The atrophy is still there. You can see it in the small muscles of Wang Zhiyuan’s hands—the permanent signature of a disease that was supposed to kill him within five years. His prognosis was given in 1983. He is still alive today, and though the disease has left its mark—it couldn’t finish the job.

Wang Zhiyuan and I attended the same medical school in China, though he was many years ahead of me. At the peak of his career, he was diagnosed with ALS—amyotrophic lateral sclerosis—also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. ALS destroys the motor neurons that control your muscles. There is no cure, and most patients die within three to five years.

Within months, he dropped from 165 to 130 pounds. His wife, a neurologist, moved to work at Harvard Medical School, hoping the best institution in the world would have answers. He joined her there, but by late 1997, he couldn’t remember his own home address. He was preparing to die.

Then a friend wrote him a letter about Falun Dafa—a meditative practice rooted in cultivating truthfulness, compassion, and tolerance. Wang found a class at MIT in February 1998. Within three months, the progression of his disease stopped. His memory and his energy returned. He passed a clean physical at Massachusetts General Hospital. A Boston Globe reporter found him jogging.

That was 28 years ago. He is still alive today.

Wang did not take up Falun Dafa as a medical treatment, and the practice explicitly discourages being framed as such. He was practicing to cultivate his character and refine his body through energy exercises. The health benefits, when they arrive, are byproducts of genuine spiritual cultivation. Not the goal.

The Question Mainstream Medicine Is Finally Asking

Sixty percent of American adults are interested in spiritual support from their health care providers. The 2021 study reported that spiritual needs among seriously ill patients are common, rarely addressed, and that when left unaddressed, quality of life suffers.

An article recently published in Neurology Clinical Practice, authored by researchers from UCLA, Harvard Medical School, Brown University, and the University of Colorado, suggests that neurologists should routinely screen patients for spiritual needs as a core clinical skill included in neurology training.

The article calls for expanding the biopsychosocial model to include a bio-psychosocial-spiritual model. What the patient believes, what gives the patient’s life meaning, and how patients make sense of what they’re going through are equally as important as their physical symptoms, signs, and lab tests.

The spiritual dimension isn’t an add-on. It’s the deepest layer, and sometimes, it’s where healing begins. This is exactly what I’ve been practicing through the ACES framework—the four dimensions of anatomy, chemistry, energy, and soul/spirit.

Here’s how I explain it to my patients: Modern medicine is very good at repairing physical parts. Think about fixing a car; we can replace the tires, rebuild the engine, and repaint the body. However, we completely ignore the driver. If the driver is exhausted, lost, angry, or has no idea where he’s going, it doesn’t matter how well you fix the car. It’s going to end up in a ditch again.

3 Three Patients With the Same Pain–3 Outcomes

I once treated three patients who had the same complaint: chronic, debilitating lower back pain. Each took a different path toward healing.

The First Chose Surgery

The surgeon identified a herniated disc pressing on the nerve and performed a spinal fusion. The surgery was technically a success. The patient’s pain improved—for a few months—then returned at an adjacent level of the spine—a recognized complication in which mechanical stress shifts to the next spinal segment.

Essentially, his body was still carrying the same chronic stress, the same tension, the same unexamined emotional patterns that had contributed to the problem in the first place. Surgery repaired the anatomy while the chemistry, energy, and spirit remained unchanged.

The Second Chose Acupuncture and Psychotherapy

Acupuncture addresses energetic blockages in the lumbar meridians—channels through which energy flows. The needles opened the flow. Then psychotherapy uncovered that her pain had flared during a period of serious marital conflict, alongside unprocessed grief from her mother’s death. Chronic stress elevates cortisol, drives inflammation, and tightens muscles—the biochemistry of suffering was literally compressing her spine.

As she worked through the grief and the relational pain, the physical pain diminished substantially. We had addressed two dimensions—energy and chemistry—and the results were more durable than those from surgery alone, though still incomplete.

The Third Went Deeper

The third patient was a woman of deep faith and a practitioner of Falun Dafa. We ruled out anything dangerous. Her primary approach to healing was spiritual: meditative exercises and, most importantly, an honest examination of her own heart and character—resentments, fears, and attachments she hadn’t released. Like Wang, she wasn’t trying to fix her back. She was practicing cultivating herself. The pain resolved completely and did not return.

