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Author: Bret Gordon  This article serves as the final installment in our series exploring how ancient religious and philosophical traditions shaped the development of internal martial arts. Throughout this series, we have traced the flow of ideas from early Taoism, Buddhism, Yoga, and Shinto all the way into the internal mechanics of East Asian fighting systems. We have seen how concepts born in temples, monasteries, and esoteric ritual lineages gradually found expression in body skills such as energy cultivation and whole-body power. The internal principles that define Aiki share unmistakable parallels with Taoist cosmology, Taiji philosophy, and Chinese internal martial arts. These ideas did not arrive through a single moment of cultural contact, but through centuries of cross-pollination between Taoism, Buddhism, and Shinto, culminating in the transmission of internal methods into the Aizu court and, eventually, modern Aikido. This is not a claim that Aiki Jujutsu "came from China." Rather, it is a recognition that Japan’s indigenous and imported philosophies created a climate in which internal martial principles, rooted heavily in Taoist thought, could take shape. The body methods of Aiki represent a Japanese expression of a universal internal science.  Taoist Taiji philosophy begins with a simple truth: all things arise from the interplay of opposites, yin and yang. This interaction is not conflict but cooperation, not tension but dynamic balance. The Taiji diagram, the familiar black-and-white circle, does not show two enemies locked in struggle but two energies rotating in mutual support, each containing the seed of the other. This philosophy deeply influenced the development of Chinese internal martial arts such as Taijiquan, Xingyiquan, and Baguazhang. In these systems, power does not come from muscular exertion but from coordinating opposing forces within the body (expanding and contracting, rising and sinking, opening and closing). The body becomes a vessel for the Taiji itself, generating power through the harmony of internal opposites rather than brute strength.  The Japanese concept of Ki (Qi in Chinese) is central to understanding Aiki. The traditional character for Qi depicts rice cooking in a pot, with steam rising from within with enough power to lift the lid off the pot. Beneath that pictogram lies an even older symbolic logic: Qi is the product of fire (yang) acting upon water (yin), producing steam, a metaphor for the transformation of internal forces. In martial terms, Ki is not a metaphysical substance but a relationship between opposing forces:
Aiki, therefore, is the skillful harmonization of these forces inside the body, blending yin and yang so seamlessly that power flows without resistance. It is the Japanese articulation of the very same principles that define Taiji. Every movement we make involves pairs of muscles working in balance: agonists and antagonists, flexors and extensors, each creating force in one direction while its counterpart yields and lengthens in the other. When these muscle pairs fight each other, movement becomes clumsy and strength is trapped inside the body. But when they coordinate properly, they create elastic, wave-like power.  The fascia, which wraps and connects every structure in the body, becomes a dynamic pulley system that transmits force smoothly across multiple joints. In Aiki Jujutsu, the practitioner learns to use this internal architecture deliberately, softening one line while engaging another, tensioning fascia diagonally while relaxing vertically, or sinking weight to generate an effortless rising force. This refined balance mirrors the Taiji interplay of yin and yang: contraction and expansion, tension and release, stability and mobility. When the body's internal opposites work together instead of against each other, movement becomes fluid, adaptive, and responsive. The body itself becomes a living Taiji diagram, its forces alternately supporting, rotating, and transforming to neutralize an opponent with minimal effort.
