Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. The 6-3 Education System: Ten Years

As the new school term approaches each year, education issues make a grand entrance on daily newspaper pages, as if suddenly remembered.
When entrance exams loom near, in households with students preparing for them, parents and children alike focus their family’s greatest concern entirely on “education issues.”

However, the issue of education is—needless to belabor at this point—a nation’s century-spanning grand plan, not merely a matter confined to the annual entrance examination period. Post-defeat Japan enforced numerous revolutionary reforms—the establishment of the New Constitution, dissolution of industrial conglomerates, implementation of the Agricultural Land Law, among others—but no less significant than these major reforms was the adoption of the new 6-3 Education System.

One might think reforming an educational system could hardly be such a monumental undertaking, but in truth, that reform amounted to forcibly pushing through what was nearly impossible. Even during the Meiji era—when Japan emerged victorious from the Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese Wars and annexed Korea, in what is often called the nation’s golden age—extending compulsory elementary education from four to six years remained a considerably challenging endeavor. To attempt extending it by another three years all at once under post-defeat Japan’s near-death national conditions was, from the very outset, a proposition that had already transcended unreasonableness. Moreover, this 6-3 Education System was an educational framework developed in America, where national conditions were entirely different. Yet they uncritically adopted this system and attempted to apply it to Japan, which had fallen into the depths of poverty—the extent of the difficulties should have been anticipated from the outset.

However, for Japan immediately after its defeat—and this remains true even now, but particularly at the time—the path to national revival had no choice but to place its aim in education. A nation that had barely managed to survive through Korea, Manchuria, Taiwan, Karafuto, and the Chishima Islands now found itself having lost all of them; thereafter, the only thing left to rely on was the ability of its people. In other words, education was the greatest challenge when considering the future of Japan. Now, pre-war Japanese education did not lag behind world first-rate countries in terms of either its reach or the level of academic achievement. However, there was a flawed aspect to that education. That the entire nation plunged headlong into that reckless war—unthinkable by common sense—was of course due in part to military cliques and their ilk, but we must acknowledge that at its root lay a defect in education. In that sense as well, the educational issues of post-defeat Japan required some form of fundamental reform.

Into such circumstances was imported the current 6-3 Education System from America.
It has been said that [the system] was imposed, or alternatively—due to insufficient English proficiency—that Japan proactively accepted mere suggestions; but such distinctions are ultimately immaterial.
In any case, it became an undeniable fact that the American education system was applied unchanged to post-defeat Japan as an unreasonable proposition.

This unreasonable proposition remains unresolved despite nearly ten years of efforts by authorities and educators.
Conversely, the educational defects stemming from this unreasonable proposition surfaced after ten years.
The effects of education—both good and bad—require many years to become visible, a fact that instills terror.

II. The U.S. 6-3 Education System

Criticism of the 6-3 Education System has grown quite severe in recent times.
The foremost issue being raised is the decline in academic ability.
A recent survey by an educational research institute in one region found only 16 percent of third-year middle school students could correctly write "bus stop."
In mathematics and similar subjects, the decline in academic ability appears even more pronounced and alarming.

What was even more frightening than that was the decline in moral sense among young people.
Beyond various juvenile crimes, children who had never been taught moral discipline were truly unfortunate.
Such so-called adult laments could be dismissed as antiquated notions—and that would be the end of it.
Yet when I seriously considered matters, I couldn't help worrying that if this continued, Japan might become a nation of nothing but pachinko parlors and keirin tracks.

Even the educational authorities must be gravely concerned about this point. Since late last year, there had been discussions about reintroducing ethics into high school curricula, alongside proposals to separate geography and history from social studies to bolster academic standards. While various objections had apparently arisen against these measures, the very act of promoting moral awareness and striving to enhance scholastic achievement was undeniably praiseworthy. The crux lay in whether reviving ethics classes would truly cultivate moral sensibility, and whether divorcing geography and history from social studies would meaningfully improve academic performance. Some might contend that “while perfection remains unattainable, reintroducing ethics would at least partially elevate moral consciousness—better than doing nothing.” Yet this issue struck me as not so easily dismissed.

The emergence of various reform proposals targeting the current new education system ultimately stemmed from the fact that “the 6-3 Education System wasn’t functioning well.” It was an undeniable fact that the 6-3 Education System wasn’t functioning well, but if reforms focused solely on surface-level symptoms without thoroughly examining why it wasn’t functioning, the result would likely be mere regression. The question lay in whether the 6-3 Education System itself was inherently flawed, incompatible with Japan’s national conditions, or whether America’s 6-3 Education System had been imported in a flawed manner—it had to be one of these. Furthermore, if it did not align with Japan’s national conditions, then what specific aspects were incompatible—such questions needed to be addressed.

