My duty as a teacher is to train, educate future programmers.

Hear the words of Niklaus Wirth, the architect of Pascal, Modula, and Oberon, who spoke not only as a creator of languages but as a guardian of generations: “My duty as a teacher is to train, educate future programmers.” In this simple yet powerful declaration, we see the soul of a man who understood that his legacy was not only the tools he forged, but the minds he shaped. For the true measure of a teacher is not what he achieves alone, but what he awakens in others, and what they in turn bring to the world.

To call this a duty is no small thing. Duty is the weight a man carries not for his own sake, but for the sake of those who come after him. Wirth knew that programming, the craft of commanding the machine with logic and clarity, was not merely a skill of his time, but the foundation of the future. He saw that the future programmers would one day inherit not just his languages, but the very responsibility of guiding civilization into the age of computation. His task, then, was not only to write, but to train, to discipline, to cultivate.

The ancients too knew this truth. When Aristotle taught Alexander, he did not only train him in philosophy, but prepared him to govern an empire. When the medieval masters trained apprentices in their guilds, they did not only pass on craft, but instilled in them the values of patience, rigor, and pride in workmanship. So Wirth, standing in his lecture hall, was part of this eternal chain: the teacher who does not hoard his wisdom but plants it in the hearts of the young, knowing it will grow into forests beyond his own sight.

And what is the role of the teacher in such a craft as programming? It is not only to instruct in syntax or logic, but to shape the mind itself. For programming is more than writing commands—it is the art of precision, the discipline of structure, the ability to think clearly amidst complexity. Wirth himself was famed for his insistence on simplicity and elegance in design, and he sought to instill these principles in his students. His duty was not to flood them with knowledge, but to forge in them a way of thinking that would endure beyond languages and trends.

History gives us examples of such influence. Consider Konrad Zuse, who built the first programmable computer in obscurity, yet inspired countless others to follow. Consider John von Neumann, whose lectures lit fires that burned across generations of scientists and mathematicians. These men did not only create; they trained others to carry forward the torch. And so, too, Wirth understood: the machines of tomorrow will obey the hands of those I prepare today. My task is not fleeting—it is the preparation of the future itself.

The lesson here is profound: each of us who holds knowledge bears the duty to pass it on. The world advances not by the hoarding of wisdom, but by its transmission. If you are skilled, teach; if you are learned, share; if you are experienced, guide. For one never knows when the seed planted in a single student will grow into the tree that shelters entire nations. Wirth’s words remind us that to educate future programmers—or future builders of any kind—is to shape destinies far beyond our own.

Therefore, O seekers of wisdom, remember Wirth’s creed. Do not think of teaching as a secondary task, but as the highest calling of all creation. To build is noble, but to raise builders is divine. Whatever your craft—whether code, art, science, or trade—be not content only to master it yourself. Take up the duty of the teacher: train, educate, and inspire those who will come after you. For it is through them that your work will endure, and through them that the world will rise higher than even you could imagine. He who teaches does not end with himself, but becomes eternal.