Short Non-Fiction - Jin Yong and Literary Kung-fu/Gongfu

I recently finished reading A Hero Born, the first volume in Jin Yong's epic kung-fu saga, Legend of the Condor Heroes. Jin Yong, the pen name of Louis Cha, published Condor Heroes in serialized format from 1957-1959, in the pages of the Hong Kong Commercial Daily. You can find Anna Holmwood's excellent translation at Maclehose Press (www.maclehosepress.com), but the simplest method of purchasing a copy may be through Kindle (where you can find all four volumes of Legend).

Legend of the Condor Heroes is easily one of the most popular works of fiction in the 20th century, having sold over 300 million copies and been adapted into numerous film and television productions. However, the work was only recently translated into English, leaving much of the non-Chinese world oblivious to a body of work that shaped the collective imagination of hundreds of millions of people. Jin's writings, and the success of his novels and their various adaptations, built the foundations of the modern kung-fu industrial complex.

Paul Foster's article, “Jin Yong and the Kung-Fu Industrial Complex,” provides a brief but insightful exploration of the idea of the kung-fu industrial complex and the central role that Jin’s work plays in both historic developments of the complex and contemporary activity. Foster also identifies several forms of rhetorical kung-fu in Jin’s work, demonstrating how the idea of kung-fu extends beyond physical conflict and also includes mastery of nuanced verbal discourse. You can find Foster’s article in Chinese Literature Today (Volume 8, 2019 Issue 2). If you have access to Proquest, you should have access to the volume of the journal and the article. In this short essay I present Foster’s idea of the kung-fu industrial complex, the forms of rhetorical kung-fu, and a discussion of the idea of "literary kung-fu."

First, Foster's term “kung-fu industrial complex” provides a concise way to refer to vast, sprawling network of interconnected industries in southern China that produce kung-fu as a cultural phenomenon. Far from being a monolithic machine working in a singular concerted effort, this complex results from multiple entities and their individual interactions to produce a mass of creative and economic activty. This includes individual writers who produce novels, short stories, screen plays, and additional material; production studies that develop everything from film and television to cartoons and commericals; construction teams that build towns, villiages, palaces, pavillions, and all the other locations in kung-fu cinema; actors, directors, choreographers, stunt teams, and extras; agents, producers, and marketers; and all the various forms of distribution.

Foster also examines the crucial role Jin’s work played (and continues to play) in the development of the kung-fu industrial complex. Jin's copious writings form a body of creative material that not only revitalized interest in kung-fu as a popular literary genre, but also provided rich material for adaptation into film and television. The legendary Shaw Brothers adapted multiple versions of Jin’s novels for film, and through the Shaw Brothers (and other studios), entire constellations of stars rose in the Hong Kong and Chinese sky. iHidHiHiHiWhile kung-fu literature existed before and after Jin, his work deep impacted popular consciousness and the entertainment industries of Hong Kong and mainland China.

The second point addresses Jin's writing in particular. Foster provides the term “rhetorical kung fu,” which he uses to describe the verbal techniques employed by various heroes. For anyone who has seen Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, then the idea of rhetorical kung-fu should be immediately obvious: deploying and countering a variety of linguistic techniques to force reactions, influence situations, or render judgment in a social context. Foster pays particular attention to the linguistic techniques Wei Xiaobao, Jin Yong's notable sole anti-hero. In Jin’s final novel, Wei Xiaobao deploys a variety of linguistic techniques in his interactions with other characters and in his own personal asides: sarcasm, cursing, flattery, and manipulation of the etiquette associated with social hierarchy.

The word kung-fu derives from the Chinese term gongfu, which means “skill” or “art,” and can refer to the cultivation of talent in any realm or discipline. This need not be a martial skill or even a physical talent. Gongfu can be a skill of any kind. In many wuxia stories, the link between everyday skill and martial skill is a difference of application as opposed to a difference of kind. Numerous heroes gain martial skills through repeating non-martial behavior, then later discovering the martial application. This occurs in Jin’s novels, numerous Shaw Brothers films, and in assorted writings on kung-fu. Teaching an “everyday skill as gongfu” becomes a pedagogical trope, particularly in Jackie Chan’s 1978 Drunken Master (directed by master choreographer, Yuen Wo-ping). Chan deploys this in Forbidden Kingdom and again (quite memorably) with Jaden Smith in 2010’s The Karate Kid/The Kung Fu Dream (allegedly the film was supposed to be released in English as The Kung-fu Kid but was named The Karate Kid due to intervention by Jerry Wintraub, producer on the 2010 version as well as the 1984 original).

