In sports and traditional dance and in most types of physical therapy and in strength and conditioning training and in most other such modalities, if you followed the given instructions to the point you did a good job.
In sports, if someone excels at following instructions to the point, and keeps doing so without breaking, he will be rewarded big, both emotionally and physically – with strong social integration, an expansive network of contacts, fame, and big money. He will fly private and will get to chose intimate relationships with whomever seems most attractive. #pronouns
Therefore, there’re legit questions for someone who would consent to such a submission: How does someone learn to follow instructions so successfully? How must such a child or person be furnished genetically, socially, psychologically – what is immutable, what can be altered, and how?
And is this limited to sports? Or would following instructions to the point – and being able to sustain the submission – lead to such a wealth of rewards in other fields too?
I came to that question because I was pondering the characteristics of cognitive structure, as defined by Frank Smith, and the term „lesson” in regard to movement instructions. I’m not sure if I find the word „lesson” a good choice. I will have to think about it some more. However, Feldenkrais practitioners – and professionals from similar fields – do call their material „lessons”, not „instructions”.
In dictionaries a „lesson” is defined as a unit of instruction, a period of learning or teaching, an activity that people do in order to learn something.
„Lesson” sounds a bit broader than „instruction”. „Lesson” is shorter and therefore more handy than „guided learning hours” or „assisted time for discovery and comprehension”.
„Machine language instructions” is something for robots on the assembly line. I find the orchestra of robots shown in video clips of Tesla’s Gigafactories fascinating. Humans often are required, and do have the capacity, to follow step-by-step instructions as well. Even though humans will never fully excel at that – compared to robots. I’m looking forward in anticipation to the first Robot Olympics, and I’m curious to see how humanoid robots will nail upright walking, jumping, running, crawling, cycling, swimming, and skating… their movements free of love, hope, gratefulness, resignation, resentment, belongingness, emotional history. We have never seen this kind of organisation in a humanoid body before, and in terms of efficiency, and biomechanics, and in probably many more aspects, we will be able to learn quite a bit from them.
One challenge of writing is this: I can strip my „lessons” down to the point that they look like mere movement instructions. And yet they are not: the „lesson” is all the things that are not the movement instructions.
But can there be a „lesson” – experiment, discovery, comprehension, and all that – without movement instructions? Can there be learning without movement?