full of a wide variety of small businesses, all renting space from him, and all contributing to the fabric of the local neighborhood. Yes, kung fu was more popular in the 1970s than today. Yet in this case, it still benefited from being subsidized by an entire web of economic and social relationships, many of which might have been only dimly visible to visitors coming to the martial arts school. The respect that Chan commanded as a “Sifu” was a reflection of this wider social reality which transcended his technical function as “only” a martial arts teacher, or “only” a landlord. He opened a space where an economic and social community could exist.
When viewed from this perspective, the Ithaca open house seems less novel or “post-modern.” Martial arts schools have always been forced to deal with fundamental economic realities. Sometimes a recession leaves lots of empty commercial real estate (e.g., the early 1980s), and one model school organization is possible. In other periods real estate is relatively expensive and other modes of economic organization are necessary.
In either case, martial arts schools succeed through the act of community building. They must build a compelling internal community for their own students, but also reach out and find a place in the broader neighborhood (where future students will come from). In this respect it was interesting to note that the Ithaca school which I visited, and the Hong Kong establishment of the 1970s, came to slightly different solutions. Reflecting the shop-based small scale manufacturing model of the time, Chan rented to businesses in a variety of different sectors of the economy.
In a modern consumer and service-based economy, my local school has instead specialized in a single sector (fitness and physical culture). Its secret seems to be that it provides a range of classes designed to appeal to every member of a family, or various individuals in a group of college-aged friends. There is an after-school program for the kids, a yoga class for mom, and a JKD study group for teens. In that way it has become a “one stop shop” for an entire neighborhood. Indeed, orienting its core identity around a neighborhood rather than just one style seems to be working out quite nicely. But I doubt that this success would have come as much of a surprise to Chan.
This brings us to a critical question about history. What is the purpose of writing and reading martial arts history? For many martial artists the answer seems to come down to authenticity. We seek to legitimate our personal practice (at least in our own minds) by finding evidence that we are indeed part of a vast chain of practices crossing national and temporal boundaries.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with establishing a sense of belonging. Still, this exercise always makes me a bit nervous as it leads us to read our own practices and conceptual understanding backwards in time. In so doing we can more easily see our own reflections, but we lose sight of the actual subjects of our initial fascination. On some level we must take seriously the warning that the past is a foreign country, and people did things differently there. What we gain by studying history is an appreciation for the vast complexity of the human experience.
Yet this discussion suggests that something else may be possible. While there is rarely a one-to-one correlation, I don’t think anyone disputes that past innovation impacts current practice. In that sense a style’s history is a bit like its DNA. Not in a simple a deterministic sense, but rather as a repository for a wide variety of potential behaviors and strategies, most of which lay dormant and forgotten at any moment in time. Rather than tell us who we are, or what we must be in the future, history reminds us that tree of human experiences branches radically in both directions. Below us as roots drawing from the past, and above us as branches reaching rhizomatically to the future.
The nature of life is that things must change. In every generation we must determine whether our communities will live on, which practices will be preserved, and how they will be developed. While our myths about the past may inspire us, I suspect that it is within those forgotten and “dormant” corners of our historical DNA that we will find the clues necessary to navigate a complex future.
捷拳圖說 A HANDBOOK FOR NIMBLENESS BOXING 傅秀山 by Fu Xiushan [1930]
[translation by Paul Brennan, Oct, 2018]
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傅秀山編 by Fu Xiushan: 捷拳圖說 A Handbook for Nimbleness Boxing 馬公愚題 – calligraphy by Ma Gongyu
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國術真魂 The true soul of martial arts! 李景林題 – calligraphy by Li Jinglin
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禹城傅秀山著述 by Fu Xiushan of Yucheng: 㨗拳 Nimbleness Boxing 于右任 – [calligraphy by] Yu Youren
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國技導師 Martial arts leadership! 陳嘉祐題 – calligraphy by Chen Jiayou
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發揚國光 Promoting our national glory! 許世英題 中華民國十八年雙十節 – calligraphy by Xu Shiying, National Day, Oct 10, 1929
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秀山先生属題 for Xiushan: 技進乎道 “Skill brings us closer to the Way.” 楚之熙 – calligraphy by Chu Zhixi
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神乎斯技 How wondrous this art is! 明州朱霞天題 – calligraphy by Zhu Xiatian of Mingzhou [old name for Ningbo]
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傅秀山先生小影 Portrait of Fu Xiushan:
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序 PREFACE
我中華國於亞洲。具五千年之歷史文化。本宜强逾歐美。稱雄寰宇也。然今日竟淪於次殖民地地位。可勝痛哉。溯本窮源。雖由科學幼稚。工商不振。教育不能普及。內亂未克敉平。而構成此內政失修外侮日亟之局勢。然全民衆忽視體育。沿襲重文輕武之惡習。而養成今日萎靡不振奄奄垂斃之多數病夫。實為我中華民族衰老之絕大原因也。我國上古。本重體育。如干戈弓矢之屬。撲擊拳勇之技。無不家喻戶曉。降至近世。火器發明。拳術遂廢棄湮沒而無聞。殊不知國術之為用。可使弱者强。夭者壽。病者痊。頽唐萎靡者。可使剛毅果敢。其直接間接影響於社會國家。不亦深且鉅哉。禹城傅秀山先生。國術專家也。本其健身强國之旨。研究國術。歷數十年如一日。其武藝之精通。技術之超卓。早已蜚聲全國。無待贅言。尤能力事提倡。誨人不倦。茲本生平研究之心得。歷經名師之指導。編纂是書。個中祕訣。闡發無餘。盡道人所不能道。生龍活虎。蹤躍奔騰。種種精奧。一一筆而出之。掃盡前人不公開之惡習。書成之日。行見紙貴洛陽。爭覩為快。其有裨國術前途。寧有涯涘耶。 中華民國十八年十二月三十日山左諶祖安序於上海國術比賽大會 Our Chinese nation has tallied up five thousand years of history and culture in Asia. This greatly exceeds Europe and America, and yet they are considered to be dominant over the whole world whereas we are nowadays relegated to the position of an inferior people. This is truly unbearable. Tracing back to the source of this problem, our scientific understanding is at a childish level, and thus industry has not grown, education has not spread, and we continue to have unquellable domestic strife, putting us in our situation of both internal disorder and external threat from Japan. And yet the masses ignore physical education, carrying on the old evil of valuing only intellectual pursuits and trivializing martial affairs, thereby generating our current state of being countless lethargic feeble “sick men”. Surely this is the cause of the frailty of the Chinese people. Our nation in ancient times emphasized physical education involving weapons and archery, wrestling and boxing, and these were things known in every household. But with the invention of firearms in modern times, martial arts were abandoned, and so they disappeared from view and ceased to be spoken of. Little do people realize the usefulness of martial arts, capable of making the weak strong, of giving long life to those who would have died young, of helping those with illness recover, of turning the listless and dispirited into the resolute and courageous. This could have both a direct and indirect influence upon our society that can be profound and enormous. Fu Xiushan of Yucheng [in Shandong] is an expert in martial arts, intent on using physical fitness as a means of strengthening the nation. He has studied martial arts consistently for decades, and his incredible skill has long since made him famous throughout the nation. It goes without saying that he is uniquely capable of promoting these arts. A tireless instructor, he has now taken what he has learned throughout his life, all that he has learned from his teachers, and compiled it into a book. All of the special terminology within is fully explained, revealing even what experts would claim cannot be described in words. With the liveliness of a dragon and the vigor of a tiger, he leaps and dashes through all sorts of exquisite techniques, which he has written down one after another, sweeping aside the vice of earlier generations of not sharing information. Once this book comes out, it will be popular and sought-after. Its potential benefit for the future of our martial arts is limitless. - written by Chen Zu’an of Shanzuo [i.e. Shandong] at the Shanghai Martial Arts Tournament, Dec 30, 1929
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自序 AUTHOR’S PREFACE
蓋聞有大志者。而後可以負大任就大事。然尤須有大精神大魄力濟之而後可。苟有志焉。而神如風燭。力難縛雞。惡乎其可也。孟子曰。故天將降大任於是人也。必先苦其心志。勞其筋骨。餓其體膚。空乏其身。行拂亂其所為。所以動心忍性。增益其所不能。是孟子之重視心性與體魄可知。心性之磨鍊。或由學問。或由境遇。至於磨鍊體魄。舍國技莫屬。何則。蓋運動之術雖多。而能益內利外。用剛濟柔。有百利而無一弊。則惟國技耳。世之君子。鑒於國病民弱。起而倡之。良有以也。山也不肖。幼而瘠弱。且又善病。或勸山習國技以壯身。韙之。迺從劉師希嶽練習梅花拳有年。漸識其味。及劉師不祿。山又負笈遍遊各地。幸於濟垣。獲見韓愧生先生之捷拳。剛中寓柔。柔中寓剛。適合生理。有益心身。得蒙傳授。雖未洞澈其中玄奧。然從事以來。未受病魔之苦。豈非斯術所賜歟。客秋海上中華國技學會。有國技報出刊。山適主教席於松之武術會。因而函索拙稿。然山不文。安敢操觚著述。不過將師之所遺口訣五要。動作理法。錄以付諸棗梨。並附以圖說。編輯成册。聊作野人獻芹。以襄有志君子。為磨鍊體魄之一助。更希海內名達。不棄鄙陋。有以教正之。則幸甚矣。 I have heard that ambitious people can do anything, but what is really needed is great spirit and boldness in order to be able to succeed. If you have ambition but your spirit wanes, you will hardly have enough strength to tie up a chicken. How then could you succeed at anything? Mengzi said [Mengzi, chapter 6b]: “When Nature bestows responsibility on a person, it first tests his willpower, works his body, starves him, makes him destitute, and ruins whatever he tries to do, thereby activating his mind and building his endurance, making him able where he used to unable.” Mengzi obviously attached importance to both one’s mental and physical condition. Mental training comes sometimes from learning, sometimes from experience. As for physical training, how can it be done without martial arts? There are many exercise arts, but these can benefit you both internally and externally, using both hardness and softness. They have countless advantages and not one drawback. That is why they are deemed our “national arts”. Seeing that our nation is ill, our people weak, wise gentlemen have started to promote these arts as a good means of dealing with the problem. I was a sickly child, often very ill, and so I was advised to practice martial arts in order to build up my body. This was good advice indeed. I learned Plum Blossom Boxing from Liu Xiyue for several years, gradually coming to understand its special flavor. But then Liu passed away, and so I left home to learn elsewhere, traveling many places, until I was lucky enough to discover Han Kuisheng’s Nimbleness Boxing. It has softness within hardness, hardness within softness. It conforms to physiological principles, benefitting both mind and body. I have still not yet penetrated all of its mysteries, but ever since I started practicing it, I have never suffered from any illness. Therefore how could this art not a blessing? While visiting the Shanghai Chinese Martial Arts Association, where they publish a martial arts newspaper, they recommended me for a teaching position at the Song River Martial Arts Association, which then requested that I send them a manuscript about this material. Since I am not a highly literate person, how could I presume to not only write about what I learned from my teacher, his twelve terms, five requirements, and movement principles, but also publish it all, including photographs of myself performing the postures, in an actual book? I am just a country bumpkin and this is just my meager contribution, intended to give some aid to ambitious gentlemen in the training of their bodies. I hope this art will become respected throughout the nation and not be dismissed as something shallow, but if anyone has any criticisms of this book, I would be very happy to receive them.
