Education: How Old The New — Text and Context

The Translational Method

Walsh's central rhetorical strategy is to translate historical conditions into modern equivalents. In the preface, he recounts an objection that medieval English workmen could not have been happy because their wages were 'only a few cents a day.' His response is to point out that for eight cents—the minimum wage by act of Parliament—a workman could buy a pair of handmade shoes, the maximum price established by law. This concrete economic comparison is meant to force readers to reconsider their assumptions about past living standards.

The same method recurs in his discussion of Roman women. Rather than rely on abstract claims about female subordination, Walsh cites an Atlantic Monthly article by Emily James Putnam that details the legal and social freedoms of Roman matrons: they 'had rights all their own,' entertained guests, managed households, and came and went as they pleased. Walsh then draws a direct parallel to American women, attributing their social freedom to 'the brave Colonial housemother.' The argument is built on specific, traceable evidence rather than generalities.

The School at Kildare as a Case Study

Walsh devotes considerable attention to the early medieval Irish school at Kildare, founded by Saint Brigid. He emphasizes that this school was 'conducted mainly by and for women,' though men in a neighboring monastery also taught both sexes. This detail is used to counter the assumption that women's education is a modern innovation. More striking is Walsh's claim that Kildare's curriculum was 'not concerned exclusively, nor even for the major part apparently, with book-learning.' Instead, arts and crafts—specifically lace-making and book illumination—were cultivated with 'marvellous success.'

He supports this with a reference to Gerald the Welshman (Giraldus Cambrensis), who described seeing in Ireland 'a copy of the Scriptures that was wonderfully illuminated,' which Walsh compares to the Book of Kells. Though he concedes that the Book of Kells 'almost surely originated elsewhere,' he insists that Kildare produced a book 'nearly as beautiful,' establishing the thoroughness of its artistic education. The passage is typical of Walsh's method: he uses a specific historical witness to ground a broader argument about the integration of practical and intellectual training.

Women's Education in Historical Perspective

Walsh repeatedly challenges the notion that women had few opportunities for intellectual development in classical and early Christian times. He accuses his contemporaries of 'through ignorance, assuming conditions in the past that are quite unlike those which actually existed.' His evidence for Roman women includes not only Putnam's article but also the work of the Italian historian Ferrero, who 'has read new lessons into Roman history for us by showing us the past in terms of the present.'

Walsh draws a direct analogy between Rome and America: 'The conditions that developed at Rome were very similar to those which developed in the modern American republic. Riches came, luxury arose.' The implication is that the social freedoms of Roman women were a product of their environment—a 'pioneer ancestress' legacy—just as American women's freedoms derive from colonial history. This environmental argument allows Walsh to claim that women's education and influence are not modern inventions but recurring features of prosperous, expanding societies.

The Rhetoric of Surprise and Correction

Throughout the excerpts, Walsh employs a tone of corrective surprise. He presents his findings as revelations that overturn common misconceptions: 'Most people are likely to know much more of the place of women in Greece and Rome than during Christian times,' he writes, before proceeding to show that Christian-era women's education was in fact more substantial than assumed. Similarly, he introduces the Kildare school with the phrase 'Perhaps the most interesting feature,' signaling that what follows will challenge expectations.

This rhetorical stance is reinforced by his frequent use of contrastive phrases: 'once more, as in many other phases of this subject we are, through ignorance, assuming conditions... quite unlike those which actually existed.' The pattern is consistent: Walsh states a common belief, then provides specific historical counter-evidence, then draws a moral about the value of studying educational history. The effect is to position the reader as someone who has been misled by modern biases, and Walsh as the corrective guide.

Walsh's book is best approached as a series of argumentative essays rather than a systematic history. Each chapter typically begins with a modern assumption, then undercuts it with a specific historical example—often from medieval Ireland or ancient Rome—before drawing a parallel to contemporary educational debates. Readers should pay attention to Walsh's use of economic and social comparisons, which are his primary tool for making the past seem relevant. The book does not attempt to cover all periods or regions; it is a selective polemic aimed at reforming how educators think about tradition.

Reading about medieval Irish schools reminded me of my grandmother’s story about learning Latin from a patient monk under a yew tree. That same quiet continuity surfaced in The Recitation — Story, Setting & Ideas, where reciting old verses somehow felt less like repetition and more like a hand reaching back to steady you. The past isn’t so distant after all.