InYo: Journal of Alternative Perspectives Mar 2002
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Bodily Awareness in the Wing Chun System

By Stewart McFarlane

Copyright © Stewart McFarlane 2002. All rights reserved.

Editor’s note: This paper is an updated version of a paper first given in conjunction with a demonstration of Wing Chun Kung Fu at the conference, "The Body and Comparative Spirituality," University of Lancaster, 1987, and subsequently published in Religion (1989), volume 19, pages 241-253

Regarding translation, Wing Chun technical terminology is normally pronounced in Cantonese. Therefore terms specific to the Wing Chun system are transliterated from their Cantonese pronunciation. Other Chinese terms are transliterated according to the Wade-Giles system from their standard Mandarin pronunciation.

Wing Chun is a southern Chinese "soft" and "hard" fighting system, traditionally said to have been developed in the eighteenth century by Ng Mui, a Shao Lin trained nun who taught the system to a girl named Yim Wing Chun. Wing Chun used her skills in a fight against a local warlord to put an end to his unwelcome attentions, and she completely defeated him.

Wing Chun means "harmonious springtime." Most of the details and dates in the traditional accounts of the Wing Chun system cannot be reliably authenticated; even the existence of Yim Wing Chun has never been independently documented. The details of these accounts must therefore be treated as part of tradition rather than as historical certainties.

Wing Chun as a system is characterised by its simplicity, directness, and subtle use of economy of motion and effort. It avoids the use of sheer muscular strength. And to counter strong, forceful attacks, it uses subtle body shifting through footwork, along with deflecting and intercepting moves. Nearly all Wing Chun techniques involve the generation and focusing of power at the specific point and at the instant it is required, and then reverting immediately to a relaxed "soft" state.

Wing Chun is particularly noted for its cultivation of reflex sensitivity through the practise of Chi Sau (sticking hands). A high degree of sensitivity, concentration, and awareness is important in Wing Chun because it is primarily a close-quarter short-range system in which contact with an opponent is actually turned to one’s own advantage by feeling directly his intentions and moves. At normal, realistic, i.e., close, fighting range, the possibility of seeing an opponent’s attacks and moves is quite limited. The faster and more skilled an opponent, the less value sight-based anticipation has. Hence the need for skills based on contact and sensitivity to "feel" and anticipate attacks and counterattacks. What the Wing Chun trainee is developing in the Chi Sau exercise is non-discursive bodily awareness and sensitivity.

Five key essentials can be identified in the development of reflex sensitivity in Chi Sau and Wing Chun techniques.

  1. A relaxed state, free of tension, physically and mentally; even when the pressure of an attack and fear of injury would normally cause stress, and the instinctive reaction is to tense up and to resist by using muscular strength. The overcoming of fear, anger, and aggression is an indispensable part of Wing Chun training.
  2. An attentive and concentrated state in which the exact position and condition of the body, specially the limbs, is known or rather felt by the Wing Chun practitioner, while at the same time attending to the moves of one’s partner or opponent.
  3. A controlled state, in which the movements and positions of the limbs and muscles is achieved effortlessly and instantaneously within very narrow margins of error. This control is achieved largely by the training in precise positioning and movement through the constant repetition of forms.
  4. A flexible and fluid state in which the practitioner can move freely from one reaction and technique to another without relying on consciously remembered learnt responses. In a real physical attack or even sparring, one cannot fight according to a pre-arranged plan, or with the predetermined intention of using certain moves or techniques. One’s opponent’s or partner’s moves and attacks are unpredictable and one has to respond instantly and usually automatically to any form of attack. One also needs the flexibility to let go of tension in the limbs as soon as they have been used in striking or deflecting, as well as the ability to let go of fixed attention to one’s opponent’s or one’s own moves and techniques. Focusing too much on any one attack, punch, or kick, will lead one to overcompensate in a defensive counter and expose oneself to another attack. The first kick or punch might have been a feint or distraction as traditional Kung Fu systems use many of these.
  5. Efficiency and economy of motion and effort, to which I shall return in more detail.
All these essentials are so interrelated that it is impossible realistically to deal with them as separate categories.