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捷拳圖說目錄 CONTENTS
捷拳之要旨 Essentials of Nimbleness Boxing 十二字訣 Twelve Key Terms 五要 Five Requirements 論指 On the Use of the Fingers 論拳 On the Use of the Fists [Palms] 論捶 On the Use of the Fists 〔論腿〕 [On the Use of the Legs] 總訣 General Principles 節目歌訣 Mnemonic Verse for Each Posture 捷拳之表演 Performance of Nimbleness Boxing 第一式 立正 Posture 1: STANDING AT ATTENTION 第二式 預備 Posture 2: PREPARATION 第三式 順風領衣 Posture 3: WIND TUGS THE JACKET 第四式 順手推舟 Posture 4: GOING WITH THE CURRENT TO PUSH THE BOAT 第五式 靈獼護腦 Posture 5: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD 第六式 蜻蜓點水 Posture 6: DRAGONFLY SKIMS THE WATER 第七式 葉底藏花 Posture 7: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF 第八式 出爪亮翅 Posture 8: SENDING OUT CLAWS, SPREADING WINGS 第九式 摟膝拗步 Posture 9: BRUSH KNEE IN A CROSSED STANCE 第十式 黑虎掏心 Posture 10: BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART 第十一式 跨虎登山 Posture 11: STALKING TIGER CLIMBS THE MOUNTAIN 第十二式 魁星奪斗 Posture 12: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER 第十三式 葉底藏花 Posture 13: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF 第十四式 金龍合口 Posture 14: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH 第十五式 彩鳳囘頭 Posture 15: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD 第十六式 玉女穿梭 Posture 16: MAIDEN SENDS THE SHUTTLE THROUGH 第十七式 燕子穿簾 Posture 17: SWALLOW FLIES THROUGH THE CURTAIN 第十八式 懷中抱玉 Posture 18: HOARDING THE JADE 第十九式 推窗望月 Posture 19: PUSH OPEN THE WINDOW TO GAZE AT THE MOON 第二十式 摘星換斗 Posture 20: PLUCK THE STARS TO ROTATE THE BIG DIPPER 第二十一式 收爪斂鋒 Posture 21: RETRACTING SHARP CLAWS 第二十二式 分掌横跺 Posture 22: SPREADING PALMS, SIDE KICK 第二十三式 英雄獨立 Posture 23: HERO STANDS ON ONE LEG 第二十四式 迎門正跺 Posture 24: KICKING STRAIGHT AHEAD 第二十五式 魁星奪斗 Posture 25: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER 第二十六式 葉底藏花 Posture 26: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF 第二十七式 金龍合口 Posture 27: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH 第二十八式 彩鳳囘頭 Posture 28: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD 第二十九式 靈獼護腦 Posture 29: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD 第三十式 柳線垂金 Posture 30: GOLD HANGING FROM THE WILLOW BRANCHES 第三十一式 藤蘿掛壁 Posture 31: VINE CREEPS UP THE WALL 第三十二式 進步指南 Posture 32: ADVANCE, POINTING-COMPASS POSTURE 第三十三式 丹鳳朝陽 Posture 33: PHOENIX LANDS ATOP THE SUNNY SLOPE 第三十四式 風擺荷葉 Posture 34: WIND SWEEPS THE LOTUS LEAVES 第三十五式 順風擺柳 Posture 35: WIND SWAYS THE WILLOW 第三十六式 單鞭 Posture 36: SINGLE WHIP 第三十七式 單擄手 Posture 37: SINGLE PULLING HAND 第三十八式 彩鳳囘頭 Posture 38: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD 第三十九式 黑虎掏心 Posture 39: BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART 第四十式 前進踢打 Posture 40: ADVANCE, KICK & HIT 第四十一式 左前進踢打 Posture 41: LEFT ADVANCE, KICK & HIT 第四十二式 迎門正跺 Posture 42: KICKING STRAIGHT AHEAD 第四十三式 魁星奪斗 Posture 43: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER 第四十四式 葉底藏花 Posture 44: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF 第四十五式 金龍合口 Posture 45: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH 第四十六式 彩鳳囘頭 Posture 46: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD 第四十七式 靈獼護腦 Posture 47: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD 第四十八式 渾元一氣 Posture 48: RETURNING TO YOUR ORIGINAL STATE
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捷拳圖說 A HANDBOOK FOR NIMBLENESS BOXING
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捷拳之要旨 ESSENTIALS OF NIMBLENESS BOXING
梅花捷拳。以劈、挑、閃、衝、斜、五式為基本。以上中下三盤為捷法。捷者何。敏之謂也。拳曰捷。猶路之有捷徑也。捷拳之用。貴巧不貴力。乘敵之隙而動。所謂出其不意攻其無備也。遠則用手足。近則使肘膝。身體靈活。動作敏捷。如能精達此意。則敵雖有賁育之勇。亦無所施其技矣。是故拳之所以貴乎捷。而捷拳之命名。及其致用之功。槪可見焉。 The basics of Plum Blossom Nimbleness Boxing are the five qualities of chopping downward, carrying upward, rushing in, thrusting forward, and using angles, and its nimbleness lies in the three areas of the body: upper, middle, lower. Why “nimble”? Because of its agility. This boxing set is described as having nimbleness because it seems to seek shortcuts. In application, it values skillfulness more than strength, taking advantage of the opponent’s gaps. As it is said [Art of War, chapter 7]: “Appear where he does not expect. Attack where he is not prepared.” At long range, use hands and feet. At short range, use elbows and knees. The body is lively and the movement is nimble. If you can master these ideas, then even though your opponent may have great courage, he will have no way to use his skills. Therefore the reason this boxing art values nimbleness, and why its name is Nimbleness Boxing, clearly has to do with its practical function.
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十二字訣 TWELVE KEY TERMS
點 按 伸 縮 奇 正 弔 擄 速 巧 活 合 The key terms are: focus and pressure, expanding and contracting, direct and indirect, hanging and pulling, quickness and skillfulness, liveliness and unification. 解曰 They are explained below:
點者。以重力聚於一點也。夫重力聚於一點。其力較散漫者為大而速。譬如鐵錘。愈重則其速力愈滯。刃鋒愈利。則其速力愈疾。所謂能受一拳。不能受一掌。能受一掌。不能受一指之精意也。 [1] FOCUS: concentrating a heavy force upon a single point. If it is not concentrated upon a single point, it will be scattered over a general area. It should be a large force, but also have an element of speed. Take for example an iron mace. The heavier it is, the slower it is swung. But the sharper its spikes, the faster it will pierce through. It is said: “If he can handle a punch, then I will slice with the edge of my palm. If he can handle my palm, then I will stab with my fingertip.” This is exactly the idea.
按者。當我手未及敵人之身也。視之若無力然。及至其身也。猛力一按。使其氣虛而內傷也。 [2] PRESSURE: Before my hands reach the opponent’s body, I seem to have no power, but then in the moment that I get to his body, I press into him with sudden force, knocking the wind out of him and injuring him internally.
