Quest, 64:229–248, 2012
Copyright © National Association for Kinesiology in Higher Education (NAKHE)
ISSN: 0033-6297 print / 1543-2750 online
DOI: 10.1080/00336297.2012.706881
The Four Marks of Holistic Kinesiology
GREGG TWIETMEYER
School of Kinesiology, Marshall University, Huntington, West Virginia
What, to borrow a theological phrase, are the marks of a truly holistic kinesiology department? In
Kinesis and the Nature of the Human Person (2010), I examined the theoretical impact of Aristotle’s
definition of kinesis and Polanyi’s theory of tacit knowledge on kinesiology. The intention here,
however, is practical rather than theoretical. How would a holistic philosophy impact the day-to-day
activities within the discipline of kinesiology? What tenets would a holistic department of kinesiology
hold? What direction and aims would such a department have? Four areas of impact and reform
are offered. First, kinesiologists should engage the humanities. A vibrant humanistic presence in the
field will not only make kinesiology more holistic; it will give kinesiologists the tools to articulate a
holistic understanding of the nature of the human person. Second, kinesiologists should recognize the
importance of experience, practice, and apprenticeship within the field. Third, departments should
embrace rather than shun specificity. Finally, kinesiologists are encouraged to acknowledge that a
field dedicated to “physical activity” must require, engage in, and passionately profess the actual
practice of “moving well.”
Keywords Philosophy, kinesiology, holism, epistemology
The Four Marks of Holistic Kinesiology
Andrew Hawkins (2011) recently challenged sport philosophers to focus more attention
on “what it’s really all about.” Hawkins’ concern is that the “fragmentation [of] the disciplines”
leaves kinesiologists with “little common purpose” (p. 261). In fact, Hawkins
declares, “we have become so pragmatic that asking the big questions seems to get in
the way of getting the job done. The trains are running on time; we just don’t know
where they’re going” (p. 261). Hawkins is right on two counts. First, it is vitally important
that kinesiologists think deliberately about where the discipline is going. Second, many
kinesiologists seem curiously indifferent, or even hostile, to those who raise such philosophical
questions. Nonetheless, if one pays attention, one sees that rival answers to this
question have been offered.
Mark Latash (2008), a kinesiologist in the area of motor control, answered this
question—where are we going?—by insisting that “The main challenge of motor control
(and kinesiology in general) seems to be turning it into an exact science, just like physics”
(p. 27). For Latash the materialistic and therefore scientific nature of kinesiology is simply
a given. The quicker we acknowledge this reality the sooner we will make progress.
At about the same time, Scott Kretchmar (a colleague of Latash at Penn State) was
arguing for a completely different destination. In contrast to Latash, Kretchmar suggests
that kinesiology may be entering one of Kuhn’s (1996) “paradigm shifts.” Perhaps,
Kretchmar (2007) surmises, “We need a paradigm shift, a revolutionary vision akin to the
Address correspondence to Gregg Twietmeyer, School of Kinesiology, Marshall University,
104-D Gullickson Hall, Huntington, WV 25755. E-mail: twietmeyer@marshall.edu
229
230 G. Twietmeyer
one that suggested that the earth was not, in fact, the center of the universe” (p. 378). This
destination requires that we move beyond a materialistic (or idealistic) self-understanding,
towards a holistic self-conception. For Kretchmar kinesiology is a human field, neither
independent of, nor reducible to science. In fact, “Not only do cells implicate ideas, but
ideas in turn have cells written all over them” (p. 378).
Which of these two contending conceptions (represented by these archetypes) is correct?
How should we conceptualize the nature of the field? Where should we go? What
difference would it make? In two previous Quest articles, “Kinesis and the Nature of the
Human Person” (2010), and “What is Kinesiology? Historical and Philosophical Insights”
(2012), I tried to answer these questions on a theoretical level. I made the case that by
using the work of two philosophers, Aristotle and Michael Polanyi, kinesiologists could
lay the groundwork for a robust, broad, self-confident, and holistic discipline. In essence,
I argued that it is Kretchmar who is right. This new foundation is vital because to a very
large degree the history of kinesiology indicates that the field remains unsettled and in need
of clarification. To reiterate Hawkins (2011), we still do not know where we are going.
In the first article, I used Aristotle’s conception of kinesis to show just how fundamentally
important motion is to human being:
Motion, according to Aristotle, is not the mere dislocation of mass in space.
Instead, Aristotle argues that there are four basic types of kinesis that correlate
to the type of change we see in the world. Change of quality, change of quantity,
change of place, and change of being. However, motion is not synonymous
with change, but rather a co-extensive means by which that change occurs. . . .
Although human movement relies on physics and chemistry, it is not reducible
to a biomechanical phenomenon. Rather human movement is an organic phenomenon
born of the reality of the entire being (i.e., the being-at-work of the
entire organism). (Twietmeyer, 2010, p. 136)
Both materialistic and dualistic understandings of the human person fail. Motion is not
“physical” but born of the entire organism. Human beings are wholes, not mere bodies:
Living things are more than bodies; they are organized self-maintaining wholes.
Such organization, though it requires material, is not reducible to material.
This organization is a being-at-work-staying-itself, and that is exactly what
Aristotle says the soul is. The soul is the being-at-work of, or more traditionally
if inadequately put, the form of the body. (Twietmeyer, 2010, p. 143)
Human being is a type of activity whereby our identity is maintained by and through
change. Movement literally allows us to maintain our identity as living human beings.
Kinesiology (the study of human movement) is anything but a trivial discipline:
For human beings, motion is a fundamental aspect of human nature, encompassing
all that human beings are and do. To cease moving, in this richer
Aristotelian sense, is not simply to become sedentary, but to cease being
human. It is death. (Twietmeyer, 2010, p. 138)
Nutrition, for example, is necessary to remain a living human person. Without this type of
activity humans cannot remain alive. In Aristotelian language, nutrition is one example of
how humans stay-themselves by being-at-work. Human life is dynamic rather than static.
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Interestingly, even if one focuses solely on nutrition, one can still see the holistic nature of
human being, for nutrition is as much a function of heritage, culture, and sociology, as it is
geography, physiology, and biology.1
To summarize, Aristotle’s insights indicate that the
human being is an organic whole, whose entire being is dependent upon kinesis. If this is
true, then the currently dominant materialistic assumptions in the field of kinesiology are
an insufficient foundation upon which to proceed.
Polanyi’s (1962) insights cause the plausibility of a materialistic foundation for
kinesiology to crumble further. Knowledge, he argues, is born of the knower, who cannot
help but rely on fiduciary commitments in his pursuit of truth. “To avoid believing,”
Polanyi asserts, “one must stop thinking” (p. 314). Trust and authority are basic ingredients
of all knowledge. To explain this rather simple assertion he advanced a triadic theory
of knowledge. This triadic theory was a description of “from-to” knowledge. The triad
consisted of the self, subsidiaries, and focal point(s). The self (a person), reached out to
engage and understand part of the world (the focal point) through the subsidiaries she
had acquired (habits, skills, experience, culture, etc.). Understanding truth was a matter
of skilled acquisition. Access to truth was impossible outside of acculturated experience
and apprenticeship. “To learn by example,” Polanyi reminds us, “is to submit to authority”
(p. 53). It is for this very reason that tradition is so important. Knowledge, though
dependent upon individual skill and engagement, is impossible without either community
or belief. To summarize again, all knowledge depends upon culture.