A great deal of training in Chi Sau and Wing Chun techniques is about the efficient use of energy: conserving it, and using it only where and when it is needed. To keep the limbs in a tense state, and to use muscular strength constantly in executing blocks, punches, and kicks will quickly exhaust even the fittest athlete. In combat against opponents trained in systems such as Wing Chun, aikido, t’ai chi ch’uan, or jujutsu, any rigidity, tension, or muscular strength will be exploited and used against one. A hand or arm that is tensed to strike or block or deflect, and then held too long in that tense state, can be grabbed, pulled, or even broken by an opponent skilled in the soft, internal arts or in Wing Chun. So as soon as tension is employed it must be released again. Wing Chun uses the minimum amount of force and the minimum degree of movement to do the job. At a seminar I recently attended, Master Yip Chun said that in Wing Chun, the less you do, the more effective you become.

To anyone who has read the Tao Te Ching, many of these ideas will be familiar as general principles; here of course they are being applied specifically to the arts of combat. For example the conservation of energy and use of minimal effort are described in chapters 10 and 55. Doing less to achieve more is described in chapter 22, and the specific combat effectiveness of using minimal force and turning the violence of others against them are described in the strategic chapters 68 and 69.

Can you keep the disturbed gross essence together and embrace the one without wavering? Can you when concentrating the ch’i make it soft like that of a baby? Can you clean and polish your insight until it is unstained? Can you love the people and govern the country without deliberate action? In opening and shutting the heavenly gates, can you take the female role? Can your insight penetrate the four corners of the land without prying?

Give them life and nurture them.

Give them life but do not lay claim to them.

Lead them but do not dominate them.

Be chief among them but do not dictate them.

This is called the mysterious power. (Chapter 10, own translation)

One who possesses great power is like a baby.

Poisonous insects do not sting him.

Wild beasts do not attack him.

Birds of prey will not swoop on him.

His bones are soft, his sinews weak: but his grip is strong.

He has not yet known sexual union but is complete, and is full of vital force.

He can scream all day without getting hoarse, because he is in perfect harmony.

Knowing harmony is called the constant.

Knowing the constant is called enlightenment.

Forcefully pursuing life is called ill-omened.

Forcing ch’i is called violence.

Beings that are forcefully vigorous simply age.

This is called going against the Tao.

To go against the Tao is to be destroyed. (Chapter 55, own translation)

Yield and you will become whole.

Bend and you will become straight.

Be hollow and you will become full.

Be worn and you will become new.

Have little and you will get more.

Have much and you will be perplexed.

Therefore the sage embraces the one.

And is an example to all under Heaven.

He does not show himself, and so is clearly apparent.

He does not define himself, and so is distinct.

He does not boast, and so has merit.

He is not proud of his attainments, and so they endure.

It is because he does not contend that no one under heaven can contend with him.

Hence the ancient saying, ‘Yield and you will become whole,’ is not empty words.

True wholeness is achieved by returning. (Chapter 22, own translation)

A good warrior is not violent.

A good fighter is not angry.

A good winner is not competitive.

A good employer of men is humble before them.

This is called the virtue of non-contention.

Or employing the strength of others.

This is called conforming with the ultimate, heaven. (Chapter 68, own translation)

The strategists say,

‘I do not take the offensive but the defensive.

I do not advance an inch but retreat a foot.’

This is called marching without marching.

Rolling up one’s sleeve when there is no arm.

Attacking without an army.

Engaging without weapons.

There is no greater mistake than to take a military engagement lightly.

To do so almost destroys my treasure.

So when two armies oppose each other, the one with sympathy wins. (Chapter 69, own translation)

In the other great Taoist classic, the Chuang Tzu, such notions are developed and used to demonstrate in more practical detail the Way of mastering life. Frequently in the Chuang Tzu, mundane arts and occupations such as wood carving, cooking, archery, or animal training are described as being perfected to such a level of non-discursive, non-volitional skill, that they become vehicles for transformation, mastering life, or following the Way (Tao). Chapters 3 and 19 contain many examples of these skills. The story of the fighting cocks in chapter 19 is particularly relevant to the martial arts.
  Chi Hsing Tzu was training a fighting cock for King Hsuan.

After ten days the King asked if it was ready.

‘Not yet, he is vain and fiery.’

Ten days later he asked again.

‘Not yet, he starts at shadows and echoes.’

Ten days later he asked again.

‘Not yet, he glowers fiercely and swells with rage.’

Ten days later he asked again.

