Creating Wing Chun: Towards a Social History of the Southern Chinese
Martial Arts
Benjamin N. Judkins, Ph.D.
Visiting Scholar, Cornell University East Asia Program
A Keynote Address Delivered on October 8th, 2016 to the 5th Annual Meeting of the German
Society of Sport’s Sciences Martial Arts Commission at the German Sports University of
Cologne.
Abstract
This paper begins with an examination of two historic accounts of “challenge fights” within the
traditional Chinese martial arts. While these documents are concerned with many of the same
basic themes, they paint very different pictures of the hand combat community during the Late
Imperial and Republican periods. They are also representative of the types of puzzles that
scholars are faced with when attempting to investigate the development and social setting of
these fighting systems. Given such difficulties, why should scholars care about the social history
of the Chinese martial arts? Likewise, what can such studies offer practitioners of the Asian
martial arts today? This keynote addresses each of these questions with reference to my recent
volume, co-authored with Jon Nielson, The Creation of Wing Chun: A Social History of the
Southern Chinese Martial Arts (SUNY Press, 2015).
1
Introduction
Why should scholars be concerned with the history of the Asia martial arts? And why is social
history, in which we seek to understand the practices of ordinary people by situating their
involvement with these fighting systems against a broad range of factors, particularly useful?
This paper addresses these questions as they related to my recent book, co-authored with Jon
Nielson, The Creation of Wing Chun: A Social History of the Southern Chinese Martial Arts
(SUNY Press, 2015). It begins with two stories.
The first is a well-known legend within the TCMA community. I am sure that there are people
in this room who know it well. It is the creation myth that is taught to every student within the Ip
Man branch of the Wing Chun system.
Ip Man (1893-1972) was a master of a Chinese martial arts style called Wing Chun. He became
a prominent figure in the hand combat community after he fled to Hong Kong from his native
town of Foshan in 1949, just ahead of the Communist advance. Once in Hong Kong, economic
necessity forced the aging Ip Man to open a martial arts school from which he promoted what
had previously been a local art. One of his best known students, the American actor and martial
artist Bruce Lee, transformed his art into a global phenomenon.1
Our second story comes from the pages of the July 13th, 1872, edition of a now forgotten
newspaper called the North China Herald. Published in English, this newspaper was popular
with Western expatriates living in Shanghai and other parts of southern China. I have never seen
this account discussed in any publication on the Chinese martial arts.
In some respects these stories will be quite different, yet shared concerns and themes echo
between them. Taken as a set they help to illustrate the questions that emerge when we attempt
to write social history. Let us begin by attempting to imagine two competing visions of the
Southern Chinese martial arts as they may (or may not) have existed at some point in the past.
The first of them comes directly from the brush of Ip Man.
The Burning of the Shaolin Temple and the Birth of Wing Chun
“The founder of the Ving Tsun Kung fu system, Miss Yim Ving Tsun was a native of Canton
China. As a young girl, she was intelligent and athletic, upstanding and manly. She was
betrothed to Leung Bok Chau, a salt merchant of Fukien. Soon after that, her mother died. Her
father, Yim Yee, was wrongfully accused of a crime, and nearly went to jail. So the family moved
far away, and finally settled down at the foot of Tai Leung Mountain at the Yunnan-Szechuan
border. There, they earned a living by selling bean curd. All this happened during the reign of
Emperor K'anghsi (1662-1722).
At the time, kungfu was becoming very strong in Siu Lam Monastery (Shaolin Monastery) of Mt.
Sung, Honan. This aroused the fear of the Manchu government, which sent troops to attack the
Monastery. They were unsuccessful. A man called Chan Man Wai was the First Placed Graduate
of the Civil Service Examination that year. He was seeking favour with the government, and
suggested a plan. He plotted with Siu Lam monk Ma Ning Yee and others. They set fire to the
1
Judkins and Nielson 2015, 179-186; 211-263.
2
Monastery while soldiers attacked it from the outside. Siu Lam was burnt down, and the monks
scattered. Buddhist Abbess Ng Mui, Abbot Chi Shin, Abbot Pak Mei, Master Fung To Tak and
Master Miu Hin escaped and fled their separate ways.
Ng Mui took refuge in White Crane Temple on Mt. Tai Leung (also known as Mt. Chai Har).
There she came to know Yim Yee and his daughter Yim Ving Tsun. She bought bean curds at
their store. They became friends.
Ving Tsun was a young woman then, and her beauty attracted the attention of a local bully. He
tried to force Ving Tsun to marry him. She and her father were very worried. Ng Mui learned of
this and took pity on Ving Tsun. She agreed to teach Ving Tsun fighting techniques so that she
could protect herself. Then she would be able to solve the problem with the bully, and marry
Leung Bok Chau, her betrothed husband.
So Ving Tsun followed Ng Mui into the mountains, and started to learn kung fu. She trained
night and day, and mastered the techniques. Then she challenged the local bully to a fight and
beat him. Ng Mui set off to travel around the country, but before she left, she told Ving Tsun to
strictly honour the kung fu traditions, to develop her kungf u after her marriage, and to help the
people working to overthrow the Manchu government and restore the Ming Dynasty. This is how
Ving Tsun kung fu was handed down by Abbess Ng Mui.”2
After this point the Wing Chun creation myth becomes a more standard lineage genealogy. It
relates how the art was passed first to a group of traveling Cantonese Opera performers, then to a
prominent Foshan pharmacist named Leung Jan and his student, Chan Wah Shun, and finally to
Ip Man himself.
It is difficult to establish the date of this story with precision. The version that I just read to you
was written down by Ip Man in the Hong Kong period of his career in anticipation of the creation
of an organization called the “Ving Tsun Tong Fellowship.”3 For whatever reason, that group
never materialized and this hand written account was found in his papers following his death in
1972.