I present these three cases not to rank treatments, but to illustrate where different approaches operate. The surgery worked on the body. Acupuncture and psychotherapy worked on the mind and energy. The spiritual practice, which included meditative qigong exercises, worked on the person’s energy and spirit.

The authors of the recent neurology article said that spirituality isn’t just something nice to have—it’s a practical tool for healing. Whether through prayer, meditation, or ritual, spiritual practices help patients stay hopeful and feel more in control during a crisis.

5 Questions to Ask Yourself

Before you see another specialist or try another treatment, sit quietly and answer these five questions. Write them down and be honest. Your answers may reveal more about the root of your suffering and the path to your healing than any lab test.

1. What Is My Meaning and Purpose in Life?

Being unable to answer the question of our meaning and purpose in life clearly is not a personal failure; it’s a clinical finding. A life without felt purpose is a life under existential stress, and that kind of stress is physiological. It shows up in your immune function, your inflammation markers, and your sleep. Reconnecting with purpose is not a luxury—it’s medicine.

2. What Is My Relationship With Myself, the People I Encounter, and the Universe or Nature?

Are you at war with your own body? Resentful of the people around you? Disconnected from nature? These relationships are not abstract—they regulate your nervous system. When there is harmony, your brain signals your nervous system to lower stress hormones and stabilize your heart rate—shifting you from a state of fight-or-flight to one of physical calm and recovery.

3. Is There a Creator? If Yes, What Is Your Relationship With the Creator?

Whether you call it God, the Dao, the Source, or something you can’t name, your relationship with the creator shapes how you carry suffering, how you face uncertainty, and how much inner peace is available to you. Trying to answer the questions honestly will open something.

4. Is There a Past Life, a Future Life, and an Afterlife?

What you believe about the continuity of existence profoundly affects how you live this life. If this life is all there is, suffering has one meaning. If it’s part of a longer journey, it has another. Both perspectives are valid. What you believe will affect how you make choices in life.

5. What Is Your Understanding of Hardship, Tribulation, Aging, Illness, and Death?

This question is the big one. Do you see illness as punishment, as random bad luck, or as something that carries meaning? How you frame suffering determines whether it crushes you or transforms you. Every patient I’ve seen who experienced deep healing—including Wang and my patient whose back pain vanished—has found a way to relate to their suffering that gave it meaning rather than letting it steal meaning away.

What to Do Next

If You Are a Patient

Answer the five questions above. Add a daily contemplative practice—even five minutes of prayer, meditation, or quiet reflection. Look honestly at your character—grudges, avoidance, unkindness—these create real physiological stress. Don’t abandon your medical care—faith and medicine are not opponents. The goal is to treat all four dimensions, not to replace one with another.

If You Are a Clinician

Here’s my simplest trick: I ask patients what they do on Sundays. That’s it. No one feels interrogated, but the answer tells you almost everything. From there, the two screening questions from the recent Neurology Clinical Practice article are a natural next step: “Is spirituality or faith important to you in thinking about your health and illness?” and “Do you have, or would you like to have, someone to talk to about spiritual or faith matters?”

The Fourth Dimension of the ACES Framework

In classical Chinese medicine, the Shen—the spirit—governs the body. When the spirit is at peace, the qi (energy) flows, the organs harmonize, and disease struggles to take root. Modern psychoneuroimmunology is beginning to confirm what ancient physicians knew: The spiritual dimension is not separate from the physical one; it precedes it.

Can faith heal you? I’ve watched Wang survive ALS for 28 years. I’ve watched a patient’s chronic pain vanish when she addressed what weighed on her heart. I’ve spent decades watching patients who practice truthfulness, compassion, and tolerance—not as slogans but as a way of life—experience healing that no pill can replicate.

Faith won’t replace your doctor, but it might complete the picture your doctor has been missing. You don’t need a prescription for faith. You already have everything you need.

Lidan Du-Skabrin, who holds a doctorate in nutrition, contributed to this article.