‘Near enough. If another cock crows, there is no change in him. From a distance he looks as if he is made of wood. His power is complete. Other cocks would turn and run rather than face him.’ (Own translation)

It is of course Ch’an (Zen) Buddhism that historically is most closely identified with the Kung Fu systems, including Wing Chun. As we shall see, the Ch’an understanding of the body and of the nature of effective action is clearly apparent in the theory and practice of Wing Chun. This in no way denies or invalidates the importance of Taoism. The theoretical and practical similarities between the above Taoist classics and Ch’an are very clear. The extensive interactions between Buddhism and the various forms of Taoism are well documented in Chinese history and in the Buddhist and Taoist canons.

Returning to some of the practical and psycho-physical implications of Wing Chun, the system does not use hard, exaggerated blocks in defending. Instead Wing Chun uses deflecting moves which disperse the energy of an attack rather than trying to stop the attack using an equally great opposing force. The deflecting move in Wing Chun, in combination with the footwork, will often seem to go with the momentum of the strike and then subtly redirect it, exploiting the attacker’s energy in the process. Such moves tend to be less obvious and more efficient than heavy blocks, but they have to be precise, as there is a very narrow margin for error: the difference between successfully deflecting a punch and being hit is a very fine one. Hence the emphasis is on precise positioning, balance, and footwork, as well as knowing the precise degree of tension to use. This precision and control is achieved through the repetition of the Wing Chun forms, so that eventually the correct positioning and conditioning of the limbs under pressure becomes automatic.

As I said earlier, Wing Chun is usually employed at such short range that one is in contact with the opponent. Despite this proximity, one has to remain mentally and physically relaxed. Fear and stress will quickly result in bodily tension and hence the loss of control and sensitivity; such emotional states must be overcome. Training in Chi Sau facilitates a state of relaxed, controlled, focused sensitivity. In that state, in the fraction of a second that it takes an opponent to initiate an attack, the Wing Chun practitioner is feeling the opponent’s energy, tension, and intended movements through his points of contact, and is so able to react before the attack gets through. Some observers, on seeing reflex sensitivity demonstrated at an advanced level by highly trained Wing Chun practitioners, have interpreted such skills as "reading the opponent’s mind." This is particularly impressive when one partner is blindfolded and is still effectively countering his sighted partner’s attack. The anticipation and reflexes and ability to counter all attacks are such that he seems to possess "telepathic powers." But such a skill is not a case of reading the mind – it is much more a case of reading the body, through control sensitivity and reflex training. And at this advanced level, the Wing Chun practitioner is reacting to his opponent’s moves and stealing his energy and power and using them against him.

On this notion of anticipation as a psycho-physical accomplishment, closely associated with concentration, I came across the following passage in Soto Zen Master Dogen’s Shobogenzo, written in the thirteenth century. [EN1]

Samadhi [absorbtive concentration] is similar to anticipating things before they occur; that is intuition. Use your own senses, not others’, completely control your own veins. Then we will be like the water buffalo on Mt. Issan. The kind of "bodily awareness" involved in Wing Chun training is not so much an awareness of the body, an expression which suggests that "mind" and "body" are separate "entities," which somehow have to be co-ordinated and harmonised in order to function effectively. Wing Chun training involves much more a state of awareness with the body, the expression of which assumes that physicality and mentality are functionally integrated processes; and that any separation of them is arbitrary on an abstract or theoretical level, and unworkable on a practical and experiential level. On this question of the dualism implicit in "awareness of the body," as opposed to the holism implicit in "awareness with the body," another passage from the same chapter of Dogen’s Shobogenzo is relevant. [EN2] ‘Mindfulness of the body (kan shin) is the body’s mindfulness (shin kan) but no others.’ While the body’s mindfulness is realized the mind’s mindfulness cannot grasp anything, and through groping for it, cannot be realized. I would argue that in Wing Chun, clarity, concentration, awareness, and fluidity are skills acquired more through the embodied direct felt awareness of physical discipline and technique, than through supposedly mental, interior meditational disciplines. And it is significant that this sophisticated martial arts system practically applies an understanding of the functional interdependence of mental and physical processes, which is expressed experientially and theoretically in Ch’an/Zen, and is articulated very clearly in the teachings of Dogen and the practices of the Soto tradition. As space is limited I shall quote just three more passages from Dogen’s Shobogenzo which clearly reflect his non-dualism and his emphasis on the role of direct embodied felt experience in Buddhist practice. Through the body and mind we comprehend the sound and form of things, they work together as one. However, it is not like the reflection of a shadow in a mirror or the moon reflected on the water. If you look only at one side the other side is dark. [EN3]