伸者。舒也。張而大之。引伸而使之長也。 [3] EXPANDING: to stretch out until there is a feeling of reaching far, extending your body so that there is a sense of lengthening.
縮者。斂也。充而實之。聚氣以斂神也。 [4] CONTRACTING: to gather in until there is a fullness and solidity, gathering energy in order to accumulate spirit.
奇者。側也。正者正也。善技擊者。不出奇正。奇正相生。變化無窮。或指前而打後。或指左而打右。或指上而打下。虛實相乘。剛柔互用。端倪莫測也。 [5] INDIRECT: going from the side. [6] DIRECT: going straight ahead. An expert at fighting does not use only either direct or indirect techniques, for the direct and indirect give rise to each other, alternating without limit. Indicate you are going forward, then attack to the rear. Indicate you are going to the left, then attack to the right. Indicate you are going upward, then attack downward. Making use of both emptiness and fullness, of both hardness and softness, your actions will be impossible to predict.
弔擄者。沉潛之勢也。先賢謂沉機以觀變。潛心以觀理。窮理以接物。拳術之弔擄手。乃順敵手之來。我乃以手弔之擄之。故能乘敵人之勢以應之。敵之來勢愈猛。其仆也愈快。其跌也愈遠矣。 [7 & 8] HANGING & PULLING: a sinking action. A piece of ancient wisdom says: “Submerge yourself in situations in order to see how they change, concentrate your mind in order to notice principles, and then delve into the principles in order to deal with the world.” As for the boxing arts technique of “hanging and pulling”, I go along with the opponent’s attack, then use my hand to hang over it and pull on it. I am therefore able to respond to his attack by taking advantage of his incoming force. The fiercer his attack, the faster and farther he will fall.
速者。神速也。能於敵手未到之際。我手已先着其身。我手之去。不見其去而已去。我手之來。未見其來而已來。敵雖欲格拒。已不及矣。 [9] QUICKNESS: amazing speed. With this ability, before the opponent’s hand has reached me, my hand has already hit his body. When my hand goes out, he does not see it go out and it has already arrived. When my hand comes back, he does not see it come back and it has already returned. No matter how he tries to block my attacks, it is always too late.
巧者。引進落空。空而未現。現而不見。使敵攻無所攻。守無所守。擊其要而避其勁。擊其虛而避其實。擊其微而避其顯。故云。四兩撥千斤。誠非虛語也。 [10] SKILLFULNESS: drawing the opponent in to land on nothing. Where I disappear, he does not noticed I have disappeared. Where I appear, he does not noticed I have appeared. I cause him to attack where there is nothing to attack, and defend where there is nothing to be defended against. I strike where he is vulnerable and avoid him where he is strong. I strike where he is empty and avoid him where he is full. I strike where he is not paying attention and avoid him where he is focused. Thus it is said: “Four ounces deflects a thousand pounds.” This is not just an empty phrase.
活者。心機靈敏。動作活潑。勢若常山之蛇。擊首則尾應。擊尾則首應。擊其中則尾首俱應。能攻能守。非活而何。 [11] LIVELINESS: Your mind is nimble and your movement is lively. This is like the “Mt. Chang Snake” battle formation [Art of War, chapter 11]: “Strike its head, its tail responds. Strike its tail, its head responds. Strike its middle, its head and tail respond together.” In this way, you are able to both attack and defend. But without liveliness, you would not be able to do this.
合者。內而精氣與神。外而手、眼、身、法、步。使其表裏相應。上下相隨。剛柔相濟。動靜有節。虛實互用。則豁然貫通。乃稱合焉。 [12] UNIFICATION: Internally you have essence, energy, and spirit. Externally you have your hands, eyes, body, techniques, and steps. There should be coordination between inside and out, upper body and lower. There should be cooperation between hardness and softness, movement and stillness, emptiness and fullness. One day these things will suddenly all fall into place, and then you can be said to be in unified state.
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五要 FIVE REQUIREMENTS
一眼明 1. CLEAR GAZE
善擊技者。眼必明。不然。受制於人。何能克敵。如取守勢。未明敵之來勢。或欲攻擊。未明敵之虛實。貿然擊去。雖快雖硬。鮮能命中。則勞神耗力。其能久持乎。故云。未交手前。必先審察。審察已明。乘虛而入。出其不意。攻其無備。則事半而功倍。可謂眼明之證矣。 To be good at fighting, you have to have a clear gaze. If not, you will be under the opponent’s control, and then how would you be able to defeat him? If you adopt a defensive position without clearly seeing what the opponent’s attack is, or if you try to attack without clearly seeing where the opponent is vulnerable, you will be lashing out in haste, and even if your strikes are fast and hard, you would rarely be able to hit the target. In this way, you would just end up wasting your energy and not be able to fight for very long. Therefore it is said: “Before making contact with your hands, you must observe the opponent. Having studied him, then take advantage of his gaps. ‘Appear where he does not expect. Attack where he is not prepared.’” You will thereby be able to do half the work and get twice the effect. This demonstrates the value of a clear gaze.
二手快 2. QUICK HANDS
手滯而露。其力雖大而易避。手快而隱。其力雖小亦難防。設如我與敵人同時發手。我手尚在進行之線。敵手業已先臨。雖欲避之。已無及矣。拳譜云。以快打慢。此之謂也。 If your hands are slow and obvious, then even if your techniques are more powerful, they will be easy to evade. If your hands are quick and subtle, then even if your techniques are less powerful, they will be difficult to defend against. For example, an opponent and I shoot out our hands at the same time, but my hand is still on its way by the time his has already arrived, and so even if I tried to evade it, I would be too late. It is said in boxing classics: “Use quickness to attack slowness.” This is the idea.
三心沉 3. CALM MIND
應敵之際。切忌心慌。心慌則意亂。意亂則手足失措。攻守失當。故習拳者。當先治心。治心之道無他。沉着而已。不以危急而色變。不為强敵而心驚。其庶幾乎。 When dealing with an opponent, you must by all means avoid getting mentally flustered. If your mind is flustered, your intention will be in disorder. If your intention is in disorder, then your hands and feet will be in disarray and every action of attack or defense you make will be inappropriate. Therefore you first have to control your mind, and the method of gaining this control is nothing more than being calm. As long as you do not treat the situation as a desperate emergency and lose your composure, nor consider the opponent to be too powerful and become afraid of him, then you will be halfway there.
四步穩 4. STEADY STEPS
進步須近敵身。手到身隨。方能得勁。動如虎豹。靜如山邱。出入要有方位。進退令其莫測。欲進也故示之以退。欲退也故示之以進。故學者對於步位。須加意焉。 When advancing, you must get close to the opponent’s body. As your hands arrive, your body follows. That way you will be able to express power. “In movement, be like a tiger. In stillness, be like a mountain.” As you move back and forth, you will be moving in definite directions, but make your advancing and retreating impossible to read. When you want to advance, show that you are about to retreat, and when you want to retreat, show that you are about to advance. Therefore you have to give extra attention to your stepping.
五膽壯 5. COURAGE
技擊尚膽壯。膽壯則氣勇。邁步猱進。敵勁雖强。期在必摧。乘機而退。退而不亂。是乃膽壯之效用也。孟子謂孟施舍之勇。視不勝猶勝也。言其有大無畏之精神也。是以手、眼、步、心、膽、五者俱備。然後能言技擊。然勝而不驕。退而不亂。非膽壯而心細者。其孰能之。 Fighting demands courage. With courage, your spirit will be bold. You will advance with determined steps, and then even if your opponent is powerful, he is sure to be destroyed. Or if retreat is called for, you will retreat without falling into disorder. Both of these situations show the effectiveness of courage. Mengzi said [Mengzi, chapter 2a]: “The courage of Meng Shishe was to see winning and losing as the same thing.” These words describe someone with a fearless spirit. Once all five of these qualities are prepared – eyes, hands, steps, mind, guts – then you will be ready to discuss fighting. However, to win without becoming arrogant and to retreat without falling apart – these things cannot be achieved without being mindful about courage.
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論指 ON THE USE OF THE FINGERS
指力雖微。功效甚偉。指有勾、摟、擒、拿、之性。使之輕則輕。使之重則重。緩則緩。速則速。邇則邇。遠則遠。何其靈也。使作準繩。可法可則。指雖剛而腕似棉。是其巧也。蓋力之所至。氣之所使也。學者當目在於斯。心在於斯。一身之精氣神俱注於斯。日積月累。使之力達於指。則不期然而然。莫之致而至矣。 Although the strength of the fingers is slight, their effectiveness is great. Fingers can hook, pull, seize, and grab. They can act with lightness or heaviness, slowness or quickness, be near or far. Such is their marvelous dexterity. From these criteria, certain standards form. Although the fingers may use hardness, the key is that the wrist stays supple. Then wherever strength arrives, energy will be activated. You should focus on this point, think about it, concentrate the essence, energy, and spirit of your whole body upon it, and then after practicing for a long time, strength will manifest in the fingers unexpectedly and without any forcing of it to happen.
論掌 ON THE USE OF THE PALMS
掌用翻轉之力。翻轉卽陰陽。陰陽宗一氣。氣有淸濁之別。掌有陰陽之變。惟須練習純熟。方能旋轉如意。果能專心致志。則全身之力。可運於掌矣。 The palm uses rotational power, meaning the alternation between passive and active, the two aspects functioning together. Energy divides into “clear energy” and “murky energy” as the palm alternates between the passive and active aspects
. But you have to practice to the point of skillfulness to be able to switch them efficiently. If you can focus your mind entirely, then the power of the whole body can be sent to the palm.