The first point to address was whether the 6-3 Education System itself was fundamentally sound.
Regarding this, one method was to examine whether this education system functioned effectively in America, the birthplace of the current 6-3 Education System.
To state the conclusion first, in my view, the 6-3 Education System in America was being managed quite effectively and appeared to achieve commendable educational results.
The reason it did not function well in Japan was likely because they had imported only the framework of the 6-3 Education System without adopting its substance.

I arrived at this conclusion based on my experience of taking three children to America three summers ago, enrolling them in different schools, and having them attend for two years.
All three were transferred: one entered the second year of university, another the fourth year of high school, and the youngest the third year of elementary school.
While I’m on the subject, let me clarify that in America, the 6-3 Education System varies slightly by state; in Illinois, where we resided, middle school was a two-year system and high school a four-year system.
Namely, it was a 6-2-4-4 system, but structurally speaking, this too falls under the 6-3 system.

In this way, the fact that my three children were enrolled separately in university, high school, and elementary school proved extremely convenient.
In other words, I was afforded the opportunity to observe each aspect of America’s university education, high school education, and compulsory education from within.
As a result, I made a surprising “discovery”—namely, that the education I had at least imagined as American-style in Japan differed markedly from actual American education.
In some cases, it could even be said to have been the exact opposite.
For example, as I would elaborate on later, Cramming Education was implemented thoroughly during certain periods.

To be astonished at this late date about the actual state of American education was quite an outdated matter, but this could not be attributed solely to my own oversight.
While this was undoubtedly common knowledge among specialists in education, it remained not widely understood by the general public in Japan.
Therefore, since such so-called anecdotal experiences of an individual could sometimes serve as a lesson to be heeded, I decided to examine the U.S. 6-3 Education System as I had observed it.

III. The Philosophy of Compulsory Education

To clarify the sources of my data, what follows will include some personal matters; I ask for your understanding regarding this point in advance.
The three children I had mentioned were all girls—we had been living in a town called Winnetka on Chicago’s outskirts.
This was a small residential city with a population of merely thirteen thousand; translating geographically for Japanese readers—Chicago would correspond to Osaka—this town would equate to Ashiya or Rokko.

Residing in Winnetka proved extraordinarily fortunate for understanding American elementary education.
This stemmed from Crowe Island Elementary School’s presence there—an institution nationally renowned across America.
The new edition of Encyclopædia Britannica itself listed Winnetka’s name—describing it as “a town internationally recognized for progressive elementary education.”
In that sense—one could rightly call it a world-class elementary school.

My youngest daughter had been a third-grade student in Japan, so she entered the third-grade class at Crowe Island Elementary School and remained enrolled until fifth grade.
Through my PTA involvement, I occasionally visited the school during those two years and found it truly remarkable.
Each class had twenty-two to twenty-four students with both a homeroom teacher and an assistant teacher exclusively assigned.
Teachers for physical education, music, pronunciation and other specialized subjects naturally existed separately.
The classrooms were spacious, every room featuring fully glass-paneled southern and western walls that provided flawless sunlight.
With all classrooms built this way, the structure appeared from the schoolyard like oddly arranged boxes lined in rows.
Simple laboratory-like rooms adjoined each classroom, equipped with microscopes and containers for keeping living organisms.

Despite the small number of students, since two teachers were exclusively assigned, everything ran efficiently.
Even when underperforming students and high-achieving children used the same textbook in the same classroom, they were learning different material.
In my child’s case, she initially had no English ability whatsoever, but based on intelligence test results indicating capabilities at a third-grade level, they placed her in the third-grade class.
Starting alone from the first-year textbook, she advanced to the second year in three months, completed the second-grade curriculum in the next three months, and finally joined her peers.
By the time she advanced to the fourth-grade class, she had mostly caught up and became a fourth grader along with everyone else.
This was by no means a special case; the purpose of elementary school education was to develop each individual’s abilities—to put it extremely, the ideal became providing distinct education to each child even within the same classroom.

However, this elementary school was a special case—so to speak, an experimental school.
Of course, one could not use such exceptions to discuss American elementary education as a whole.

If you divided the total cost of school operations by the number of students, it came to about four hundred dollars per student per year.
Moreover, since tuition was only five dollars per year, the rest was entirely covered by donations and town taxes.
If one were to dismiss it as a rich man’s hobby, that would be the end of it; but from another perspective, this was the elementary education that Americans considered ideal.
The reason I had perhaps unnecessarily detailed such a special case was that through this school’s education, I sought to discern the ideals of elementary education in America.
While it was important to survey various regions and broadly investigate the actual state of elementary education, examining special cases to observe their ideals also held significance.