Buddhism teaches that body and mind are one, substance [ji/shih] and form [ri/li] are not two different things. Be certain that this was taught both in India and China. Furthermore, in Buddhism both imperishability or perishability are not to be separated as body and mind, or substance and form. Where does the body perish and the mind abide? In Buddhism there is no Nirvana apart from the cycle of life and death. Moreover, if you mistakenly think that mind is eternal and consider it to be true Buddhist Wisdom that is beyond life and death, you should recognize that the very mind you are using is bound to the cycle of life and death: this is very futile. [EN4]

Shakyamuni Buddha once instructed a large assembly of monks, saying, ‘If you sit in the lotus position, you realize samadi in body and mind [shin jin]… We can actualize the king of all samadhis through the full lotus posture in this very body, in our skin, flesh, bones, and marrow.‘ [EN5]

In modern western thought the phenomenological movement has contributed to the rejection of naïve mind-body dualism and has recovered a sense of the significance of human embodiment and the importance of direct bodily experience, which had been so long neglected in the European intellectual and philosophical traditions. A systematic comparison between modern phenomenology and the theoretical implications of Zen and Wing Chun practise is beyond the scope of this account, but I would draw attention to a passage in M. Merleau-Ponty’s Phenomenology of Perception which suggests the direction by which such a comparison might take. [EN6] To understand is to experience the harmony between what we aim at and what is given, between the intention and the performance – and the body is our anchorage in a world. When I put my hand to my knee, I experience at every stage of the movement the fulfilment of an intention which was not directed at my knee as an idea or even as an object, but even as a present and real part of my living body, that is, finally as a stage in my perpetual movement towards a world. When the typist performs the necessary movements on the typewriter, these movements are governed by an intention, but the intention does not posit the keys as objective locations. It is literally true that the subject who learns to type incorporates the key-bank space into his bodily space. Merleau-Ponty proceeds to grapple at some length with the example of a trained organist who has to play an unfamiliar instrument with little time for preparation. There is some similarity here with the problems and demands facing a Wing Chun practitioner when she/he is applying movements, techniques, and sensitivity learned in forms training to real combat or sparring. Merleau-Ponty rightly points out that the organist is not acquiring a new set of conditioned reflexes which he then applies to the unfamiliar instrument, nor is it memorising the new positions of stops and pedals and applying this new formation in his/her performance. Unfortunately, Merleau-Ponty’s analysis of what the musician is doing is not as adequate as his diagnosis of the problem. Clearly the Wing Chun practitioner and the musician are not consciously and mechanically executing memorised movements, because the tempo of musical performance or combat/sparring does not allow time to do so. But they are combining reflex movements or responses learned through drilling and repetition so as to be automatic, to unfamiliar and changing positions and demands. The key to success in both cases is flexibility and attention.

More generally, there are a number of interesting discussions of Dogen in the light of modern phenomenological analysis. [EN7] Although this kind comparative analysis is still in its experimental stages, many of the emerging ideas and perspectives are compelling and suggestive. The wide-ranging work of Levin draws on phenomenological analysis, psychology, and psychotherapeutic methods, and also reflects an awareness of Buddhist, Kabbalist, and Christian sources. He attempts an integrated understanding of the nature of embodiment and the value of bodily felt awareness. [EN8] Again there is insufficient space here to adequately discuss the important themes and questions raised by Levin. A valuable part of his work is the attempt to apply his theoretical understanding of the nature of embodiment to practical policies and procedures for moral education to achieve personal and social change (chapters 3 and 4). He discusses Merleau-Ponty’s account of the possible correlation between psychological and postural rigidity, and goes on to ask: [EN9]

If, now, we extend our conceptualization of the perceptual correlation, so that, in keeping with the specific focal concern of this chapter, we contemplate the nature of the correlation between psychological rigidity and the ‘standpoint’ of postural rigidity, which expresses and concerns the body as a whole, the question which must suggest itself, sooner or later, is surely this: If we take this correlation as our starting point, does it not make sense to search for ways of diminishing the rigidity of the psychological ego by working with the rigidity of its ego-logical body, and the ego-body’s self-image? The question, of course, invites us to attend more closely to the natural movements, what kinds of posture and stance, seems to be variant, or anyway, characteristic? And how does the rigid moral standpoint ‘schematize’ or manifest itself in the disposition and comportment of the body?

