KARATE DÕ MY WAY OF LIFE
GICHIN FUNAKOSHI
CONTENTS
Foreword
Preface
Entering the Way
No Weapons
Training for Life
Recognition
One Life
Important Points
The Past, the Future
Much has been published in Japanese about the great karate master, Gichin Funakoshi, but this is the first
translation in English of his autobiography. Written not long before his death at the age of ninety, he
describes in succinct detail his own life—his childhood and young manhood in Okinawa, his struggle to
refine and popularize the art of karate, his prescription for longevity—and reveals his unique personality
and his somewhat old-fashioned way of viewing himself, his world and his art.
Through this volume the follower of Karate-dõ will gain greater insight into the master’s own way of
living and thinking and, as a consequence, a sharper understanding of the art of self0defense that he
brought to a state of such high perfection. I most heartily recommend these memoirs of Funakoshi not
only to those who already practice Karate-dõ, or plan to do so, but also to anyone interested in the culture
and thought of the Orient.
The Origin of karate remains impenetrably hidden behind the mists of legend, but this much we know: it
has taken root and widely practiced throughout East Asia, among peoples who adhere to such varied creed
as Buddhism, Mohammedanism, Hinduism, Brahminism and Taoism. During the course of human
history, particular arts of self-defense have gained their own followings in various regions of East Asia,
but there is a basic underlying similarity. For this reason karate is related, in one-way or another, to the
other Oriental arts of self-defense, although (I think it is safe to say) karate is now the most widely
practiced of all.
The interrelationship becomes immediately apparent when we compare the impetus behind modern
philosophy with that of traditional philosophy. The former has its roots in mathematics, the latter in
physical movement and technique. Oriental concepts and ideas, languages and ways of thought have been
to a certain extent shaped by their intimate connection with physical skills, Even where words, as well as
ideas, have undergone inevitable changes in meaning through the course if human history, we find that
their root remain solidly embedded in physical techniques.
There is a Buddhist saying that, like so many Buddhist sayings, is ostensibly self-contradictory, but for
the karateka it lends special meaning to his technical practice. Translated, the saying is, “Movement is
non-movement, non-movement is movement.” This is a thesis that, even in contemporary Japan, is
accepted by educationalists, and due to its familiarity the saying may even shortened and used adjectivally
in our language.
A Japanese actively seeking self-enlightenment will say that he is “training his stomach” (hara wo neru).
Although the expression has wide implications, its origin lies in the obvious necessity to harden the
muscles of the stomach, a prerequisite for the practice of karate, which is, after all, a combat technique.
By bringing the stomach muscles to a state of perfection, a karateka is able to control not only the
movements of his hands and feet but also his breathing.
Karate must be nearly as old as man, who early found himself obliged to battle, weaponless, the hostile
forces of nature, savage beast and enemies among his fellow human being. He soon learned, puny
creature that he is, that in his relationship with natural forces accommodation was more sensible than
struggle. However, where he was more evenly matched, in the inevitable hostilities with his fellow man,
he was obliged to evolve techniques that would enable him to defend himself and, hopefully, to conquer
his enemy. To do so, he learned that he had to have a strong and healthy body. Thus, the techniques that
he began developing—the techniques that finally became incorporated into Karate-dõ—are a ferocious
fighting art but are also elements of the all-important art of self-defense.
In Japan, the term sumo appears in the nation’s most ancient anthology of poetry, the Man’yõshü. The
sumo of that time (eighth century) included not only the techniques found in present-day sumo but also
those of judo and karate, and the latter saw further development under the impetus of Buddhism, since
priests used karate as one means of moving toward self-enlightenment. In the seven and eight centuries,
Japanese Buddhists had journeyed to the Sui and T’ang courts, where they gained insight into the Chinese
version of the art and brought back to Japan some of it refinements. For many years, here in Japan, karate
remained cloistered behind thick temple walls, in particular those of Zen Buddhism; it was not,
apparently, practiced by other people until samurai began to train within temple compounds and so came
to learn of the existence of the art. Karate as we know it today has been perfected within the last half
century by Gichin Funakoshi.
There are innumerable delightful anecdotes about this extraordinary man, many of which he recounts
himself in the pages that follow. Some have perhaps by now drifted into the realm of legend, and some
Funakoshi did not bother to tell because they were so intimate a part of his way of life that he was hardly
aware of them. He never deviated from his way of life, the way of the samurai. Perhaps to the young
Japanese of the postwar world, almost as much as to the foreign reader, Funakoshi will emerge as
something of an eccentric, but he was merely following the moral and ethical code of his ancestors, a code
that existed long before there was such a thing as written history in Okinawa.
He observed the age-old taboos. For example, to a man of his class the kitchen was forbidden territory,
and Funakoshi, so far as I know, never trespassed upon it. Nor did he ever bother to utter the names of
such mundane articles as socks or toilet paper, for—once again in the code that her rigorously followed—
these were associated with what was considered to be improper or indecent.
To those of us who studied under him he was a great and revered master, but I fear that in the eyes of his
young grandson Ichirõ (now a colonel in the Air Self-Defense Force) he was merely a very stubborn old
man. I well recall an occasion when Funakoshi spied a pair of socks lying on the floor. With a gesture
toward Ichirõ, he said, “Put those away!”