The popularity of this story in other Wing Chun lineages strongly suggests that it was something
that was in general circulation by the 1930s. As we argued in our book, this myth, in its current
form, probably dates to the Republic period as it relies rather heavily on the figure Ng Moy who
in older versions of the Shaolin myth was actually a villain. She was not reimagined as a hero
until a group of novels were published in the 1930s.4
Leaving aside specific arguments about the origin of the Wing Chun system, this story is of
interest because it paints a vivid picture of the world of the southern Chinese martial arts during
the 18th and 19th centuries. Consider some of the major themes that we find in this legend. First,
the martial arts occupy a lawless environment in which the state is powerless to enforce order.
Ip Man. “The Origin of Wing Chun.” http://www.vingtsun.org.hk/history.htm accessed 9/18/2017.
Ibid.
4
Hamm 2005, 34-36.
2
3
3
Still, the situation is anarchic (as that term is defined by political scientists) rather than purely
chaotic.5 There is a certain code of conduct that contains and shapes the expression of violence
within the community. This is exemplified by the challenge fight with the marketplace bully,
rather than a resort to private war. Lastly, there is just a hint of romance wrapped in a large dose
of social propriety.6 We see this expressed when Yim Wing Chun fights off an unwanted suitor
to preserve the honor of her childhood fiancée, whom she has probably never seen before.
All of this happens in an undeniably romanticized Chinese landscape. The actions starts when
the Yim family flees the known world of the Pearl River Delta and heads for a far off mountain
in Western China complete with mist covered temples and a mysterious Buddhist recluse. It all
sounds oddly like the plot of a kung fu movie.7 By the conclusion of the story the reader has no
reason to doubt the inherent virtue of the southern Chinese martial arts.
Our second story, published under the title “Chinese Boxing,” also revolves around a lifedefining challenge fight. This event took place in a much more mundane environment, totally
lacking in mist covered temples. Yet it also echoes many of the same themes found in the first
story.
A Death in the Marketplace
“If there is one particular rather than another in which we might least expect to find John
Chinaman resemble John Bull, it is in the practice of boxing. The meek celestial does get roused
occasionally, but he usually declines a hand to hand encounter, unless impelled by the courage
of despair. He is generally credited with a keen appreciation of the advantages of running away,
as compared with the treat of standing up to be knocked down, and is slow to claim the high
privilege the ancients thought worthy to be allowed only to freemen, of being beaten to the
consistency of a jelly.
How the race must rise in the estimation of foreigners, therefore, when we mention that the noble
art of self-defence and legitimate aggressiveness flourished in China centuries probably before
the “Fancy” ever formed a ring in that Britain which has come to be regarded as the home of
boxing. Of course, like everything else in China, the science has rather deteriorated than
improved; its practice is rough; its laws unsystematized; its Professors of the art, called “fistteachers,” offer their services to initiate their countrymen in the use of their “maulies,” and, in
addition in throwing out their feet in a dexterous manner….Boxing clubs are kept up in country
villages, where pugilists meet and contest the honours of the ring…
5
Waltz 1979, 102-116.
Cass (1999) provides an excellent discussion of the inherent social tensions within Chinese images of archetypal
female warriors.
7
Adam Frank (2006, 35-36), among others, has discussed the tendency towards self-Orientalizing within the
Chinese martial arts. It is not hard to imagine some of the motives behind this development. Once the martial arts
came to be linked to the project of building a robust sense of Chinese nationalism in the 1920s and 1930s, the
Central Guoshu Association and other actors showed a strong tendency to link these fighting systems with
supposedly “essential” and “primordial” Chinese traits that they wished to promote. Authors of Wuxia novels also
marshalled idealized visions of the past to support their own vision of China’s future. Nor has this project ever been
totally forgotten.
6
4
We are not unused to hearing of fatal encounters in the Western ring, where the brutal sport is
hedged about with restrictions intended to guard against its most serious eventuality, but in
China homicide in such affairs is made more frequent by the admission of kicking. A case of the
sort has just occurred at Tachang, a village about eight miles due north from the Stone Bridge
over the Soochow creek.
In a teashop where gambler and boxers were wont to meet, a dispute arose between two men
about 18 cash, and it was arranged to settle it by fight. After a few rounds, one man succeeded
in knocking over the other, with a violent kick to the side. The man sprang to his feet, exclaiming
“Ah! That was well done,” and as he advanced to meet his antagonist again, suddenly fell back,
dead.
Consternation fell on those concerned in the matter, and every effort was made to evade a
judicial enquiry. The relatives of the deceased, however, come forward to make the usual capital
out of their misfortune. They seized the homicide, put him in chains, and bound him for two days
and nights to the body of the dead man, which had been removed to the upper part of the
teahouse.
An arrangement for a pecuniary salve to their lacerated feeling was made, by which the people
in the neighborhood paid $150, the teahouse keeper $100, and the dealer of the fatal blow $50.
But gambling and fighting had drained the resources of the latter, he was an impoverished
rowdy without a respectable connection in the world, except the betrothal tie, by which the fate
of a young lady was linked with his, before either had a will to consult or the wayward tendency
of his character had appeared. Glad of an opportunity to break off the engagement, the young
lady’s friends came forward and offered to pay the sum if he would surrender all claim to his
fiancée.
The offer being accepted, the whole affair was settled; the sum of a Chinese boxing match being
thus one combatant killed, a teahouse keeper ruined, a neighborhood heavily fined, and a
marriage engagement broken off. Probably such incidents occur very often, but if the parties
can settle it among themselves, the magistrates, for their own sakes, are only too glad to have the
matter hushed up.”8
One could write an entire paper analyzing, deconstructing and investigating this short news item.
Period accounts of actual challenge matches, and their social aftermath, are extremely rare in any
language. Yet consider the major themes shared between the two stories. Unlike the previous
legend, this one can be dated with a fair amount of precision. It is an account of events that
probably happened sometime in the summer of 1872, reported to the English reading public on
July 13th of that year.
That is significant as it makes this fight roughly contemporaneous with a critical stage in the
development of Wing Chun. Leung Jan, the pharmacist from Foshan who we just mentioned,
may have been instructing his friend from the marketplace, Chan Wah Shun, as all of this was
happening.9 Nevertheless, this description of the 19th century martial arts lacks the exotic
orientalism and romance of its predecessor.
8
9
“Chinese Boxing.” North China Herald. July 13th, 1872.