These questions eventually point, I think, towards the possibility of using procedures of relaxation and the teaching of free-style, self-expressive dancing as valuable ways of working therapeutically with personality-types suffering from psychological rigidity which seriously impairs their capacity to participate fully and with maturity in the moral dimension of life. Furthermore, they suggest the possibility – something it is surely worth exploring – of teaching our young children some of the moral postures, attitudes, and positions which constitute the underlying somatic basis of a moral ‘consciousness.’ In working directly with their relatively more compliant bodies, their images of the body, and their contactual bodily awareness, their bodily felt sense.

Following on from Levin’s suggestion in terms of practical programmes and methods of learning, my own view is that some of the existing systems of traditional martial arts such as Wing Chun, aikido, and t’ai chi chuan also provide much of what Levin seeks to achieve through experimenting with forms of dance. In chapter 4 Levin expresses his understanding of the possibilities of dance in moral and social education in terms of ancient Greek ideals. [EN10] As a discipline of embodiment dance teaches civic ideals and values in the most direct and unforgettable way, realizing them in the living body of their traditions. The ancient Greeks, it seems understood the need for a healthy athletic body (athletic in a sense very different from our modern one), and for a wholesome, non-dualistic attitude toward the bodily nature of human being, an attitude of acceptance, and yet free of hedonism, or self-indulgence. In the well-being of the body – in its harmonious gestures, gracefully humbled bearing, well-grounded stance and agile movement, the soul, which is feeling at home, can rest; correspondingly graced with the political virtues of equanimity, balanced judgement, and a sense of just proportion. By directly embodying the classical ideals – those of justice and noble humility, for example – dancing makes political culture into second nature, ensuring a binding devotion that maintains, and celebrates, the harmonious order (nomos) of nature and culture. With correct teaching and application in the traditional martial arts, the practitioner acquires self-discipline and a personal sense of achievement in his/her high degree of skill. As we have seen he/he achieves bodily awareness and sensitivity, concentration, mental and physical flexibility, and composure. In specifically social terms the martial arts practitioner is (or should be) learning respect for her/his teacher and consideration for fellow students as without them practice and progress would be impossible. Learning martial arts skill is clearly a collaborative and co-operative practise.

It is of course not surprising that correct training in dance and martial arts can offer the same possibilities. Historically, as well as structurally and mentally, there has been this relationship between dance and the traditional martial arts. For example, some Taoist rituals of exorcism incorporate dance and martial arts movements in their highly dramatic performances. [EN11] Also the Chinese lion dance is traditionally performed by Kung Fu societies and uses basic Kung Fu stances in the performance. The south Indian martial art of Kalaripayit is closely associated with the classical dance forms of that region, and the same is true of the martial arts and dance traditions of Okinawa and the Philippines.

Finally, since we are discussing questions of ethics, social responsibility, and moral education, the obvious question is what place does the practice of martial arts and their potentially dangerous techniques have in the context of such concerns? Further, does the suggestion of training children in traditional martial arts amount to the promotion of aggressive attitudes and the facilitating of violence and conflict? I shall argue that it does not. In Japan, over five million people practise the martial arts of judo and kendo. In addition, millions of high-school children have received some training in these arts as part of their physical education curriculum. Nonetheless, Japan’s crime statistics repeatedly reflect very low levels of interpersonal violence compared to those of other developed nations. All responsible martial arts instructors and associations observe rules that dangerous techniques are not to be used in combat except in case of extreme emergency when other means of prevention and escape have failed or are not possible.