Such thinking moderates the tension between scientists and humanists within the field
of kinesiology, for neither area of inquiry has epistemic superiority to the other, because
both types of inquiry rely on trust, authority, and skill. Yet although a re-conception of
kinesis and epistemology within the field of kinesiology leaves room for reconciliation, it
does not require it. Reconciliation must be initiated by the membership and leadership of
the field of kinesiology. This is why a deliberate examination of the field’s foundation is
so important. If holism is correct, if reconciliation between the sciences and the humanities
is not only possible but necessary, then kinesiologists must begin articulating a vision of
kinesiology as a reconciled holistic discipline.
The insights of Aristotle and Polanyi are so important because they indicate
that a materialistic definition of kinesiology is not self-evident. Therefore, insofar as
kinesiologists have taken a materialistic self-understanding for granted, the field’s selfunderstanding
is ripe for reappraisal. But this begs a very simple question. What measures
should be used to evaluate the health of a kinesiology department? In other words, what
practical impact do the technical insights of Aristotle and Polanyi have and how would these
insights be implemented? What difference would an embrace of their thinking have on the
field of kinesiology? What would an alternative foundation—one that was truly holistic—
look like? It is obvious, then, that my intention here is no longer theoretical. Rather, the
goal is to use the theoretical foundation provided by Aristotle and Polanyi to address the
practice of kinesiology by providing benchmark principles upon which to shape the future
of the discipline.
How might this be done? Aristotle’s understanding of the nature of kinesis as well
as Polanyi’s epistemology suggest four practical ways—four marks if you will—of a
truly holistic kinesiology department. First and foremost kinesiology departments must
encourage an explicitly holistic self-understanding through a direct and sustained engagement
with both the humanities and the sciences. Second, kinesiology departments must
develop a renewed appreciation of the central role played by experience (skill) and practice
in kinesiology. Third, kinesiology departments must embrace definitional specificity.
Finally, kinesiology departments must see the performance of physical activity as central
232 G. Twietmeyer
to their mission—including requiring the actual practice of skilled, culturally resonant
movement forms, in both undergraduate and graduate programs.
It goes without saying that such a proposal will be controversial. That does not mean,
however, that the pursuit of an operational understanding of “orthodoxy” in kinesiology
is mistaken. The boundaries and philosophical presuppositions of the field can either be
implicit or explicit, but they can never be eliminated. Kinesiology is too important to continue
to blow around in the philosophic wind. The nature and purpose of kinesiology must
be deliberately examined. So being, I welcome challenges, disagreement, and debate.
Mark #1: Holism & the Humanities
For the whole must be prior to the part. Separate hand or foot from the whole
body, and they will no longer be hand or foot except in name . . . . (Aristotle,
1981, p. 60; 1253a19).2
Kinesiologists must embrace a multi-dimensional approach to human locomotion that
embraces both the humanities and the sciences. As Aristotle insisted, the nature of kinesis
cannot be understood if it is reduced to math, physics, and chemistry. Human locomotion
is intentional and therefore bound up in ethics and values, as much as it is in biology.
Human beings are not static things, but rather dynamic rational organisms (beings-at-work).
Human beings are soul-filled creatures who yearn, hope, and desire. Human beings are also
indisputably historical beings. They have ancestors, and therefore a heritage that is both
biological and cultural. Our ideas are not fully our own. Ideas are born in part as the result
of our predecessors’ ideas, language, and values.3
Inheritance is inescapable. Deliberate
engagement with one’s culture and heritage would then seem to be a mark of education and
responsibility.
Kinesis cannot be properly understood if it is de-contextualized from the whole of
human life. Our being is not static and fixed but rather alive. It is in and through motion
that humans remain what they are. No account of self-directed locomotion makes sense
without perception and desire. Consequently, the kinesiological humanities must receive a
greater role in departmental curricula. Ideas, values and culture profoundly affect human
motion and physical activity, just as physiology and anatomy do.
It must be emphasized that this is not a call for the humanities to overtake the sciences
in kinesiology. Nor is it an attempt to avenge previous slights, but rather a call
to reconciliation.4
The aim is to point out the complementary and necessary role of the
humanities in departments of kinesiology. Culture, even in the sciences, is ubiquitous.
As philosopher Doug Anderson (2002) declares, “To know the mechanics of hitting tennis
balls effectively, but be ignorant of Arthur Ashe’s social battles, is to be an incomplete kinesiologist”
(p. 91). In other words, it is in scientists’ self-interest to embrace and defend the
role of the humanities in kinesiology. Similarly, if the tables were turned, humanists should
embrace and defend the vital importance of scientific inquiry to the field of kinesiology.
A proper understanding of human kinesis needs both types of inquiry.
Yet, it is the humanities that are currently being ignored in our discipline. This is most
unfortunate for although human inheritance is biological, chemical, and physical, it is also
cultural, intellectual, and metaphysical. Questions regarding the import, meaning, and value
of kinesiology will not and cannot be answered by turning solely to the sciences. In fact,
such an assertion only makes sense within the confines of a strict commitment to scientific
materialism, a worldview, that is a philosophy, in which atoms and void are the sum total of
Four Marks 233
reality and human consciousness is a mere epiphenomenon of underlying chemical machinery.
To say that materialism is a philosophy is not to make a pedantic point. On the contrary
it is vitally important. Materialism, whether true or false—and I am fully convinced it is
false—is born of commitment, not detached objective observation. That is not to say that
knowledge is mere commitment, but that commitment is inescapable. To the degree that we
find the truth, we always find it as situated and cultured human beings.
In other words, all commitments (even scientific ones) rely on ideas, values, and meanings.
Because of the vital role that such commitments play in understanding the human
person, to which the “study of human movement” is dedicated, every kinesiology undergraduate
program should have as part of the required curriculum a vigorous engagement
with the humanities (e.g., history, philosophy, sociology, literature, etc.). This should apply
across sub-disciplines; to students in athletic training as much as to students in teacher
preparation.
Although I have personal biases regarding curriculum content,5
the particular organization
of such an engagement with the humanities could be done effectively in many
ways. For instance a cross-disciplinary structure could integrate epistemological, ontological,
and scientific questions directly into a single course. A course designed around the
topic of “encouraging physical activity” for example, could provide ample opportunity to
investigate the role of the humanities in kinesiology.
A more traditional disciplinary model could also be followed. Courses in history, psychology,
philosophy, literature, or sociology would be added to the existing curriculum,
and then would be required across all majors within the department. However, specific curriculum
decisions are a function of interest or expertise, and should therefore be left in
the hands of the kinesiology departments themselves. Department faculty and department
heads know their own programs, goals, and resources.
Nevertheless, the claim that the humanities are vital may still seem questionable to
some.6
What value is there in having history, philosophy, and the “soft” sciences of sociology
and psychology in departments of kinesiology? Why are these sub-disciplines so
important to kinesiology? In short, the humanities are vital because they recognize the
essential role of the human, the local, and the idiosyncratic in the study of human movement.
Although explicit cases could be built for each area of the humanities, for the sake of
brevity, an expanded defense of only history and philosophy will be offered.
History matters in kinesiology because it allows students to engage their heritage and
see where ideas—both within and without the discipline—came from. Too often, such ideas
are merely taken as self-evident. The study of history centers students within an intellectual
and cultural tradition which gives them a sense of context; a sense that they are, as Aristotle
continually pointed out, born into the middle of things. Students of history learn that they
belong, for both better and for worse, to a tradition.