At this school, children were required to go to school completely empty-handed in the morning.
Not even a single pencil was allowed to be brought.
All books, paper supplies, and stationery were provided at the school.
They returned empty-handed as well, and there was absolutely no homework.
Moreover, though it might seem somewhat extreme, they were not allowed to bring lunchboxes either, so they all returned home for lunch.
They only admitted children from homes within that distance.
As it was a public school, regardless of wealth or poverty, if they resided within this district, even children from poor families were naturally admitted.

For the children, school had become a truly enjoyable place.
According to each individual’s ability, teachers provided guidance and never forced academic knowledge upon them.
There were no exams whatsoever, but there were occasional tests—conducted solely to gauge how far they had progressed—which were true to the very meaning of the word “test.”
There was something equivalent to report cards, but they did not assign grades.
For each subject, how far they had progressed was filled in with colored pencils.
For example, arithmetic was filled in up to the first term of fifth grade; composition up to the middle of the second term of fourth grade; and spelling up to the first term of fourth grade.
If this report card had arrived at the end of the fourth year, arithmetic would have been one term ahead of the standard, while composition would have been slightly behind.
It became clear that spelling had been severely behind.
The Japanese-style grading or A, B, C system involved setting targets for each period and testing what percentage of them had been achieved.
In contrast to this approach, the six-year compulsory education in elementary school obligated six years of attendance; it did not matter at all if they graduated after six years with only third-grade knowledge.

Because of this approach, what was called academic ability generally showed no improvement whatsoever.
Arithmetic was particularly egregious—in third grade elementary classes, they were doing problems like “3 + 2 = 5.”
My youngest daughter, who had learned up to fraction calculations in Japanese schools, was profoundly shocked when forced to regress to 3 + 2 = 5.
By sixth grade, children who couldn’t perform two-digit multiplication were hardly uncommon.

Yet in America, such points drew no concern whatsoever.
Rather, report cards contained sections for comprehension and social skills—aspects everyone emphasized.
That no one particularly minded this lack of so-called academic ability stemmed partly from America having no entrance examinations.
As this point carried significant weight, I would discuss it in detail later.
Another reason lay in compulsory education being conceived in fundamentally different terms.

Compulsory education is something that the state enforces on its citizens as an obligation through the power of law.
On the other hand, while academics are indeed valuable, they should be pursued by those who desire them and should not be enforced by the state.
In fact, there are plenty of admirable people who lack academic knowledge, and there are also many good citizens who live peaceful lives entirely unrelated to academics.
Therefore, compulsory education does not need to be an education that teaches academic knowledge at all.
Accordingly, they have not made much of an issue of low academic ability from the beginning.
This is not an idealistic theory but a fact; even if one cannot do multiplication and such, one does not face any difficulties when entering society.
In every store, there exists a corresponding calculator, so even without knowing arithmetic, clerks can manage just fine.
There are even cases of middle-aged women working in department store sales floors who couldn’t calculate ten sheets at $1.30 each.
This is a true story.
This would be unthinkable in Japan, but they don’t mind it at all.

If teaching academic knowledge were not compulsory education, then what constituted its obligation?
The answer was extremely simple: it was education to cultivate virtuous citizens.
In short, the ideal elementary education in America consisted of two things: one was developing each child’s intellectual abilities according to their individual capacities, and the other was moral education to foster virtuous citizens.
When we spoke of moral education, it was not like the shūshin of old Japan—a formalized ethics curriculum—but rather moral discipline cultivated through school life itself.

IV. Education Against Lying

What surprised me most when observing middle-class American family life was the strictness of children’s discipline. For elementary school-aged children, it was customary for them to obediently go to bed at their designated time even when adults were making merry at parties. Meal times were strictly enforced, and if they wanted to visit a friend’s house after school, they had to obtain permission by phone each time. Television viewing was generally limited to a set number of hours per day.

Since this kind of discipline pertaining to manners and etiquette was conducted at home, schools did not appear particularly strict about it. What schools instilled as discipline or principles was primarily in the spiritual realm. It was in this emphasis on spiritual discipline that I could not help but feel lay the ideal of American compulsory education.

What struck me most about their spiritual discipline was the thoroughness with which they carried out education against lying. Americans are a people who remarkably refrain from lying, but the root of this seemed to lie in their elementary school education.

When I say this, one might argue that America too has its thieves and swindlers.
It might be said that not everyone there is strictly honest.
But this objection misses the mark—while refraining from lies and being honest may appear similar, they remain fundamentally distinct.
Honesty constitutes an elevated virtue, not something we can demand of all people.
Not telling lies, however, represents a type of discipline; once such habits take root, anyone can maintain them.
At its core, this training differs little from learning to hold chopsticks in one’s right hand.

