HIRONISHI Genshin Sensei

FOREWORD

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-DO SHOTOKAN