Judkins and Nielson 175-176.
5
Still, the martial arts are once again associated with economic marketplaces and the types of
ruffians one might find there. That is an important clue for historians of the Chinese hand
combat systems to contemplate.
In the first, more romanticized, story the martial arts are seen as the means by which social
norms are upheld. The second case demonstrates the opposite possibility as the fight leads only
to death, financial ruin the dissolution of an engagement. Yet in both instances individuals seem
to believe that keeping the state out of the matter is a good idea.
The thematic differences between these accounts are also interesting. In the first story Yim
Wing Chun and her family are very much alone in a hostile world. Yet the second account
reminds us that in reality the Chinese martial arts, and social violence more generally, occurred
in villages that were dominated by strong clan structures.
In fact, most villages of this size would contain between one and three surnames, being
dominated by a few large clans. While the author of the article chose not to go into detail on this
point, taking a male who has wronged your clan hostage and holding him until a hefty ransom
was paid was not an uncommon way of settling inter-village disputes in the late Qing.
Tone is perhaps the most important difference between these stories. The account of Yim Wing
Chun emerges from within the world of Chinese boxing. It is an emic explanation of these
fighting systems which views them as a fundamentally positive means by which individuals
address pressing personal and community matters.
The second story is etic in nature, presenting us with an outsider’s perspective. Moreover, the
anonymous author of the account of the fight in Tachang Village held the world of the Chinese
martial arts in low regard. In other portions of this account that I omitted due to the limitations
of time it seems possible that he does not think all that highly of the English sport of boxing
either. One wonders whether his criticisms of people who practice the Chinese martial arts
should be read as a subtle jab at his Western readers who may well be fans of their own forms of
boxing.
Still, this air of disdain is quite accurate in some respects as it reminds us that, even in the
volatile second half of the 19th century, most respectable individuals in China were not interested
in the martial arts. They found these practices, and the individuals who took them up, to be
socially marginal. Nevertheless, once we control for questions of tone, the author’s outsider
perspective yields a number of interesting historical and ethnographic observations.
Writing the Social History of Martial Arts
We now have two competing accounts of the Southern Chinese martial arts. One is a period
account of an alleged event that was likely recorded a few weeks after the fight in question
transpired. The other is a legend, an example of folk history, which purports to reveal the origins
of an increasingly popular regional fighting tradition that was already a century old.
6
There is also the matter of social memory. One of these accounts is still known, believed, taught
and enacted in communities around the globe.10 Individuals look to it for inspiration and
technical guidance as they seek to transform themselves through the practice of the martial arts.
The other story, while probably much more factually accurate, has been totally forgotten. Its
service as a cautionary tale ceased to be relevant when the community that it sought to inform
dissolved in the 20th century.
When faced with two differing accounts, the first question that we often ask is in many respects
the least helpful. Students will look at these two contrasting descriptions of the Southern
Chinese martial arts and want to know, “which one is true?” Which vision most accurately
captures “reality?”11 On some level the answer must be neither.
The problems with the Wing Chun creation legend are more obvious. The Southern Shaolin
Temple, as it is described by the region’s martial artists, likely never existed. And the Shaolin
Temple of Henan province (specifically referenced in the Ip Man version of the story) was never
burned by Qing. Nor did they slaughter its monks.
These are established facts, not up for historical debate. It is quite suggestive that some of the
figures in this account show up as characters in late-Qing kung fu novels long before they appear
anywhere else. Likewise, the resemblance of the heroines of the Wing Chun legend to central
female figures in the creation accounts of White Crane Boxing (from Fujian) is probably not a
coincidence.
Our second account also has some serious problems. It is in no way a shining example of
investigative journalism, even by 19th century standards. The author makes no effort to hide the
fact that he is far from neutral observer. Nor does he include some very basic facts in his
account, such as the names of the two fighters, or even the date on which these events took place.
The level of descriptive detail in this account leads me to suspect that it is basically credible. Yet
the way in which it is written strongly suggests that the point of this article was never to teach
readers technical or sociological facts about Chinese boxing. Rather, it was a transparent attempt
to convince them to imagine China in a certain way. It is basically an exercise in the
construction of ethnic and national “mythologies” by other means.
The correlation between the socio-economic status of our authors and the ways in which they
discussed the martial arts is probably not a coincidence. As one reads the various accounts of the
martial arts that appeared in the popular press in China between the 1870s and the 1940s we see
competition between groups who viewed the personal empowerment promised by the martial arts
in positive terms, those who wish to reform these practices and put them at the disposal of the
state, and lastly a large group of relatively elite voices that viewed the martial arts as a
backwards waste of resources that had no place in a modern China. The crafting of accounts
10
Practically all of the basic guidebooks on the Wing Chun system relate this story. Chun and Tse 1998, 16-21.
Even James Yimm Lee’s notoriously taciturn manual, Wing Chun Kung Fu: Chinese Art of Self Defense, produced
from Bruce Lee’s class notes, includes a brief summary of the story.
11
The concept of “reality” plays an important part in popular discussion of the martial arts. Bowman (2015) 109135.
7
supporting these different positions is highly reminiscent of the process that James C. Scott
described in his classic study, Weapons of the Weak: Everyday forms of Peasant Resistance.12
In many respects the preceding accounts are fairly representative of the sorts of data that scholars
discover throughout the course of their research. Faced with such narratives, all of which have
been shaped by other hands, what is a social historian to do?
First we must step back and think carefully about research design. What is the actual object of
our analysis? What puzzles are we attempting to solve? Is our goal really to understand the
technical development of a hand combat system? Or are we instead interested in the community
that developed and transmitted these practices at different points in time?
Good social history is concerned with the production of sound descriptive and causal inferences.
My approach to these questions is probably a result our background in the social sciences and
training in the case study (rather than the area studies) approach. As such, both Jon Nielson and
I were interested in moving beyond purely interpretive exercises. We wished to develop a
framework that could speak directly to a range of sociological theories.13
Without denying the fruitfulness of the “embodied turn” that we have seen in fields like
sociology and anthropology over the last few decades,14 we would suggest that students of
martial arts studies think very carefully about their linked methodological and theoretical
assumptions. The hand combat systems are said to be “arts” precisely because they exist only as
social institutions. They differ from pure violence in that these techniques exist within a
framework of ideas and identities which are meant to be conveyed from teacher to student.15
Questions of community involvement are not superfluous to the development of the martial arts.
