Why Latin and Logic Beat Coding Classes

The architect of tomorrow’s AI must be as much a philosopher as a technician, capable of wrestling with questions that cannot be answered by code alone. What does it mean to create intelligence?

Yes, it might seem counterintuitive to suggest that a classical education—rooted in ancient languages, philosophy, rhetoric, and mathematics—could be the ideal preparation for careers in technology, including computer science and programming. Yet this integrated liberal arts foundation, with its emphasis on analytical thought, creative synthesis, and intellectual versatility, offers precisely the skills needed to thrive in the modern tech landscape. By integrating knowledge across disciplines, fostering creativity, and cultivating rigorous problem-solving abilities, classical education equips students not only to excel in technological fields but to lead them.

To grasp this, we must first dispense with the tired caricature of classical education as a quaint exercise in nostalgia. It is not a fossilized reverence for togas and scrolls. It is a method—a way of thinking about thinking—that transcends its historical origins. Consider its insistence on integrating disparate fields of knowledge. The classical curriculum does not allow one to languish in disciplinary silos. The student of Latin may find himself grappling with geometry, while a foray into Aristotelian ethics leads inevitably to questions of biology, politics, and metaphysics. This cross-pollination mirrors the nature of technological innovation, which thrives on the confluence of seemingly unrelated ideas.

In computer science, for instance, the most groundbreaking algorithms emerge not solely from raw computational prowess but from a synthesis of logic, mathematics, and even the humanities. The elegant architecture of a programming language like Python owes as much to the principles of rhetoric and clarity prized by Cicero as it does to Boolean algebra. The classical mind, trained to see connections where others see divisions, excels in precisely this mode of thinking.

Consider creativity, a concept often associated with art but just as essential to technology. Programming, like art, involves the act of creation? Each line of code is a stroke on the canvas of digital possibility. And yet, creativity demands more than technical skill; it demands the ability to imagine what does not yet exist, to see the world not only as it is but as it could be.

This is where the ancients prove unexpectedly modern. The myths of Homer, the dialogues of Plato, the tragedies of Sophocles—these are workshops of the imagination. To engage with them is to enter a realm where human nature, in all its complexity, is laid bare. The coder who dreams of designing intuitive user interfaces, could do worse than to study The Odyssey, which charts the nuanced interplay of loyalty, cunning, and identity.

Moreover, classical education fosters the kind of intellectual rigor that is indispensable for analytical thought. Logic, as formalized by Aristotle, underpins not only philosophy but also the foundations of modern computation. To learn syllogistic reasoning is, in essence, to learn the mental discipline required for debugging code or designing algorithms. The student who can parse the dense, complex arguments of a Platonic dialogue is well-equipped to navigate the nested loops and recursive functions of programming.

This intellectual rigor also instills a crucial humility. To engage with the great thinkers of the past is to confront the vastness of human ignorance in pursuit of truth. It is to understand that technology, no matter how advanced, is not an end but a means—a tool that amplifies human potential while reflecting human flaws. The classical education, steeped in moral philosophy and the humanities, equips its students not only to ask what can be done with technology but also what should be done.

In the tech industry, where innovation often outpaces ethical reflection, this moral grounding is a necessity. The architect of tomorrow’s AI must be as much a philosopher as a technician, capable of wrestling with questions that cannot be answered by code alone. What does it mean to create intelligence? What are the implications of automating decision-making? These are not technical questions; they are human ones, and they require the kind of deep, synthetic thinking that classical education excels at cultivating.

And finally, there is the question of adaptability. Technology evolves at breakneck speed; the tools and platforms of today may be obsolete tomorrow. The classical curriculum, with its emphasis on timeless principles rather than transient trends, prepares its students not for a specific job but for any job. It teaches them how to learn, how to think, and how to adapt—skills that are as relevant in the 21st century as they were in the 4th century BC.

So, let the skeptics scoff, imagining rows of toga-clad students chanting Virgil while the world outside hums with the buzz of servers and the glow of screens. They miss the point. Classical education is not a relic; it is a toolkit, a forge, and a guide. It teaches us how to synthesize knowledge across disciplines, how to think with clarity and rigor, and how to create with purpose. And in a world where technology shapes every facet of our lives, these are the skills that matter most.

Michael S. Rose, a leader in the classical education movement, is author of The Art of Being Human (Angelico), Ugly As Sin and other books. His articles have appeared in dozens of publications including The Wall Street Journal, Epoch Times, New York Newsday, National Review, and The Dallas Morning News.