It may sound disappointing at first, but teachers are not true experts in their fields. To be precise, they may be “experts” only at the moment they are teaching, but will that knowledge still be alive and useful ten or twenty years later?

I myself earned a Master’s degree in Economics, yet much of what I learned is now outdated.

In my school days, we were taught that China was the most populous country in the world. Today, it is India. I was taught that Pluto was a planet. That too has become past knowledge. DNA analysis once required enormous costs, but according to the Asahi Shimbun, today it can be done for around 50,000 to 100,000 yen. Artificial intelligence was said to belong to the realm of science fiction, but now generative AI is part of daily life, capable of producing text, images, and even audio. Solar and wind power were once called “supplementary energy sources,” but today they are “main renewable energy sources.” According to the Institute for Sustainable Energy Policies (ISEP), renewable energy has surpassed 50% in six European countries.

It is obvious: the knowledge we learn in school rarely sustains us over a long life. What truly matters is how much we continue learning after graduation.

And in the same sense, academic credentials (gakureki) themselves lose meaning in the long run.

In Japan, high schools are ranked by how many students they send to elite universities like the University of Tokyo or Kyoto University, and students are obsessed with which university they will enter.

About four years ago, one girl came to tell me she had passed her university entrance exam. I had been her instructor when she was in elementary school. She said she was admitted to the medical school of a university in Nara Prefecture, and without being asked, she added:

“It’s a school that many students choose if they fail Kyoto University or Osaka University.”

She probably wanted to emphasize that it was still a “high-level school.” I couldn’t help but reply:

“Patients aren’t diagnosed or treated based on a doctor’s academic background, are they?”

She fell silent. But truly, the name of the university you passed at age 18 may remain as a kind of memorial to your effort, yet by the time you are 30 or 40, it carries no value. It neither brings happiness nor provides added value to anyone. Patients want a doctor who can heal them, regardless of which university they attended.

In Japan, medical schools are considered the most difficult to enter at any university. Perhaps for that reason, many high schools and cram schools boast of how many students they send to medical schools, regardless of whether it’s the University of Tokyo or Kyoto University. Some even host seminars for parents of elementary and junior high students on “How to Aim for Medical School.” Why specifically seminars for parents? And why only medical school? Why not seminars on becoming an economist, or an architect, or even a beautician? (Well, beautician seminars might exist, but economist ones surely don’t, haha.) Why does everyone seem to want to become a doctor?

One of the student assistants working under me is in medical school. He entered Japan’s top junior and senior high schools and said, “It just felt like I had to go to medical school, so I took the exam and entered.” That makes no sense. Whether you become a doctor, an architect, a mathematician, a businessman, or a musician—what do you do after you become that? What motivates your continued effort?

This is why I say again: what matters is the Way of Being as a human being. Education should ask: “What kind of person do you want to become?”

Learning itself is only a means.

Confucius spoke of an “ideal image of humanity that people strive for through study and cultivation.” Education’s purpose is to foster this ideal humanity, while learning is merely the tool.

That is why in my classes I often step outside the subject matter and ask: “How will you live your life?” Of course, I also discuss brain science, memory techniques, and effective learning methods currently popular in education, but those are just methods.

I often pose the question:

“What is the purpose of this study?”

And students reply:

“To pass junior high entrance exams.”

“To get into university.”

“To become a doctor.”

Each time, I ask back:

“And after that, then what?”

Recently, the question “What is your dream?” has become less common, but I have always disliked it. Dreams are fragile, as the Japanese character for “dream” (夢) contains the radical for “person” (人偏) and also means “fleeting.” Once achieved, a dream ends. So when students say, “I want to be a doctor, or an athlete, or a YouTuber, or a civil servant,” I respond: “It’s fine to pursue that job—but after you get it, then what?”

My personal definition of work is: “Work is making others happy and, as a return, receiving money.” If earning money alone defines work, then theft would also qualify. But only by making others happy can you rightfully earn an income. So I often tell my students: “Your life exists to make others happy. That is why you are studying—for the sake of others’ happiness in the future.”

This is my mission as an educator. Of course, this is only my definition, and it’s fine if others differ. Many teachers can share their own values, and from that, students should grasp their own Way of Being. I believe that is the true role of education.

I am looking for partners in education who also want to teach children about the Way of Being. If you are interested, please reach out. I too have limitations, but together let’s devote our strength to building a better society, a better Japan, and a better world.