Rather, they are central to the entire enterprise.
The author of the 1872 article was absolutely correct to identify the individuals most likely to
invest themselves in these systems of practice and knowledge as being socially marginal. Nor is
this pattern isolated to China in the Qing or Republic periods. Modern sociologists and
anthropologists have noted a link between many hand combat traditions and social marginality in
a wide range of cultures and settings.16
This is precisely why historians interested in questions of social history and popular culture must
take note of the Chinese martial arts. As in most places, the history of China was written by
12
Scott 1985.
King,Keohane and Verba 1994.
14
Key contributions in this literature include Wacquant 2003; Farrer and Whallen-Bridge 2011; and various
contributors in Garcia and Spenser 2014.
15
The definition of the martial arts (and whether focusing on the topic is even a good idea) is contested: Channon
and Jennings 2014; Wetzler 2015; Judkins 2016; Bowman 2016. Nevertheless, all of these authors share points of
agreement regarding the fundamentally social nature of these practices. That is likely the proper place to beginning
a historical exploration.
16
Amos 1983; Boretz 2011. Perhaps the best known statement on marginality and the combat sports in North
America has been provided by Loic Wacquant (2003) who approached boxing as a way to understand life in the
Chicago ghetto. All of these works touch on the interaction of social marginality and masculinity. Those topics have
been taken up more directly by Miracle 2016 and Vaccaro 2015. Collectively this literature suggests that the martial
arts can be seen as an exercise in individual and community self-creation rising out of the experience of exclusion
and self-doubt. Berg and Prohl (2014) note that this is how these fighting systems have self-consciously described
themselves and their mission in the modern era.
13
8
educated elites. This makes the day to day realities of most people’s lives very difficult to
reconstruct.
The Chinese martial arts are interesting in that they offer a unique window into the hopes and
concerns of a large segment of the population that might otherwise be overlooked. Further, the
lineage based nature of these fighting systems means that modern organizations and practices
continue to look to the past for legitimacy. These fighting systems have sometimes preserved
information, usually stories but in other cases actual documents, that historians will find useful.
More importantly, members of the local community tend to regard martial art traditions as being
ancient and the guardians of certain types of values. While most of the Asian fighting systems
that people actually practice are very much products of the modern era, they are nevertheless
closely tied to critical discourses about identity, community violence and history.
There are other social organizations that share many of these same traits. I actually began my
research on community organization and violence in China before I ever became personally
involved in the practice of kung fu. Initially I was conducting research on new religious
movements and their association with violent uprisings in the late Qing dynasty in an attempt to
test a general theory of the relationship between religious communities and the generation of
social capital.17
After giving a paper on social capital and the Boxer Uprising at the 2009 Midwest Political
Science Association meetings, one of the commentators suggested that I take a look at some of
the events in southern China. He was attempting to direct my attention to the Taiping Rebellion.
As I began to investigate the issue I was surprised to find a number of martial arts schools still in
existence that claimed a heritage going back to those events. This memory of revolutionary
action, whether real or imagined, would arise again within these groups at later moments of
historical crisis.18
At that point I became quite interested in the development of the martial arts associations of
southern China. Other sorts of social organizations, like trade guilds, clan associations or new
religious movements might occasionally become involved in community violence. Yet martial
arts societies often viewed themselves as specialists in this realm.19 While the trade guilds of
Beijing and Yihi Boxers of Shandong have ceased to exist, many of southern China’s martial arts
movements are still with us today. As a student of globalization, I was also fascinated by the
degree of success that these groups had enjoyed in spreading themselves throughout the world.20
Shortly after coming to these realizations I began a personal study of Wing Chun with Jon
Nielson, who at the time also taught at the same university where I was employed. He was
17
Judkins 2009.
This tendency seems particularly well developed in the folk history of Choy Li Fut. See for instance Wong and
Hallander 1985; Judkins and Nielson 92-99.
19
While most emic accounts of Chinese martial arts history seem to focus on lineage creation accounts and
emphasize the “purity” of martial practice, contemporary etic reports indicate that one was most likely to find
serious martial artists gainfully employed in roles that focused on the management of social coercion and violence.
Examples of such careers might include working as a tax collector for the Imperial salt monopoly, being an enforcer
in a gambling house, working in law enforcement or traveling as an armed escort protecting merchant caravans.
Judkins and Nielson 73-74; 125-129; 205-206.
20
Ibid 265-281.
18
9
interested in many of the same historical and theoretical questions and had been planning a more
limited historical research project of his own. At that point we began to discuss the possibility of
putting together a broadly based, theoretically informed, study of Wing Chun.
This seemed like an obvious topic as my co-author is a direct student of Ip Ching, one of Ip
Man’s surviving children. We were assured of getting access to certain resources that would be
helpful in understanding the evolution of this particular system. Yet basic research design
questions still required serious thought. Making a contribution to the social scientific literature
requires more than just access to good data or an interesting story. Specifically, one needs a
theory.
We began our investigation with a simple premise. We proposed that increased instances of
community instability would lead, in time, to the development new martial arts organizations.
Rather than simply providing self-defense training on an individual level, these organizations
should be seen as expressions of the community’s self-interest and would be tolerated by local
elites (who might otherwise fear their rebellious potential) to the extent that they provided a
degree of stability. In short, while martial artists often posture as outsiders who flaunt societal
conventions, in fact they played an important role within traditional Chinese communities.
Further, the impulse to create and fund such groups is basically rational in nature and it varies
with the level of demand. A purely cultural explanation of the martial arts might, on the other
hand, see them as relatively constant over time as cultural factors change more slowly than
political or economic ones. If the martial arts are simply an expression of timeless patterns in
Chinese culture, then there would be no reason to expect that their popularity would decline in
times of peace. In fact, with extra resources to dedicate to non-essential activities, their practice
might even increase in popularity. As the idiom goes, constants cannot explain variables.
