As I approach the completion of my formal training as a naturopathic doctor I reflect on the last 4 years and how the experienced has changed me. I have learned many of the components of healthful living; skills that will likely prove to be the greatest benefit of my training. I have acquired the language of medicine; which will enable me to continue my life-long calling of continuous education. I have been integrated into a society of peers and mentors who have similar ideas and values about health and healing. I have grown in my understanding of myself and my understanding of the world and come to appreciate the limitations of human knowledge.
 
It is this last lesson that has been a particular struggle for me. I have a great hunger for knowledge and when I began my training at the Canadian College of Naturopathic Medicine I envisioned that I would graduate as a topic expert on the human body. I expected to develop an intimate understanding of everything there was to know about health and disease. You can imagine my disillusionment when my professors proved less than omniscient. I began to seek other teachers and sources of knowledge to fill in the gaps. At the same time I was being exposed to unfamiliar concepts and foreign theories that contradicted what I already thought I knew. I started to realize that my methods for determining truth were poorly defined. I sought the advice of one professor, whose judgment I trusted, with the question: “How do I decide what to believe?” That professor pointed me down the road of research.
 
Alas, the human body is an extremely complex and dynamic system of which scientists understand some, and doctors understand less. And to my disappointment there are presently far more clinical questions that remain unanswered than those for which we have clear evidence. In the realm of alternative medicine this challenge often seems magnified. While research was unable to resolve my questions about the content of medicine, one thing it has taught me is a methodology. Though my expectations for what constitutes evidence continue to evolve, I have always felt obligated to formulate assessments and treatment strategies on the basis of some objectivity. However, in the absence of clinical data we have no choice but to use theories. The challenge with formulating theories is that it can easily become an exercise in confirming our biases as we hopelessly try to piece together some scaffold of understanding.
 
All of this philosophical drudgery reminds me of two quotes that I often think about when I get stuck in this quandary. The first was spoken by Socrates: “The more you know, the more you realize you know nothing.” While this reality may seem discouraging at times, realizing that the answer to my clinical inquiry is a matter of human ignorance (rather than personal ignorance) provides me some reassurance. The second quote, by F. Scott Fitzgerald, is a guiding light to what I strive to achieve. He states: “The test of first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.” I find this quote encouraging in that it acknowledges the difficulty of the challenge I face. 
 
Ultimately, patients need advice for management of their concerns today. The pursuit of knowledge is the aim of scholars; and while doctors may endeavor to be scholars we must, above all, uphold our primary responsibility as healers. This requires a critical mind and an open heart. Nevertheless, we need our biases. They are the imperfect conclusions we are forced to formulate to make a sea of conflicting information useable for day to day practice. Despite this reality, the biggest mistake we can make is to close ourselves off to potentially valuable information because we think we know better.