論捶 ON THE USE OF THE FISTS
拳有剛柔並進之性。或曰。非柔不活。非活不快。非快不取。又曰。至剛不破。非剛不克。然此皆為偏倚之談。何若拳似流星、肱似繩、剛中含柔、柔以摧剛、剛柔相濟、為用之得當也。 Punches should use both hardness and softness. It has been said: “Without softness, it will have no liveliness. Without liveliness, it will have no quickness. Without quickness, it will not reach the target.” It has also been said: “With too much hardness, it will do no damage. Not enough hardness, it will not arrive at all.” But these might be somewhat narrow statements, so try this one: “The fist is like a meteor, the arm like a rope.” Hardness contains softness, for softness is what is used to deliver hardness. Thus hardness and softness have to complement each other in order for techniques to be carried out properly.
論腿 ON THE USE OF THE LEGS
腿有升、降、進、退、踢、蹬、掃、截、勾、翦、蹅、跥、之分。為拳術中必要之具。蓋腿長於手。而力尤過之。然或用之不當。間有為害者。故學者於斯。當自權其功力。而後用之可也。 Legs actions are divided into: rising and lowering, advancing and retreating, toe kicks and heel kicks, sweeping and blocking, hooking and scything, stepping and stomping, These are all essentials within the art. Because the leg is longer than the arm, its power is much greater, but if it is used improperly [i.e. at the incorrect range, either too far or too close], you will only end up getting hurt. Therefore your use of your legs depends entirely on skill in order for it to be effective.
總訣 GENERAL PRINCIPLES
平心靜氣。無思無慮。舌抵上腭。氣沉丹田。 Balance your mind and calm your energy, no thoughts, no worries. With your tongue touching your upper palate, energy sinks to your elixir field.
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捷拳之表演 節目歌訣 PERFORMANCE OF NIMBLENESS BOXING (including a mnemonic verse for each posture [except Postures 1, 31, and 37])
第一式 立正 Posture 1: STANDING AT ATTENTION
身體立正。頭向上頂。如頂物然。二目平視。口微閉。舌抵上腭。氣貫丹田。兩手鬆攏下垂。兩足尖離開六十度。 Your body stands straight, head upright as though supporting an object on your head, your gaze level. Your mouth is closed, your tongue touching your upper palate. Energy is coursing through to your elixir field, your hands relaxed and hanging down. Your feet are spread apart at the toes by about sixty degrees. See photo 1:
取靜默從容之態度。除去一切雜念。自然心靜氣淸矣。達摩祖師謂人生感於情慾。一落有形之身。臟腑肢骸。悉為滓穢所染。必洗滌淨盡。無絲毫之障礙。方可步超凡入聖之門。故習拳者。不由此。則進道無機矣。是卽先賢所謂靜而安。安而慮。慮而後能得者也。 Seek a state of quiet calm, getting rid of all distracting thoughts, and then naturally your mind will be at ease and your energy will be clear. The founder Damo said: “Human beings feel desires, because we have material bodies. Our organs, limbs, and bones are stained by corruption and have to be thoroughly cleansed. Once there is not the slightest hindrance, then you will be able to transcend the world.” If practitioners of boxing arts do not work from this principle, there will be no way to progress. Therefore an ancient sage said [from the “Da Xue”, chapter 42 of the Book of Rites]: “With calm, there is peace. With peace, there is mindfulness. With mindfulness, the objective will be achieved.”
第二式 預備 Posture 2: PREPARATION
預備捷拳頸直伸。鬆肩垂手足踵匀。身從左扭腿微曲。雙手持拳與腰均。 In the PREPARATION posture of Nimbleness Boxing, your neck is straight, shoulders loose, hands hanging, heels together. Then your body twists to the left, your legs slightly bending, your hands grasping into fists and shifting up to waist level.
第二式開始動作。身稍下沉而左轉。兩腿微屈。（足不動） This posture is the initiating of movement. Your body slightly sinks and turns to the left, both legs slightly bending (your feet not leaving their location). See photo 2a:
兩手握拳上提。附於腰間。手心向內。兩目亦隨左轉平視。 Then your hands become fists and lift up to your waist, the centers of the hands facing inward, your gaze going along with the leftward turn, looking level. See photo 2b:
為靜中求動。前言靜乃淸其內。此言動乃堅其體。體堅則精神亦充足矣。達摩祖師謂人之一身。內而精氣與神。外而筋骨與肉。所組織而成者也。然使之周身靈活。手足翕張。伸縮裕如者。精氣神也。卽如天地生物。亦莫不隨陰陽之氣而生焉。况於人生乎。且夫精氣神。乃無形之物也。筋骨肉乃有形之身也。此法必先練有形者。為無形之佐。練無形者。為有形之輔。是一而二二而一者也。 若專練無形。而棄有形則不可。專練有形。而棄無形則更不可。所以有形之身。必得無形之氣相和而不違。乃成不壞之體。設學者不明此義。不特不得捷拳之要妙。而且徒費時日。虛耗工夫。深望學者悉心體驗之。 Seek movement within a state of stillness. Stillness purifies you internally, then movement strengthens the body. With a strong body, spirit will be abundant. Damo said: “Internally there is essence, energy, and spirit. Externally there is sinew, bone, and muscle. Work both of these aspects together and you will be complete.” This will naturally cause the whole body to move with nimbleness, the hands and feet effortlessly performing opening and closing, extending and retracting. Essence, energy, and spirit are the equivalent of the sky, the ground, and living things. All things are created by the workings of the passive and active aspects, even more so in the case of human beings. But essence, energy, and spirit are intangible things, whereas sinew, bone, and muscle are tangible. To practice this art, you must first train the tangible as an aid to the intangible, and then train the intangible as an aid to the tangible, a process of starting from one to get to two, and then working from two to get back to one. You will not get anywhere if you focus on training the intangible and ignore the tangible, and especially if you focus on training the tangible and ignore the intangible. Therefore the tangible body must be merged with the intangible energy and never separated, and then you will develop an unsullied skill. If you fail to understand this principle, not only will you fail to obtain the marvels of Nimbleness Boxing, you will also simply be wasting your time and effort. Therefore I sincerely hope that you will practice with the utmost mindfulness.
第三式 順風領衣 Posture 3: WIND TUGS THE JACKET
順風衣領古人傳。弔手纏腕步當先。二目注看前敵勢。靜而制動莫遲延。 WIND TUGS THE JACKET is a technique passed down since ancient times, using a hanging hand, curling wrist, and forward step. Your gaze goes forward toward the opponent. Use a quality of stillness to control his movement, but do it without delay.
接前式右足跨進一步。同時左手手心向下。由腰際前。猛向後拎。（為弔手）肘尖況下。微有下沉之意。手腕用勁。身微下蹲而後挺。以助其力。右手握拳。手心向上。置於腰際。與腰帶齊。右足尖向外撇。左足跟提起。身體半面向左。目注前手。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot advances a step as your left hand goes from in front of your waist and fiercely carries to the rear, the center of the hand facing downward (making a hanging hand), the elbow hanging down with a slight intention of sinking, power expressing at the wrist. Your body is slightly squatting down and leaning back to assist the power, your right fist still placed at your waist, the center of the hand facing upward. Your right toes are swung outward, your left heel lifted. Your body is turned halfway to the left, your gaze toward your front hand. See photo 3:
第四式 順手推舟 Posture 4: GOING WITH THE CURRENT TO PUSH THE BOAT
順手推舟要順肩。進身撒手腿微拳。鬆肩墜肘腕增力。側體攻心取敵便。 GOING WITH THE CURRENT TO PUSH THE BOAT involves going along with the shoulder as you advance and shoot out your right hand, your legs slightly bending. Loosen the shoulder, drop the elbow, and increase strength at the wrist. Angling your body sideways, attack to the solar plexus, seeking the opponent where he is vulnerable.
接前式左手翻轉收囘。微有下沉之意。置於腰際。手心向上。此時左足往前跨進一步。右手猛向前推。手掌用勁。手指向上。手心向左。鬆肩墜肘。身體向左。右膝蓋頂於左腿彎。左足尖向外撒。右足跟提起。兩腿微彎。目注右手中指尖。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left hand turns over and withdraws with a slight intention of sinking and is placed at your waist, the palm facing upward, your left foot at the same time advancing a step as your right hand fiercely pushes forward, power expressing at the palm, the fingers pointing upward, the palm facing to the left, with the shoulder loosened, the elbow hanging. Your torso is facing toward the left, your right knee touching the back of your left knee, the toes of your left foot swung outward, your right heel lifted, both legs slightly bent. Your gaze is toward the tip of the middle finger of your right hand. See photo 4:
第五式 靈獼護腦 Posture 5: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD
靈獮護腦右手托。左手握拳搥海穴。側面馬襠稱步弓。勝過弓蹬更便捷。 In CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD, your right hand props up as your left hand grasps into a fist and punches to the opponent’s sea of energy [i.e. lower abdomen, though the photo seems to be punching higher]. Your body is turned sideways, making a horse-riding stance in a deep lunge. The more your legs bend, the more nimble the posture.
