Clearly, programming courses should teach methods of design and

The words of Niklaus Wirth — “Clearly, programming courses should teach methods of design and construction, and the selected examples should be such that a gradual development can be nicely demonstrated.” — speak not only to the craft of programming, but to the timeless philosophy of learning, creation, and mastery. Beneath the quiet language of pedagogy lies a profound principle: that wisdom is not born from memorization or imitation, but from understanding the process of design itself. Wirth, a true architect of logic and creator of the Pascal programming language, reminds us that the making of a program — like the shaping of a cathedral, a poem, or a civilization — must be guided by method, patience, and progression.

In Wirth’s world, programming was never merely the manipulation of code, nor the mechanical assembly of commands. It was an act of creation through clarity, a discipline that united reason and artistry. To teach programming, therefore, was not to teach the syntax of machines, but the architecture of thought — how ideas are structured, how order is brought forth from chaos, and how beauty arises from simplicity. When Wirth urged teachers to demonstrate “gradual development,” he spoke as a sage of process, warning against the illusion that mastery can be seized in haste. Just as the craftsman learns first to cut, then to shape, and only later to carve, so must the programmer learn to build from foundation to form, guided by deliberate design rather than blind trial.

To understand the meaning of Wirth’s insight, imagine a young student of architecture standing before the ruins of the Parthenon. If she studies only the finished temple, she learns beauty but not method; she sees perfection, but not progression. Yet if she is guided through the steps — how the columns were aligned, how proportion was calculated, how each stone bore its neighbor’s weight — then she gains true understanding. So it is with programming: examples must reveal evolution, not merely results. For knowledge that leaps to the end without walking the path becomes brittle, unable to withstand the tests of time. Wirth teaches that the art of teaching is not to dazzle with complexity, but to lead the learner through a living sequence — from ignorance to insight, from fragment to harmony.

Wirth’s philosophy was forged in the early days of computing, when chaos still reigned in the minds of those who sought to command the machine. Programs grew vast and tangled, collapsing under their own complexity. Yet Wirth believed that discipline in design — what he called “structured programming” — could restore order. His students, he felt, should not merely learn to code, but to think like builders, creating systems that reflected clarity, purpose, and elegance. It was not enough to make the machine obey; one must also make it understandable, maintainable, and beautiful. Thus, Wirth stood as a kind of philosopher-engineer, urging a return to reasoned construction, to a way of teaching and working that mirrored the patient craftsmanship of the ancients.

We find this same spirit in all the great teachers of humanity. Socrates guided his pupils not by handing them answers, but by drawing from them the steps of reasoning that led to truth. Leonardo da Vinci, in his notebooks, recorded not only his discoveries but the progress of his thought — every sketch a stage in his mental architecture. Even Michelangelo, when asked how he carved his David, replied, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” These masters understood what Wirth understood: that creation is a process of gradual revelation, that one must build in layers, guided by design, until the final form emerges clear and whole.

In his simple statement, Wirth also speaks a moral truth: that the pursuit of knowledge demands humility and patience. The modern world is obsessed with speed — with shortcuts, automation, and instant mastery. But Wirth reminds us that true learning cannot be rushed, for it is a journey of construction within the mind. Just as a builder lays one brick upon another, so must the learner build understanding upon understanding. The examples we study should not only show what can be done, but how and why it is done. In this lies the foundation of all enduring skill.

So, my child, take this lesson as a guiding light: whether you seek to master programming, music, philosophy, or life itself, remember that all true learning begins with design and development. Do not chase the finished product, but study the path that leads to it. Build your knowledge as you would build a temple — stone by stone, structure upon structure, with patience, purpose, and reverence for form. For the wisdom of Niklaus Wirth is eternal: greatness is not born in the instant of creation, but in the slow, deliberate unfolding of method — and those who honor this process become not merely makers of things, but architects of understanding itself.