In order to test this theory we developed a few implicit hypotheses. The first of these was that
factors that decreased community stability would lead to an increase in martial arts activity.
Given my academic background in international relations, one of the variables that we were
immediately drawn to was globalization, meaning rapid increases in the flow of goods, capital,
individuals and ideas across previously closed borders.
During the 19th century China’s once isolated and protected markets were forcibly opened to
global trade on a massive scale. As the country’s economy adjusted to new patterns of imports
and exports some people discovered windfall profits. Many more found themselves trapped in
dying modes of handicraft production and agriculture. In short, shifts in trade always create
waves of winners and loser. Unless carefully managed this contributes to social instability.21
When viewed in this context, the development of Wing Chun suddenly begins to look very
interesting. The practice originated in the Pearl River Delta region of Guangdong province,
home to Guangzhou (Canton), Foshan and Hong Kong, three major economic centers of trade
and production. This was also the first region of China to be opened to foreign trade and
missionary work on a massive scale.
21
For a classic statement on how the expansion of free trade exacerbates social cleavages (sometimes to the point of
violence) and effects political outcomes see Rogowski 1989.
10
As Jon Nielson and I discussed possible research and writing strategies we realized that in
addition to providing a window onto the popular culture of ordinary Chinese citizens, our project
suggested ways in which a large number of additional theories could be tested or explored using
the Chinese martial arts as a data source. Unfortunately, there were very few known historical
facts about these systems. And most of the work that had been done focused on systems coming
out of Shanghai or Northern China.22 In some cases their findings had been extrapolated, we felt
incorrectly, to make generalizations about all of the Chinese martial arts.
The nature of the existing literature thus helped to shape our research design. Rather than
focusing exclusively on Wing Chun (which would remain our major case study) we would
attempt to provide a detailed social history of the martial arts in a single region in Southern
China. It would involve the exploration of economic, political, social and cultural factors within
the Pearl River Delta.
Since our subject of analysis was now geographic in nature, we would be free to examine a
number of the leading styles rather than focusing only on a single art. Given our personal
backgrounds in Wing Chun, the inclusion of other systems (such as Choy Li Fut, White Eyebrow
or the Jingwu movement) was also important from a research design standpoint. It ensured that
we would not test our ideas about the relationship between the martial arts and their social
environment on the exact same body of insights that we used to derive our basic theoretical
model.
Further, these other arts tended to have different relationships with the main economic, social
and political variables that we discussed. So while we presented our readers a single case study,
a rich reading of the area’s martial history allowed us to multiply our observations in ways that
we hoped would allow us to avoid issues like tautology and selection bias.23
Inevitably many of our findings had to be left out of the final manuscript. Even with the amount
of space that we dedicated to Wing Chun, it was impossible to go much beyond Ip Man’s lineage
in a single volume. Other southern arts, such as Hung Gar, certainly deserved more discussion
than they received. Yet our hope was that by providing a comprehensive social history of the
region’s martial arts community, students of these other lineages and styles would be able to
discover the sorts of forces that had an impact on the development of their own practice.
Likewise, social scientists interested in a wide variety of theoretical questions would be able to
turn to our book as a reliable source of description and data.
This brings us back to the questions posed by the two stories introduced at the start of this paper.
If we focus only on a technical history of the Chinese martial arts, seeking to verify the claims of
various lineage myths, we are bound to be disappointed. The historical record is simply too thin
22
Shahar 2008. Kennedy and Guo (2010), in an otherwise fine work discussing the Jingwu Association, illustrate
some of the problems that arise from universal extrapolations based on only a single city or region. The best
introduction to the Chinese martial arts has been provided by Peter Lorge (2012). Unfortunately, for our purposes,
this volume lacks a sufficiently detailed discussion of Southern China. Much of Lorge’s work also tends to focus on
earlier eras of military history. More focused examinations of the modern Chinese martial arts have been provided
by Stanley Henning (2003) and Andrew Morris (2004). Yet again, the history of the martial arts in Southern China
and Hong Kong has gone largely unexamined.
23
For a discussion of the ways in which a single case study can be used to test progressively more complex theories
see King, Keohane and Verba 208-229.
11
in most places. And as Foucault reminds us, a high degree of caution and introspection is
necessary whenever scholars find themselves striking out to discover, rather than to question, the
“origins” of a revered practice.24 Martial arts studies must not become an apologetic exercise.
Nor, on a more practical level, is the question of “ultimate origins” of much interest to scholars
who approach these fighting systems from an outside perspective. Indeed, the most interesting
question is not whether Ng Moy really created Wing Chun, but rather why that specific story
became so important to groups of teenagers living in Hong Kong in the 1960s. Why does that
image still resonate with so many Western martial artists today?
When approached through the lens of social history, the stories that introduced this discussion
reveal a wealth of information about the communities that composed and passed them on. That,
in turn, suggests something important about the nature and purpose of the southern Chinese
martial arts themselves. The social history of these fighting systems gives us a way to better
understand the intersection of these folk narratives with a vast variety of economic, political and
cultural variables.
Why Should Readers Care About the Social History of the Martial Arts?
Finally, why should the general reader care about the social history of the Asian martial arts? It
may be cliché to say, but explorations of history are rarely concerned only with the past. Ideally
such works speak also to the concerns of readers in the present. I second D. S. Farrer’s call, first
made in his keynote address to the 2015 Martial Arts Studies meetings at the University of
Cardiff: our field must tackle socially relevant questions and present actual solutions.25
Wing Chun, and the other Chinese martial arts, are fascinating precisely because they offer us an
opportunity to investigate many pressing issues. At this moment there is more interest than ever
in the development of Chinese regional and national identity. The evolving situation in Hong
Kong is particularly relevant given Wing Chun’s current status as a powerful symbol of that
city’s local, and increasingly independent, identity.26
Yet beyond such geographically focused concerns, do these systems, many of which were tied to
specific moments in the 20th century, still have something to teach us today? I would like to
argue that they do. This message comes in the form of both a warning and an opportunity.