In an abstract sense, we could say that any form of gongfu combines practicing techniques, integrating techniques into systems of skill, and successfully applying these skills in situations or moments to complete an action or change an outcome. This includes martial skills, domestic skills, trade skills, artistic skills, academic skills, and any other activity one can develop as a skill. In looking at these as forms of gongfu they all share the agent’s capacity for responding to situational conditions with the proper techniques for transforming the situation into a successful result. This could include “everyday” kung-fu, rhetorical kung-fu, or literary kung-fu. I am curious about what forms of trade practice or artistic expression might have been referred to as gongfu in Chinese history. I am especially curious of any literary form, and poetry in particular, may have been referred to as a gongfu. Contemporary mandarin preserves something of the everyday nature of gongfu in the idea of the shifu, or “master.” Western audiences may experience the term in reference to masters of martial arts, but students of Chinese language will know shifu actually applies to any master worker or veteran worker (as opposed to an apprentice). The term shifu may also be used as a polite form of address to a stranger, and in all these cases it conveys respect.

In this light – in looking at gongfu as a kind of skillful application of techniques to effect change – I think we can talk about Jin Yong’s writing as a kind of literary gongfu. First of all, reading through A Hero Born was an incredible experience. Yong's writing combines vibrant description with fluid motion and constant surprise. I think at least every other page presented something so surprising that I exclaimed out loud in disbelief. While reading through the whirlwind narration in A Hero Born I frequently thought about Foster’s point regarding rhetorical kung-fu, and whether this idea of gongfu as skill could be applied to Jin’s writing style in general. More than just the physical and verbal interactions, which are themselves continuously entertaining, the writing style itself seems to understand how to simultaneously capture reader attention while subverting reader expectation. A Hero Born uses constantly moving action that is richly described but simultaneously precise and efficient.

At the same time, A Hero Born also continuously overturns reader expectations. Because the stories occur in a grand historic backdrop that would be at least partially known by the casual reader (or by students of Chinese culture), the novel actually requires very space for establishing tensions. This allows Jin to quickly place the characters into multiple layers of conflict, including physical combat, verbal conflict, tensions regarding relationships, questions of honor, questions of patriotism, international military conflict, and even spiritual reflection. Jin then quickly complicates these tensions by frequently using physical conflict to characters or situations. The characters are not overly complex but trying to guess what will happen in the story is practically impossible.

I think an argument could be made that Yong's writing is incredibly skilled in the sense of creating a dynamic sense of motion, utilizing precise but rich description, and creating constant suspense. In addition, I think one could draw parallels to Chinese martial arts/wushu to examine the use of controlled of motion, precision, and surprise. This could lead to an idea of wushu as inspiration for a kind of literary gongfu. Even if one is simply performing forms (instead of fighting), the demonstration requires skill and control. Returning back to “kung-fu” as a literary gongfu, we could argue that there are many reasons for writing. Jin Yong's writing, like a forms demonstration, could be to entertain and delight, but also demonstrates incredible skill with technique.

Translation - Analects 2.9 I spoke with Yan Hui all day.

子曰：「吾與回言終日，不違如愚。退而省其私，亦足以發。回也，不愚。」

Zǐ yuē:`Wú yǔ huí yán zhōng rì, bù wéi rú yú. Tuì ér shěng qí sī, yì zúyǐ fā. Huí yě, bù yú.'

The master said: "I with [Yan] Hui spoke [to] the whole day; not defying, as if foolish; withdrawing and then saving (observing) his person; also amply taking the [things] sent out. Hui certainly is not stupid.

The master said: I spoke with Yan Hui the whole day. He does not defy me, as if foolish. [When he] withdrew I watched his person. He amply took my teachings. Hui certainly is not stupid!

Key Terms:

終 zhōng = end; so the zhōng rì = to the end of the day = the whole day.

違 wéi = defy; be apart from

愚 yú = stupid, doltish, foolish

私 sī = private, personal; secret

Notes:

The only real puzzle is 亦足以發. I'm not sure if 足 should be an adverb ("He amply took the the things sent out.") or an adjective ("he [became] ample by means of [the things] sent out."). I'm actually inclined to the latter, but the former sounds more natural in English.

Etymology - 阴差阳错 - "Surprising results due to confusing circumstnaces."

Let's talk about 阴差阳错 yīnchāyángcuò (literally "yin lacking yang mistaken," or "surprising results due to confusing circumstances." In contemporary language the phrase conveys the idea of "by happenstance" or "by chance," but the connotation is "through this series of absurd mistakes we have a result that is completely surprising. Think every episode of Arrested Development, or any short-story by O. Henry story (but no movie by M. Night Shyamalan).

他们阴差阳错地烧毁那个香蕉店了

The reason I am interested in this phrase is the presence of yin and yang. Given the massive significance of these concepts in Chinese philosophy, it is simply too interesting to not ask questions about how to look at this phrase through a philosophical lens.

