The best teacher is very interactive.

Bill Gates, a man who gazed upon the rising dawn of technology and sought to harness it for the progress of humanity, once declared: “The best teacher is very interactive.” In this short phrase lies the wisdom of ages. For teaching is not the pouring of water into empty vessels, but the stirring of a flame within another soul. The teacher who speaks and never listens is but a herald shouting into the void; but the one who listens, questions, challenges, and responds creates a living dialogue, a dance of minds, where knowledge is not imposed but discovered.

The origin of this saying flows from Gates’ vision for education in the age of computers. He saw how the machine could be used not to replace the human guide but to make learning more interactive, to awaken curiosity and to adapt to the needs of each student. Yet this truth is not new. Long before the age of screens and silicon, the great sages of Greece knew it well. Did not Socrates teach by questions, drawing wisdom out of his pupils, as though they already carried truth in the womb of their souls? Thus Gates, though clothed in modern speech, echoes an ancient law of learning: that the finest teacher is not a lecturer upon a high seat, but a fellow traveler who engages the student as an equal spirit on the road of discovery.

Let us remember the tale of Confucius, who walked from village to village, surrounded by his disciples. He did not merely proclaim wisdom; he conversed, he challenged, he asked, “What do you think?” When one stumbled in reasoning, Confucius would not scold but guide them to see their own error. By such interaction, he created not passive followers but men who thought, reasoned, and carried truth in their hearts. It was this interwoven dialogue, this living exchange, that allowed his teachings to endure centuries, shaping nations long after his voice was silenced.

Consider, too, the classroom of Maria Montessori, who refused to confine children to rigid silence and rote learning. Instead, she made the room itself an interactive world — objects to touch, numbers to move, words to arrange. The children, once thought incapable, bloomed into thinkers and creators. Montessori proved that when teaching becomes a dialogue between the mind and the world, between the guide and the learner, the human spirit awakens to its full stature. Her legacy is a living monument to Gates’ truth: that interactivity is the heart of learning.

The lesson here is mighty: education is not domination but partnership. To teach is not to carve one’s thoughts into another’s stone, but to strike flint against flint until a spark flies. Interactive teaching honors the dignity of the student, recognizing that wisdom cannot be swallowed whole but must be chewed, tested, questioned, and lived. It calls for humility in the teacher and courage in the learner, for both must step into the arena of dialogue, where certainty is shaken and truth is born.

What then shall we do? Let the teacher ask questions more than he gives answers. Let him craft spaces where students wrestle, debate, and experiment. Let the parent guide the child not with commands alone but with conversations that awaken choice and responsibility. Let every leader remember that to impose without listening breeds resistance, but to engage with openness breeds loyalty, growth, and enduring wisdom.

So hear this, O seekers of truth: the greatest teacher is not the one who knows all, but the one who interacts, who listens, who challenges, who ignites. Be such a teacher in every sphere of life — in classrooms, in homes, in friendships, in the world itself. For in each of us lies the power to teach, and in each of us lies the duty to learn. When teaching becomes a dialogue, wisdom ceases to be a possession of the few and becomes the inheritance of all.