Aikido and Rhetoric: The Sword, The Scalpel

The penetrating brilliance of swords
Wielded by followers of the Way
Strikes at the evil enemy
Lurking deep within
Their own souls and bodies.

O-sensei, The Art of Peace

Socrates
That is just what surprises me, Gorgias, and has made me ask you all this time what in the world the power of rhetoric can be. For, viewed in this light, its greatness comes over me as something supernatural.

Gorgias
Ah yes, if you knew all, Socrates,—how it comprises in itself practically all powers at once! [456b] And I will tell you a striking proof of this: many and many a time have I gone with my brother or other doctors to visit one of their patients, and found him unwilling either to take medicine or submit to the surgeon’s knife or cautery; and when the doctor failed to persuade him I succeeded, by no other art than that of rhetoric.

Plato, Gorgias, 456a-b

A simple but pivotal question lies at the crux of practice for both aikido and rhetoric: Does it hurt or does it heal? The most persistent and damning criticism against both martial and rhetorical arts is that they are frequently used to damage bodies (public). But here O-sensei and Gorgias present us with a conundrum: these arts can also bring healing and wholeness when nothing else in our communal life can.

What is the difference? What makes a sword heal and not wound? What makes a sword, in essence, into a surgeon’s scalpel? Gorgias argues here that it is in part skill, and surely that makes a difference. We wouldn’t let just anyone pick up a scalpel and operate on us. But he goes on in the dialogue to argue that the biggest difference lies in the orator’s moral compass. Is their commitment ultimately to justice, or power? Is it to themselves or to their community?

In the end, however, it’s O-sensei that offers us the most telling litmus test for whether a blade is a sword or a scalpel. Is the orator, the warrior, willing to turn that blade on themselves?