“But I do not understand,” said Ichirõ with a look of utter innocence. “What do you mean by ‘those’?”
“Yes,” said Funakoshi, “those, those!”
“Those, those!” Ichirõ retorted. “Don’t you know the word for ‘those’?”
“I said to put those away immediately!” Funakoshi repeated, and Ichirõ was forced to admit defeat. His
little trap had failed: his grandfather still adamantly refused, as he had all his life, to utter the word socks.
In the course of this book Funakoshi describes some of his daily habits. For example, the first thing he did
upon arising in the morning was to brush and comb his hair, a process that sometimes occupied and entire
hour. He used to say that a samurai must always be neat in appearance. After having made himself
presentable, he would turn toward the Imperial Palace and bow deeply; then he would turn in the direction
of Okinawa and perform a similar bow. Only after these rites were completed would he sip his morning
tea
Well, my purpose here is not to tell his story for him, merely to introduce him. And that I am very happy
and proud to do. Master Funakoshi was splendid example of a man of his rank born at the beginning of
the Meiji period, and there are few men left in Japan today who may be said to observe a similar code. I
am very grateful to have been one of his disciples and can only regret that he is no longer with us.
GENSHIN HIRONISHI,
PRESSSIDENT
JAPAN KARATE-DÕ SHÕTÕ-KAI
PREFACE
It was
nearly four decades ago that I embarked upon what I now realize was a highly
ambitious program: the introduction to the Japanese public a large of that
complex Okinawan art, or sport, which is called Karate-dô “The Way of Karate.”
These forty years have been turbulent ones, and the path that I chose for my
self turned out to be far from easy; now. Looking back, I am astonished that O
attained in this endeavor even the quite modest success that has come my way.
That
Karate-dô has now taken its place in the world as internationally recognized
sport is due wholly to the efforts of my masters, my fellow practitioners, my
friends and my students, all of whom have unstintingly devoted both time and effort
to the task of refining this art of self-defense to its present state of
perfection. As for my own role, I fell it has been no more that of an
introducer – a master of ceremonies, so to speak, one who was blessed by both
time and chance to appear at the opportune moment.
It is no
exaggeration to say that almost all the ninety years of my life have been
devote to Karate-dô. I was rather a sickly baby and a frail child; accordingly,
it was suggested when I was still quite young that to overcome these handicaps
I ought to begin the study of karate. This I did, but with little interest at
the very first. However, during the latter half of my years at primary school,
after my health began to improve noticeably, my interest in karate began to
grow. Soon, I found, it had cast a spell over me. Into the task of mastering it
I threw myself mind and body, heart and soul. I had been a frail, irresolute,
introverted child; by the time I reached manhood, I felt myself to be strong,
vigorous and outgoing.
As I look
back over the nine decades of my life –from childhood to youth to maturity to
(making use of an expression the I dislike) old age-I realize that it is thanks
to my devotion to Karate-dô that I have never once had to consult a physician.
I have never in my life taken any medicine: no pills, no elixirs, not even a
single injection. In recent years my friends have accused me of being immortal;
it is a joke to which I can only reply, seriously but simply. That my body had
been so well trained that it repels all sickness and disease.
In my
opinion, there are three kinds of ailments that afflict a human being:
illnesses that cause fever, malfunctions of the gastrointestinal system and
physical injuries. Almost invariably, the cause of a disability is rooted in an
unwholesome life-style, in irregular habits, and in poor circulation. If a man
who runs a temperature practices karate until the sweat begins to pour from his
body, he will soon find that his temperature has dropped to normal, and that
his illness has been cured. If a man with gastric troubles does the same, it
will cause his blood to circulate more freely and so alleviate his distress.
Physical injuries are, of course, another matter, but many of these too may be
avoided by well-trained man exercising proper care and caution. Karate-dô is
not merely a sport that teaches how to strike and kick; it is also a defense
against illness and disease.
Only
recently has it attained international popularity, but this is a popularity
that karate teachers must foster and use with great care. It has been very
gratifying to me to see the enthusiasm with which young men and women, and even
children, have taken to the sport, not only in my own country but also all over
the world.
That, no
doubt, is one of the reasons that the Sangyô Keizai Shimbun (“Journal of
Commerce and Industry”) has asked me to write about Karate-dô. Initially I
replied that I am an old man and a plain ordinary citizen, with very little to
say. However, it is true that I have dedicated virtually my entire life to
Karate-dô, so I have accepted the newspaper’s offer on the condition that the
editors permit me to write a sort of autobiography.
At the same
time, setting about the task, I feel rather embarrassed, so I must ask my
readers to forgive me for speaking of such inconsequential matters. I ask them
to regard my book as little more than the ravings of a very old man. I, for my
part, will stir these ancient bones of mine and, with the help of the readers,
focus my energies on uncovering the great law of heaven and earth for the sake
of the nation and for the future generations. In pursuing this endeavor I beg
the wholehearted support and co-operation of my readers.
I would
like to express here my gratitude to Hiroshi Irikata of the Weekly Sankei
Magazine, for his editorial assistance, and to Toyohiko Nishimura of the same
magazine, for his book design [of the Japanese edition].
GINCHIN FUNAKOSHI
Tokyo
September 1956
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