The Response to Pain

Several days ago I had to go to the dentist to get some fillings. As I sat in the lobby nervously waiting for them to call me back to the chair, I could hear the subdued chatter of the hygienists, the high-pitched whine of drills, and even fancied I detected the low moans of a patient. When the assistant called my name I stood up and walked to the back like I was going to face the firing squad. 

I detest the dentist. The strangely antiseptic smell, the canned music, the sticky plastic coverings on the too comfortable chairs, the blinding light of the overhead lamp, the various plaque-removing instruments of torture, not to mention all the poking and prodding that occurs as you sit open-mouthed while the dentist hunches over you, like some giant insect, all combine to make a dentist appointment a time of dread. I’m not alone in this feeling either. Plenty of people I have talked to often say they hate the dentist too. When told that you are going to see the dentist many respond with, “That’ll be fun,” or “Good luck,” or some other wry remark that fully shows they understand your plight and are grateful they aren’t in your shoes.

As I sat in the chair, my entire jaw numb, with the dentist drilling away at my molars, I wondered why so many people, including myself, dislike going to the dentist. The answer was obvious: they fear the actual physical pain experienced or the possibility of pain associated with such an appointment. Before they even began working on my teeth I had asked if they were going to give me numbing shots. I confess that I am as anxious as anyone else to avoid pain, both physical and mental. It is a trait common to all mankind that we desire to flee from pain and suffering (a word that often carries the connotation of emotional or mental pain rather than physical). Indeed, entire fields of philosophy have been built around this idea. 

Hedonism, for example, states that only pleasure has intrinsic value and life should be ordered in such a way that pleasure is its main pursuit while pain and suffering are to be avoided. Epicureanism, to a lesser degree, also believes this, though in a negative sense: pleasure is found through the avoidance of fear (ataraxia) and absence of bodily pain (aponia). This is a cursory overview of these two philosophies and there are nuances within each, but at their core both schools of thought place a primacy on pleasure and teach an abhorrence of pain.

This worldview has persisted into our own day, though with slight modifications, and has largely shaped our society’s outlook on life. Whereas before pain and pleasure were two separate and distinct ideas, the one to be avoided and the other pursued, today they are inextricably linked. Modern society offers pleasure as the anodyne to pain, not the alternative. The high instance of recreational drug use, social-media and pornography consumption, and prescription medicines (to name a few) all bear this out. We have sought to anesthetize pain via means of pleasure. At every turn where pain is encountered, be it physical or mental, the immediate reaction or recommended solution is to seek relief through pleasure. Through forgetful oblivion. Indeed, pleasure has become the opiate of the masses. 

This is a worldview I find repugnant, untenable, and ultimately destructive to all who endorse it. I am not offering a solution to the problem of pain, much less am I trying to explain its origin (for that I would recommend reading The Problem of Pain by C. S. Lewis), but what I am offering is a response to pain. A response very different than the one offered by the world today. This response has its origins in the Stoics, the Norse pagans, the novels of Dostoevsky and Tolstoy, and ultimately in Christianity. Both the Stoics and Norse saw pain and suffering as inevitable in life. They might even go so far as to say life is suffering. However, they didn’t flee from this suffering or seek to drown it in pleasure. They met it head on, with a stiff upper lip mentality that believed what would come would come, and the best way to meet this suffering was with steadfast endurance. This is beautifully expressed in the Norse myth of Ragnarök, the “Twilight of the Gods”, wherein the Norse gods and their chosen human warriors knowingly fight a losing battle against the forces of evil. They are doomed to die and the world will end and no amount of preparation can turn the tides of fate, and yet they soldier on. This isn’t a particularly comforting view, though it is a commendable one. In the Stoic and Norse response a nascent form of what is more fully realized in the Russian novelist and Christian reply can be seen. The matured response found in Christianity and the Russians (who were Christians, incidentally) is that while suffering is inevitable in life, it has redemptive purpose and meaning. That although we do suffer, that suffering restores, builds up, and makes the sufferer more than they were before. That, ultimately, our pain and suffering will not have been in vain.

This is a far more comforting and hopeful response than the Stoics, Norse, Epicureans, Hedonists, or any other modern worldview can offer to the presence of pain in life (and one I happen to believe is true). We cannot choose to escape from the pain and suffering we will experience in this life, but we can choose how we will respond to it. And that choice may make all the difference in the world.

Happy Reading,
Drew