In daily life, matters were usually settled with Yes and No.
When asked something, if it was affirmative, you said Yes; if it was negative, you said No.
If you didn’t know which it was, you said, “I don’t know.”
It was an entirely natural thing.
And not telling lies was essentially just that.
If this was the case, then as discipline or principles, once instilled over a considerable number of years, most people could acquire such habits.
There was no need to bring up high-minded talk of moral sense or such.
However, instilling this spiritual discipline of “not telling lies” was not actually so easy.
Informing people about the morality of honesty could be accomplished through lectures from the podium.
But the habit of not lying could only be cultivated through training in daily life.

While studying happily and freely at school, the children received training not to lie as part of their group life. As I observed my youngest daughter’s moral development, I began sensing how its effects gradually manifested. To the children, “You’re a liar” seemed to carry the weight of a death sentence. When someone’s falsehood came to light, it provoked tremendous commotion. One could tell by the gleam in their eyes during such moments—in their childish hearts, they appeared utterly sincere.

Not telling lies was merely a habit, but this habit appeared to play an important role in American social life.
America was a nation composed of immigrants from around the world - with nearly thirty percent being Black or of Mexican descent.
Moreover, there existed nothing equivalent to serve as a bond for national sentiment - that is to say, nothing like Japan’s Imperial Family.
In such circumstances, I concluded that only through universal adherence to truth-telling could such an immense and intricate system of production and economy function without friction.

Of course, there are undoubtedly people who tell lies, but the national mindset as a whole operates on Yes and No, with most matters resolved through these responses. If answers are confined to these two options while lying is forbidden, one would face difficulties when confronted with questions detrimental to oneself. However, for such situations, there exists the right to remain silent—one need only exercise it. In courtrooms, this constitutes the genuine right to silence; among friends, a knowing grin suffices. The significance of this enigmatic right had long escaped me, but after enrolling my child in an American elementary school, I finally grasped its meaning. That right was established under the premise that one does not lie. A nation capable of lying unabashedly has no use for the right to remain silent.

Beyond education against lying, spiritual disciplines such as caring for the weak and not losing one’s pioneering spirit were also thoroughly instilled.
This too was discipline; it was not through ethics classes that one taught the weak should be cared for.
One day, when my wife was observing a class, there was a physically weak child in my daughter’s class who began dozing off during the lesson.
Then, the teacher put a finger to her lips and shushed everyone to be quiet.
And “Mary is weak, so napping is best for her health.
“Don’t wake her. Everyone, be quiet.”
And so everyone fell silent, and apparently the teacher then continued speaking in a hushed voice.
Schools as institutions were precisely such places.
If they underwent six years of training in this manner, most forms of discipline would undoubtedly take root.

In Japan’s 6-3 system，it seemed only the aspect of not forcibly cramming academic knowledge had been imported from America，while these crucial elements of spiritual discipline failed to take root．According to recent newspapers，the Ministry of Education appeared concerned about this point and was attempting to address issues of discipline in elementary education．However，statements by officials reported in newspapers framed their position as wishing to avoid using the term “discipline，” instead interpreting it as “etiquette．” Their phrasing somehow made “discipline” sound like something undesirable，expressed with excessive reserve．I suspected this distortion likely stemmed from abridgments in reporting，but I believe the correct view remains：compulsory education has no true substance apart from moral discipline aimed at cultivating good citizens．

V. Higher Education

As for American high schools' actual conditions, since my second daughter attended New Trier High School as a senior for one year, through her experience I was able to gain some insight into them.

This school was also a public school in Winnetka Town and， like Crowe Island Elementary School， was considered one of the top high schools in the United States.
The number of students exceeded two thousand several hundred， and the buildings and facilities were of a truly astonishing scale.
Swimming was the least popular sport in America， but even so， this school had a 25-meter indoor pool that I believe had twelve lanes.
The rest could be well imagined.
The reason a public school in a town with a population of 13，000 had over two thousand several hundred students was that its good reputation attracted students not only from Chicago but also from other towns.
Therefore， this too was considered a somewhat exceptional high school.
However， to observe the ideal form that America envisioned for higher education， this high school could be considered one of the most suitable schools.

In that sense，I had been paying attention to my second daughter’s studies，but was first astonished to find the educational policies entirely different from those of compulsory education．However，when I thought about it，it was only natural they differed．In high school and beyond，students entered school because they chose to pursue academic studies．They were not enrolled out of national obligation．The defining feature of high school education can be summed up in one phrase—intense cramming education—but this does not contradict in any way the principle of elementary education，namely not forcing knowledge upon students．Since the students of this school have chosen to pursue academic studies，it is only natural to cram them with academic knowledge．Students who disliked that would presumably not enroll．

In compulsory education, students primarily received training in moral discipline to become good citizens.
Therefore, academic studies inevitably became secondary.
To make up for that delay and in preparation for advancing to university, high schools had to provide sufficient intellectual training.
That training was conducted primarily through cramming education and examinations—what were termed “the most old-fashioned educational methods.”
To many readers, this would likely come as a surprise.
I too was surprised to learn this for the first time when I actually enrolled my child.

