Pain Has No Virtue, I’m Afraid

Summary

The article discusses the contrasting philosophies of pain and pleasure in personal development, questioning the Western adage of "no pain, no gain" and advocating for a more Eastern approach that values agreeableness and joy.

Abstract

The author reflects on the Western notion that personal growth and success must be accompanied by discomfort and pain, as opposed to Eastern philosophies that emphasize the importance of pleasure and well-being for the soul and body. Drawing from Erich Fromm's insights in "The Art of Loving," the article critiques the Western obsession with productivity and discipline, often at the expense of self-care and intuition. The author, who has experienced the pressures of Western societal expectations and the limitations of chronic illness, explores the integration of Eastern practices such as meditation and pagan traditions into Western life. The piece suggests that the current interest in self-care, meditation, and Eastern philosophies among the younger generation represents a shift towards seeking joy and contentment beyond the Protestant work ethic and material success.

Opinions

The author challenges the Western belief that pain is inherently linked to personal gain and success.
There is a critique of the Western professionalism that devalues intuition and emotion, associating them with weakness.
The article suggests that the rise of self-care and Eastern philosophies in the West indicates a collective yearning for less painful, more nurturing ways of living.
The author points out the contradiction between the pursuit of happiness through external achievements and the internal search for joy, emphasizing that true joy is not derived from pain.
The author expresses a personal struggle with the Western work ethic, acknowledging the impact of chronic illness as a counterbalance to relentless productivity.
There is an appreciation for the integration of various spiritual practices, including pagan traditions and Catholic heritage, as a means to navigate modern life's complexities.
The author advocates for listening to one's gut and embracing activities that bring genuine joy and presence, such as music and nature, as a form of self-respect and care.

“The East has recognised long ago that that which is good for man (sic)* — for his body and his soul — must also be agreeable, even though at the beginning some resistances must be overcome.”

Erich Fromm, The Art of Loving

Fromm, a German Jewish psychologist, contrasted the Eastern philosophy of ‘agreeableness’ with the “Western concept of discipline”, which intimates that what is good for you must be painful. Reading that was a lightbulb moment for me, as the following phrases echoed around my head:

“No pain. No gain.”

“A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.”

It clarified some of the things I’d been struggling with as I eased into my thirties.

We will milk our braincells for all they are worth to get ahead. This is painful but good for us. Long caffeinated stints at the library, broken up by melty plasticated snacks, are good for us. Slamming our body into yoga poses and gym workouts are good for us — the more we shake and sweat the better. The satisfaction of the lingering pain the day after. Going hungry (not so much in the tradition of fasts deployed in spiritual practices, reminding us to be humble) is good, because it means that we’ll get thinner, or that we value productivity over a lunch break.

As a person lucky enough to grow up in the rich West, I had access to taps abundant with clean water, my own bedroom from the age of nine (apart from a two-month stint sleeping on a sofa bed in my dad’s kitchen) and exponential light and heating sources. Therefore, like many curious, creative young people in their twenties, I charged around, looking for stimulation, at times hedonism; studying hard, working hard, accompanied by grudging diets and exercise routines. I notice many of those in my privileged position follow a similar protocol.

Sometimes I feel fortunate that I’ve got a chronic illness, which at times, stopped the Western puritanical work ethic taking over completely. Periods of frenetic activity have been dispersed with epochs of quiet monk-like contemplation. Writer and Literature professor Jennifer Cognard-Black credits the rise of professionalism and productivity with the “masculinised” rejection of intuition and faith in the late nineteenth century. “Intuition and feeling are for sissies!” is the clarion call of Western professionalism.

Slowly, and through my cracked Western lens, I am looking towards the East as many of my generation are. Meditation combined with a hotchpotch cheeseboard of Eastern and Western pagan traditions; the Tarot, astrology and the I Ching. I also have my Catholic ancestry to thank for a deep appreciation of wine, dancing and caterwauling. And as a somewhat eccentric and creative woman, a contradictory feeling of being pursued by the mob but also a desire to witness the burning at the stake.

What a confusing time we are in. The tension between wanting to feel the pain that indicates success, yet also nurture. Self-care as a hashtag is most popular at the time of writing in the US and UK. If it sounds like I am mocking this resurgence in the Tiktok generation, I am not. The pic n mix of pagan revival and Eastern philosophy echoes the Orientalism of the nineteenth century, but I think it is our way of looking for less pain in our lives. The Protestant work-ethic has brought us riches, but also the Sisyphean complex of never quite ‘gaining’ enough. We are turning away from burning the witch, and locating her within ourselves. When ‘The Economy’, or facts and figures, make less sense than the I Ching — it’s no wonder we’d rather pass the time learning divination. We’ve been told to distrust our gut, but it’s where we store our anxieties. If IBS has surged, along with the sales of iPads, it makes sense that we are guiding ourselves back to the stomach, back inside and away from the screen. Less scrolling, more scrying?

What exactly is ‘good for us’ then? In a deeply moving conversation between the Dalai Lama and the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu, they talk extensively about the search for joy. That it is not the same as the search for happiness. “Happiness writes in white ink on a white page”, said the French author, Henry de Montherlant. In other words, happiness is witchcraft. It is, as we know, not to be found in external matters — food, nor the denial of it. Sure, it comes in the betterment of the self. Yet no one ever said that joy would come from pain, did they?

Fromm talks about resistance — it’s uncomfortable, but not painful. Hangovers are painful. Putting myself through uncomfortable and humiliating situations that do nothing for my self-esteem (yes that’s what I spent my twenties doing, see this article for more details) is painful. Setting a little time aside in my day to do admin makes me feel resistant. But future me will thank me for it (okay, so I’m still working on that one). Dragging my bum away from my mustard-coloured swivel-y writing chair to practice guitar — oh yes, there is resistance! But I will do it (in approximately 10 minutes from the time of writing) because I know that my clumsy fingers will develop tiny muscles that make me play better. It ensures there are at least 30 minutes of the day where my mind is truly present, untangling the knots of music notes.

I have to sit with the uncomfortable truth that nowadays I feel more anxious about my plant looking poorly than not being invited to a party. Yet I often mourn the brain cells I lost in the punishing schedule of my past. I know that I will not recoup them by starving myself, nor making a virtue out of not resting. Rather I will treasure the brain cells I have left, teasing them with Wordle at daybreak (resistance), and treating them with music and sunsets (joy).