“The Tao of Medicine” 

In 1975, physicist Fritjof Capra published the classic book, “The Tao of Physics: An Exploration between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism.” Capra saw parallels between quantum physics and the mystical philosophies of Taoism, Zen, Buddhism, and Hinduism. Mechanistic classical physics was transforming into a physics where matter was mostly empty space, where the uncertainty principle means that we cannot measure everything with accuracy, and that particles interact at a distance without visible contact—all these scientific findings led to a worldview that was more holistic and interconnected.  

At first look, contemporary medicine is nothing like quantum physics, so the idea of a “Tao of Medicine” may not be readily understandable. Perhaps, however, the book refers to what’s left out of contemporary medicine, what’s been removed—the humanistic side of medicine, the art of medicine that has been eclipsed by the science of medicine. Maybe what we need in contemporary medicine is the idea of the taijitu, or yin-yang symbol which illustrates the interconnectedness of two different ways of seeing and being. The yang represents the illumination of the logical and scientific way of seeing and the yin represents the hidden, holistic, mysterious, and artistic way of seeing. Science in medicine is essential of course, but it’s a monocular way of seeing, and if we were to balance it with the art of medicine, we could achieve a binocular way of medicine. The benefit of binocular medicine would be two-fold: 1) enlivening the burntout heart of the doctor, and 2) allowing the full humanity of the patient to be seen and invited into the healing relationship.  

Before we turn to the benefits of the “Tao of Medicine,” let us first turn to the question of what is the Tao? 

Lao Tzu, in the “Tao Te Ching,” gives us a definition that befuddles the logical mind: 

The way that can be spoken of
is not the constant way;
The name that can be named
Is not the constant name.  

(“Tao Te Ching,” chapter I, translated by D. C. Lau) 

 

Here we have a paradox that is speaking the language of art rather than science, illustrating the mystery that denies definition. While the rational science of medicine functions through the mind and intellectual analysis, the art of medicine functions through intuition, inner knowing, and the heart. 

Once, the translator of ancient wisdom texts, Juan Mascaró happened to meet George Harrison from The Beatles, and he suggested that he set to music a chapter of the “Tao Te Ching.” Harrison did, resulting in the song, “The Inner Light.” Here is Mascaró’s translation of that passage from his book, “Lamps of Fire”: 

Without going out of my door
I can know all things on earth.
Without looking out of my window
I can know the ways of heaven. 

For the farther one travels
The less one knows. 

The sage therefore
Arrives without traveling,
Sees without looking,
Does all without doing. 

(“Tao Te Ching,” XLVII, translated by Mascaró) 

 

This chapter speaks to the possibility of an inner, intuitive knowing. The “Tao of Medicine” manifests as the wise physician who heals without doing, but simply by one’s presence. The doctor can act, as a Taoist sage would act, by not acting, but simply being with the suffering person. We must forget that it’s not only the things we do—the pills we prescribe and the surgeries we perform—but it’s also who we are as human beings and the healing presence we bring to any encounter that can alleviate suffering. We aren’t just scientists and technicians; we’re also healers who stem from an ancient tradition versed in the mysteries of life and death.  

Capra’s book explores the endless interactions of the yang of science and the yin of mysticism. The beauty of his message is that he allows both ways of knowing to co-exist with each other, without rejecting either, or trying to subsume one under the other. 

I see science and mysticism as two complementary manifestations of the human mind; of its rational and intuitive faculties. The modern physicist experiences the world through an extreme specialization of the rational mind; the mystic through an extreme specialization of the intuitive mind.. . . . Neither is comprehended in the other, nor can either of them be reduced to the other, but both are necessary, supplementing one another for a fuller understanding of the world. To paraphrase an old Chinese saying, mystics understand the roots of the Tao but not its branches; scientists understand its branches but not its roots.. . . . What we need, therefore, is not a synthesis but a dynamic interplay between mystical intuition and scientific analysis. 

The “Tao of Medicine” would encourage such a dynamic interplay of the science of medicine and the humanistic art of medicine to allow the full humanity of the doctor to meet the full humanity of the patient. The Tao, the Way, the Path—all these are frameworks for our journeys in medicine where we encounter the mystery of being human, in ourselves as well as in others. 

Capra begins his book with a quotation from Carlos Casteneda which may also be relevant to the problem of burnout in medicine.  

 

Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself, and yourself alone the question . . . Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn’t it is of no use. 

(Carlos Castenada, “The Teachings of Don Juan,” in Capra, 16) 

 

We find ourselves in a tremendous burnout crisis in medicine and healthcare. Perhaps many healthcare professionals are asking themselves, “Is medicine a still a path with heart?” Just as Capra puts forward the possibility that physics could be a path with heart if it were to include a Tao of Physics, so too we may be able to reinvigorate medicine to be a path with heart through the Tao of Medicine. This may sound obscure, difficult to understand, and even more difficult to enact, but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t attempt it. Afterall, as Franz Kafka wrote in “A Country Doctor,” “To write prescriptions is easy, but to come to an understanding with people is hard,” (Kafka, “The Complete Stories,” 223). The Tao of Medicine enters into exactly this difficult understanding of the human.  

Pearls: 

1.The Tao of Medicine can help us address burnout as well as to be more humanistically present with our patients. 

2. Human beings are comprised of dimensions that are non-logical, such as the heart, intuition, and spirit, which contemporary medicine can ignore or even invalidate. This can lead to burnout and dehumanized care.

3. Studying Taoism in the books mentioned in this piece can help us shift out of the rational dimensions of human being and into the more holistic and mysterious dimensions of heart and intuition.

4. Taoists learned from nature—walk in the forest, along the ocean, a lake, or a river, or sit in silence (even in a park or your backyard) listening to the teachings of nature. 

5. Meditate for five to 10 minutes, focusing on the gentle shifting of in-breath and out-breath. When thoughts arise, let go of using thought and language to define your experience, instead focusing on the wisdom that can be found in the empty spaces between thoughts.

This piece expresses the views solely of the author. It does not represent the views of any organization, including Johns Hopkins Medicine.