In racing, you want to win - there are no rules, and you can do

Hear, O seekers of courage and discipline, the words of Niki Lauda, the champion of the racetrack and the captain of the skies: “In racing, you want to win—there are no rules, and you can do whatever you want. Flying a plane is the opposite: you respect rules and fly to the rules. You can’t possibly compare the two.” These words, forged in the fire of speed and the silence of the heavens, speak to the eternal contrast between freedom and discipline, between the reckless pursuit of glory and the ordered devotion to safety.

The origin of this saying rests in Lauda’s own life. He was not only a Formula One driver, fierce and unyielding, but also an aviator who founded his own airline. In the cockpit of a racing car, he knew the thrill of pushing limits, bending strategies, and carving paths beyond imagination, where instinct ruled and victory justified risk. Yet, in the cockpit of an airplane, with lives entrusted to his hands, he knew that survival depended on absolute obedience to the rules. Thus he drew the contrast: two crafts, both demanding skill, yet governed by opposite spirits.

In racing, as Lauda taught, the spirit is defiance. One fights not only the rival, but the limits of machine, body, and track. To win is to dare, to take risks others shun, to outwit and outlast without hesitation. It is the arena of chaos, where the rules are few and the hunger for victory is all. Many who enter this realm burn out swiftly, but those like Lauda, who balanced daring with calculation, rise into legend.

In flying, however, the spirit is reverence. The skies do not forgive arrogance, nor does gravity tolerate rebellion. Here, the law is not written by man but by physics, by aerodynamics, by the immutable conditions of wind and weather. To defy the rules is to invite death not only upon oneself, but upon passengers and crew. Thus Lauda, who knew both worlds, proclaimed the truth: racing and flying cannot be compared, for one is the kingdom of risk, and the other, the temple of order.

History bears witness to the wisdom of this distinction. In 1976, Lauda himself suffered a fiery crash at the Nürburgring, his body seared by flames, his life hanging by a thread. His return to the track weeks later showed his mastery of racing’s unforgiving gamble. Yet, years later, as the owner and pilot of Lauda Air, he faced the tragedy of Flight 004, when a mechanical failure brought down his plane. Here, no courage or daring could alter fate—only strict adherence to rules, and the relentless pursuit of safety, could honor the lives lost and prevent future disaster.

The lesson for us is clear. There are moments in life when we are called to embrace the spirit of racing, to defy limits, to take risks, to seize victory though the odds seem impossible. And there are moments when we are called to the spirit of flying, to honor discipline, to follow the path laid out, to protect others by obedience and restraint. Wisdom lies in knowing which moment is which, and in walking both paths with equal mastery.

Therefore, O listeners, let your practice be this: in your struggles for ambition, dare greatly, like the racer, unafraid of risk. But in matters of responsibility, where others’ lives and futures depend on you, follow the rules as if they were sacred law. Balance freedom with duty, daring with discipline. For he who can race with fire and fly with reverence will live a life both glorious and honorable.

Thus let Lauda’s words endure: “In racing, you want to win… Flying a plane is the opposite.” They are not only about cars or planes, but about life itself: some roads demand risk, others demand order. The greatness of a soul is to discern the difference, and to live fully in both.