History sheds light on both human virtues and human failings. History allows students
to see that the human story is a story of choices, choices that were made, and choices that
must continue to be made regarding what matters in life, and what it means to be a human
being. Similarly, the future of kinesiology is also bound and defined by human choices that
may be either wise or foolish. Since such choices cannot be avoided, it would be wise then
to try and make informed choices.
A student who has no appreciation of the historical character of human culture
will be hamstrung when addressing the types of practical problems they encounter as
kinesiologists. That is, they will be ill-informed. For example, one might consider how
a recent kinesiology graduate would go about changing attitudes and behavior among their
students or clients regarding proper diet and nutrition. Changing such behavior is not just a
234 G. Twietmeyer
matter imparting knowledge regarding caloric intake. Nor is it merely a function of rational
argumentation.7
Nutrition is certainly a matter of science, but it is also a matter of culture,
values, and tradition. People eat what they eat because of how and where they were raised,
because of habits, because of memories they associate with certain foods, even because of
their deepest convictions.8
To change a person’s diet is not merely a matter of addressing
the science of caloric intake and expenditure, or of convincing “minds” that a healthy diet
is in their own best interest. It is a matter of engaging people who are situated, cultured,
and value-laden beings.
It is appropriate then, to reflect on—that is philosophize about—how such human
choices are made. By learning to think philosophically, students attempt to contextualize
and evaluate how such choices—whether about nutrition, exercise adherence, or even the
proper role of youth sport in society—should be made in the future. In fact such philosophical
choices are unavoidable. The only question is how they are made. Convictions regarding
the nature of reality, the scope and limits of knowledge, as well as the nature of the human
person, all deeply influence how one thinks about the field of kinesiology. What is motion?
What is a human being? What does it mean to know? How and why does kinesiology promote
the human good? The humanities, in short, are a direct engagement with, and call to,
human responsibility.
Scientific research is also engaged in serving such a call, but in a different way.
Through systematic experimentation, scientists attempt to understand the world. Such
understanding improves human lives; by improving humanity’s ability to alter and improve
conditions in the world. However, scientists take the nature of human responsibility for
granted; at least in terms of being a course of formal study within their discipline. In other
words, scientific data can influence normative conclusions, and give evidence in support of
certain normative conclusions, but it cannot ultimately decide between differing normative
conclusions.
Likewise, scientific understanding can offer solutions to many pressing human problems.
But that only furthers the point. Scientific research, as Polanyi insists, is not done
in a vacuum. No matter how vital science is in solving the world’s problems, pressing
human problems cannot be identified as problems through the writing of a complex
equation or through looking into a microscope. Scientific progress offers the possibility
of solutions, but does not demand them. Scientific progress absent moral progress is at
best impotent.9
Scientific inquiry is intimately tied to human concerns because science is a
human enterprise. Philosophy is integral to the scientific enterprise.
Studying the humanities helps students realize that all inquiry relies upon a cultural and
intellectual foundation beyond the scope of any individual. Inquiry relies on a community
that is necessarily broader than the particular expertise of the inquirer. Scientists constantly
rely on colleagues’ research and expertise without which they could not conduct their own
research. Polanyi (Polanyi & Prosch, 1975), a world class scientist himself, described the
idea this way: “Scientists must rely heavily for their facts on the authority they acknowledge
their fellow scientists to have” (p. 185). Humanists are no different. They rely on each
other’s work when looking for inspiration and ideas, as well as interpretation, insight, and
the vocabulary needed to speak about a particular problem. The simple matter of translation
makes this abundantly clear. For most, exposure to Dostoevsky, for instance, must rely on
the knowledge, skill, and insight of others.
However, this dependence is broader than a merely intra-disciplinary parochial
reliance. Both scientists and humanists also rely on one another. Science is philosophically
committed. Philosophy is scientifically bound. Scientists cannot escape how they
should approach their research and how it should be used. Philosophers cannot ignore
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scientific insight. To do so, would be to create a philosophy of no real value, born merely
of dreams.10
Both philosophers and scientists are bound to directly engage experience
in the world, even if their interpretations of the meaning of that engagement will sometimes
conflict. Although academic departments may be compartmentalized, human life
is not.
Kinesiology, rightly understood, is in a unique position to demonstrate this mutual
dependence to the rest of the Academy. Unfortunately many kinesiologists have philosophically
misconstrued experience by believing that human motion and human beings are
adequately described by a purely material world. One outcome of this type of worldview
is the explicit doubt of any truth claims that are not “objective,” or that are not based on
direct observations or careful measurements. According to such thinking, only quantifiable
data count. Since intangibles such as love, or truth, or justice cannot be measured they are
not real. The results of this philosophy are obvious. If the claims of materialism are true,
the need for the humanities in kinesiology is dubious at best.
Despite widespread dedication to materialism in kinesiology departments, no human
inquiry can proceed without commitment and trust. The ultimate foundation of knowledge
is belief not doubt. Intangibles make the world of tangible inquiry possible. No individual
can hold, understand, and verify all knowledge. No person has the intellectual
capacity, memory, or time to learn and verify all human knowledge. All inquiry, therefore,
no matter how critical, proceeds on a necessarily a-critical foundation. For example,
one cannot learn language without accepting its rules. One cannot accept the rules of
language and critically analyze them at the same time. For the very concept of critical
analysis is language bound. Therefore, skepticism cannot be an ultimate epistemic principle.
“Strict skepticism,” Polanyi (1962) insists, “should deny itself the possibility of
advocating its own doctrine, since its consistent practice would preclude the use of language,
the meaning of which is subject to all the notorious pitfalls of inductive reasoning”
(p. 315).
The a-critical foundation upon which all knowledge is built, is formed out of the local
culture, values, and language of the knower. Polanyi (1962) is blunt in making this point:
“To postpone mental decisions on account of their conceivable fallibility would necessarily
block all decisions for ever, and pile up the hazards of hesitation to infinity. It would amount
to voluntary mental stupor. Stupor alone can eliminate both belief and error” (pp. 314–315).
It is high time—especially in a field as ripe with cross-disciplinary opportunities as
kinesiology—that scientists and humanists begin to admit their codependence.
This type of cross-disciplinary respect will only flower in departments that have
adopted a holistic self-understanding.11
Unfortunately this call to include human values,
purposes, and meanings has all too often been neglected in departments of kinesiology. Yet,
even when ignored, stewardship plays a necessary role in human life. Today’s kinesiologists
are temporary caretakers of the discipline, a discipline they inherited, a discipline they will
leave behind. Human beings carry, for a little while, a torch left to them, that they—in
turn—must leave to others:
The social order was built, maintained, and left to us not just by a vague and
nameless antiquity but by particular people, within living memory, whose serial
deaths link us to the past. We receive the buildings they put together, the languages
they spoke, the books they wrote, the ideas they had, the economic
opportunities they made possible, the moral consequences of the things they
did, the memories they left in us—just as others will receive ours. (Bottum,
2007, p. 24)
236 G. Twietmeyer
Kinesiology, no matter how much some kinesologists may try to ignore the fact, is not
free of this historical reality. Only a naively “whiggish” (Butterfield, 1965) interpretation
of the history of kinesiology, would assume that the present configuration of kinesiology is
inherently superior to the past.12
Both progress and regress are possible. Kinesiology, like
any discipline, is a philosophically and historically laden field. Debates regarding the nature
and purpose of the field, as the work of Roberta J. Park (1980, 2005) clearly demonstrates,
go back to the very founding days of the discipline in the United States. As was discussed
in Kinesis and the Nature of the Human Person, the history of the philosophy of the human
person is equally rich.