接前式右手向外翻轉。由頂上抽囘。胳膊微彎。手心向上。用托勁。手背離頭頂約二寸許。同時左拳由腰間翻轉前射。用衝勁。手心向右。大指上節頂於中指上節根。使中指中節突出。五指扣緊。鬆肩墜肘。挺腕。腰隨右猛轉。兩足尖稍向前。身體向右。目注左拳之上節。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand turns over outward and withdraws over your head, the arm slightly bending, the palm facing upward, using a propping energy, the back of the hand about a quarter of a foot away from your headtop. At the same time, your left fist shoots forward from your waist, the fist rotating, using a thrusting energy, the center of the hand facing to the right, the top joint of the thumb pressing the top knuckle of the middle finger, causing the mid-knuckle of the middle finger to stick out, all five fingers squeezing tightly, with the shoulder loosened, the elbow hanging, the wrist straightening. Your waist correspondingly turns to the right [with your left foot also shifting forward], the toes of both feet pointing slightly forward. Your torso is facing toward the right, your gaze toward the top knuckle of your left fist. See photo 5:
第六式 蜻蜓點水 Posture 6: DRAGONFLY SKIMS THE WATER
蜻蜓點水要神速。熟能生巧工夫足。專攻敵人要害中。不必跳躍多勞碌。 DRAGONFLY SKIMS THE WATER should be performed with amazing speed, an ability that will come with practice. Focus on attacking the opponent at his vulnerable areas instead of leaping so much that you only wear yourself out.
接前式左足微向前進。足尖向前。右足向前跟步。右足跟靠於左足跟之右後方。約二寸許。同時右手五指收攏。（不可加緊）再極力向前撒。如投物然。手心向右下方。中指用勁。鬆肩。墜肘。挺腕。同時左拳變掌。抽囘貼於右胳膊彎。兩腿微屈。胸部微向後吸。身體向前。目注右手中指尖。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot slightly advances, the toes pointing forward, and your right foot does a following step until your right heel is about a quarter of a foot away from your left heel. At the same time, the fingers of your right hand curl in (though not tightly) and then forcefully release forward as though throwing an object, the palm facing downward to the right [left], power expressing at the middle finger, with the shoulder loosening, elbow hanging, wrist straightening, while your left fist becomes a palm and withdraws near your right elbow. Your legs are slightly bent, your chest slightly sucked in, your torso facing forward, your gaze toward the tip of the middle finger of your right hand. See photo 6:
第七式 葉底藏花 Posture 7: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF
葉底藏花退中守。陰陽相合變化有。胸前出手便利多。或左或右攻卽誘。 FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF retreats defensively, then the passive and active aspects switch roles. Send out your hand from in front of your chest with great ease. Whether performing the technique on the left or right, attacking is a matter of luring the opponent in.
接前式上身不動。退後三步。先退右足。次退左足。再退右足。及右足着地時。將身子往下猛蹲。左手變拳。沿右手腕下向前衝出。鬆肩。墜肘。挺腕。拳握緊。仍將中指突出。拳尖用勁。右手貼附於右胳膊彎。手指朝上。步法用弓蹬步。身體半面向右。目注左拳之上端。 Continuing from the previous posture, with your upper body maintaining its position, retreat three steps – right, left, right – and when your right foot comes down, your body suddenly squats down and your left hand, becoming a fist, thrusts out forward along the underside of your right wrist, the shoulder loosening, elbow hanging, wrist straightening, fist gripping tightly, with [the mid-knuckle of] the middle finger again sticking out, power expressing at the knuckles, your right hand going near your right [left] elbow, fingers pointing upward. You are in a bow stance, your torso facing halfway to the right, your gaze toward the top knuckle of your left fist. See photo 7:
第八式 出爪亮翅 Posture 8: SENDING OUT CLAWS, SPREADING WINGS
出爪高張手拓弦。身成十字左尖前。手心向上為陽掌。中指挑匀要對肩。 In SENDING OUT CLAWS, SPREADING WINGS, your hands seem to slide along a string, your body making a cross shape with your left toes forward. Your palms are facing upward, making active palms, your middle fingers carrying equally, aligned with your shoulders.
接前式左足往後收囘。離右足脛二三寸許。足跟提起。足尖點地。兩腿微彎。左手同時往後摟。手指向下。（目隨視摟手）腕肘俱彎。左足再向右前方斜進半步。仍足尖點地。同時右手向前伸。左手向後伸。如撇物之狀。兩手中指用勁。手心向上。與肩平。腰向左擰勁。目注右手中指。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot withdraws to be about a quarter of a foot away from your right ankle, the heel lifted, toes touching down, both legs slightly bent, your left hand at the same time pulling back, the palm facing downward (your gaze following it), the wrist and elbow bending. Then your left foot diagonally advances a half step to the forward right, again touching down with the toes, as your right hand extends forward and your left hand extends behind, as though flinging away objects, power expressing through the middle fingers, the palms facing upward at shoulder level, your waist twisting to the left. Your gaze is toward the middle finger of your right hand. See photo 8:
第九式 摟膝拗步 Posture 9: BRUSH KNEE IN A CROSSED STANCE
摟膝拗行手足擡。向前右足左還摧。躋襠反尾步虛實。右手勾摟左手推。 In BRUSH KNEE IN A CROSSED STANCE, your right hand and right foot lift, then your right foot goes forward as your left hand smashes. Your stance is twisted so your opposite foot is forward as your right hand hooks back and your left hand pushes out.
接前式右手向左後掛。（目隨視掛手）手指向上與左肩齊。手心向左。左手同時向下翻轉變為鈎手。手指向上。微停。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand is placed to the left rear (your gaze following it), the fingers pointing upward at shoulder level, the palm facing to the left, your left hand at the same time going downward, turning over to become a hooking hand, the fingers pointing upward. There is a slight pause in this position. See photo 9a [reverse view]:
次將右腿提起。右手由左膝前。向下向後摟。（摟手同前）右足卽前進一步。足尖點地。左手隨從左脇之前翻轉前推。手心向右。手指向上與肩平。手掌用勁。目注左手食指尖。 Then your right leg lifts, your right hand pulls downward to the rear from in front of your left [right] knee as your right foot advances a step, the toes touching down, and your left hand goes along the front of your left ribs, turns over, and pushes forward, the palm facing to the right, the fingers pointing upward at shoulder level, power being expressed at the palm. Your gaze is toward the tip of the forefinger of your left hand. See photo 9b [reverse view]:
第十式 黑虎掏心 Posture 10: BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART
黑虎掏心出手長。三尖相對始為良。一前一後攻兼守。十字擰身扣緊襠。 In BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART, you reach out your hand far. The three structure points [nose, fist, forward toes] have to be aligned with each other. One hand goes forward as the other pulls back, performing attack and defense simultaneously. Twist your body across, closing your crotch.
接前式左足向左前方移動。距離隨人之身體。以不費力為宜。左手先向右掛。（同前）次卽向前向左往後擄。（歸抱肘式）再右手變拳。向前衝。左腿下彎。右腿向後蹬直。（為弓蹬步）兩足往下蹬勁。兩膝往裏扣勁。擠襠、反尾、擰腰、順肩、墜肘、挺腕。右拳向前伸勁。左膀往後擺勁。右拳與左右肩成一平直線。目注右拳大指根節。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot steps forward to close the distance to the opponent’s body, keeping you from wasting energy trying to reach it with just your hands, as your left hand is first placed upward to the right (as your right hand was before), then goes forward and pulls toward the left rear (to return to the wrapping-elbow posture). At the same time, your right hand becomes a fist and thrusts forward as your left leg bends and your right leg straightens behind (making a bow stance), both feet having an energy of pressing downward, both knees having an energy of covering inward. With your crotch squeezing, your tailbone tucking in, your waist twisting, the shoulder stretching, the elbow hanging, and the wrist straightening, your right fist extends forward, your left arm having an energy of swinging toward the rear, your right fist making a level line with your shoulders. Your gaze is toward the large knuckle of your right fist. See photo 10:
第十一式 跨虎登山 Posture 11: STALKING TIGER CLIMBS THE MOUNTAIN
登山跨虎敵難容。左手架遮右足從。蹲胯方能足抓地。敵人相望欲逃蹤。 STALKING TIGER CLIMBS THE MOUNTAIN is hard for the opponent to endure. Your left hand blocks up as your right foot is unleashed. By squatting down your hips, your left foot roots into the ground. When the opponent sees this posture, he will want to flee.
接前式右手抽囘歸抱肘式。左拳變掌由胸口前向上翻。胳膊微彎。手心向上。手指向右。手背相離頭頂寸許。手腕向上向外翻勁。同時右腿向前蹬。足尖向右上方。足跟用勁。足掌向前仰。所蹬之足高不過膝。目注右足。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand withdraws, returning to a wrapping-elbow position, as your left fist becomes a palm and goes upward from in front of your chest, turning over so the palm is facing upward, the arm slightly bent, the fingers pointing to the right, the back of the hand about an inch away from your headtop, the wrist having an energy of turning upward and outward. At the same time, your right foot presses forward, the toes pointing toward the upper right, power expressed at the heel, the sole of the foot stretching back. The kick is no higher than knee level, your gaze toward your right foot. See photo 11:
第十二式 魁星奪斗 Posture 12: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER
魁星奪斗手相連。左右無差身莫偏。左足跟前丁字步。附於右肘左當先。 In KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER, your hands move in coordination, left and right properly placed, and your body should not be leaning. Your left foot follows forward to make T stance [i.e. its toes touching down]. To touch your right elbow, your left hand has to come forward.