Nothing demonstrates the continued social relevance of the Chinese martial arts more quickly
than an examination of our current multi-media environment. Simply turn on the television. The
Asian martial arts have come to be an expected element of film, tv programing and even major
sporting events.
They are dramatized in novels and comic books. An entire subsection of the internet seems to be
dedicated to both instructional and comedic videos featuring martial artists.27 Indeed, most of us
24
Foucault 1977; Michael Wert (2016) has recently noted that scholars of martial arts studies who are also
practitioners of the disciplines that they research are not immune to these traps.
25
D. S. Farrer 2015, 2015(b).
26
Zhao 2010.
27
For a discussion of the importance of martial arts humor see Bowman 2016, chapter two.
12
got our first exposure to the martial arts via some sort of mediated image, and not through direct
exposure to actual physical practice.
This state of affairs is actually less of a historical departure than one might think. Residents of
southern China in the Qing and Republic periods also lived in an environment saturated with
entertainment based visions of the martial arts. They came in the form of Cantonese operas,
marketplace performers, professional storytellers, serialized newspaper stories, collectible
cigarette cards, kung fu novels and later radio dramas and films.28
It was through these routes that many residents of Guangdong and Hong Kong first developed an
interest in these fighting systems. To fully understand the social work that the martial arts have
done in various times and places, one must give careful thought to social discourses, mediatized
images and the economic markets that surround them.29 First impressions are a powerful force.
Consider the portrayal of the Chinese martial arts in current film. Audiences seem to be attracted
to the unapologetic violence in many of these stories. The fight choreography of the Xu
Haofeng’s recent film The Master (2015) is likely to appeal to modern Western Wing Chun
practitioners given the abundant use of Butterfly Swords (the style’s signature weapon). Or
consider Donnie Yen’s dojo fight scene in Wilson Ip’s 2008 biopic Ip Man, in which he wipes
out an entire room of karate students. While watching these sequences one cannot help but take
note of the sheer body count that the various protagonists manage to rack up. At times I am
reminded of the Bride’s blade work (minus the copious blood) in Quentin Tarantino 2003
homage to the kung fu genre, Kill Bill.
Nor are these the only places in the current media landscape where viewers might find such
images. Scenes of unskilled, nameless, and thoughtless attacker being cut down by the dozens
bring to mind the exaggerated action and martial arts stylings of the Resident Evil franchise, or
the grittier violence of The Walking Dead. I suspect that on some level there is a shared
language of violence in these two genres (the kung fu film and zombie thriller). In both cases
spectacular portrayals of violence are placed in the service of a “world creation” exercise.
These images of violence underscore the break with the conventional social rules that govern the
audience’s mundane lives. Thus they are a primary aspect of the story, and not simply a stylistic
flourish. The martial arts epic and the post-apocalyptic zombie adventure offer us a world that
does away with the “decadent” comforts and conventions of the current environment. They
present a stage on which only the “awesome” will survive.
Who are these heroes? Among their ranks we find the awesomely strong, the skilled, the cagey
and sometimes the evil. Every new world, it seems, needs an iconic villain.
In short, the subtext of many of these stories seems to be that those who will survive and thrive
in these new realms are individuals who are “like us,” because they embody precisely the traits
that we like to imagine in ourselves. There is an unmistakable air of wish fulfillment in these
secondary creations. As we watch our heroes fight their way across the exotic landscapes of a
28
Hamm, in his study of martial arts fiction, noted that radio dramas (now a mostly forgotten genre) helped to
bridge the worlds of early martial arts fiction and modern Kung Fu films. 39-40.
29
Bowman 2015, 155-157.
13
fantasy Oriental past, or the post-apocalyptic future, they embody and project back to us our own
love of masculinity, rugged independence and stoic resilience.
Perhaps we should not be surprised that the sense of looming social and economic crisis that has
helped to popularize such stories over the last few decades is also thought to have contributed to
the rise of various types of extremist movements around the globe. Rather than the inevitable
triumph of globalization and liberal democracy envisioned at the end of the Cold War, we are
seeing the rise of violent (and media savvy) non-state actors, illiberal democracies, and both
populist and rightist movements. Nor, as Jared Miracle reminded us in the conclusion of his
recent study of the global spread of the Asian martial arts, should we forget that in the past these
political movements were sometimes associated with these fighting systems.30
The ethno-nationalist turn in certain martial arts, pioneered in Japan and China during the first
half of the 20th century, provided a mechanism by which their symbolic association with physical
strength, national heritage and masculinity could be marshalled and placed at the disposal of both
extremist political movements and the state.31 We would be unwise to ignore the fact that there
is much in the popular culture of the martial arts, in both the East and West, which continues to
make them a tempting target for appropriation by such groups today.
Are these traits part of the essential nature of the Asian fighting arts? Or were they instead
epiphenomenal and historically contingent, a relic of the particular circumstances under which
these systems achieved momentum as mass social movements?
This is another area where a better understanding of the social history of the southern Chinese
martial arts might provide us with models for thinking about the current situation. Consider
again the stories that introduced this paper, the myth of Yim Wing Chun and the fight in Tachang
Village. From the final decades of the 19th century to the current era many of the region’s Wuxia
novels, and other types of martial arts storytelling, have focused on the lives of impossibly
talented wandering heroes in the Jianghu, or the realm of “Rivers and Lakes,” not unlike Ng
Moy and her student.
This somewhat unsettling territory (imagined as an alternate social dimension, ever present yet
just beyond the edge of our own life experience) seems to suffer from a lack of effective central
governance. What government exists is often seen as corrupt and in the process of oppressing
the people. The protagonists of these stories, frequently the inheritors of ancient martial arts
lineages, are thus forced to seek their own solutions to pressing problems. As one would expect
in novels feature a colorful array of wandering monks, corrupt soldiers and hidden kung fu
masters, this often involves an enthralling resort to arms. These stories actively sought to create
a sense of nostalgia among their readers for a type of past that never existed.
At first glance the rough and tumble realm of “Rivers and Lakes” would seem to bear more than
a passing resemblance to the ultraviolent fantasy worlds of Kill Bill or Resident Evil. It too
seems to have an established hierarchy of awesomeness based on one’s strength, fighting style
and the “martial virtue.” What use do wandering swordsmen have for village life and its many
restraints?
