The great secret of doctors, known only to their wives, but still

Hear, O children of patience and wisdom, the words of Lewis Thomas, physician and philosopher of the modern age, who declared: “The great secret of doctors, known only to their wives, but still hidden from the public, is that most things get better by themselves; most things, in fact, are better in the morning.” In this utterance, hidden in humor, lies a truth as ancient as healing itself: that nature is its own great physician, and that time, rest, and the quiet rhythms of the body often succeed where medicine fails.

The origin of these words is found in Thomas’s reflections on the practice of medicine. He, like the sages of old, knew the limits of human art. Though doctors carry knowledge, and medicines bring relief, the body itself holds the greater mystery of healing. Many maladies, like passing storms, rage fiercely for a night, yet with the dawn they weaken. A fever breaks, a wound closes, a spirit strengthens. The physician’s secret, known behind closed doors, is that much of their apparent success lies in simply waiting, guiding, and allowing the body to restore itself.

Consider, O listener, the wisdom of Hippocrates, who more than two thousand years ago declared: “Vis medicatrix naturae”—the healing power of nature. He taught that the role of the doctor is not to conquer the body, but to assist its natural forces. Even in his day, the greatest healers knew what Lewis Thomas later put to words: that many things are better in the morning, for the body, when granted rest, renews itself in ways unseen. The night becomes the workshop of healing, and the morning its unveiling.

This teaching finds witness in history’s battles against disease. In times before antibiotics, many patients survived infections not because of potions or powders, but because their bodies endured. During the influenza pandemic of 1918, countless physicians admitted that much of what they did was comfort, not cure—yet many still recovered, borne by their own strength and the mercies of time. Here again Thomas’s truth resounds: most things get better by themselves, and the doctor’s role is often to watch, to steady, and to hope alongside the patient.

Yet this is not a call to neglect or to complacency. It is a reminder of humility. For the healer, it is a warning: do not be arrogant in your art, for much of your power is borrowed from the mystery of the body itself. For the patient, it is a balm: do not despair when night seems long, for morning brings renewal. The cycles of nature, the strength of the human frame, the quiet repair of sleep—these are the hidden allies of healing, greater than any prescription.

Let us also recall the story of Florence Nightingale. She brought not miracle drugs but rest, cleanliness, and patience to the wounded of the Crimean War. Her work allowed the soldiers’ bodies to heal themselves. What she offered was not only medicine, but the conditions in which healing could take its natural course. Her example reveals the wisdom behind Thomas’s jest: much of healing is not doing, but allowing; not striving, but creating space for nature’s quiet labor.

O children of tomorrow, take this lesson to heart. When you are burdened by illness, know that the body has power beyond your understanding. Guard it with rest, strengthen it with hope, and allow time to do its work. When you care for others, offer not only medicines and remedies, but also compassion, patience, and peace, for these are the soil in which healing grows. And above all, be humble: whether doctor or patient, remember that healing belongs to life itself.

Thus Lewis Thomas’s words endure as both humor and wisdom: “Most things get better by themselves; most things, in fact, are better in the morning.” Let us not laugh and forget, but laugh and remember—that healing often walks silently through the night, and that with the rising of the sun, both body and spirit may awaken renewed.