Philosophic arguments have been and continue to be employed in kinesiology.
Therefore, a well educated student of kinesiology must be conversant in the history and the
philosophy of kinesiology. This, in turn requires at the least, an introductory engagement
with philosophy and history as such. Kinesis engages the whole human being. Kinesiology
departments, if they are to understand human movement, must also engage the whole
human being!
Mark #2: Experience, Practice, Apprenticeship
All knowing is personal knowing—participation through indwelling. (Polanyi
& Prosch, 1975, p. 44)
Kinesiologists must embrace the centrality of skill(s) to the discipline. The humanities
give kinesiologists the tools necessary to see the full range of possible futures open to
the discipline. Polanyi forcefully demonstrates that these evaluative tools are only gained
through apprenticeship and practice. What is obvious to the scientist is missed by the
laymen. What is obvious to the plumber is missed by the scientist. The master embodies
knowledge that the novice does not. Apprenticeship and training literally opens up
whole new arenas of knowledge. Through skill acquisition, the student learns to see what
was unseen before. It is vital, then, that kinesiologists reject the materialistic claim that
knowledge is a self-evident matter of “bare facts” that requires no skills, judgment, or
adjudication. Kinesiologists must be willing to stand up for the power of practical, inarticulate,
and embodied knowledge. “Know-how” is born of human experience and human
experience cannot be entirely encapsulated by textbooks or procedure manuals.
As a consequence, skill is central to knowledge. The student absorbs knowledge
through emulation and observation, as much as through explicit instruction. Because so
much of what is learned is non-verbal, embodied non-verbal skills are understood as legitimate
knowledge forms. If this is correct, physical education and kinesiology cannot be
accused, on the grounds of being primarily “non-verbal” and “non-theoretical,” of being
inherently inferior knowledge domains.
A new attitude towards experience and practice is possible. Knowledge is not the
impersonal accretion of the explicit and the measurable. Skills, connoisseurship, and the
inarticulate have a rightful place at the foundation of knowledge. Expertise is a matter
of growth. It is a matter of kinesis, a movement from ignorance to insight that requires
time, effort, and trust. Expertise in any given domain is a skill-set acquired by situated and
historical beings in the world. Knowledge is an art embodied in the personal skill of the
knower.
To become an exercise scientist, for example, is more than merely assenting to the
appropriate theories. Rather, it is to engage, soak up, and learn the techniques, perception,
values, and intuitions of the discipline. It is to learn from and then become part of a
Four Marks 237
community. Similarly, in the performing arts becoming a dancer is more than mastering the
pronunciation of plié or relevé. A dancer must learn to embody the plié, from which they
reach out to the rich world of self-expression offered through dance. Neither the dancer
nor the scientist can see as much during their apprenticeship as they will upon achieving
mastery of some of the central skills of the discipline. Both empirical observation and
artistic expression are dependent on the development and refinement of skills. Such skills,
such knowledge, literally move the knower. They are changed. They are liberated to
do more, see more, and understand more than they had before. This has two important
implications. First, there is no need for kinesiologists to defend themselves by hiding
behind theory. Second, activity classes, student teaching, internships, practicums, and
clinical experience are absolutely vital to the field.
Of course, some might argue that although skills are central to all knowledge domains,
the importance of some skill domains trump the importance of others. Is it not the case
that kinesiology students should be more skilled at scientific research than that they are
skilled at sport? Is it not clear that science is more important than sport? In a general sense,
there is much truth to this point. Certainly education is about learning important skills, and
this mandates serious reflection on the question of “what counts as important?” However,
good philosophical reflection on the nature and role of kinesis in human lives demands a
reconsideration of the importance of supposedly trivial skills such as those found in tennis.
Being highly skilled at tennis, may in some senses be inferior to being highly skilled
at scientific research, but not in every sense.13
Traditionally, the university has been
dedicated—in principle if not always in practice—to respecting the breadth of human excellence.
It is true that the exact nature of human beings and human excellence remain matters
of contention. It is also true that lines need to be drawn. However, despite these difficulties,
most academics have no trouble agreeing on the importance of the “renaissance” principle
that overspecializing in one type of insight warps human development. Universities are
(at least theoretically) interested in the universitas, the whole. They are in the business of
creating good people not just good scientists . . . or good tennis players.14
The recognition of the common role skill plays in knowledge domains should only
deepen this holistic respect. Tennis, although it does not have the gravitas that scientific
research does, is still a source of rich personal human meaning. Therefore “tennis” is not
justified on the grounds that it produces important things, just as music, art, and theatre are
not justified on the grounds that they produce important things. These practices are so fascinating
and meaningful that they are justifiable and important in and of themselves. Such
meaning is intrinsically valuable and should not be easily dismissed. Nor should the potential
instrumental goods such skills provide be dismissed. Tennis certainly has the potential
to increase health, lower stress, and build community. Although at first glance this reasoning
may appear insignificant in the face of scientific research that can cure disease and ease suffering,
further reflection on the point suggests otherwise. As I have said elsewhere (2007):
Play is one of the reasons humans want to live. In other words, we consider
starvation, disease, and death bad things, only because we consider life worth
living. But on what grounds is life worthwhile? I would argue that play is
fundamental or elemental in nearly all of them. Joy, art, games, sport, humor,
music, spirituality, are arguably all deeply informed by play or its implications.
(p. 208)
Obviously scientific research is also often pursued on such meaningful levels. The point is
not to elevate tennis over science. The point is to insist that intrinsic goods should trump
238 G. Twietmeyer
the crudely utilitarian motivations that often underlie the claim that some skills are more
important than others. Finally, it is worth remembering that one set of skills need not come
at the expense of others. Disciplines often interpenetrate, facilitate, and affect one another.
The university should be dedicated to developing the whole person. Both science and “play”
deserve an important place at the table in departments of kinesiology and in the Academy
as a whole.
If skills, apprenticeship, and practice are at the roots of human knowing, then physical
education and kinesiology are—insofar as they teach skills—a legitimate domain of human
knowledge. Athletic and recreational skills are no less significant than the skills found in the
arts or the sciences. To be a physically educated person is to live in a richer world, a world
full of experiences, opportunities, and environments that are unavailable to the uneducated.
The quality of life of a child is clearly threatened by illiteracy. So too, a child’s quality of
life is threatened by kinesthetic illiteracy.15
These insights into the centrality of skill to knowing should also help kinesiologists
see value in areas outside their own realm of expertise,16
which in turn should help them
embrace a broader conception of knowledge and research. This would directly affect the
hiring and tenure process as well as the prestige of clinical faculty/instructors. If skills,
particularly non-verbal skills are essential to knowledge, then they should also be considered
as valid academic qualifications in sub-disciplines built on cultivating those types of
skills. If an artist can receive tenure by demonstrating mastery of a particular medium,
why should a pedagogist (who is in the business of teaching skills, just as the art professor
is) be evaluated on the basis of empirical research alone (Kretchmar, 2005)? It would
seem in pedagogy at least, that there should be other relevant measures of scholarly output
besides traditional research. To demand that a pedagogist master empirical research before
being taken seriously as a scholar is to misunderstand the nature of knowledge. It is to
deify “knowing that” and to undervalue “knowing how.” It follows then that kinesiology
departments should consider, where applicable, a broadening of the scholarly evaluation of
faculty.