接前式右足落地時。極力向前邁。左足向前跟。足尖點地。右拳向前衝。鬆肩。墜肘。挺腕。手心向左。拳與肩平。同時左手向下壓。手指向上。附於右胳膊彎。目注右拳食指中節根。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot comes down with a strong step forward, then your left foot comes forward with a following step, the toes touching down and pointing toward the front heel. At the same time, your right fist thrusts forward, the shoulder loosening, the elbow hanging, the wrist straightening, the center of the hand facing to the left at shoulder level, as your left hand presses down, fingers pointing upward near your right elbow. Your gaze is toward the mid-knuckle of the forefinger of your right fist. See photo 12:
第十三式 葉底藏花 Posture 13: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF 第十三式葉底藏花。同前見第七式。 (same as Posture 7 [except in this case making only two retreating steps: left, then right])
第十四式 金龍合口 Posture 14: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH
金龍合口手毋高。防敵良機使莫逃。掌合陰陽從後帶。手停胯下稍沉腰。 In GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH, your hands should not be high. Its purpose is to prevent the opponent from taking the opportunity to escape. With your palms facing each other, drag to the rear, stopping below your hips, your waist slightly sinking.
接前式雙手向後向下擄。如拉物然。左手拉至左胯之下停住。手心向外。右手拉至右膝之下停住。手心向內。兩胳膊微彎。同時左足往後撤半步。足尖點地。兩腿微彎。兩膝蓋向左前方。右胯微向下沉。兩手向後抽勁。並有下按之意。身體向右。目注兩手之間。 Continuing from the previous posture, your hands pull down to the rear as though pulling an object, your left hand pulling until below your left hip, the palm facing outward, your right hand pulling until below your right knee [hip], the palm facing inward, both arms slightly bent. At the same time, your left foot withdraws a half step, the toes touching down, both legs slightly bent, both knees pointing toward the forward left [forward right], your right knee slightly sinking. As your hands pull back, they also have an intention of pushing down. Your torso is facing toward the right, your gaze toward the space between your hands. See photo 14:
第十五式 彩鳳囘頭 Posture 15: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD
彩鳳囘頭快翻身。轉身進步莫因循。步虛制敵進兼退。左短右長備敵掄。 COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD involves quickly turning around, turning your body as you advance, and without any hesitation. Your step empties to control the opponent [behind you], turning an advancing action into a retreat. Your left hand is at short range, right hand at long range, swinging out to guard against him.
接前式左足前進一步。右足再進一步。同時左手手腕向外擰。手心向前。由腹部向上畫。畫至目前往後擄。左足退後一步。此時身體成一大轉身式。右手亦隨著轉身。上下畫一圓圈。惟左手用擄勁。右手畫至上方變拳。往下劈勁。手心向左上方。左手附於右胳膊彎。兩腿微彎。右足尖點地。身體向左。目注右拳大指。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot advances a step and then your right foot advances a step, your left wrist at the same time twisting outward so the palm is facing forward, the hand arcing upward from your belly until in front of your eyes, then pulling to the rear as your left foot retreats a step while your body makes a large turn. Your right hand goes along with this turn by drawing a circle, upward and then downward. While your left hand pulls, your right hand becomes a fist once at the top of the circle and then chops downward [until at shoulder level], the center of the hand facing upward to the left, your left hand going close to your right elbow. Both legs are slightly bent, your right toes touching down. Your torso is facing toward the left, your gaze toward the thumb of your right fist. See photo 15:
第十六式 玉女穿梭 Posture 16: MAIDEN SENDS THE SHUTTLE THROUGH
玉女穿梭手左挪。發將雙手在腰窩。手心向外格推式。由此閃身敵奈何。 MAIDEN SENDS THE SHUTTLE THROUGH involves reorienting to the left as you bring your hands back toward your waist, then pushing out with the palms facing outward. How can the opponent deal with this sudden maneuver?
接前式左足向前方斜進一大步。右足向前跟步。右足尖離左足跟二寸許。同時右手收囘。手心向上。右掌與小指貼於心口之前。左手向上架。指尖向右。手心向上。胳膊彎如弧形。右手同時向前推。手指向上。與喉齊。手心向外。掌根用勁。身體向前。目注右手中指尖。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot advances diagonally forward with a large step and your right foot goes forward with a following step so that your right toes are about a quarter of a foot away from your left heel. At the same time, your hands withdraw, the palms facing upward, the little fingers touching your solar plexus area, and then your left hand props upward, the fingers pointing to the right, the palm facing upward, the arm bending to make a semicircle shape, as your right hand pushes forward, the fingers pointing upward at throat level, the palm facing outward, power expressing at the heel of the palm. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward the tip of the middle finger of your right hand. See photo 16 [reverse view]:
第十七式 燕子穿簾 Posture 17: SWALLOW FLIES THROUGH THE CURTAIN
燕子穿簾步莫淹。掌須反背敵難拈。展開雙手猶張翅。似虎離山下嶺巓。 In SWALLOW FLIES THROUGH THE CURTAIN, your steps have no delay. Your palms have to turn over to make it difficult for the opponent to grab. Then spread open with both hands as though spreading wings. It should seem as though a tiger has left its mountain den and is prowling the summit.
接前式右足向右閃進一步。左足亦向右跟步。進至右足脛骨前。足尖點地。左手手掌向右向下壓。掌貼於右腋。同時右手貼近左手內腕。向右向上穿出。兩手手心俱向上。再將左足向前方進半步。足尖點地。左手同時向左前方伸去。與肩平。兩腿微彎。身體半面向右。目注右手小指。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot advances a sudden step to the right, your left foot also going to the right with a following step, advancing in front of your right ankle, the toes touching down, as your left palm presses downward to the right until near your right armpit. At the same time, your right hand threads out upward to the right along the inside of your left wrist, both palms now facing upward, and then as your left foot continues forward a further half step, the toes touching down, your left hand extends forward to the left at shoulder level [the photo showing the left foot going forward but the left hand not yet extending]. Your legs are slightly bent, your torso facing halfway to the right, your gaze toward the little finger of your right hand. See photo 17 [reverse view]:
第十八式 懷中抱玉 Posture 18: HOARDING THE JADE
懷中抱玉貴蓄勢。手置胸前善開閉。量敵而進出手先。知己知彼不失利。 HOARDING THE JADE is a posture for storing power. Your hands are placed in front of your chest, one opening, the other closing. Get the measure of the opponent and advance, sending out your hands. Knowing both self and opponent, you will not lose.
接前式左足向左前方進一大步。兩手往下鬆垂。右足向前跟進一步。足尖點地。兩手向上向後掛。右手虎口與心口齊。左手微高。位於右手之前。左手大指離右手小指寸餘。左腿向下弓。右腿向下彎。右膝蓋緊抵左腿彎。左足尖與左膝蓋成一垂直線。身體向前。目注右手虎口。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot advances to the forward left with a large step as your hands hang down, then your right foot goes forward with a following step, the toes touching down, as your hands go upward and hang aside to the rear [right rear], the tiger’s mouth of your right hand at solar plexus level, your left hand slightly higher and placed forward of your right hand, your left thumb just over an inch away from your right little finger. Your legs are bent with your right knee touching the back of your left knee, your left toes and left knee making a vertical line. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward the tiger’s mouth of your right hand. See photo 18 [reverse view]:
第十九式 推窗望月 Posture 19: PUSH OPEN THE WINDOW TO GAZE AT THE MOON
推窗望月腿雙彎。左手當心易格攔。右手單推掌向外。目觀前手指頭端。 In PUSH OPEN THE WINDOW TO GAZE AT THE MOON, both legs are bent. Your left hand is at your solar plexus to make it easy to block an attack. Your right hand pushes out on its own, the palm facing outward. Your gaze is toward the fingertips of your front hand.
接前式左足向前進一大步。右足向前跟步。足尖點地。右膝抵住左腿彎。身體向前。目注前手虎口。右手向前推。掌根用勁。左手微向下壓。兩手手指俱向上。手心俱向前。左手置於心口前。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left [right] foot goes forward with a large step and your right [left] foot goes forward with a following step, the toes touching down, your right [left] knee touching the back of your left [right] knee. At the same time, your right hand pushes forward, power expressing at the heel of the palm, with your left hand slightly pressing downward, the fingers of both hands pointing upward, the palms facing forward, your left hand placed in front of your solar plexus. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward the tiger’s mouth [fingertips] of your front hand. See photo 19 [reverse view]:
第二十式 摘星換斗 Posture 20: PLUCK THE STARS TO ROTATE THE BIG DIPPER
摘星換斗若何為。右足先提手目隨。左手勾摟從上剔。右宜摟膝足踵支。 How is PLUCK THE STARS TO ROTATE THE BIG DIPPER to be performed? First your right foot lifts, your hands and eyes following as your left hand hooks backs, rising upward. Then your right hand pulls past your right knee and the heel presses the leg straight.
