Chapter 1 opens with a discussion of the foundational importance of classical education in Roman society and politics, and how it served as a basis for both office-holding and elite Roman identity and self-fashioning. The chapter also provides a prosopographical sketch of the teachers and students that are visible in the historical record from the fourth to early sixth centuries in Gaul, showing that identifiable teachers and students begin to fade from the sources from the later-fifth and early-sixth centuries. It discusses the marked shift in the visibility of these individuals, the changing nature of our sources for education throughout the period, the limitations of our sources, and what we can learn from those limitations. The chapter argues that, while classical education largely disappears from the historical record by the early sixth century, this by no means indicates that classical education ceased to exist entirely. Rather, it shows that classical education was no longer a ‘public’ institution as it had been under the Roman empire, and that it did not occupy that specific place within politics, society, and culture that allowed it to be visible and take a prominent place in the technical and literary texts of the period.

Chapter 5 focuses on two biographical compilations of Afro-Argentines who are considered role models for the community. These biographies not only present a written portrait of each individual but also include a corresponding visual portrait, a feature that enriches the compilations. They were an attempt to construct an Afro-Argentine memory and imaginary, and the construction of this collective memory implied affection, bonds of proximity, and even intimacy The inclusion of portraits shows how important images were to the promoters of the publication in their role as mentors of the community. On the one hand, the inclusion of engravings was a way of complying with the precepts of progress and civilization, given the growing development of illustrated publications at the time. On the other hand, the possibility of seeing and recognizing the faces of notable people implied an affective dimension of which Afro-Porteño intellectuals were aware. This was because, in addition to being individuals who enjoyed a certain prestige (to a greater or lesser extent) not only within the group but also in the rest of Buenos Aires society, the members of the community were in almost daily contact with them and their relatives, often as friends.

This chapter considers neuroscience translations and attempts to apply our knowledge of the nervous system in practical approaches. I start by discussing the traditional areas of translation, neurology and psychiatry, and the extent to which a focus on neurobiological aspects can help in addressing these conditions. I then turn to more recent claims that neuroscience can inform educational practice, including claims of pharmacological cognitive enhancement, and neurocriminology claims that we will be able to predict and prevent criminal behaviour by identifying the neural mechanisms involved. The discussion covers brain imaging and heritability approaches that try to identify biological bases that can be targeted in translations and interventions, highlighting the caveats associated with these approaches and the claims made from them.

The concluding chapter reflects upon how the themes and questions explored in the book speak to familiar concerns of families, communities, and societies across time. What is the purpose of education? What do we expect of our education, and in what ways does our pursuit of knowledge and our learning define who we are? The conclusion draws together the arguments from the preceding chapters, considering in what ways the ‘fall’ of Rome meant the end of the schools of grammar and rhetoric in Gaul. Without the superstructure of the Roman empire, the socio-political culture that valued literary education disappeared, and the schools soon followed suit; it was not primarily material changes caused by the political, cultural, and religious upheavals of the fifth century that led to the decline of the schools, but rather marked changes in the attitudes and mindset towards education and learning of the emerging power brokers of post-imperial Gaul – the barbarian kingdoms and the Church.

Chapter 6 focuses on the careers of four artists of African descent in the Rio de la Plata: Fermín Gayoso, Rosendo Mendizábal, Juan Blanco de Aguirre, and Bernardino Posadas. They work in different historical contexts, from the colonial era to the end of the nineteenth century. The first was enslaved and was active in the early nineteenth century. Therefore, his trajectory differs from the rest. Mendizábal, on the other hand, was not only a painter but also a politician, maintaining ties to the Buenos Aires elite of the 1850s and 1860s. The historical and social context was quite different for Juan Blanco de Aguirre and Bernardino Posadas. These artists were active in the last quarter of the century, when the project of a racially and culturally homogeneous nation implemented by the dominant groups was in full swing. The analysis undertaken in this chapter provides a glimpse of the situation of Afro-Porteño intellectuals and especially of the few artists of whom we have information, as well as the tensions generated by the educational and promotion projects in which they were involved.

The introduction sets out the approaches, sources, and scope of the book. It acquaints the reader with the main features of classical education and places the book within the modern historiography.

This chapter explores the “joint” musical education of the two siblings Fanny and Felix, taking as its point of departure the educational backgrounds of the parents which differentiated little by gender in terms of approach and content, but certainly in the intended paths for the two children. Felix was destined to become a professional composer, and the genres in which he was groomed were thus the “public” ones (opera in particular) while Fanny was expected to excel in the “small” genres: piano pieces and songs.

The chapter situates children’s poetry within the print culture of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and how such poetry provides insights into the shift from a reliance on British practices and literary models to a sense of literary distinctiveness and independence. It discusses how early alphabet books developed literacy as well as inculcated social and political values. It also considers how some children’s verse disseminated the trope of the lost child in the bush, while other verse familiarised children with the Australian environment. It discusses the emergence of fairy and fantasy worlds based on distinctly Australian settings following World War I, and a growing depiction of Australian progress. The chapter discusses the pedagogic role of school readers and their role in mediating continuing connections to Britain and a specifically Australian identity. The chapter also discusses the significance of columns for children in periodicals, and how their encouragement of children to write which led to the rise of a number of child poets.

This chapter examines meritocracy as central to conceptions of ‘the people’ at the mid-century. It focuses on Raymond Williams, Richard Hoggart, and Storm Jameson, figures closely linked to the Workers’ Educational Association, a network that stimulated thought on class and culture. Meritocracy bifurcated the early formations of cultural studies. For Williams, meritocracy and intelligence create cultural fragmentation to be resisted by the abolishment of the eleven plus, a manoeuvre that would facilitate a common culture as Williams advocated for working-class intellectual power. For Hoggart, who was tentative about the working-class intellect, the social mobility of those found mentally able in the scholarship examination created a degradation of traditional working-class culture, which the adult education movement evaded. Storm Jameson’s novel A Cup of Tea for Mr Thorgill (1957) embodies tensions surrounding communitarian ethics versus individual advancement and elite cultural standards versus cultural inclusion as it examines concerns shaping cultural studies at the mid-century.

This chapter presents Murakami Naojirō’s multifaceted life in chronological order. Providing details about Murakami’s educational background, career stages, and publication history, this chapter traces his imperial agendas and epistemological impact in East and Southeast Asia. It emphasizes the entangled nature of his life and work as a translator historian and scholar diplomat who held influential academic positions during the Japanese Empire, as well as his rehabilitation in Jesuit-led Christian history circles toward the end of his life. A variety of genres have been consulted to develop a comprehensive understanding of Murakami’s professional life across archives, universities, and government offices and how his various posts shaped the global circulation of knowledge.

The right to education is a human right recognised by a number of international legal instruments and the civilised world. Agreement about the language used as the medium of instruction, however, is not so easily achieved – should it be available only in the official language or should it also be provided in minority languages? Is there a right or even a duty to learn the official language? There have been recent developments in international law clarifying this issue, and problems were also identified during the COVID-19 pandemic. There is abundant research that the COVID-19 pandemic had more negative effects on ethnic and national minorities than on the majority population, including in the field of education. Facilitation of access to education was ensured mostly in the official language, while students studying in minority languages were left behind.