Although kinesiologists should be generalists in spirit, who respect the insights and
research methodologies of the other sub-disciplines of kinesiology, there are important reasons
to insist on continuing the practice of specialization within field. If mastery of skills
is central to attaining knowledge, and if apprenticeship builds skill over time, then specialization
is vital in higher education. Connoisseurs are not generalists. Mastery requires
specificity.
Mark #3: Specificity
Each citizen acquires a thousand sons, but these are not one man’s sons; any of
them is equally the son of any person, and as a result will be equally neglected
by everyone. (Aristotle, 1981, p. 108; 1261b42)
Kinesiologists must embrace definitional specificity. Reflecting on the nature of
connoisseurship indicates how important this is. Abstract definitions of the field’s core
such as “physical activity” have severe limitations; at least insofar as these definitions are
a retreat from, or are uncomfortable with, the specific activities that actually make up the
field. To be committed to “movement” absent of content, is a function of rationalization;
be it political, educational, or ontological.17
A passionate commitment to “movement”
is impossible, just as a passionate commitment to “humanity” is impossible. One cannot
Four Marks 239
love all people “without first loving particular, individual humans” (Twietmeyer, 2007,
p. 206). No one is passionate about, nor an expert in abstractions. Sport philosopher Scott
Kretchmar (2008) makes the case this way: “Likewise, we rarely hear anyone say that they
have fallen in love with movement. I’m not even sure what that would be like! But we do
understand people who say they are golfing fanatics, skiing enthusiasts, distance runners, or
that they fell in love with table tennis” (p. 10). If kinesiologists are going to be passionate
they need to have something tangible around which to rally. Passion is a function of relationships.
Passion is a function of holding something valuable in common. Knowledge, as
we have seen, relies on apprenticeship and community. It relies on time and devotion. To be
an expert is to dedicate one’s attention to something specific. It follows that specificity, not
abstraction, should be kinesiologists’ mantra. A core, if it is to have any gravitational pull
(unity, inspiration, passion) cannot be afraid of specific content.
Yet, despite the real weaknesses of abstraction, such thinking is still dominant in
kinesiology today. There are two commonly used objections to the claim that a more specific
core such as “games, play, and sport” is better for kinesiology than more abstract
definitions of the core. First, following Newell (1990a, 1990b, 1990c, 2007), critics of
specificity argue that “games, play, and sport” is too narrow of a definition. These critics
allege that embracing such a definition excludes too many activities that should be a part
of kinesiology. Furthermore, such a narrow focus would stunt research opportunities by all
but eliminating theoretical research in the field. Under a “games, play, and sport” paradigm
the kinesiological sciences would be limited to applied research that investigates “sport” or
closely related phenomena.
Second, it is charged that moving away from “games, play, and sport” is politically
advantageous. Games, play and sport do not sell well, particularly in the Academy. More
“academic,” more abstract names and titles, such as “kinesiology” and “physical activity”
give the field much needed respect. In turn, this respect makes the procurement of scarce
resources in higher education that much easier to achieve.
What then, given the clear logic of these criticisms, could a defender of a “games, play,
and sport” model be thinking? First, that some types of “physical activity” always are, and
always should be, excluded from departmental and school curricula. It makes no sense to
be all things to all people. It is philosophically and practically impossible. If that is the
case, what then is our core? Games, play, and sport, though still abstractions, though still
problematic, seem to be the most honest and accurate representation of the heart of the
field.
Second, the proponents of the “games, play, and sport” model would insist that the
terminology indicates the embrace of specificity, not a dogmatic or rigid commitment to
exclusion. It is both practically justifiable and philosophically consistent to say that surrounding
a “games, play, and sport” core would be other similar and culturally resonant
physical activities such as exercise, and dance. It would also be philosophically consistent
to say that a “games, play, and sport” model summarizes the core of kinesiology without
encompassing all of it. Dance—for example—would be a core element without being
named every time the core is mentioned.
Of course, under such a defense of the “games, play, and sport” paradigm, it might be
rightly pointed out that “physical activity” is a more succinct and less clumsy placeholder
for the field. If physical activity, and this is key, is understood as a placeholder for rather
than a retreat from the specifiable and culturally resonant recreative activities that make up
the field, then this criticism is exactly on target. It is activities such as baseball, and square
dance, and fly fishing, and jogging that are the core of kinesiology. The key point is to focus
on the centrality and intrinsic importance of the activities themselves. The inter-relationship
240 G. Twietmeyer
between, as well as the fundamental importance of these activities—in their various particular
forms—is arguably clearer the more specific the core is. But ultimately terminology is
unimportant if the commitment to the indispensability of the underlying specific activities
remains.
In other words, terminology does not matter as much as the motivation for using it. The
key is not to banish “physical activity” or “movement” from kinesiology. The key is to see
that a holistic kinesiology department will use these words as convenient placeholder terms
that stand in for and summarize the specific activities that are the core of the discipline.
Although still deeply important concepts in the field, their importance would be moderated
by the fact that much of the time “physical activity” and “movement” are actually less
accurate descriptions than “games, play, and sport” of the actual practice of skilled human
kinesis in the discipline of kinesiology.
Although admitting “games, play, and sport” entrance into the core of kinesiology is
imperfect, it is far superior to an ambiguous and abstract interpretation of the term “physical
activity.” As currently understood, “physical activity” all too often suggests in its very ambiguity,
that particularity, human experience, and human culture are insignificant concerns for
kinesiologists.18
Such ambiguity also implies that what really matters is the abstract, the
generalizable, and the measurable. A commitment to “physical activity” seems indifferent
to the content and context of the activities that make up the core of the field. In contrast,
though “games, play, and sport” might not hit every descriptive nail in the field on the head,
they undoubtedly hit three of the most important.19
Let us consider what “physical activity” looks like absent such reforms. Newell
(1990b) argues that physical activity should be “very broadly defined” (p. 247). Following
Newell, the textbook definition of physical activity in Introduction to Kinesiology (2000) is,
“intentional, voluntary movement directed toward achieving an identifiable goal,” which
includes “typing, handwriting, sewing, and surgery” (Hoffman & Harris, p. 8). To call
kinesiology’s core “physical activity” in this sense leaves open for potential study every
single activity a human person engages in. How is this preferable? When “physical activity”
is understood in this way, direct associations between kinesiology and sport, recreation,
or exercise, are left with only two possible explanations. Either an association between
kinesiology and sport is implicitly taken for granted though never actually justified by the
terminology; or in the name of logical consistency, the relationship is explicitly reduced to
contingency, a historical anachronism.
Neither situation is healthy. The first is too precarious, for it lacks any philosophical
justification of the relationship between kinesiology and sport. If the relationship is in fact
solid, then why play word games when describing the core? The second scenario is born
of this ambiguity and acts like a cancer slowly consuming and destroying a once healthy
relationship between kinesiology, sport, and exercise. This cancer will not ultimately be
satisfied by the mere concession of contingency, for a contingent relationship is, after all,
an unnecessary relationship.
Therefore there is no reason to believe that an ambiguous core, that constantly requires
cutting away the largess of its own ambiguity, is healthier than having a specific, but not
all-encompassing core. It is better to be precise if slightly inaccurate, than to make both
accuracy and precision irrelevant by making the target so big that any physical activity hits
the bull’s-eye. This is particularly true when the field of kinesiology seems to be on the
verge of disintegration (Rikli, 2006). How exactly will “physical activity” hold kinesiology
together? How well has “physical activity” as traditionally understood held kinesiology
together? If physical activity is such powerful glue, why do so many fractures and fissures
in the field remain?
