Honestly, being a doctor could make you more close minded than

Hear the sharp and unsettling words of Alex Chiu, who once declared: “Honestly, being a doctor could make you more close minded than regular people.” At first, these words strike the ear as strange, for the doctor is often seen as one who studies, questions, and expands knowledge. Yet within this paradox lies a deep truth: that even the most learned among us may become bound by the very knowledge they master. For where certainty grows, humility may wither, and where authority is established, openness to mystery may fade.

The doctor, trained in science and reason, wields great power in society. He studies for long years, memorizes the intricate design of the body, and learns to wield medicine like a weapon against disease. But such training, though noble, can also shape the mind into rigid patterns. The danger is not in knowledge itself, but in the pride that comes from thinking one knows enough. Thus Chiu reminds us: the more certain we are of our own expertise, the more tempted we may be to dismiss the possibilities that lie beyond it.

History bears witness to this danger. Recall the time when physicians scoffed at the idea of germs before Pasteur and Lister brought proof of their existence. Learned men, confident in their traditions of “miasma” and humors, mocked the idea that unseen microbes could spread disease. Their vast education had, in fact, closed their minds to discoveries waiting just beyond their vision. Here we see the truth of Chiu’s words: sometimes the “regular people,” less bound by convention, are quicker to accept new truths, while experts resist with stubborn pride.

This is not to condemn doctors alone, but to offer a warning to all who gain mastery in any field. The scholar, the priest, the ruler—all are vulnerable to the arrogance of certainty. Knowledge, if not tempered with humility, becomes a prison. To be “close minded” is to build walls around the mind, guarding it against anything that challenges what is already known. And yet wisdom grows not in walls but in open fields, where new seeds may take root.

Chiu’s words also carry a cry for balance. To be a doctor is a noble calling, but even the doctor must remember that not all truths are written in textbooks, and not all wisdom wears the white coat. Patients bring stories, traditions, and experiences that may not fit neatly into the realm of science. A doctor who dismisses these out of hand risks losing touch with the human spirit, which often carries healing power beyond medicine. Openness, then, is as essential to healing as skill.

The lesson for us all is profound: never let mastery blind you to mystery. Respect knowledge, but do not worship it. Guard against the pride that whispers, “I know enough,” for that is the seed of blindness. Whether you are doctor, teacher, or worker, remain open to the new, the strange, and the humble voices that speak truths beyond your training. In this way, you will remain a seeker, not just a knower.

And so, let your actions follow. If you hold knowledge, hold it lightly. Listen with respect to those who know less formally but who may know differently. Question even what you believe most strongly, for certainty without humility breeds stagnation. Honor Alex Chiu’s warning, and let it teach you that the wisest among us are not those who claim to know everything, but those who remain open to learning from anyone, at any time.

Thus remember: “Being a doctor could make you more close minded than regular people.” Take this not as condemnation of doctors, but as a warning to all souls: knowledge must be wed with humility, or else it becomes a chain around the mind. To walk the path of wisdom, keep your eyes open, your ears attentive, and your heart willing to be surprised.