We Don't Elevate a Profession by Diminishing Education

A recent post began with a question about whether someone had any formal education beyond some permaculture modules.

The response argued that questions about qualifications can be used to diminish people with lived experience and make them feel they are not good enough to participate. It celebrated learning through doing, mentoring, self-directed study and what is often called the “school of life”.

I understand that argument.

I also strongly disagree with where it leads.

There are certainly times when qualifications are used as a weapon. There are people with extraordinary knowledge who have never completed formal study, and there are people with qualifications who have failed to develop practical competence. A certificate alone does not make someone an expert, just as decades spent doing something do not automatically mean it has been done well.

But dismissing formal education as unnecessary, inferior or less authentic is not the answer.

At a time when horticulturists in Australia are fighting to have our work recognised as a genuine profession, we should not be celebrating the erosion of education. We should be demanding better education, stronger apprenticeships, meaningful professional development and far greater recognition of horticultural knowledge.

Horticulture in Australia lacks the recognition and professional standing afforded to many other skilled trades and professions. Even the way our work is classified and described continues to blur the distinction between a horticulturist and a gardener. Industry professionals are currently advocating for horticulture to be properly represented as a profession rather than being reduced to the broad occupational identity of “gardener”.

That distinction matters.

Gardening is an activity that belongs to everyone. It can be a hobby, a passion, a therapeutic practice, a lifestyle or a way to connect with food, nature and community.

Horticulture is a body of professional knowledge.

It encompasses plant physiology, botany, taxonomy, soil science, plant nutrition, propagation, nursery production, plant pathology, entomology, irrigation, biosecurity, landscape establishment, plant selection, weed science and environmental management.

A professional horticulturist may work in production nurseries, public landscapes, botanic gardens, revegetation, plant breeding, education, biosecurity, therapeutic horticulture, urban forestry, sports turf, research, garden design or specialist plant collections.

This is not simply knowing which plant looks attractive in a particular corner of a garden. It is understanding how plants grow, why they fail, how they interact with soil, water, climate, pests, diseases and other organisms, and how the decisions we make today may affect a landscape for decades.

Yet horticulture has increasingly been repackaged as a feeling.

It has become lifestyle content.

It has become beautiful gardens, personal journeys, wellness, sustainability, slow living and visually pleasing reels. None of those things are inherently bad. Inspiration has value. Lifestyle communicators can encourage people to grow food, compost, plant trees and connect with the natural world.

The problem begins when inspiration is treated as expertise and popularity is mistaken for professional authority.

There is a difference between being a lifestyle influencer and being a professional horticulturist.

We should be able to say that plainly.

When you landscaped your own garden, where did the knowledge and inspiration ultimately come from? Perhaps you watched a social media reel or read an online article, but behind the landscapes we admire are generations of professional horticulturists, botanists, designers, growers, scientists, collectors and educators.

The great gardens and horticultural institutions of Australia and the world were not created through social media influence. They were built through professional knowledge, accumulated experience, education, experimentation and the work of people who dedicated their lives to understanding plants.

The Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, is internationally respected not because it treats horticulture as an informal lifestyle pursuit, but because it recognises the depth of knowledge required to practise it well. Its renowned Kew Diploma in Horticulture is an intensive three-year program combining structured study with practical work. The commitment required is perhaps best understood as being comparable to completing a bachelor’s degree while simultaneously undertaking a substantial industry internship.

That combination is important.

It is not education instead of experience. It is education strengthened by experience. That is how expertise is built.

Even trades that are heavily based on practical learning require formal qualifications, structured apprenticeships, supervision and demonstrated competency. We do not tell an aspiring electrician that lived experience and self-directed learning are enough. We do not suggest that someone who has renovated several houses should be accepted as a qualified builder.

We recognise that practical experience needs to be supported by tested knowledge, professional standards and accountability.

Why should horticulture be treated as though it requires less?

I'll be the first to admit that my own formal horticultural education was nowhere near as comprehensive as the education received by some of the people I admire. But that is not an argument against education. It is an argument for better education. My qualification did not make me an expert. It gave me the foundation upon which I could continue building.

Who did I learn from once I entered the field?

I learnt from professional horticulturists, botanists, growers, nursery managers, researchers, plant breeders and specialists. I learnt from people who had received excellent formal education and from those who had, in turn, been mentored by some of the best people in the industry.

I read textbooks recognised by leading horticultural institutions. I read books, articles, professional blogs and research papers. I attended industry talks, conferences, workshops and field days. I listened to people who knew more than I did, and I actively sought out opportunities to learn.

I have also learnt an enormous amount from passionate gardeners and hobbyists. Some have spent decades studying orchids, roses, camellias, Australian plants, bonsai, succulents or specialist collections. Their depth of practical knowledge can be extraordinary.

But they did not develop that knowledge in complete isolation.

They learnt from books written by professionals. They attended talks delivered by professionals. They joined societies shaped by recognised experts. They visited botanic gardens, corresponded with researchers, learnt from experienced growers and built upon knowledge passed down through generations.

Their expertise is real, but it exists within a much larger tradition of professional learning.

