When Samuel Vedanayagam Pillai (1826-1889) wrote the first Tamil novel, ‘Prathapa Mudaliar Caritharam’, in 1879, he, like many of his contemporary writers, placed education at the heart of his work. The protagonist of the novel, a wealthy landowner’s son, had once refused to go to school, saying, “Ayya, do I need to study? Are not my wit and common sense enough? The poor do need to be educated, no doubt, as they have to earn their living. But is that necessary for me? If there is something to be read or written, don’t we have our clerks? And accountants?” This amusing display of adolescent arrogance from a century and a half ago may seem preposterous, but its relevance is strikingly contemporary.Learning, in our highly technologically advanced society, is now valued chiefly for the economic opportunities it offers. Degrees have become tickets to better-paying jobs. What purpose do science and technology serve, except to bring unprecedented luxury within our reach? Ironically, prosperity often weakens our understanding of what education is for. There may be other factors operational in a society, but it is material gains that lead to the final snapping of ties between learning and potential learners. This tension between commerce and learning is not unique to our age. It has surfaced repeatedly in history, and one of its clearest expressions can be found in Reformation Europe.Martin Luther’s crusade against ecclesiastical corruption, in the early decades of the 16th century, had turned common people suspicious towards the revered monasteries and nunneries, which were also the seats of medieval learning. The halo around the institutions related to the established Church was fading and the bonds of popular allegiance were loosening.The period was also marked by a commercial revolution. Trade and commerce became incredibly lucrative. Many well-meaning traders in Germany began to withdraw their wards from schools, and pushed them into trade; traders, like farmers, could always do with more hands.This created another crisis in Western Europe. Reformation needed more preachers and teachers, not fewer. Luther was constrained to write his famous sermon ‘On Keeping Children in School’ in 1530. In it, he argued that it was the “real masterpiece of the devil’s art” to keep children away from learning, and sacrifice them at the altar of mammon. He called upon communities to bring children back to schools to be trained to occupy holy offices to lead the flock in righteous living, and to guide the prince in dispensing justice.Arguing for mass education for both spiritual and temporal ends, Luther laid the foundation of the second education revolution in the West, the first one being King Charlemagne’s groundbreaking efforts in the 9th century AD. History testifies that renewal of its spiritual foundations is the way to make learning a meaningful human pursuit.The wise mother of that overconfident Mudaliar child counsels: “Without education, can we comprehend the nature and divine attributes of the almighty, or the teachings of the scriptures and spiritual tracts? Can we know anything of sciences like geography or mathematics…?” In a single breath, she evokes both the spiritual and the material, both the sacred and the scientific. We often forget the sacred side of the educational enterprise.— The writer teaches in Prayagraj