Perhaps how we connect to the world has more to do with how we connect to ourselves
Thirty years ago, I stumbled across the book Care of the Soul by Thomas Moore. I was so captivated by what I was reading that I wanted to speak with the author. While searching for a way to contact him,
I discovered that he had recently spoken at Duke Divinity School, and they provided me with a phone number.
I called, expecting to reach an office or secretary. Instead, a woman answered the phone and after asking to speak with Thomas Moore, she replied, “He’s not home. This is his wife. He should be home tomorrow evening.” I apologized for calling his home, which she graciously accepted, explaining that this happened often—he had no office or secretary. I was taken aback. How could the author of a New York Times bestseller have no office?
The next day, I called again, and Thomas Moore answered. That conversation marked the beginning of a friendship and a journey of self-discovery that changed the way I understood myself and others. I invited Thom to come speak at the University Medical Center in Knoxville. It was 20 years ago when he came and spoke to an audience of more than one hundred people, and yet his message was so profound that I still think and ponder it today: the way we care for our patients comes from our soul. It was a new way of thinking for many of us.
This idea grew from his own lifelong journey to understand himself and the world. Having spent 13 years as a monk, Thom was deeply influenced by the writings of Carl Jung, the Swiss psychologist who explored the mysteries of life. Jung suggested that our existence is more than just a series of events, family ties, or past experiences—every moment holds within it something deeper: soul. Not merely a religious concept, but an essential, ever-present force that gives meaning to life.
Thom has written more than 30 books about related topics, and he so profoundly changed the way I see myself, my work, and my relationships. His writings influenced the way I interact with the patients I visit, my colleagues, and even my own family. And through that
I have come to understand that what I feel, believe, and do is tied to my essence—something indefinable yet deeply real. It is the work of the soul.
The soulfulness of every encounter connects us to the world in a way that cannot be measured. And yet, I fear we have lost sight of our souls. The events we witness each day, the news we consume, seem to paint a picture of a world that feels increasingly soulless. We reduce ourselves to bodies and minds as though they alone define our existence. But where is the care of the soul?
It is rarely, if ever, mentioned.
Thom once said, “The care of the soul requires a different language from that of therapy and academic psychology.” We have become trapped in the belief that who we are is tied to our work, our productivity, and our future. But who we truly are is often hidden from us, and in searching for meaning in the things around us—wealth, possessions, or status—we risk losing our souls entirely. The destructive forces in our culture—drug abuse, alcoholism, crime, violence—are symptoms of this loss.
What I am beginning to see is that we are looking for answers outside of ourselves, believing that if we just did something different, there would be no crime, no violence, no disease. But perhaps these struggles are not separate from our loss of soul. Perhaps even disease itself is intertwined with this disconnection.
If there is such a force as soul, a deeper mystery that gives meaning and purpose to our fragmented lives—then I must learn to sense it. To be enchanted by it. To recognize it in each and every moment of my day.
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