Four Marks 241
If one turns one’s attention to the question of research, it must be conceded that the
scenario as painted by critics would be lamentable. However there is no necessary relationship
between defining the core as precisely and honestly as possible, and an insistence that
research within the discipline must be strictly limited to “applied research.” Nor would it
have to be strictly tied to sport. Why must a specific core mandate research rigidity?20
Scientific concerns are, as Polanyi insists, born of and dependent upon human concerns.
It is not a coincidence, nor a source of shame that biomechanics and exercise
physiology have grown up in gymnasia. The location of kinesiology departments in gymnasiums
and recreation buildings should not therefore be seen as a historical anachronism,
or as an embarrassment in need of remedy. A specific core should both bind us together and
be a source of inspiration; it should not be a source of heavy handed restrictions.
Under a reformed paradigm, games, play, and sport, would be at the core of
kinesiology, without being the sum total of kinesiology. A core, if it is to be of any value,
needs to be part of a whole larger than itself. Certainly sport has spurred, and will continue
to spur research into more abstract questions of gait, posture, motor control, and learning.
It is also certainly the case that once more abstract questions have been raised new
inquiry can begin, at that level, without “offering sacrifices at the altar of sport.” However,
although scientists are free to pursue theoretical research without any direct application to
games, play, or sport, scientists in kinesiology should not be ashamed of, nor look to reduce
the central role games, play, and sport, play in their departments.
A specific core if embraced in a spirit of intellectual inquiry rather than doctrinaire
conformity would not threaten such research. Theoretical research would be done within a
larger context. It is worth remembering Polanyi’s (1962) point that all research, no matter
how theoretical, is done within such a context. Scientists investigate what matters to human
beings, what they find intriguing, what they believe will bear fruit. “For, as human beings,
we must inevitably see the universe from a centre lying within ourselves and speak about
it in terms of a human language shaped by exigencies of human intercourse. Any attempt
to rigorously eliminate our human perspective from our picture of the world must lead to
absurdity” (p. 3).
In this vision theoretical researchers would be free to pursue their own questions, but
such questions would be seen to orbit around a specific core. If, however, it is charged that
theoretical research must be entirely free of a relationship to such specific content, then
there is no need for the disparate sub-disciplines of kinesiology to be together in any type
of department at all. If that is the preferred scenario, how then is the danger of “exclusion”
any greater than the danger of “inclusion”? How can kinesiologists—when under such an
inclusive paradigm—honestly adjudicate which sub-disciplines actually belong together?
Furthermore, on what grounds could they defend these choices? Although some scientists
may consider this type of proposal stifling, how can kinesiology survive with a core
so abstract that it leaves kinesiologists with essentially nothing in common? In the event
that “inclusion” continues to be the dominant philosophy of kinesiology, the continued
dissolution of kinesiology departments will be the inevitable result.
Finally, although political concerns should not be ignored, it seems naïve to think that
purely political solutions to kinesiology’s problems are possible. In the end, the critics
of physical education and sport take issue—right or wrong—with more than the field’s
nomenclature. Following from this insight, a disturbing question must then be asked. Are
kinesiologists moving away from “games, play, and sport” in search of academic respect,
or are they moving away from “sport” because they agree with the critics that “sport” is
a trivial, non-intellectual, and childish domain? Unfortunately in many cases the answer
appears to be yes on both counts. Yet, it does not have to be this way. If kinesiologists learn
242 G. Twietmeyer
to engage the philosophic foundation of the discipline, they will see principled grounds
upon which to stand and defend themselves. They will see that there are grounds upon
which to defend the intrinsic human importance of “games, play and sport.”
The current strategy of accommodation makes little sense. It will lead either to disintegration,
as disparate and unrelated sub-disciplines slowly break free of their purely
bureaucratic bonds, or it will lead to a department so blurred in purpose that it bears no
resemblance to it historic roots, departments in which there will almost certainly be little or
no humanistic presence. Most importantly, understanding will be stifled, for a department
of kinesiology dedicated to only the scientific aspects of kinesiology is incapable of fully
understanding human movement.
Maintaining the status quo is not a sufficient solution. The slow but steady transformation
of kinesiology into a purely scientific field will lead to the same end result of
disintegration, with everyone going their separate ways. The only difference is that scientists
would keep the name kinesiology for a newly exclusive field. One can see, in
the imagined scenario, how a deep and abiding commitment to “inclusion” often leads
to exclusive results.
While specificity regarding the core nature of kinesiology is needed, there is no need to
re-ignite the name wars. Kinesiology is a fine name for the field, and there is nothing wrong
with gaining politically from the name change. In fact, as stridently as I have argued for the
importance of “games, play, and sport,” it is worth reiterating that I would be comfortable
with “physical activity” remaining the name for the core if the philosophical underpinnings
behind such abstraction shifted in the directions that have been proposed. “Physical activity”
must be seen as human activity not physical activity. Human beings must not be seen
as machines. The soul must be recognized.21
Specificity must not be seen as an inherent
vice. Motion must be seen holistically as a fundamental and meaningful aspect of beings
that value, perceive and desire. Knowledge must be understood as more than bare empirical
facts. Embodied skills must be celebrated rather than tolerated or denied.
Problems arise however when the motivation for name changes and ambiguity is
shame. Avoiding such problems is why a reevaluation of what the term kinesiology means
is so important. Kinesis is far richer and more important than most kinesiologists have ever
imagined. Human locomotion is the source of incredibly meaningful human activity. It is a
part of what it means to be a human being.
It is again worth pointing out the value of such human experiences. It is again worth
reiterating how these meaningful experiences embrace rather than shun specificity. “Sliding
into second base just ahead of the tag,” “running to daylight,” and “catching your second
wind” are never experienced as abstractions, or theoretical injunctions. They are not functions
of “movement” but functions of baseball, football, and running. They are experienced
in the rich, sensual, and value laden world of time and space. These experiences engage us
as human beings, not mere bodies.
Games, play, and sport, among other wonders, make our often troubled and painful
lives, just a little bit brighter.22
These specific experiences create passion. They give us one
more reason to affirm the goodness of life. More importantly for kinesiologists, they give
us reason to affirm the goodness of our field. As Polanyi (Polanyi & Prosch, 1975) argued,
human beings are “carried away” (p. 73) by such experiences. We dwell in them and they
become part of who we are. Passion is best developed through actual experience; through
direct engagement with the activity itself.
Polanyi’s re-conception of knowledge and Aristotle’s holistic understanding of motion
and its role in the human person allow kinesiologists to develop backbone and pride about
the meaningful nature of their field. There is no longer a need to hide behind abstraction.
Four Marks 243
This should allow kinesiologists to focus on the intrinsic value of “mere games” without
immediately retreating to utilitarian justifications when attacked. Sometimes it is good to
be good for nothing!23
Polanyi was fond of saying that the more meaningful something
was the more real it was (Polanyi & Prosch, 1975). “Games, play, and sport” certainly bear
the mark of being meaningful. The people who should know this best must start standing
up for their intrinsic worth.