On a technical level it should be pointed out that in Wing Chun and other martial arts almost all the techniques are defensive in nature and presuppose that an attacker is making an offensive move which is then countered. Furthermore, the cultivation of the five skills and qualities described above, as well as the social skills and attitudes of confidence, responsibility, respect, co-operation, and equilibrium, actually reduce the possibility of serious interpersonal conflict and violence arising. The reason, as we have seen, is that an essential element of Wing Chun training is the overcoming of stress, fear, and anger. Therefore the Wing Chun practitioner is less likely to over-react violently to provocation. Also, as an integral part of their training, serious practitioners of Wing Chun (or any martial art) should have overcome any pathological desire to prove themselves through violence. Finally, by exercising his/her awareness and sensitivity, the Wing Chun practitioner (and any serious martial artist) should be attuned to any danger-points where violence may threaten to erupt, and by exercising her/his control, equilibrium, and confidence, forestall or prevent the conflict or violence from occurring. Many martial artists are familiar with such instances where calmness and quick-thinking have defused situations that could have led to violence.

If self-defence does become necessary, as a last resort, then the trained martial artist has more ability and control, and therefore is more likely to know how much or how little force to use, and how much or how little damage he/she is likely to cause. With correct training in Wing Chun and other systems, it is possible to immobilise, control, and even disarm opponents without causing them serious damage. It could be argued that such a course of action is preferable to "turning the other cheek" and allowing a violent attacker to harm oneself, others, and possibly himself. [EN12] English law does, of course, allow for reasonable force to be used in defence of oneself or others, as a last resort. It should be pointed out, however, that the majority of martial artists are not going to be confronted with interpersonal violence, and are free to regard their training as a mental, physical, and spiritual discipline, which has immense value in itself. [EN13]

About the Author

Stewart McFarlane is Director of Asian Studies at Liverpool Hope University College. He specialises in Chinese Religions and Buddhist Studies. He is author of The Complete Book of Tai Chi (Dorling Kindersley, 1997; Barnes & Noble, 2001), and has contributed to many academic journals on the theme of Asian martial arts. Recent papers on the topic include:

He also wrote and presented the BBC World Service series, "Shadow Boxing on the Path to Nirvana," a four-part series first broadcast in September 1998. The programmed described the religious and spiritual significance of Asian martial arts, and included original interviews with leading martial arts teachers and authorities such as Zhen Henan, Dan Inosanto, Lily Lau, and Shih Yen Tzu of the Shaolin Temple Henan.


EN1. Dogen Zenji, Shobogenzo, translated by K. Nishiyama and J. Stevens (Tokyo: Nakayama Shobo, 1975), vol. 1, 79. The buffalo occurs in an earlier chapter representing immovable concentration.

EN2. H.J. Kim, Dogen Kigen – Mystical Realist (University of Arizona, 1975), 128. See also K. Nishiyama and J. Stevens (trans.) Shobogenzo, vol. II, 72.

EN3. Ibid., vol. 1, 1.

EN4. Ibid., vol. 1, 156.

EN5. Ibid., vol. 1, 125.

EN6. M. Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception, translated by C. Smith (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1962), 144-145.

EN7. See David E. Shaner, "The body mind experience in Dogen’s Shobogenzo: a phenomenological perspective," Philosophy East and West, 35:1 (January 1985), pp. 17-35; and a full-length study by Steven Heine, Existential and Ontological Dimensions of Time in Heidegger and Dogen (State University of New York Press, 1985). There is a fascinating account of Dogen’s use of acoustic language and immediate hearing and their implications for his non-dualism by David Appelbaum, "On turning a Zen ear," Philosophy East and West, 33:2 (April 1983), 115-122.

EN8. David Michael Levin, The Body’s Recollection of Being (London: Routledge, Kegan Paul, 1985).

EN9. Ibid., 234-235.

EN10. Ibid., 252-253.

EN11. John Lagerwey, Taoist Ritual in Chinese Society and History (New York: Macmillan, 1987), chapter 13.

EN12. For discussion of these and similar ethical dilemmas confronting Buddhism, and reference to some traditional Buddhist responses, see Stewart McFarlane, "Buddhism," in Linus Pauling (ed.), World Encyclopaedia of Peace (Oxford: Pergamon, 1986), vol. 1, 97-103. See also Allan Back and Daeshik Kim, "Pacifism and the Eastern martial arts," Philosophy East and West, 32:2 (April 1982), 177-186.

EN13. In response to an increasing number of assaults on clergy in some parts of Britain, television and press reports in February 2002 described self-defence classes offered to U.K. clergy of all religions. Unfortunately the martial arts chosen were athletic and high-kicking hard style systems which are not particularly appropriate to a member of the clergy requiring self-defence skills.

InYo Mar 2002