接前式右手往裏拓。手心向上。朝着左腮向後掛。（此時右足落地）左足高提。左手沿右手手背向上撩。亦往後摟。摟時二目隨著手向後看。（抅子手）左手衝左上方。微停。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand rubs inward, the palm facing upward, and goes toward your left cheek to be placed to the rear (as your right [left] foot comes down fully), your left [right] foot lifting. Your left hand is raising along the back of your right hand and then pulling to the rear, your gaze following your hand (which makes a hooking hand) as the hand thrusts upward to the left. There is a slight pause in this position. See photo 20:
再左足落地。右足提起。（目視右手）從右膝前往後摟。（成勾手）手指向下。此時右足向前落地。左手向裏反轉下落。手心向上。從右脇貼着心口向前推。手心向右。手指向上。掌緣用勁。左手與肩平。右手微高。身成十字形。右腿向後蹬直。目注右手食指。 Then your left [right] foot comes down so that your right [left] foot can lift, your gaze following your right hand as it pulls to the rear past your right knee (making a hooking hand), the fingers pointing downward. At the same time, your right [left] foot comes down forward as your left hand arcs inward and downward, the palm facing upward, the hand touching your right ribs and then pushing out forward from your solar plexus, the palm facing to the right, the fingers pointing upward, power expressed at the edge of the palm, the hand at shoulder level, your right hand slightly higher, your body making a cross shape with your right leg straightened behind. Your gaze is now toward the forefinger of your right [left] hand. [Although there was originally no photo supplied for this second part of the posture, it would be similar to photo 36, but with the left hand as a palm and the right hand as a hook instead of fists.]
第二十一式 收爪斂鋒 Posture 21: RETRACTING SHARP CLAWS
斂鋒收爪勢收查。左手後摟左脚挑。非但防來左面敵。同迎左右乃為超。 RETRACTING SHARP CLAWS is a posture for gathering in and assessing the situation. Your left hand pulls to the rear as your left foot draws in. This technique is not only for defending against an attack to your left, for it could be applied on either side.
接前式左足向前進一步。進至右足脛骨。足尖點地。右足前進時。身體稍向右轉。又往下蹲。同時左手向後摟。（成勾手）手心向上。同時右手往上挑。挑至左肩手指與肩齊。手心向左。大指與食指貼於胸部。目注右手指尖。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot comes forward a step to be beside your right ankle, the toes touching down, your torso turning slightly to the right and squatting down. At the same time, your left hand pulls to the rear (making a hooking hand), the center of the hand facing upward, as your right hand carries upward until in front of your left shoulder, the fingers at shoulder level, the palm facing to the left, the thumb and forefinger near your chest. Your gaze is toward the fingertips of your right hand. See photo 21:
第二十二式 分掌横跥 Posture 22: SPREADING PALMS, SIDE KICK
分掌横跥腿挺直。手足齊發方為劇。若非鍛鍊功夫深。重點焉能貫一足。 In SPREADING PALMS, SIDE KICK, your legs straighten. With your hands and foot expressing in unison, it is a dramatic technique. But if you do not practice to the point that your skill is deep, how will you be able to focus power through your foot?
接前式兩手向心口前合攏。作交叉形。兩手手心向上。右手腕壓住左手腕。目視兩手之中間。次將左腿高提。向左横跥。足指向右後仰。足跟用勁。同時左右手向左右平分。（與肩平）手指俱向前。掌緣用勁。兩腿挺直。目注左足。 Continuing from the previous posture, your hands come together, crossing in front of your solar plexus, the palms facing upward, your right wrist pressing down on your left wrist, your gaze going toward the space between your hands. Then your left leg lifts and does a side kick to the left, the toes pointing toward the right rear, power expressing at the heel, your hands at the same time spreading apart to the left and right (at shoulder level), the fingers pointing forward, power expressing at the edges of the palms, both legs straightening. Your gaze is toward your left foot. See photo 22:
第二十三式 英雄獨立 Posture 23: HERO STANDS ON ONE LEG
獨立英雄先轉身。高低雙掌互通神。勢如敗式非眞敗。誘敵之機是好因。 HERO STANDS ON ONE LEG involves first turning around. Your palms extend in unison, one high, one low. This is a posture of appearing to be defeated, but you are not actually in a position of defeat. Lure the opponent in to try something, and then make use of it.
接前式左足縮囘。兩手仍歸交叉形。身體猛向右向後轉。左足猛向下跥地。右足提起。前進半步。足尖點地。左手從胸前向上托。胳膊彎如半月形。手背離頭頂寸許。手指向右。手心向上。左手往下劈。手掌用勁。手指向右下方。離右膝蓋二寸許。兩膝蓋往裏合。兩腿微彎。身體向右。目視右前方。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot retracts, your hands returning to being crossed, and your body suddenly turns to the right rear, your left foot fiercely stomping the ground. Then your right foot lifts and advances a half step, the toes touching down, as your left hand props up from in front of your chest, the arm bent to make a crescent moon shape, the back of the hand a few inches away from your headtop, the fingers pointing to the right, the palm facing upward, and your left [right] hand chops downward, power expressing at the palm, the fingers pointing downward about a quarter of a foot away from your right knee. Both knees are closing inward, both legs slightly bent. Your torso is facing toward the right [left], your gaze forward to the right. See photo 23:
第二十四式 迎門正跥 Posture 24: KICKING STRAIGHT AHEAD
迎門正跥用挑手。進步跥腿敵難走。上虛下實方合宜。虛虛實實變化有。 KICKING STRAIGHT AHEAD involves an action of the right hand carrying, and then when you advance with a pressing kick, it is difficult for the opponent to get away from. Using a feint above to complement a real technique below will make it work. Fake techniques should be varied among real techniques.
接前式右足全足蹬地。左足前進一步。右手向上挑。亦往後摕。歸抱肘式。同時左手向下劈。劈至心口前變為拳。向前平出。手心向右。同時右足向前蹬。足尖向上。足指向後仰。足跟用勁。兩腿挺直。身子不可偏斜。亦不可俯仰。微向後坐。身體向前。目注左拳之大指。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot comes down fully and your left foot advances a step as your right hand carries upward. Your right hand then pulls back, returning to a wrapping-elbow position, as your left hand chops down forward until at solar plexus level, the hand becoming a fist, the center of the hand facing to the right. At the same time, your right foot presses forward, the toes pointing upward and stretching back, power expressing at the heel, both legs straightening. Your body must not be leaning forward or back, or to either side, just slightly sitting back. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward the thumb of your left fist. See photo 24:
第二十五式 魁星奪斗。同十二式。 Posture 25: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER (same as Posture 12) [reverse view]
第二十六式 葉底藏花。同第七式。 Posture 26: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF (same as Posture 7) [reverse view]
第二十七式 金龍合口。同十四式。 Posture 27: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH (same as Posture 14) [reverse view]
第二十八式 彩鳳囘頭。同十五式。 Posture 28: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 15) [reverse view]
第二十九式 靈獼護腦。同第五式。 Posture 29: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 5)
第三十式 柳線垂金 Posture 30: GOLD HANGING FROM THE WILLOW BRANCHES
柳線垂金向後轉。左掤右摟面沖前。後將右足磨齊步。左足隨教外撇邊。 GOLD HANGING FROM THE WILLOW BRANCHES involves turning around to the rear. Prop up with your left hand and pull back with your right hand to deal with an incoming attack. Your right foot slides straight back and your left foot is correspondingly turned outward.
接前式身體向右轉。右足向後退一步。同時左手由胸前向上架。胳膊微彎。手心向上。右手向下向後摟。左腿下彎。足尖向外撇。右腿挺直。足尖點地。足跟起。目注左手手背。 Continuing from the previous posture, your body turns to the right, your right foot retreating a step. At the same time, your left hand props upward from in front of your chest, the arm slightly bent, the palm facing upward, as your right hand pulls downward to the rear. Your left leg is bent, the toes swung outward, and your right leg is straightened, the toes touching down, heel lifted. Your gaze is toward the back of your left hand. See photo 30:
第三十一式 藤蘿掛壁 Posture 31: VINE CREEPS UP THE WALL [no verse]
接前式左腿向後退一步。右腿下彎。左腿蹬直。足尖衝前。同時右手經胸部之前向上架。（架手與前同）左手往下壓。壓至與臍相齊停住。左手手心向下。手指向右。二目向前平視。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left leg retreats a step and your right leg bends, your left leg straightening, the toes [of both feet] pointing forward. At the same time, your right hand props upward, passing in front of your chest (same kind of propping action as in the previous posture), as your left hand presses downward until level with your navel, the palm facing downward, fingers pointing to the right. Your gaze is forward and level. See photo 31:
指南進步轉身衝。右足前騰速似風。拳術多宜此等式。身成側面少遭攻。 ADVANCE, POINTING-COMPASS POSTURE involves turning around and thrusting out, your right foot also shooting out forward as quick as the wind. Boxing arts often use this kind of posture, the body turned sideways to reduce one’s own potential to be a target.
