By now, Marion Jones’ tears are as much in the sight of the general public as the stars are at night, and I don’t doubt they are sincere. I haven’t really paid any attention to her, or most athletes for that matter. When the World Series or Olympics come, I’m suddenly somewhat familiar with the names of these people who for most of the previous year or (or previous four years) virtually didn’t exist. And then there they are, as if the the goddess Nike plops them down ex nihilo onto some track or baseball field, in their tight spandex, or wearing their uniforms like babies with birthmarks—we never see or know them any other way.
I don’t usually see or hear about the arduous prelude to their few moments of glory or shame (which the commentators and Sports Illustrated editors tell me will last forever). I remember reading about sprinter Maurice Green, whose workouts were so grueling he frequently threw up at the end of them. I’m something of a runner myself, but there have only been two occasions I can remember where I experienced exercise-related stress of that degree.
Like Green, Marion Jones is, or was, a character possessed of epic determination. How else can we account for her behavior? What else can compel someone to spend the better part of their life, energy, and thought on, um, running really fast? Every Olympian, drugged up or not, is the incarnation of Kierkegaard’s definition of holiness—”To will one thing.” If only the movement of will was sufficient to the task. Who among us can boast such zeal? I know I don’t usually demonstrate such ardent will power, and I am sometimes at odds with people who do. I envy them for the success they forge from their effort (which is commonly manifest in criticism and the assumption of a self-rigtheous attitude).
Somewhere along the way to winning the gold, Jones believed she wasn’t fast enough—this coming from a woman who can probably outrun every single MAN in the NFL. So she took steroids, and they worked. Five medals. I won’t justify her actions—the moral lapse is irrefutable, but I will say I don’t really have the right perspective for make any kind of judgment about what should happen to her past victories. I don’t understand the pressure—I’m not the kind of person for whom steroids would ever do much good. He who is without sin…
Peter Abelard proposed interesting qualifying conditions of sin that may provide additional incentive to extend grace (in brief, that transgression occurs upon movement of the will toward vice, separate from any of the consequences). None of us really have the ability to forsee the consequences of our actions—good or bad. On the cross, Jesus says of his tormentors, “Forgive them, they [don't know what they're doing.]” Not to confuse the issue, Marion Jones and the rest of us should have a somewhat robust understanding of right and wrong—of this fruit we ate first. No, it is the knowledge of creation or destruction to follow that we cannot comprehend when we act. If I could see the death carried forth upon a soul by a mere word, and perceive the damage done to that God-born-beauty, I wonder if I should ever speak at all. We are—I am—both rather blind and reckless. Lord, have mercy.