Mark #4: Activity
Connoisseurship, like skill, can be communicated only by example, not by
precept. (Polanyi, 1962, p. 54)
Kinesiologists should require “activity classes” at all levels of study in kinesiology,
even graduate study.24
We must learn to show why we matter, by embodying and cultivating
the actual practice of specific and meaningful movement forms. As both Polanyi and Doug
Anderson argue, academic arguments can never fully carry the day. For such arguments are
by nature incapable of expressing the visceral appeal of the activities themselves. To truly
understand the argument in favor of kinesiology is to have already “dwelt-in,” the type of
specific movement form(s) that have given rise to this academic field. As Anderson (2002)
reminds us, “This good [the importance of gym class] cannot be argued nearly so well as
it can be felt in the actual experiences of moving” (p. 93). This type of direct experience
encourages kinesiologists to stand up for themselves and remain confident even in the face
of criticism and scorn. They do not need the approval of others because what they profess
has actually changed and improved their own lives. Such insight and confidence is only
found, however, in the actual practice of moving well. Anderson makes the same point
when he states “The meaning of movement must be had as well as be learned about” (p. 92).
Therefore, kinesiologists and physical educators should demand that activity classes
are not only required, but graded on performance not just effort (Kretchmar, 2005). To grade
on “effort” or “participation” is to indicate to both students and the larger Academy that the
subject matter is in fact trivial, that skill and knowledge in this particular domain are in fact
optional. It is to concede that the physical education is not real education. If physical education
matters, if physical education makes for a better life, if human beings are beings in
the world, then it is important to learn how to perform well—that is, skillfully—at activities
that have been and continue to be important to people!25
These “movement” experiences are embodied as well as specific, both to time,
place, and the type of activity. Human beings are not indifferent to place. Commenting
on Aristotle’s understanding of place, philosopher Nathan Anderson (2004) insists that,
“Unlike geometrical spaces, places are not indifferent to that which they contain. Indeed
they seem to have a kind of power” (p. 5). These movement experiences are lived in the
world and are enhanced, or hindered, by the places in which they occur.
There is a specific interaction between a locale and the human beings in that place.
Similarly, these experiences are not indifferent to skill, tradition, or community. In fact,
as skill is built, the dynamic relationship between place (playground) and that which it
contains (the player) can itself change. A long-term committed engagement with baseball,
or karate, or swimming, will grow skilled players. Developing skill is a historical process.
This type of dedicated relationship between a player and a playground liberates people, by
freeing them to experience skillfully, a domain in which they were previously unskilled,
clumsy, or even afraid. As a consequence, both the player and the place have changed
(Kretchmar, 2005).
244 G. Twietmeyer
It follows that understanding and defining the core of kinesiology may ultimately be
best served not by reformed terminology (though that is a discussion worth having) but
rather by a renewed commitment to active participation in the particular activities themselves.
It is the practice of skilled physical activity that will hold the field together. “If there
is to be a new passion for the profession,” philosopher Doug Anderson (2002) declares,
“I think it must come from the perennial heart of its studies, from reawakening to the
experiences of movement” (p. 95).
It is this insight that in part explains my commitment to vigorously defending
specificity within the core; passion is generated through the skillful practice of individuals
engaged with specific types of physical activity. Although “games, play, and sport”
do not encompass all of these activities, the terminology—for all its limitations—openly
acknowledges the importance of practice, skill, and context. By better specifying the types
of activities, kinesiologists are reminded that the individual—that is, specific—practice of
these physical activities are the heart of the discipline.
What then would this requirement of activity classes in departments of kinesiology
look like? Certainly it would not require the elimination of theoretical work from the
field. Rather the requirement of physical activity by both graduate and undergraduate
students would remind everyone in kinesiology that they are researching, learning, and
theorizing about something in the real world, something that deeply matters to human
beings. Something that is so powerful that experiences with particular movement forms
have been described as transcendent or even religious experiences (Berger, 1969; Herrigel,
1981). Because of the power and importance of the actual practice of physical activity
to the field, it only seems appropriate that the next generation of kinesiologists is
exposed directly—within the confines of their programs—to the wonders of moving
well.
Theoretical research in kinesiology is vitally important, but such research needs a target.
Therefore, although graduate students who are majoring in research heavy disciplines
should not be turned into generalists, a basic but serious engagement with the actual practice
of physical activity should be required. Programs that adopted such a recommendation
would not be changing their curriculums radically; they would simply acknowledge the
centrality of practice, by requiring an activity class or classes as part of their program.26
Because of this requirement, sport philosophers would not be free to leave their heads in
clouds, moving only for the sake of scratching their chins while in deep contemplation, nor
would scientists be free to hole up in their labs, examining the physiology, anatomy, and
mechanics of such movement only through microscopes, cadavers, and theoretical models.
Contemplation and scientific research are no doubt important to kinesiology, but they are
not the core of kinesiology.
Rather than being ever-penitent regarding activities such as “sport,” kinesiologists must
instead be proud of such specific human movement forms. Kinesiologists should jealously
guard them as the treasures they are. Being associated with games, play, and sport is a
privilege not a burden. The practice of specific movement—whether weight training, swimming,
or dance—should no longer be feared as prima facie evidence of “exclusion”; as if
exclusion was by nature a bad thing. Engagement with the specific is one of the best ways
to come to theorize about the general. To stand for everything is in actuality to stand for
nothing. (Polanyi & Prosch, 1975) clarifies this point beautifully regarding religion: “These
must of course be specific rites and myths—not just rites and myths in general. There are
no such things. Religion ‘in general’ is thus not religion, just as language in ‘general’ is not
language. To be religious we must have a religion” (p. 179). It is just as true of kinesiology.
Movement in general is not kinesiology!
Four Marks 245
“In-dwelling” in this way is the key to a passionate and engaged department that
has a sense of common purpose, and respect for one another. As many voices, as many
viewpoints, and as much experience as possible is necessary in the continuing struggle to
articulate, understand, and embody the amazing human phenomenon that kinesiology is
charged with professing. We must grow our understanding of what we should be preaching
as kinesiologists. Such preaching will never flower however if not rooted in the actual practice
of the “games, play, and sport,” call it what you will, that so fascinate human beings,
and of which we as kinesiologists are so mysteriously ashamed.
Notes
1. Insects for instance, due to their abundance, high nutritional content, and flavor, are on the menu
across the globe (Dicke & Huis, 2011). However in the United States and much of the Western
world the thought of ingesting insects is disgusting. Obviously the consumption of insects is an
acquired taste, dependent not upon mere reason, but also upon culture.
2. 1253a19 refers to the Bekker numbers, a cross-translation reference marker for Aristotle’s texts.
3. In turn, all of these cultural influences cross-pollinate with our biological inheritance. Genes and
ideas are inseparably linked. Our biology limits and influences our choices. Our choices reform
and guide our biology. For recent scientific support of this type of thinking see, Hedden, Ketay,
Aron, Markus, and Gabrieli, (2008), “Cultural Influences on Neural Substrates of Attentional
Control,” Psychological Science, 19(1), pp. 12–17.
4. Nor should scientists see this call to reconciliation as a threat. Holism does not ignore or denigrate
science. It does however boldly insist that a science built on the assumptions of materialism is
incapable of adequately describing reality.
5. I would recommend a core history class that covers the broad range of historical engagement with
sport and physical activity, as well as a core philosophy class that introduces basic philosophical
concepts as well as some of the key philosophic dilemmas in the field.
6. This may be a function of “catch-22” logic. Because the humanities are considered unimportant,
course offerings are thin and the courses themselves are often unimpressive. For example, many
sport ethics classes are currently taught by people without any training in philosophy. This lack
of quality and rigor is then used as evidence to justify the neglect of the humanities. The classes
are soft because the subject matter is unimportant. The subject matter is unimportant because the
classes are so soft.