Homework was assigned almost every day without fail.
She brought home dozens of pages of homework and worked on them until midnight or one in the morning, groaning all the while.
In our child’s case, due to the language handicap, it was particularly severe; however, it was said that even American children found it a considerable burden.
Then, though simple, there was a test every week without fail.
And during the semester there were midterm exams, and at the end of the semester, there were final exams.
During final exams, they stayed up until four or five in the morning at dawn—or even pulled all-nighters.
They were doing exactly the same things as we had done during our middle school days, so I couldn’t help but wryly smile.
After repeating this process three times, they finally advanced to the next grade; however, the breaks between terms lasted only about a week each.
Both high schools and universities had academic years lasting nine months, with the remaining three months being summer vacation.
This summer vacation existed for part-time work; therefore, most children worked during this period to earn their school expenses.
Even children from quite wealthy families were no exception, as everyone had adopted this custom.
The academic year was nine months long, but during that time, it was essentially a continuous sequence of homework and exams.

The content of the exams was also extremely old-fashioned.
There existed a considerable number of subjects that required such mindless rote memorization.
Geography stood as an extreme example; when it came to Central and South American geography, matters became quite demanding.
They had to memorize by rote—as if chanting sutras—the names of capitals, populations, topographies, products, and so on for about twenty countries: Guatemala, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Venezuela, Uruguay, and others.
Seeing her late into the night, clutching a thick textbook of nearly five hundred pages, closing her eyes and murmuring the names of these peculiar countries and towns, I couldn’t help but feel as though the world had regressed thirty or forty years.
In our middle school days, we would stay up all night before exams memorizing prefectural capitals, populations, mountain heights, river lengths, local products, and more across three urban prefectures and forty-three rural ones—and this approach proved exactly the same as that one.

No matter how skillfully one memorized such things by rote, American educators must have been fully aware that once the exam paper was submitted and one stepped out of the classroom, it was all instantly forgotten, leaving the mind refreshingly clear.
That they still persisted in such wasteful practices even in today’s atomic age must have been because they had some rationale behind it.
I suspected they must have concluded that such things were also necessary for mental training.

Speaking of training, I was utterly astonished by the strictness of the school regulations.
It was rather to the point of being ludicrous.
The first period in the morning began at 8:30 throughout summer and winter.
In reality, because they observed daylight saving time, the first period began at 7:30 in summer.
That part was still manageable, but winter’s 8:30 was quite harsh.
Since it was roughly at the same latitude as Sapporo, it was still a bit dim.

However, this 8:30 was truly literal—when the clock struck 8:30, they would shut the classroom door with a sharp click and lock it from inside.
Even one minute late meant you couldn’t get in.

One evening, my second daughter brought up the topic: “I had a terrible time today, so starting tomorrow I’ll try to leave earlier.”
When I asked her about it, she explained that because her classroom was on the second floor, it had turned 8:30 while she was running up the stairs.
Fortunately, she made it just as the door closed behind her.
However, a friend who came running up five or six minutes later couldn’t make it in time and had to miss first period.

In Japan, even trains—in such cases—had station staff calling out “Hurry, hurry!” and departing the moment passengers stepped onto the footboard.
It was almost unthinkable by common sense to shut the door right in front of students rushing up the stairs.
Strict punctuality was all well and good, but when it came to this, it seemed a bit absurd.
But if interpreted charitably, this too might have been one form of training.
As is well known, Americans were extremely punctual when it came to time.
And that ingrained habit of strict punctuality was what smoothly operated today’s organic production machinery.
If everyone had not been sensitive to time, America’s functions would have come to a halt all at once.
That was the nature of this civilization.

Punctuality is a trait acquired through training.
It cannot be achieved through intellectual understanding alone.
When viewed this way, American higher education could be described in one phrase as training-based education.

6. University Education

After completing their training-based education in high school, students entered university.
As for what kind of education they received there—to put it in a single phrase—it was vocational education.
To this was added education for cultivating general knowledge.
The ratio of vocational training to liberal arts varied by university, but most institutions appeared to prioritize vocational education.
Most students entered with that very intention.

In Japan, American universities were often said to be of inferior quality.
This assessment was correct, but there existed a reason for it.
Since Americans held an entirely different view of university education, they never intended from the outset to produce scholars.
Even if graduates were inserted into America’s vast and exceedingly complex machinery of production, distribution, and economy as mere cogs the very next day after graduation, they would immediately prove useful.
They provided precisely such an education.
That is to say, it was pure vocational education.
While Japan had organizations like Vocational Education Promotion Such-and-Such Associations, America practically lacked such entities.
This was because university education itself constituted vocational education.
For Americans to study Keynesian theory at university only to end up counting banknotes after graduation—such a scenario seemed fundamentally misaligned with their national character.

