Teachers need to be more inspirational. But it's also up to

In the wise and impassioned words of Bruce Dickinson, artist, aviator, and thinker, we find a truth that transcends both classroom and craft: “Teachers need to be more inspirational. But it's also up to engineering to make itself more interesting.” Here, in this statement, lies not a complaint, but a call to awakening — a reminder that education and innovation must walk hand in hand, each giving life to the other. Dickinson speaks as one who has lived at the crossroads of creativity and science, of art and structure. He reminds us that to truly ignite the minds of future generations, inspiration must flow in both directions — from those who teach and from the very disciplines they teach.

The meaning of his words reveals a dual responsibility. On one side stands the teacher, the guide and mentor whose duty is to awaken curiosity, not merely to deliver information. For knowledge without passion is like a flame without heat — it gives light but cannot warm the heart. On the other side stands engineering itself — a realm of logic, invention, and human progress — which must not remain confined in abstraction. It must be presented as the living poetry of problem-solving, as the noble art of creation through reason. Dickinson’s insight is this: for young minds to fall in love with learning, both the messenger and the message must inspire.

The origin of this idea can be traced to the very roots of civilization. In the ancient academies of Greece, the philosopher Aristotle taught that education must not only inform the intellect but shape the soul. His master, Plato, likened teaching to the art of midwifery — helping the mind give birth to truth through questioning and wonder. And in the Renaissance, Leonardo da Vinci proved that art and engineering are but two sides of the same divine coin. He was both dreamer and designer, painter and mechanic, proving that inspiration fuels invention, and that learning devoid of imagination cannot endure. Dickinson, standing in that same lineage, calls us to restore this ancient harmony — to make learning once again an act of wonder, and science a thing of beauty.

For consider the fate of a child taught without inspiration. He memorizes formulas but does not see their purpose; he builds according to instructions but never dreams of what might be built beyond them. Contrast this with the child whose teacher burns with curiosity, who shows not only how the bridge stands, but why it is a triumph of human ingenuity — the result of courage, vision, and persistence. That child does not merely learn; he awakens. He begins to see that engineering is not the study of machines, but of possibility itself — the conquest of limitation through intellect. Such teaching transforms education from obligation into calling, from task into joy.

There is also a warning in Dickinson’s words. When engineering and other sciences fail to present their inner beauty — when they hide behind jargon and monotony — they risk losing the hearts of those who would otherwise shape the future. The fault, then, does not lie solely with the student, nor with the teacher, but with the system that forgets to connect knowledge with wonder. The engineer, in the truest sense, is not merely a builder of structures, but a dreamer who gives form to the invisible. To make engineering “more interesting” is not to make it easier or more entertaining, but to reveal its majesty — to show that every circuit and beam, every algorithm and design, carries within it the creative essence of humanity itself.

We can look to Isambard Kingdom Brunel, the great engineer of the 19th century, for a living example of this union between intellect and inspiration. Brunel did not build bridges merely to connect two shores — he built them to defy the limits of the age. His vision transformed the landscape of Britain, not through force, but through imagination. Those who worked with him did not follow him out of duty alone, but because they were moved by his passion, his belief that through science and art combined, man could reshape the very face of the earth. Brunel was both teacher and engineer, and his legacy reminds us that progress begins not in calculation alone, but in the heart that dares to believe that such calculation can change the world.

Thus, the lesson of Bruce Dickinson’s words is timeless: knowledge must never stand still. The teacher must inspire through fire, not fear; and the engineer must remember that his craft, too, must speak to the imagination. Let every classroom be a forge of curiosity, and every profession a song of meaning. To those who teach — do not merely instruct, but awaken. To those who build — do not merely assemble, but dream.

For the future belongs not to the learned alone, but to the inspired — those who see in science the poetry of creation, and in education the art of transformation. When both teacher and subject become alive with wonder, the world itself becomes a classroom without walls, a stage upon which every mind may rise to its fullest height. And in that sacred union between learning and dreaming, the words of Bruce Dickinson find their eternal truth: that inspiration is the bridge between knowledge and greatness.