This poem by Saigo Tanomo (aka Hoshina Chikanori) and addressed to Takeda Sokaku, is often regarded as the formal symbolic transmission of Daito Ryu from master to student. While the precise historical lineage remains a matter of debate, the poem serves as a metaphorical depiction of the principles of the Aiki body, capturing the art's essence in imagery rather than technical instruction. In Aiki Jujutsu, the imagery of water carries multiple layers of meaning, particularly in the realm of internal cultivation. Water symbolizes fullness, the condition in which every part of the body is supported and reinforced by every other part. In Taijiquan, this quality is known as peng, the resilient, buoyant pressure that gives internal arts their distinctive feel. A helpful analogy is a garden hose: when empty, it is soft and collapsed, much like the average student who equates "relaxation" or "emptiness" with going limp. Yet the moment the faucet is turned on, the hose fills, gains shape, and develops functional structure. In the same way, internal fullness gives the body form without rigidity. Just as water naturally fills whatever container it enters, internal fullness flows into the opponent’s body upon contact. Through this connection, our nervous systems exchange information instantly, allowing us to sense their empty spaces and structural gaps. In that moment, my fullness completes their structure as well, giving me the ability to guide, destabilize, or neutralize them with minimal physical effort. The poem also provides the image of a forceful blow leaving no mark on the surface of a river. This beautifully captures the essence of the Aiki body, a pre-conditioned internal state in which the practitioner can dissipate or redirect external forces without being disrupted by them. Instead of meeting impact with rigidity or bracing, the body remains integrated, responsive, and fluid, allowing pressure to travel through its structure just as water absorbs and disperses a strike. In this state, nothing lingers, nothing is damaged, and nothing collapses. The force simply passes through and returns to stillness. Daito Ryu’s connection to Taiji-like philosophy does not arise from verifiable Chinese influence but from the esoteric traditions embedded within the Takeda family itself. Although oral tradition claims the art is nearly 900 years old, what can be historically confirmed is that Takeda Soemon, Sokaku’s grandfather, was a skilled practitioner of Onmyodo and reportedly taught a method he called Aiki In’yo Ho (“Aiki Yin-Yang Method”). He studied Onmyodo under the Tsuchimikado family, who were descendants of renowned diviner Abe no Seimei, eventually receiving a menkyo and obtaining the title of Takumi no Kami. Abe himself traced his lineage back through the Kamo family to En no Ozunu, the founder of Shugendo (an esoteric tradition blending Taoism, Buddhism, and Japanese shamanism). En no Ozunu is often depicted as the classic sennin, the Taoist immortal, shaped by stories of his mountain training and perceived supernatural powers. Later Shugendo practitioners followed his example, seeking spiritual power and enlightenment through demanding ascetic practice in the mountains and aiming to unite with nature. These traditions clearly reflect Taoist ideas such as neidan (internal cultivation), the pursuit of longevity, and shinsen (concepts of immortality). Because of this blending, it is very difficult in Japan to view Taoism and Onmyodo as separate traditions. In addition to studying Onmyodo under Takeda Soemon, Saigo Tanomo would later spend time at Ryozen Shrine, often used as a dojo for esoteric training of Tendai Buddhism (Chinese: Tiantai). Tiantai is a school of Mahayana Buddhism that was founded in 6th-century China, with deep historical and philosophical connections to Taoism. This particular Buddhist sect was renowned for their veneration of Fudo Myo-O, the deity of immovability. In practical terms, the reference to Fudo Myo-O is a play on words. Fudo Myo-O is written in kanji as 不動明王. However, the deity’s actual name is simply Fudo, a translation of the Sanskrit name Acala. Yet instead of simply Fudo or Acala, we often see them referenced as Fudo Myo-O or Acala Vidya. This only makes sense when understood in its proper context: mystical training to achieve immovability. If the idea was merely referring to worshipping a person or deity, there would be no reason to introduce terms like vidya (as in Pranavidya, which refers to esoteric training for working with Ki) or terms like myo and mikkyo (esoteric wisdom and teachings) that imply physical practice. These terms describe methodologies or training systems, not beings or objects. Seen in this light, Fudo Myo-O serves as a symbolic representation of the internal state cultivated through rigorous practice, illustrating how esoteric training transforms both mind and body into a foundation of immovability. While Taoism in China would later branch into Zhengyi (spiritual) and Quanzhen (physical/alchemical) lineages by the 12th century, Onmyodo