First, are there linguistic considerations in how we approach the phrase? From what I can find this phrase is not a chengyu 成语 (idiom based on a known story), but possibly a guding cizu (a set combination of characters that must appear in a fixed order).

Four-character phrases often (but not always) rely on parallel structure between the first two characters and second two characters: subject/predicate + subject/predicate. In this case, this suggest the pair is 1+2 // 3+4. This gives us: "yin is lacking and yang is mistaken," or "a surprising result due to  confusing circumstances."

The phrase may appear as either 阴差阳错 or 阴错阳差. I think this helps support reading the phrase as a pair of parallel subject-predicate compounds. You could possibly rearrange the characters to create a single subject-predicate statement in the form (1+3) + (2+4), yinyang chacuo. This would mean "yin and yang (circumstances) are in disarray." Yin and yang can be paried together in their common form, yinyang, and chacuo does mean a mistake, mishap, or accident.

However, the general pattern involves a parallel pair of subject-predicate compounds. This is visible in both 阴差阳错 or 阴错阳差. This general pattern and these examples support parsing the passage as 1+2 // 3+4 (parallel compounds).  In this case, a subject (yin) plus a predicate (cha) run parallel to a second subject (yang) and second predicate (cuo). Since the phrase appears as both 1+2 // 3+4 and 1+4 // 3+2, we can look at possible interpretations for both formulations.

Version 1: the nurturing elements of yin are lacking and the organizational powers of yang are misapplied to the situation.

Version 2: the generative powers of yin are disordered and the organizational powers of yang are lacking.

What are the philosophical considerations? Today we associate the idea of yinyang most closely with Daoism, but the term appears throughout Warring States literature. Perhaps most surprisingly the compound yinyang does not appear at all in the the Dao De Jing. Furthermore, the text only contains a single instance of yin and yang separately, Chapter 42.

However, yinyang appears several times in Zhuangzi's Inner Chapters, and throughout the Outer and Miscellaneous Chapters.The phrase also appears in other texts, many of which were viewed as part of a shared cultural history in the Zhou Dynasty. In these texts the phrase 阴阳 appear once in the Odes, once in the Book of Documents, and six times in the Yi Jing (Classic of Change). In Confucian texts the term 阴阳 appears most notably Xunzi and the Classic of Rites. The term also appears in Mozi (Mohism), Han Feizi (Legalism), and Sunzi's Art of War (Militarism).

At some later point it would be interesting to trace the development of the terms, or how thye are used in different texts. However, this is a humble blog post, and so I should get about the business of descriving why I think the ideas of yin and yang add interesting context to the phrase, 阴差阳错.

In the Classic of Changes and Ba Gua, yang is creative and yin is receptive. In a general sense yang is heavenly, bright, clear, active, and masculine. Yin is earthly, dark, obscure, receptive, and feminine. Yang is associated with the organizing principles of heaven, which provide the basis of moral action. Yin is associated with with the nurturing receptive capacity of earth, which provides the capacity for growth.

Despite the fact that these concepts appear to be in opposition, the concepts actually indicate two mutually entailed forces that create a process of transformation. Yin and yang are simply the most basic method of describing the process of transformation and change. Systems such as the Yi Jing and Ba Gua make numerous distinctions in the process of change, creating a detailed map of transformation.

These forces are also mutually entailed, meainign the neither exists without the other, and neither functions without the other. Neither is really separate, either, and both should be understood as different aspects of the same system of transformation: every system has elements that be seen as creating forward momentum, and every system has elements that be be seen as receiving, resisting, or moving away. One could look at yang as high states of energy and yin as low states of energy. The high states of energy create change in the system by releasing energy into the system, which moves and transforms the environment. However, in order for the environment to change, it has to have the capacity for change.

Given this, I think 阴差阳错 is really interesting. "Yin lacking and yang mistaken" suggests (first) that the system lacks the basic conditions necessary for effectively completing a process of transformation, and (and second) that the organizing principles are mistaken and incapable of effectively coordinating the system into an effective process of transformation. Imagine the example of an orchestra: in this version, the musicians are poorly trained but playing the correct instruments, while the conductor is well-trained but leading the wrong piece of music.

We can use the same approach for 阴错阳差. In this version "yin mistaken and yang lacking" suggests (first) that the basic conditions are the wrong conditions, and (second) that the organizing principle is poorly constituted or lacking efficacy. In this version, imagine the musicians are well-trained but all playing the wrong instruments. Meanwhile, the conductor is leading the correct score but poorly trained and incapable of keeping time. 