They prioritize practical utility as their foremost objective.

Whether this represents the true form of university education is a separate matter. However, it remains an undeniable fact that such education has greatly contributed to America’s material prosperity today. Conversely, this type of education proves ill-suited for cultivating scholars and researchers. At the research institute I attended as well, they hired a significant number of young Bachelors of Science—while proficient in operating machinery, these graduates appeared to lack both passion for research and any deep affection for nature. Yet if one were to ask American educators, they would likely argue that scholars need only constitute three to five percent of the population. There would be no justification, they’d insist, in sacrificing the majority of students for such a minority. “Whether it’s ‘academic’ or not,” seems irrelevant to them—what matters is that it proves useful, elevates national productivity, provides ample salaries, and enables a comfortable life. This appears to be the prevailing aspiration among most students, and university education accordingly aligns itself with these pragmatic expectations.

After graduating from university, some students entered graduate school to obtain master’s degrees, while an even smaller number went on to obtain doctoral degrees.
The training of scholars and researchers was conducted through this path.

When speaking of vocational education, in Japan it tends to be seen as teaching only highly commonplace and practical matters.
However, since it has now taken on a slightly broader meaning, it also includes imparting more concrete facts rather than abstract concepts.

The eldest daughter entered Northwestern University, located in the town of Evanston adjacent to Chicago.
Nationally speaking, this was a university that could be considered upper second-tier.
At first, she studied English literature, but daunted by the homework, switched to geology.
Since it was an American college after all, I assumed there wouldn’t be much difference between English and geology, but after a year had passed, the situation changed considerably.
She would bring fragments of various mineral crystals and go on about this face being such-and-such or that face being so-and-so.
When she went on trips, she would show signs of pondering things like, “That rocky mountain apparently dates back to something in the Paleozoic era, but considering that…”
She knew the names of most pebbles lying by the roadside.
It had taken on a somewhat revised form.

Of course, this was only natural—it was precisely this kind of education they were providing.
The school had a large laboratory where crystals lay scattered about everywhere.
They kept splendid crystals of various kinds displayed in specimen cases—ones so fine they wouldn’t look out of place—and gave a great many of them to each student.
The students were allowed to freely break or crush them as they pleased.
Moreover, several times a semester, they would go on geological field trips, listen to detailed lectures from their professors on-site, and return hauling back hefty loads of specimens.

This trip appeared highly educational, but regrettably, Japan found it nearly impossible to replicate.
They would typically depart Thursday afternoon and return Sunday evening, reportedly visiting five or six sites during that span.
The distance covered approximated a journey from Tokyo to Lake Towada, looping through Akita and Niigata before returning.
Such feats were feasible because well-maintained roads and readily available automobiles allowed access to even remote mountainous areas.
Given their boisterous nature, I heard they routinely drove eighty to a hundred miles without hesitation.

Even when observing homework assignments, the problems proved highly concrete.
For a problem like determining an oil field’s underground structure, they would take a known oil field—withholding only its name—provide a surface geological map and boring data, then have students draw the underground structure based on those materials; this was the approach they used.
When students devised various ideas, drew their diagrams, and brought them in, the teacher—who knew the correct answer—would return any that were wrong.
They would then rethink it and bring a revised diagram.
This process would repeat as many times as needed until their work matched the answer.

In that case, it indeed followed that once they graduated, they could immediately meet practical demands.
If employed at a government office or company requiring geology, they would undoubtedly perform substantive work in some department without delay.
Even setting such utility aside, education imparting this concrete knowledge proved remarkably effective in broadening intellectual horizons.
To broaden horizons meant cultivating interest in matters that typically escaped notice—pebbles on roadsides becoming objects of fascination rather than trivialities.
Though I had dismissed it as mere “vocational training,” this dimension revealed American university education to hold unexpected sophistication.
It might even surpass our lofty abstract debates—those hollow exchanges of empty cups—in genuine intellectual advancement.

The discussion of geology was merely an anecdote gleaned through one of my children.
However, even when synthesizing accounts from the large number of international students who visited my home, the view that American university education constitutes vocational training in a broad sense did not appear entirely mistaken.
This held true not only in the so-called technical aspects of science and engineering but equally in liberal arts fields like administration and commerce.
In Japan, we often categorize work into administrative and technical domains, but in America, administrative work itself is considered a form of technical skill.

7. Education System and Society

The education system and societal conditions were intertwined like strands of a rope.
To make education rational and effective, society had to accept such education.
Yet to create such a society, education itself needed improvement.
This became nothing but a dog chasing its tail.