30
31
Miracle 163-165.
Morris 195-228; Hurst 1998; Bennett 2015.
14
Yet first impressions can also be deceptive. While it may not always be apparent, the wandering
swordsmen of the Rivers and Lakes are often quite concerned with questions of both social
organization and justice. Far from being only violent escapist fantasies, many of the most
popular stories were rooted in easily identifiable debates about political ideals and social
modernization.
Two scholars of the Wuxia literary genre, John Hamm and Petrous Liu have examined these
stories from slightly different perspectives. As Liu argued in his study of Chinese martial arts
literature, Stateless Subjects (Cornell EAP, 2011), when understood in their original context such
novels were often obsessed with political questions.32 Nor did they view traditional society as a
mediocre mass that the martial hero fought to escape.
Rather than attempting to establish a hierarchy of social organization based exclusively on
martial strength, the real controversy in many of these narratives seems to have been the
preexisting forms of social order inherited from the late Qing, the Warlord period and even the
Communist eras. In short, internal imperialism and the teleology of western models of
modernization were the problems that demanded a solution.
By demonstrating possible ways that society could address serious, even existential, concerns
without recourse to a coercive state apparatus, these stories sought to argue for a social model
that was essentially horizontal in organization, drawing on the strength of what current Western
scholarship calls civil society.33 These authors advanced a model that placed authority in the
hands of society and not in an externally imposed hierarchy emanating from a far off center.
While we tend to imagine these stories, and even the creation myths of the various southern
martial arts, as reflecting the values of ancient China, it is probably no coincidence that the giants
of the genre, individuals like Xiang Kairan (1890-1957) and later Jin Yong (born 1924), wrote in
moments of social and political upheaval. All of these stories, like the martial arts of Southern
China themselves, emerged from a period of when the character of “modern China” was being
actively debated.
During this period the traditional martial arts argued for a specific vision of the future by creating
an idealized past. Within it the holistic nature of Chinese culture need not give way to
teleological dreams imported from the West. As Liu observed, and Jon Neilson and I attempted
to document in the area of physical practice and social organization, they crafted a vision of
Chinese modernity in which action would be organized according to the principals of Minjian
“between people” as opposed to the universal, centralized and always state dominated
frameworks inherent in the idea of Tianxia, or “all under heaven.”34
Liu suggested that this was the real reason for the May 4th Intellectuals opposition to the
supposedly “feudal” Wuxia genre.35 Similar concerns also seem to have motivated much of the
32
Liu 2011.
Almond and Verba (1989) and Putnam (1994) provide classic, social-scientific, studies of the concept.
34
Judkins and Nielson 16.
35
Liu 8-9; 29-38; 39; 59-60.
33
15
Central Guoshu Institute’s anxieties about the China’s thriving local martial arts marketplaces in
regions like Guangdong and Fujian.36
It was not that these stories and practices, as they came to exist in the 1920s and 1930s,
accurately represented China’s ancient past. Rather they represented an alternate view of the
future. It was one in which the state would serve the interests of a diverse and robust society,
rather than an artificially homogenized society being placed at the disposal of a technocratic and
highly centralized state. Other intellectuals, deeply invested in models of modernization that
privileged a strong state, found these (extremely popular) notions threatening.
The social history of the Southern Chinese martial arts matter because they reveal moments
when these institutions, practices and reformers stood at a crossroads. A close examination of
any of the Asian martial arts will show that these things never existed in a vacuum. Nor have
they been motivated by a timeless and inscrutable morality uniquely their own.
Our account of Wing Chun demonstrated that the region’s martial arts have always functioned in
conjunction with other social, economic, political and even aesthetic impulses. For instance, it is
just not possible to tell the story of this style without also exploring its relationship with
Guangdong’s yellow unions, or its close alignment with bourgeois social interest within a
landscape marked by class struggle.37 In China, but also in other places in Asia, individuals have
become involved in the martial arts precisely because they have sought a voice in ongoing
debates as to how we should react to the ongoing challenges of globalization, modernization and
rapid social change.38
As we review these debates, or examine the life histories of masters like Ip Man, we are
reminded that many aspects of these practices, and the values that seem to underpin them, are
radically historically contingent. The traditional Chinese martial arts could have evolved in
many ways over the course of the 20th century. And the changes have been striking.
Rediscovering this history is important as it reminds modern martial artists that they also have
choices to make. They must choose, just as their predecessors did, where to innovate and when
to adhere to tradition. In social and political discussions, they must choose how these fighting
systems will be presented to the public.
What sorts of values will the modern martial arts advance? Will they be governed by the
principal of Minjian, attempting to reach out horizontally, creating broad based coalitions of
cooperation within civil society? Or will the martial arts put their resources at the disposal of
those seeking to rebuild the hierarchies of awesomeness by supporting violent, illiberal or simply
exclusionary ethno-nationalist ideals?
I do not pretend that a study of the past can offer definitive guidance in the present. As we read
about the actions of those who came before we are reminded that the choices made now will
have consequences. Likewise the ways in which scholars chose to write about the martial arts
may have important implications for our understanding of not just these practices, but of
ourselves as well.
36
Judkins and Nielson 160-163.
Judkins and Nielson 116-124.
38
Gainty 2015.
37
16
Works Cited
Almond, Gabriel and Sidney Verba. 1989. The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy
In Five Nations. Sage.
Amos, Daniel. 1983. “Marginality and the Heroes Art: Martial Arts in Hong Kong and
Guangzhou (Canton).” PhD Diss.,University of California.
Bennett, Alexander C. 2015. Kendo: Culture of the Sword. Los Angles: University of California
Press. 123-162.
Berg, Esther and Inken Prohl. 2014. ‘“Become your Best”: On the Construction of Martial Arts
as Means of Self-Actualization and Self-Improvement.” JOMEC Journal 5.
Boretz, Avron. 2011. Gods, Ghosts and Gangsters: Ritual Violence, Martial Arts, and
Masculinity on the Margins of Chinese Society. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.