Both versions lead to suprising and confusing results by way of unexpected or haphazard circumstances. In addition there is a sense of moral disarray: the principle agents involved are clearly lacking in either basic ability, or the capacity to correctly apply their abiliteis to a situation. There is a sense that the situation is more than just unexpected, but also undesirable (becaues it could and should be avoided when possible). 

Translation - Analects 2.8 The Difficulty is Expression

子夏問孝。子曰：「色難。有事弟子服其勞，有酒食先生饌，曾是以為孝乎？」

Zǐ xià wèn xiào. Zǐ yuē: "Sè nán. Yǒu shì, dì zǐ fú qí láo; yǒu jiǔ shí, xiān shēng zhuàn; céng shì yǐ wéi xiào hū?"

Zixia asked about (being) filial. The Master said, "Countenance (is) difficult. (If) there are affairs, the young wear them (and) toil. (If) there is food and drink, (they) support the elders. Is this to be taken as filial piety?"

Again, this points to the problem of "color," or countenance. It might also be translated as "one's expression." The key to understanding the role of expression or countenance in the Confucian analects relies on playing the idea against the standard assumptions of filial piety. Zixia's question suggests this idea of filial piety is already part of the cultural discourse. Confucius acknowledges what might be part of this conventional view in his answer: taking on the labor of one's elders and ensuring one's elders are well-fed (and plied with appropriate drink).

However, Confucius suggests it would be a mistake to take these actions for filial piety. Being filial goes beyond mere support (2.7).

So what does Confucius take for filial piety? This passage provides one clue, which is the idea of one's countenance. This may appear superficial (pun intended?) but less so if think about emotional expression. Mencius eventually provides a clear psychological model of expression: we feel impulses in relation to our environment, and by acting on those impulses we bring about moral behavior. Despite the external nature of the expression, Mencius regards the moral impulse is internal to the person. The moral impulse may be internal, but those impulses occur within an environment and require proper expression.

So, what does this suggest about expression in the analects? The countenance, or one's expression, should be an expression of the relationship between parents and children. In Confucius' view, those who are treated with benevolence (kindness and charity) are unlikely to rebel (1.2). This holds for both parents and rulers, and suggests the parents and rulers have an obligation to care for their charges, whether children or subjects. Confucius explicitly states that filial piety can be recognized by the worry that parents feel for their children (2.6), and this presumably extends to rulers being concerned for their subjects. The reason one's expression is a difficult component of filial piety is that a genuine expression of appreciation results from a longstanding cultivation of a relationship. This idea surpasses the idea of filial piety as simply caring for one's elders, and suggests the reciprocal component of the relationship is a necessary precondition of the expression of filial piety.

Translation - Analects 2.7 Those who are filial today.

子游問孝。子曰：「今之孝者，是謂能養。至於犬馬，皆能有養；不敬，何以別乎？」

Zǐ Yóu wèn xiào. Zǐ yuē, "Jīn zhī xiào zhě, shì wèi néng yǎng. Zhì yú quǎn mǎ, jiē néng yǒu yǎng; bù jìng, hé yǐ bié hū?"

Zi You asked (about) being filial. The Master said, "Those who are filial today, are called so because (they) can nourish (the elderly). As for dogs and horses, anyone can be nourishing. (This is) not enough - what is the difference (between us and them)?

Zi You asked (about) being filial. The Master said, "Those who are filial today, they are called so because they can nourish the elderly. But if we extend this to dogs and horses, then anyone can be called nourishing. This is not enough! How can we distinguish ourselves?

至於 zhì yú = as far as (up to + in this location)

何以 hé yǐ = why/how (by what means)

The use of 養 is interesting. In modern Chinese the term is usually reserved for raising children or animals; the idea is one of providing care to living beings who require care. I tend to connect 養 to a sense of nourishing life. Confucius' answer cleverly does not actually answer what it means to be filial, but his answer implies that being filial both (1) involves caring for the vulnerable and weak; and (2) that those who are regarded as filial today simply provide food. But for Confucius, simply providing food is not enough. How do we distinguish caring for the elderly from caring for dogs and horses? The answer doesn't appear in this passage, but it does appear in the next passage (2.8): the issue is the countenance. This is previewed in 1.7, where the virtuous exert themselves for others (note: the commentaries appear to disagree on the meaning of 賢賢易色, but the putting forth of effort is clear).

We might discuss the relation of this to performance, but in English the term often performance implies a non-integral addition. For the Confucian project, however, one's emotional expression is an intimate component of moral behavior. This is particularly true for Mencius, who explicitly describes the relationship between internal feelings and external acdtions. For Mencius, the idea of expression is not simply a superficial external qualifier added to a fundamentally separate moral action. Rather, the mode of expression is viewed as the culmination of expressing the emotional impulse (or sprout) that occurs as a result of the filial relationship.