The 6-3 Education System in the United States, as previously mentioned, remains remarkably consistent throughout and achieves impressive educational results.
This stems from how it unified such a diverse mix of ethnicities into a single nation while attaining American-style prosperity—at least material prosperity—a development worthy of praise.

However, when applying this same system to Japan, it did not function effectively.
One reason was that Japan had failed to import the educational philosophy embedded within this system.
Through compulsory education [in America], they cultivated the moral discipline required to produce upright citizens.
In higher education [there], they implemented rigorous mental training essential for academic mastery.
At universities [there], they systematically imparted skills crucial for national development—in other words, vocational education.
None of these elements appeared clearly defined in Japan’s 6-3 System.
Half the problem stemmed from frontline educators’ incomplete understanding of the system’s principles.
Yet the more fundamental cause resided in essential differences between societal contexts.
The most glaring difference lay in Japan’s entrenched entrance examination system.
Any supposedly ideal education that guaranteed failure in these exams remained mere theoretical fantasy in Japan.
High schools admitting students solely based on absolute honesty and staunch protection of the vulnerable likely had no existence there.

Just as there were no flies in New China, America had no entrance examinations.
Though they did exist on rare occasions, these were exceptions.
In universities' case, there were occasionally qualification examinations, but these were not what could be called entrance examinations—that is, selection examinations.
A selection examination was a cruel system that would fail even students with excellent grades and full admission eligibility if others outside performed better.
In America, one could say this system was practically nonexistent except in the medical field.
For medicine, this stemmed from the powerful control exerted by medical associations—an entirely separate issue.

The reason why there are no entrance examinations (selection examinations) lies in differing rationales between public and private institutions.
In public institutions, the rationale becomes extremely clear.
Public schools' expenses are entirely covered by taxes.
Professors' monthly salaries naturally come from tax funds too.
Schools belong to taxpayers themselves.
When their children enter what amounts to their own house, there exists no reason for servants called professors or university presidents to block entry.
This constitutes democracy itself.
The same rationale explains why student strikes remain absent.
While universities belong to taxpayers, they aren't funded solely through taxes from students' parents alone.
Since this burdens other taxpayers too, actions wasting such tax money find no permission.
"In the name of the people"—
This principle forbids them outright.
Those dissatisfied with educational content may simply transfer elsewhere.
No entrance examinations bar their path there either.
Consequently should large numbers of students depart, teachers face dismissal.
Through this mechanism education improves itself while fulfilling its essential purpose.

As long as Japan retains peculiar systems like entrance examinations at national universities and inexplicable phenomena such as student strikes, no matter how much it boasts, it cannot be called a democratic nation.

As for private universities, the matter became entirely different.
This was a spiritual department store managed by a board of directors—a management organization.
The merchandise was knowledge, and students as valued customers came to purchase it by paying high fees.
At ordinary universities, the tuition was around 750 dollars (270,000 yen) per year.

There was no reason for universities to turn away customers who paid as much as 270,000 yen a year.
Therefore, there were no entrance examinations.
Qualification examinations were a different matter; admitting students who lacked capability would have become a nuisance to other valued customers while causing losses for the students themselves—turning them away was ultimately kinder.
The absence of strikes was only natural.
There were likely no customers anywhere in the world who went to a department store and paid money without taking merchandise home simply because they disliked the shop.

When we consider it in this way, entrance examinations aimed at selection are something that cannot exist—whether in public or private institutions.
Yet that very system remains firmly entrenched in Japan.
And as long as these entrance examinations exist, any discourse on education will ultimately end up as mere idealism.

When discussing what to do with the 6-3 Education System, first and foremost, it was necessary to tackle the issue of entrance examinations.
Otherwise, all discussions would end up being hollow.
To begin with—if one were to conduct a diagnosis before treatment—the reason entrance examinations existed was that everyone flocked to good schools.
This was not an unreasonable situation, but the problem lay in defining what constituted a “good school.”
It was generally considered to mean having good facilities, a well-rounded faculty, being advantageous for post-graduation employment, and meeting future promotion requirements.
Since particular emphasis was placed on the latter, there were a great many people who considered sending their children to university to be a form of investment.
They went to buy a brand.
Thus, when specific brands held high value, it was only natural that everyone flocked to them.

The only way to eliminate entrance examinations is to abolish “good schools”—in short, to create a society that does not judge people by brands.
This is not entirely a pipe dream; in America, it has taken a form somewhat close to that.
In America, university graduates generally receive higher monthly salaries than middle school graduates.
However, that is because university graduates possess greater knowledge and higher ability.
Even those who have only completed middle school receive the same monthly salary as university graduates if they demonstrate equivalent ability.
It has become common practice to pay based on current ability rather than past credentials.
Of course, this represents an idealized form—there are slight differences in reality—but when compared to Japan, this characterization approaches the truth.
The absence of entrance examinations in America stems from this social convention; it is not because universities’ capacity vastly exceeds Japan’s.
In Japan too, I believe conducting proper qualification examinations would make current university capacity generally sufficient.
Qualification examinations conversely constitute a considerate system even for entrance examination applicants.