had already been active in Japan since at least the 6th century. As a result, it likely preserved a blend of spiritual cosmology, yin-yang theory, and practical internal cultivation practices long before these distinctions emerged in China. These principles (balancing opposing forces, coordinating breath and intent, and cultivating internal strength) were naturally absorbed into the martial training of the Takeda family and helped shape the internal, Taiji-like qualities that later became associated with Daito Ryu Aiki Jujutsu. It was at Ryozen Shrine in 1898 that Saigo would reportedly pass the art to Takeda after instructing him in its deepest secrets. Takeda Sokaku himself was not known for spiritual interests. By all accounts he embodied a hard-edged, rough-tempered martial personality, suggesting that he distilled from Onmyodo only those elements that enhanced combative ability and personal power rather than any broader mystical or religious teachings. As we reach the end of this series, a clear pattern emerges across centuries and across cultures. From the ascetic disciplines of early India, to the alchemical practices of Taoist China, to the esoteric rites of Japanese Shinto and the martial refinements of the samurai class, we have traced a continuous pursuit of what can only be called internal power. Whether expressed as Prana, Qi, Ki, or Aiki, the underlying principles remain strikingly consistent: the harmonization of opposing forces, the cultivation of structural integrity, the transformation of breath and consciousness, and the ability to neutralize external pressure through internal balance rather than muscular resistance. These ideas did not travel in a straight line, nor did they develop in isolation. They evolved through trade routes, religious interchange, wandering monks, imperial missions, military exchanges, and the natural human tendency to explore the deeper potential of the body and mind. Yoga laid the foundation for early Buddhist coordinated breath and movement practices, but the exchange did not move in only one direction. Once Buddhism reached China, it absorbed Taoist concepts of naturalness, softness, and effortless action, which reshaped Buddhist meditation into the distinctly Chinese forms we now recognize in Chan and later Zen. Taoist ideas also looped back into the broader world of contemplative practice, influencing yogic and Buddhist understandings of energy, stillness, and the relationship between opposing forces. Meanwhile, Taoist internal alchemy shaped both martial methods and spiritual cultivation throughout East Asia, and its cosmology quietly seeped into Shinto as well. In the end, each tradition did not evolve in isolation, but in conversation, enriching one another's approaches to breath, energy, and the pursuit of internal power. By following these threads across time and culture, we can finally appreciate that internal martial arts are not mysterious relics belonging to a single people or tradition. They are the accumulated wisdom of civilizations in conversation with one another, shaped by shared insights into how the human body works when trained in alignment with natural principles. And as this series has shown, the pursuit of internal power remains one of the most enduring legacies of that ancient dialogue. This article is part 4 in a series on how ancient religions influenced the development of internal martial arts across both China and Japan. For part 1, "Birth of the Taiji," click here. For part 2, "The Evolution of Body-Mind Mastery", click here. For part 3, "Taoism's Journey Into Japan," click here.
Note for Christians: The Bible is clear that all things that exist were made by God and for God. As Colossians 1:16 states, “For by Him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible… all things were created through Him and for Him.” Likewise, John 1:3 affirms, “All things were made through Him, and without Him was not any thing made that was made.”
This means that any natural pattern we observe, whether balance, cycles, polarity, or the interdependence of opposing forces, exists because God designed it into creation. If Taiji is viewed merely as a descriptive framework for these natural relationships and as a practical method for developing whole-body integration and power, then it falls under the category of observing God’s craftsmanship, not invoking another spiritual power. The spiritual danger arises when Taiji is treated as an ultimate source or a cosmic power independent of God. Taoist cosmology presents Taiji as the origin of heaven and earth, a generative force from which all things emerge. This directly contradicts the Christian confession that God alone is Creator and Sustainer. To ascribe creative power to Taiji is to place a philosophical construct in the position that belongs only to the Lord. Thus, it is wise to approach the topic with discernment, appreciating what reflects God’s design while rejecting any worldview that replaces Him as Creator.
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