7. This is not meant in any way to denigrate the vitally important role science has to play in the
promotion of health. The emphatically pro-humanities tone found in this article is a function of
the current state of kinesiology, in which the importance of the humanities is doubted on both
theoretical and practical levels.
8. Religious dietary restrictions should readily come to mind, but so should the eating habits
resulting from the ethical commitments (whether right or wrong) of hunters, vegans, and
vegetarians.
9. A similar point is made by Pope Benedict XVI (2007) in his recent Encyclical Spe Salvi. “To put
it another way: the ambiguity of progress becomes evident. Without doubt, it offers new possibilities
for good, but it also opens up appalling possibilities for evil—possibilities that formerly did
not exist. We have all witnessed the way in which progress, in the wrong hands, can become and
has indeed become a terrifying progress in evil. If technical progress is not matched by corresponding
progress in man’s ethical formation, in man’s inner growth (cf. Eph 3:16; 2 Cor 4:16),
then it is not progress at all, but a threat for man and for the world.”
10. Even if a philosopher disagrees with the interpretation of the results in a given scientific paper,
they must engage the data, methodology, or assumptions of the paper in order to critique it.
11. For it is only within a holistic framework that a department can accomplish two vital goals.
First holism allows for pride in the profession, and second holism asserts the vital importance
246 G. Twietmeyer
of humanistic inquiry. Dualism allows for the second but not the first. Dualism takes humanistic
inquiry seriously, but in quarantining and elevating the mind from the body, leaves kinesiology
in a constantly defensive posture.
12. “Whiggish history” refers to the idea that history is necessarily progressive. Tomorrow is
always better than today. Things are always getting better. The present moment is necessarily
a culmination of all that came before it.
13. It is true that not all arenas of skill should be considered important on the basis of skill alone.
Universities seem to rely on arenas of skill that contribute to “human flourishing.” Although the
precise meaning of such a term is debatable, it should be clear that skill domains that harm human
flourishing (by being cruel, sociopathic, or banal) would not be considered important. As Polanyi
saw, adjudicating such distinctions is a matter of tacit knowledge, and personal judgment.
14. Whether this conception of the university still exists has been seriously questioned. “Universities
have become, perhaps irremediably, fragmented and partitioned institutions, better renamed
‘multiversities,’ as Clark Kerr suggested almost 50 years ago. I remarked of Aquinas, and I
could equally have remarked of Newman, that his conception of the university was informed
by his conception of the universe. By contrast the conception of the university presupposed by
and embodied in the institutional forms and activities of contemporary research universities is
not just one that has nothing much to do with any particular conception of the universe, but one
that suggests strongly that there is no such thing as the universe, no whole of which the subject
matters studied by the various disciplines are all parts or aspects, but instead just a multifarious
set of assorted subject matters” (MacIntyre, 2009, p. 174).
15. The most obvious content area in which to develop such literacy, as well as the one most historically
associated with physical education is that of games, play and sport. While the case could
be made that games, play, and sport are not the necessary province of physical education, such
recreational and athletic activities are important human activities and would therefore (especially
after being buttressed by Aristotle and Polanyi) seem to be worthy of academic study. Why would
kinesiologists, of all people, want to distance themselves from games, play, and sport? Are they
not our “pearl of great price”? If games, play, and sport are not, what is?
16. Such a re-commitment to the role of skill, apprenticeship, and experience could also facilitate
the growth of cross-disciplinary research in kinesiology. If the sub-disciplines of kinesiology are
built on the same epistemic foundation, and if the sub-disciplines of kinesiology actually crosspollinate
each other, then cross-disciplinary research is not only politically advantageous, but
may actually be a key to deepening the efficacy of research within the field.
17. By political rationalization, I mean that “movement” sells better. By educational rationalization
I mean simply that play, games and sport are often accused of being both non-academic
and childish, while movement sounds serious and scientific. By ontological rationalization I
mean something similar. This type of rationalization claims that sport is ontologically insufficient
because it is merely a “body” activity. Given such assumptions, abstraction makes perfect
sense.
18. Nor is the ultimate logical insufficiency of “play, games, and sport” unique. It is true that a core
defined as “play, games, and sport,” cannot exclude chess or monopoly from a literal interpretation
of the core, but neither can a literal interpretation of art exclude quilting or fashion design or
carpentry from its core. Similarly everyone knows what physical education is, even though the
term itself is—if taken literally—overly broad.
19. I am convinced that “physical activity” has been accepted as the core of the field—in the name
of inclusion—despite the fact that it aims at, and hits no nails on the head. It is of course true that
the type of specificity I am proposing, if it were to avoid a sense of insular self-superiority and
chauvinism, would need a broad, outward looking disposition.
20. One speculative answer for the resistance to specificity is that ambiguity makes it is easier to
recruit “big-time” or “name” faculty to a kinesiology department. A department centered around
an abstract core like “movement” instead of “sport” is an easier sell, especially to scientists who
do not have a background in kinesiology, but who may be a potential source of grant money and
prestige. In that sense, it may be the tail (Research Universities) that is wagging the dog.
Four Marks 247
21. For a rigorous defense of this claim, see my article Kinesis and the Nature of the Human Person
(2010).
22. The point is not to say that “sport” is the thing that gives meaning to our lives, but rather to get
a place for “games, play, and sport” at the table. Certainly there are myriad other human arenas
that move people just as profoundly including, literature, art, music, theater, dance, and religion.
It also true that science, when pursued in a spirit of wonder, can have much the same effect.
23. Just as Shakespeare, Van Gogh, Beethoven, and my wife’s new favorite, Jane Austen, are not
justified on the grounds of utility. Similarly, the confidence with which I hold Shakespeare in
high regard makes me functionally immune to criticism; that is, it is the critics’ loss, not mine.
Kinesiologists should be in the same position but with a different yet no less fascinating love.
24. I am unconvinced by the counter argument that most “students are already doing it.”
Undergraduates are already writing, and yet we require them to take writing intensive classes,
because the Academy values and emphasizes the importance of writing well.
25. The typical counter-arguments that not all children are athletic, or that not all children like
“sports” are unpersuasive. Not all children speak well. Not all children are good with numbers.
Not all children read well. Not all children like Shakespeare. Not all children enjoy history.
Yet we make children study Shakespeare, we make children study history, and we make children
master mathematics and reading because we believe the basic mastery of such material is
important; even in cases where there is no practical or useful application for the material. (Few
job applications quiz applicants on whether or not Hamlet had an Oedipal Complex. Yet school
districts and universities around the country continue to insist that studying literature matters.)
Likewise, to complain that students don’t need to master “basketball” because demonstrating
competence at “basketball” is an “arbitrary” and “accidental” measure is not convincing. The
same could again be said of Shakespeare. We don’t ask students to study “literature” absent of
specific content, nor should we ask them to study “physical activity” absent of specific content.
Basketball and Shakespeare are contingent only in the way that the entire culture is contingent.
26. This would be above and beyond any activity requirement that may be mandated by a college or
university’s general education requirements. The lack of such requirements in many kinesiology
departments reflects on their own sense of self-respect. English department after all do not consider
the requirement of a general education requirement in English Composition as sufficient
engagement by their students with the activity of writing well. Instead they have additional
requirements—within their own departments—because engaging the English language is at the
heart of who and what they are.
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