Bowman, Paul. 2016. Mythologies of Martial Arts. New York: Rowman & Littlefield.
Bowman, Paul. 2015. Martial Arts Studies: Disrupting Disciplinary Boundaries. New York:
Rowman & Littlefield.
Cass, Vitoria. 1999. Dangerous Women: Warriors, Grannies and Geishas of the Ming. New
York: Rowman & Littlefield.
Channon, Alex and George Jennings. 2014. “Exploring Embodiment through Martial Arts and
Combat Sports: A Review of Empirical Research.” Sport in Society: Cultures, Commerce,
Media, Politics. 17:6. 773-789.
“Chinese Boxing.” North China Herald. July 13th, 1872.
Farrer, D. S. “Efficiency and Entertainment in Martial Arts Studies: Anthropological
Perspectives.” A Keynote Address Presented at the June 2015 Martial Arts Studies conference
held at Cardiff University. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4t6WXYukHQ;
Farrer, D. S. 2015 (b). “Efficacy and Entertainment in Martial Arts Studies: Anthropological
Perspectives.” Martial Arts Studies 1. 43.
Farrer, D. S. and John Whallen-Bridge. 2011. Martial Arts as Embodied Knowledge: Asian
Traditions in a Transnational World. Albany, NY: SUNY Press.
Foucault, Michel. 1977. “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History.” In Language, Counter-Memory,
Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.
Frank, Adam. 2006. Taijiquan and the Search for the Little Old Chinese Man: Understanding
Identity through Martial Arts. New York: Palgrave.
17
Gainty, Denis. 2015. Martial Arts and the Body Politic in Meiji Japan. Routledge.
Garcia, Raul Sanchez and Dale C. Spenser. 2014. Fighting Scholars: Habitus and Ethnographies
of Martial Arts and Combat Sports. New York: Anthem Press.
Hamm, John Christopher. 2005. Paper Swordsmen: Yin Yong and the Modern Chinese Martial
Arts Novel. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press
Henning, Stanley. 2003. “Martial Arts in Chinese Physical Culture, 1856-1965.” In Martial Arts
in the Modern World, edited by Thomas A. Green and Joseph R. Svinth. London: Praeger. 13-35
Hurst, G. Cameron. 1998. Armed Martial Arts of Japan: Swordsmanship and Archery. New
Haven: Yale UP.
Ip Chun and Michael Tse. 1998. Wing Chun Kung Fu: Traditional Chinese Kung Fu for SelfDefence and Health. New York: St. Martin’s Griffin.
Ip Man. “The Origin of Wing Chun.” http://www.vingtsun.org.hk/history.htm accessed
9/18/2017.
Judkins, Benjamin N. 2016. “The Seven Forms of Lightsaber Combat: Hyper-Reality and the
Invention of the Martial Arts.” Martial Arts Studies. 2. 6-22.
Judkins, Benjamin N. “Does Religiously Generated Social Capital Intensify or Mediate Violent
Conflict? Lessons from the Boxer Uprising.” Presented at the 67th MPSA National Meetings in
Chicago, IL, April 2-5, 2009.
Judkins, Benjamin N. and Jon Nielson. 2015. The Creation of Wing Chun: A Social History of
the Southern Chinese Martial Arts. Albany, NY: SUNY Press.
Kennedy, Brian and Elizabeth Guo. 2010. Jingwu: The School that Transformed Kung Fu.
Berkeley: Blue Snake Books.
King, Gary, Robert Keohane, and Sidney Verba. 1994. Designing Social Inquiry: Scientific
Inference in Qualitative Research. Princeton University Press.
Lee, James Yimm. 1972. Wing Chun Kung Fu: Chinese Art of Self Defense. Santa Clarita, CA:
Ohara Publications.
Liu, Petrus. 2011. Stateless Subjects: Chinese Martial Arts Literature & Postcolonial History.
Ithaca, NY: Cornell University, East Asia Program.
Lorge, Peter. 2012. Chinese Martial Arts: From Antiquity to the Twenty-First Century.
Cambridge UP.
Miracle, Jared. 2016. Now with Kung Fu Grip! How Bodybuilders, Soldiers and a Hairdresser
Reinvented the Martial Arts for America. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland.
Morris, Andrew. 2004. Marrow of the Nation: A History of Sport and Physical Culture in
Republican China. Berkley: University of California Press.
18
Putnam, Robert D., Robert Leonardi, Raffaella Y. Nanetti; Robert Leonardi; Raffaella Y.
Nanetti. 1994. Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton University
Press.
Rogowski, Ronald. 1989. Commerce and Coalitions: How Trade Affects Domestic Political
Alignments. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Scott, James C. 1985. Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance. New
Haven: Yale University Press.
Shahar, Meir. 2008. The Shaolin Monastery: History, Religion, and the Chinese Martial Arts.
Honolulu: Hawaii UP.
Vaccaro, Christian. 2015. Unleashing Manhood in the Cage: Masculinity and Mixed Martial
Arts. Lexington Books.
Walkman, Frederic Jr. 1997. Strangers at the Gate: Social Disorder in South China, 1839-1861.
Los Angles: University of California Press.
Waltz, Kenneth N. 1979. Theory of International Politics. New York: McGraw-Hill.
Wacquant, Loïc. 2003. Body & Soul: Notebooks of an Apprentice Boxer. Oxford University
Press.
Wert, Michael. 2016. Review of: Alexander C. Bennett. 2015. Kendo: Culture of the Sword. UC
Press. The Journal of Japanese Studies. 42:2 (Summer). 371-375.
Wetzler, Sixt. 2015. “Martial Arts Studies as Kulturwissenschaft: A Possible Theoretical
Framework.” Martial Arts Studies. 1. 20-33.
Wong, Doc Fai and Jane Hallander. 1985. Choy Li Fut Kung Fu: A Dynamic Fighting Art
Descended from the Monks of the Shaolin Temple. Burbank CA; Unique Publications.
Zhao Shiqing. 2010. “Imagining Martial Arts in Hong Kong: Understanding Local Identity
through ‘Ip Man’.” Journal of Chinese Martial Studies 1, no. 3. 85-89.
19