Of course, I have followed people online. I have watched videos, read social media posts and listened to people sharing their experiences. Some of that information has been useful and some of it has been wrong.

The difference is that my background education gave me the ability to assess what I was hearing.

Does this align with plant physiology? Does it make sense biologically? Is it appropriate for my climate and soil? Is there evidence behind it? Can it be verified through a reliable source? Is this person explaining a tested principle, or merely repeating something that worked once in a particular garden?

Education did not simply tell me what to think.

It helped teach me how to think.

That is one of the greatest values of formal learning. It gives us a framework through which we can examine new information, recognise gaps in our understanding and make better decisions.

Experience is essential, but experience without education, feedback or critical examination can reinforce poor practices.

Someone can do something incorrectly for thirty years and truthfully claim to have thirty years of experience.

Length of experience alone does not prove the quality of the knowledge acquired.

This is why good professionals continue learning long after they graduate. Professional education is not a single qualification earned at the beginning of a career and displayed forever. It is an ongoing responsibility.

Professional horticultural organisations expect members to maintain and develop their knowledge through conferences, seminars, talks, field days, technical reading and continuing professional development. The best horticulturists I know remain curious. They question themselves, update their practices and accept that knowledge changes as research, climates, pests, diseases and technology change.

That is what professional responsibility looks like.

When a nationally recognised public figure suggests that the school of life is enough, it carries weight. It does not exist in a vacuum. It reinforces a wider narrative that formal education is unnecessary and that lived experience is somehow more genuine than structured professional learning.

At another time, that message might simply be frustrating.

At this moment in Australian horticulture, it is damaging.

For decades, Australia has weakened the institutions that once supported horticultural education. Specialist training colleges have disappeared or been absorbed. Courses have been reduced. Apprenticeship pathways have weakened. Opportunities for rigorous, long-term practical and academic training have become harder to find.

We have diminished the system and then used its shortcomings as evidence that people do not need it. That is backwards. Poor education should make us demand better education. Limited apprenticeships should make us fight for stronger apprenticeships. A profession struggling for recognition should make those with public influence advocate more strongly for professional standards, not dismiss them. Destroying the value of education to make an informal pathway appear superior does not lift anyone up. It diminishes the people who spent years teaching, researching, mentoring and building the knowledge we all use. It also sends a clear message to the next generation: do not bother studying, because passion and online visibility are enough.

But who will become the next plant pathologists, taxonomists, propagators, nursery production specialists, seed collectors, botanic garden curators, educators and researchers if we stop encouraging serious study?

Who will identify emerging pests and diseases?

Who will conserve threatened plants?

Who will develop resilient landscapes for a changing climate?

Who will train the people who come after us?

Who will create the knowledge that future lifestyle content will draw upon?

Information on the internet is not the same as a living profession.

The internet can distribute information at extraordinary speed, but it does not necessarily preserve context, accuracy or accountability. Algorithms reward confidence, simplicity and emotional appeal. Professional horticulture is rarely simple. The correct answer is often dependent on species, location, season, soil, climate and purpose.

When professional knowledge is reduced to mass-media content, nuance is lost. When popularity becomes the measure of authority, expertise is pushed aside by whatever is easiest to watch and share.

We should be deeply concerned about what happens when the people communicating horticultural information become more visible and more valued than the people creating, testing and preserving that knowledge.

This is not elitism.

It is not an attempt to prevent people from gardening, learning, sharing or participating. Gardening should remain accessible to everyone, and there is nothing wrong with being a hobbyist, an enthusiast or a lifestyle communicator.

There is also nothing wrong with acknowledging that these roles are different.

A passionate gardener may know more about a particular plant group than many qualified horticulturists. A grower may possess extraordinary practical knowledge developed over a lifetime. A gifted communicator may inspire thousands of people to begin gardening.

All of that deserves respect. But respecting one form of knowledge should never require us to diminish another.

We don't elevate a profession by diminishing education. We elevate it by demanding better education, better mentoring, stronger apprenticeships and a culture that celebrates knowledge instead of dismissing it. We do not strengthen horticulture by dissolving it into an undefined lifestyle identity where expertise and enthusiasm are treated as though they are interchangeable. We strengthen it by recognising that knowledge has value, that professional standards matter and that those who dedicate their lives to understanding plants deserve to be recognised for the profession they have chosen.

Qualifications are not everything.

Experience is not everything.

Social influence is certainly not everything.

Real expertise is built through education, experience, critical thinking, mentorship, curiosity, humility and a lifelong commitment to learning.

In a society that increasingly celebrates confidence over competence and visibility over knowledge, we need to take a stand.

We need to stop pulling professionals down to make expertise feel more accessible.

We need to stop treating education as an act of exclusion.

We need to stop applauding messages that suggest professional learning is unnecessary while the profession itself is fighting to survive.

Horticulture deserves to be recognised as a skilled and knowledgeable profession.

The people who came before us deserve to have their work acknowledged.

The people entering the industry deserve access to better education than many of us received.

And the generations who come after us deserve more than fragments of information repeated through social media.

They deserve a living, respected profession capable of teaching them.