Multiple world champion speedway racer Tai Woffinden has a tattoo across his chest that reads “Pain is weakness leaving the body”. The origin of the proverb is disputed, but it certainly seems to have its roots in, and has certainly been embraced by, military organisations. It makes perfect sense that such an axiom is appealing to armed forces personnel and extreme sportspeople because both fields often require physical endurance in the face of likely pain and danger. It is understandable how such a mantra can be important in fending off insecurities and fears where such instinctual reactions only heighten jeopardy and the likelihood of failure. In high-stake situations that require lucidity and focus, the body’s emotive reaction to pain (or the possibility of it i.e. fear) can, ironically, be perilous.

Can this principle have a wider application to other types of pain? Also, what does our value of pain say about our definition of weakness?

First of all, let’s consider the reason why our bodies have a pain stimulus. Pain is an alert system for the body for when something is wrong. Pain is the body’s error message. For a speedway racer, pain during a race is inevitable and success lies in the ability to endure it. In this particular circumstance, improving one’s pain endurance correlates with strength, but only in the context of racing. The cause of the same pain could in fact, in the long term, be a weakness; a reoccurring wrist injury would benefit from surgery. Pain, in this case, is telling the rider that their wrist requires medical attention before it could possibly be fully functional again. Ignoring the pain message is going to result in an ever increasing weakness in the rider’s racing abilities.

Pain is also an experience. Sometimes we greatly fear pain due to our inexperience of it. Childbirth is a good example. Women are often a lot more anxious about their first labour than any subsequent ones. There is a fear of the unknown. If we have never experienced excruciating pain then how confident can we be of our ability to endure it? Knowing what such pain can feel like can give us confidence going into a situation where it might arise. There is, however, a naivety in this attitude. As a MotoGP fan I have repeatedly witnessed youthful riders slowly gaining confidence as they hazardously learn the limitations of their machinery. This requires some ignorance towards the ultimate demise they endanger themselves to: death. Sadly, there are occasional reminders in motorcycle racing of this very real possibility. Rookie drive, ambition and exuberance only tends to last until the realisation of the peak of their talents. Then the fear of death becomes a temperance they carefully master.

I think it’s clear that in most cases the physical pain sensation is a strength because it indicates the necessity to heal, and the fear of pain is a strength because it protects us. There are a few occasions, however, (which the Woffinden tattoo alludes to) where we can be stronger by not being the subject of pain or become victimised by it; to one extreme the irrational ignorance of it, to the other extreme the rational acceptance of it.

If I was to have seen the quote in a different context and, therefore, not have associated it with motorcycle racing and danger etc., I would have assumed that it referred to psychological pain. In this light, at first thought, it seems relatable and true. By living through and coping with adversity we develop the same heightened level of endurance and confidence from our experience in the same way as suggested with physical pain. But on reflection, we mentally face the equivalent of the MotoGP rider’s ultimate fear. If what we have to endure is too much, we face the prospect of something akin to mental ‘death’ i.e. a complete breakdown of our psychological faculties. More importantly, I think this can be broken down into more subtle and fractioned issues. In the same way an accident may leave a rider paralysed or badly injured rather than dead, a mental disturbance may be restricted to certain emotional functions rather than a complete incapacity.

Worryingly, the attitude of ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ when applied with dealing with mental adversity is widely seen as sage and acceptable, but is of more consequence when damaging and is harder to diagnose and fix than physical affliction. Mental pain is the one that requires the most care and attention because it is the most difficult to understand. It certainly shouldn’t always be seen as a strength of character to endure it but, to reach the same conclusion as before, should also not be something you fall into the trap of disproportionately victimising yourself with.

Finally, what about weakness itself? Should it be inferred that weakness is something we strive to eradicate from our lives? Is that a healthy attitude? I have to admit I don’t have a committed answer to these questions. On the one hand, we all have our inherent weaknesses. Nobody is infallible and we all have negative traits in our personality and values (in somebody’s opinion if not our own). I don’t think it’s reasonable to torment and persecute ourselves over our flaws, but nor should we be ignorant of them. We should learn to accept them but not to embrace them. We need a healthy wariness. But this awareness creates a question of responsibility; do we have an obligation to strive to improve ourselves? Most moral frameworks conclude that we do. So, if we are to accept that as a responsibility, to what extent do we judge and value ourselves by our ability to overcome our weaknesses? Can we mentally cope with the constant attempt to develop and the negative discernment that necessitates? This is an especially difficult way of life to stomach if you believe more in the effects of nature than nurture.

What I am certain of is that pain and weakness are necessary elements of human life. They are messages that await our response. The most important tool we have in correctly responding to them is awareness. Only complete awareness of all conditions can allow us to rightly decide whether pain is weakness or pain is strength.

This month's favourites:
   Colter Wall, Songs of the Plains
   Bram Stoker, Dracula
   Alps (2011)