Regarding occupations and social status, I would like to add one interesting example that illustrates the common notions Americans hold.
At the research institute where I was affiliated, the person receiving the highest monthly salary was not the director but a carpenter.
As it was a national research institute, its government ranks aligned with those of the U.S. government system—specifically GS (Government Service) grades.
New university graduates typically entered at Grade 4 or 5, gradually rising until reaching Grade 12—the level equivalent to newly appointed professors.
Beyond that point, promotions slowed considerably, with even Nobel Prize-caliber scholars typically plateauing around Grade 15.
Consequently, such scholars were nearly absent from public institutions.
Salaries were strictly determined by these government grades.

By the way, at this research institute, the carpenter of the attached experimental workshop received a monthly salary equivalent to Grade 15, while the director was Grade 12.
In such research institutes, an experimental workshop is absolutely necessary; without metalworkers and woodworkers, the institute’s functions would come to a halt.
However, in America, carpenters are highly valued, and even an apprentice carpenter earns at least three dollars an hour.
Therefore, unless they paid extremely high wages, they could not employ a full-fledged carpenter on a permanent basis.
When viewed under the GS system, this inevitably corresponded to Grade 15.
Therefore, they hired him under Grade 15 treatment.
This point is intriguing; to put it in old terminology, the director was a junior civil servant, while the carpenter received senior civil servant status.

Similar situations occurred in Japanese universities as well.
During the wartime labor boom, all the workers left, and the experimental workshop came to a halt.
Unavoidably, they finally managed to hire workers by providing them with income comparable to that of professors.
However, they disguised this by using special allowances or night shift allowances that weren’t actually implemented—paying the money without formally granting them senior civil servant treatment.
In America, in such cases, they properly grant senior civil servant treatment—therein lies the fundamental difference.
If the day comes when no one finds it strange to see a carpenter receiving senior civil servant treatment, entrance examinations will disappear, and education can be restored to its true form.

VIII. The Path to Revitalizing the 6-3 Education System

The fact that the 6-3 Education System has not functioned effectively in Japan cannot be denied when viewed through the lens of its decade-long record.
Yet half this failure stems from Japan’s national condition as “a country with entrance examinations.”
The persistence of entrance examinations endorses the reality that education operates as an investment and graduation from elite universities constitutes privilege.
By any measure, this merits no praise.

The primary reason the 6-3 Education System does not suit Japan’s national circumstances lies in its application of a school system born in a country without entrance examinations to Japan. However, regarding this point, we should move toward abolishing entrance examinations rather than altering the 6-3 Education System. That said, this cannot be achieved through mere revisions to the system or regulations. It becomes possible only when society reaches a state where no one finds it strange to hire a carpenter with senior civil servant treatment. The path ahead is exceedingly long, but the goal should be set there. As a practical matter, if asked what to do about entrance examinations, I would be at something of a loss—yet there is no path but to conduct them with the grand objective of creating an examination-free society and the intent to gradually move closer to that direction.

The other half of the cause, it seems to me, might lie in the fact that the true nature of the 6-3 Education System has not been properly understood by the general public.

I consider it highly commendable to provide moral discipline through compulsory education aimed at nurturing virtuous citizens. Among progressive educators, there appear to be those who advocate eradicating traditional notions and implanting new ideologies during elementary education. However, ideologies should be chosen by individuals after they develop discernment; in elementary education, emphasis must instead be placed on foundational matters—specifically, the moral discipline essential to human integrity regardless of societal conditions.

I was also in favor of conducting training in academic disciplines at high schools and providing knowledge useful for increasing national wealth at universities.
Even if it was somewhat inferior academically, it was perfectly acceptable as vocational education.
The most important thing for Japan at the time was to increase national production and enable it to become self-reliant.
Aligning education with that direction was by no means a disgrace to education.

In a national condition where we could barely import food and other necessities through foreign aid, sitting back complacently and shouting about contributing to humanity was utterly pointless.
I could not agree with the emotional argument that the 6-3 Education System should be changed simply because it was an importation of the American system.

The adoption of the 6-3 Education System involved extreme unreasonableness, which caused great confusion.
However, if they attempted to change this now, it would lead to even greater chaos, with results likely worsening further.
Rather than clumsily making partial revisions by focusing only on superficial symptoms that had emerged, we ought to revitalize it by clarifying the system’s foundational principles.
And that path appeared to lie within reach—something even amateurs like us could grasp.

(March 1955, *Bungei Shunju*)