Lessons from Two Mentors

English translation

AI-assisted English translation. The Japanese original remains authoritative.

AI-assisted English translation. The Japanese original remains authoritative.

Originally published: 2021-01-04

This material was published on the Japanese website. Dates and notices in the text reflect the original publication.

Lessons from Two Mentors

寺内一, President of Takachiho University

At the very start of the New Year, as I supervise the graduation theses of the fourth-year students in my seminar, I think of two teachers to whom I am indebted. One is 人見康子, Professor Emerita of Keio University; the other is Meriel Bloor of the University of Warwick in Britain. I met 人見 when I was twenty, in my third year studying law in the Faculty of Law, and Bloor when I was thirty-one. Having reached sixty, I would like to look back on the teachings of these two mentors, who gave my life important direction, express my gratitude anew, and speak of my hopes for the future.

人見 helped me with everything, both during my undergraduate years and later when I went to study in Britain. She gave me a mission: “Rather than becoming an expert in law itself, you should aim to become a specialist in teaching English to students of law. At the University of Warwick in Britain, you can study something called ‘English for Specific Purposes,’ the teaching and study of English for particular purposes. Go there, earn a degree, and come back. No one in Japan is doing it.” It is no exaggeration to say that those words made me who I am today.

After carrying out research at the University of London in 1976 while employed at Keio University, 人見 made a habit of spending five weeks of her summer vacation in London for more than twenty years. Alongside her research in civil law, specifically family law, she visited libraries, art galleries and museums during the day, and attended plays, concerts, ballet and opera in the evening. She also instructed me: “Of course you must earn your degree, but while you are abroad, learn the depth of Britain.” Thus I was given another task: to experience the various aspects of Britain that she herself had experienced.

In April 1991, just after the Gulf War ended, my life as a student at Warwick began. There I met my other mentor, Bloor. For the next five years and three months, until I submitted my doctoral thesis, I received her rigorous supervision. Our meetings took place once a week and lasted two to three hours, entirely in English. She constantly told me three things: “It is not a doctoral thesis unless you establish your originality clearly”; “A characteristic of a British thesis is a literature review that is substantial in both quality and quantity”; and “Do not spend all your time collecting data; finish the thesis promptly.” On finishing promptly, her explanation was: “If you are to continue your life as a researcher, set a stopping point and complete the work as a thesis. That will inevitably reveal new questions. What matters is then to turn those questions into your next paper.” Every one of these valuable lessons remains firmly in my mind.

While writing my thesis, I tried to fulfil 人見’s other mission: to enjoy life in Britain to the full. She had lived in London, but I chose Stratford-upon-Avon, famous as Shakespeare’s birthplace. It was thirty minutes from the university by car, safe, compact, and ideal for experiencing British life. I made a habit of going to a pub in town every night, drinking bitter beer and eating fish and chips. And I decided to enjoy plays at the Shakespeare theatre, fighting off sleep as I watched.

What my two teachers shared was a clear distinction between leisure and research, flexibility in the way they saw things, a desire to enjoy everyday life, and a positive approach to everything. Both have now passed away, but their teaching lives on as a profoundly important guide in my life: not only when I stand in a university classroom, but also as I serve as president of Takachiho University and president of the Japan Association of College English Teachers. With heartfelt gratitude to them both, recalling their smiles and reaffirming their lessons, I shall continue adding rigorous comments to each of my students’ graduation theses.

Editor’s comment: 寺内 writes with gratitude about his experience of the love between teacher and student. Such love is close indeed to the love of a bodhisattva. Because it is both precious and strict, students who do not understand it may see it as nothing but harsh punishment. Yet, once they sense that it comes from love for them, they strive all the harder. I too received severe advice from many teachers in junior high school, high school and university, and heard through others praise so generous that I scarcely deserved it. In this way I realized how much they truly expected of me. They did not say, “I tell you this because I care about you.” But when I heard that one had told a third party, “The book he has written is an excellent one that cannot be overlooked,” I shed tears. 寺内 is now a university president and, at the same time, president of Japan’s largest academic association. He is still young. Young people, do not be discouraged by his rigorous advice; keep striving.