It’s spring marathon buildup time, and, like tens of thousands of others, I’m clocking up the miles, getting the long runs in, and thinking about pacing. Friends and colleagues notice, and soon enough, I’m asked: “So, Jon, who are you running for?”
There’s a slight pause. The answer, in my case, is either a) Phoenix AC (my club) or b) no one, or maybe, if I’m honest, c) me. That’s to say, I’m not running for a charity, I’m not raising money for a good cause, there’s no personal tragic story to tell. I’m training hard, and I’m going for a time (one that starts with a two). And I’m troubled, both by these possible answers, but also by the question itself.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ve run for and raised money for charities in the past, and I applaud those who do. And it’s not a matter of compassion fatigue; I’m just putting a bit of space between my running and my wider moral obligations; and fulfilling those obligations in different ways, not through my running.
The worry about the question is that it seems to assume that running itself, and in particular, training for a marathon, is a futile, pointless or self-indulgent exercise. Because it’s pointless and self-indulgent, it needs justification. And this, I think, is wrong – and a little unfair. Suppose the conversation at work on a Friday turns to what people are doing at the weekend. Fred says: “Oh I’m playing football for my Sunday league team.” Clare says: “Oh, I’m practising the cello for an upcoming concert.” Mary says: “Oh, I’m planning to curl up in front of the fire, with a good book.” Jon says: “Oh, I’m running in my local half marathon.” In the normal course of events, only one of these replies will invite the further question: “Who are you raising money for?” But does running – racing, even – really need any more justification than any of those other activities?
I think not, and the issue arises partly because of a translation problem. The question “what’s so good about running?” is one that is quite hard to answer to non-runners, and it’s pretty much redundant to those who also run – we know what’s so good about it (and that’s why we do it). The philosopher Colin McGinn puts it like this:
Each sport has its characteristic phenomenology – what it’s like to engage in it, and without direct experience you can only have a vague idea of what that phenomenology is all about: to put it bluntly the essence of sport is ineffable. People who have shared this type of experience can talk to each other meaningfully about it, but an outsider to the activity is also an outsider to the meaning of talk about it.
It’s like the blind not knowing what the fuss about seeing colours is all about, or the pre-orgasmic child wondering why adults seem so obsessed with this mysterious thing called “sex”.
I’m not sure McGinn is strictly right that the essence of running isineffable – but it’s certainly very hard to eff. (This joke is stolen from Jerry Cohen). That is, it’s very to translate this essence to non-running friends who ask “who” you are running for. And I don’t want to push his analogies too far (let’s not worry about the ethics of sponsored sex).
It’s difficult to translate the value of running into terms that non-runners can easily endorse. But this doesn’t meant that the value is illusory. Running is valuable for its own sake. It has a distinctive, and irreplaceable, value for runners, just like playing football, practising the cello, reading, and bird-watching for footballers, cellists, and so on. It’s a practice – to use the term of another philosopher Alasdair Macintyre – with its own standards, its own distinctive goals, and its own value.
The idea that a practice with its own intrinsic value (such as philosophy, bird-watching, sex or marathon-running) somehow needs justification by an external criterion (its “impact”, its contribution to the economy, and so on) is a very common one these days: it’s a sign of the times. But these practices are not instruments for some more general utilitarian purpose, and it’s a misunderstanding of them to think that they are.
There’s a great deal to commend in running for charity. But there is also plentiful value in running for its own sake. It’s not wrong to run for its own sake, and training for and running a marathon doesn’t need further justification beyond the value of, well, training for and running a marathon.
Jon Pike is a senior lecturer in philosophy at the Open University and a marathon runner. He tweets @thinkandrun and he will be speaking at a free Philosophy of Running event on 2 March at the Jubilee Library in Brighton. To find out more, and to register, go philosophyofrunning.co.uk/brighton
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