接前式身體向左向後轉。（轉身時）左足尖蹻起。足跟碾勁。同時左手手心向下。往前擄。右手往下沉。卽變為拳。由右脅貼於左手上方往前衝。手心向左。在右拳衝時。右足前進半步。足尖點地。左手附於胳膊彎。兩腿微彎。身體向左。目注右拳食指中節。 Continuing from the previous posture, your body turns around to the left rear with your left toes lifting and the heel having an energy of grinding the ground [i.e. the foot pivoting on the heel]. At the same time, your left hand pulls forward, the palm facing downward, and your right hand sinks down, becoming a fist, then thrusts forward from your right ribs over your left hand, the center of the hand facing to the left. As your right fist thrusts out, your right foot advances a half step, the toes touching down, both legs slightly bending, your left hand going near your right elbow. Your torso is facing toward the left, your gaze toward the mid-knuckle of the forefinger of your right fist. See photo 32 [reverse view]:
第三十三式 丹鳳朝陽 Posture 33: PHOENIX LANDS ATOP THE SUNNY SLOPE
丹鳳朝陽右足彈。雙雙挑劈掌相連。弓蹬半步身須正。步穩氣沉自占先 PHOENIX LANDS ATOP THE SUNNY SLOPE involves your right foot springing out. Your hands perform carrying and chopping, the palms working in unison. When going a half step back into a bow stance, your torso has to be facing squarely forward, and so your stance being stable and your energy sinking are naturally given priority.
接前式右拳變掌。向右耳後方掛。左手向前推。左足提起。右足隨向前踢。將腿挺直。足尖用勁。式不停。將右足向左足之後撤一步。左腿下彎。右腿蹬直。同時右手向前向下劈。左手附於右胳膊彎。右手手心向左。手指向前。掌緣用勁。目注右手大指。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right fist becomes a palm and is hung behind your right ear, your left hand pushing forward, as your left foot lifts and your right foot kicks forward [with a hop], the leg straightening, power expressing at the toes. The posture does not pause in this position, your right foot retreating a step behind your left foot, and your left leg bends, your right leg straightening, as your right hand goes forward and chops downward, your left hand going near your right elbow, your right palm facing to the left, the fingers pointing forward, power expressing at the edge of the palm. Your gaze is toward your right thumb. See photo 33:
第三十四式 風擺荷葉 Posture 34: WIND SWEEPS THE LOTUS LEAVES
風擺荷葉手托護。右步倒叉向後顧。那怕敵從四面來。聲東擊西敵難做。 In WIND SWEEPS THE LOTUS LEAVES, your left hand props up to guard your head and your right foot crosses behind your left foot so that you are now looking to the rear. Why worry about an opponent attacking from any direction? By “threatening to the east but striking to the west”, you will make it hard for him to do anything.
接前式右足向左後方倒叉一步。足尖點地。右膝蓋抵住左腿彎。兩腿下彎。身體往下沉。同時右手向下垂。又往右往後拉。再往上托。胳膊彎曲。手指向左。手心向上。同時左手向左平出。手心向上。手指向左。手與肩平。身體向左。目注左手。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right foot does a crossing step to the left rear, the toes touching down, your right knee touching the back of your left knee, both legs bending, your body sinking down. At the same time, your right hand drops down, pulling to the right rear, then props up, the arm bent, the fingers pointing to the left, the palm facing upward, as your left hand goes out to the left, the palm facing upward, the fingers pointing to the left, the hand at shoulder level. Your torso is facing toward the left, your gaze toward your left hand. See photo 34:
第三十五式 順風擺柳 Posture 35: WIND SWAYS THE WILLOW
順風擺柳弔擄勢。我力無能借敵施。柔以致剛能變化。拳精尤貴快攻遲。 WIND SWAYS THE WILLOW is an example of “hanging & pulling”. It is for when you are not in a position to borrow the opponent’s force. Use softness in order to be able to switch back to hardness. Boxing masters put great emphasis on using quickness to attack where there is slowness.
接前式左足向左前方進半步。足尖點地。足跟向後。兩腿微彎。同時左手向右向後擄。手與臍齊停住。同時右手向後向下按。按至心口之左方。與心口平。手心向下。雙手五指分開。手指相印。兩肩向外開勁。兩肘向內抖勁。身體向右。目注右手指尖。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left foot advances a half step to the forward left [to be next to your right foot], the toes touching down, heel lifted, both legs slightly bent. At the same time, your left hand pulls to the right rear until level with your navel as your right hand pushes downward to the rear until level with and to the left of your solar plexus, the palm facing downward. The fingers of both hands are aligned with each other and are spread apart. Your shoulders have an energy of opening outward, but your elbows have an energy of squeezing inward. Your torso is facing toward the right, your gaze toward your right fingertips. See photo 35:
第三十六式 單鞭 Posture 36: SINGLE WHIP
單鞭順式一條線。右腿直蹬左腿彎。兩手握拳平正直。足踵實地穩如山。 SINGLE WHIP is in a straight stance [same hand and foot forward] and forms a line [with the arms]. Your right leg presses straight, your left leg bending. Your hands grasp into fists and go straight out until level. Your heels are solidly on the ground, your stance stable as a mountain.
接前式右手向裏。左手向下壓。兩手變拳。右手向右向後衝。左手向左向前衝。兩拳與肩平。同時左足前進半步。左腿下彎。右腿蹬直。兩手與兩腿上下成一垂直線。身體挺直。目注左手大指節根。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right [left] hand goes inward as your left [right] hand presses downward, both hands becoming fists, and then your right hand thrusts out behind you to the right as your left hand thrusts out forward to the left, both fists at shoulder level. At the same time, your left foot advances a half step and the leg bends, your right leg straightening. There is vertical line from each hand to its respective foot, and your body is upright. Your gaze is toward the large knuckle of the thumb of your left hand. See photo 36:
第三十七式 單擄手 Posture 37: SINGLE PULLING HAND [no verse]
接前式左手向下向後擄。右手不動。（擄手）與金龍合口相同。步法亦同。惟彼是雙手擄。此用單手擄耳。 Continuing from the previous posture, your left hand pulls downward to the rear, your right hand maintaining its position. The pulling hand technique is the same as in GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH [Posture 14], and the footwork is also the same, but in that case it is an action of double pulling hands and is here only a single hand pulling. See photo 37:
第三十八式 彩鳳囘頭。同十五式。 Posture 38: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 15)
第三十九式 黑虎掏心。同第十式。 Posture 39: BLACK TIGER STEALS THE HEART (same as Posture 10) [reverse view]
第四十式 前進踢打 Posture 40: ADVANCE, KICK & HIT
進前踢打兩邊同。手足齊到方始攻。莫道簡單程式易。無窮奧妙在其中。 ADVANCE, KICK & HIT involves both sides working in unison, hand and foot attacking together. The technique seems simple, the posture easy, and yet it is limitlessly profound.
接前式右手向後拉。歸抱肘式。右手向前平出。指尖衝前。手心向右。同時左腿向前踢。足尖用勁。兩腿挺直。兩胯向裏合住勁。右足向下蹬住勁。身體向前。目注左足足尖。 Continuing from the previous posture, your right hand pulls back, returning to a wrapping-elbow posture, then its fingers thrust out forward, the hand level, the palm facing to the right. At the same time, your left leg kicks forward, power expressing at the toes, both legs straightening, the thighs closing inward, and your right foot has an energy of pressing downward. Your torso is facing forward, your gaze toward your left toes. See photo 40 [reverse view]:
第四十一式 左前進踢打。同四十式。 Posture 41: LEFT ADVANCE, KICK & HIT (same as Posture 40 [except with left and right reversed]) [There was originally no photo included here, but the posture can easily be shown by flipping the previous photo.]
第四十三式 魁星奪斗。同十二式。 Posture 43: KUIXING SEIZES THE BIG DIPPER (same as Posture 12) [reverse view]
第四十四式 葉底藏花。同第七式。 Posture 44: FLOWER HIDDEN UNDER THE LEAF (same as Posture 7 [but with only two retreating steps: left, then right]) [reverse view]
第四十五式 金龍合口。同十四式。 Posture 45: GOLDEN DRAGON CLOSES ITS MOUTH (same as Posture 14) [reverse view]
第四十六式 彩鳳囘頭。同十五式。 Posture 46: COLORFUL PHOENIX TURNS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 15) [reverse view]
第四十七式 靈獼護腦。同第五式。 Posture 47: CLEVER MACAQUE COVERS ITS HEAD (same as Posture 5)
第四十八式 渾元一氣 Posture 48: RETURNING TO YOUR ORIGINAL STATE
渾元一氣卽空提。雙手持拳心與齊。氣守中和能得法。自然入化到神奇。 In RETURNING TO YOUR ORIGINAL STATE, let go of the situation and rise up, your hands as fists shifting to be level with your solar plexus. By keeping your energy balanced, you will be able to obtain the art. You will naturally transform yourself and achieve a magical skill.
接前式左右足向後各退半步。兩脚靠攏。兩腿微彎。左手變拳。右手握拳。抱於臍前。 Continuing from the previous posture, your feet each retreat a half step [left then right] to stand next to each other, your legs slightly bent, as your left [right] hand becomes fist and, together with your right [left] fist, is placed in front of your navel [solar plexus]. See photo 48:
再兩手下垂。歸立正式。 Then your hands hang down and you return to the posture of STANDING AT ATTENTION.
