Estimated read time: 7 mins
My interest in philosophy really began in school. From the age of 11, my education was almost entirely science-based – and, truthfully, other subjects didn’t interest me much. My teachers were concerned that my interests were too narrow and encouraged me to keep a balance by taking general studies classes. Those classes included an introduction to philosophy. At the time, I regarded these classes as a diversion, but looking back they were very influential during my formative years.
I was drawn back to philosophy, particularly Stoicism, after I graduated from dental school. Philosophy has offered an insight into different aspects of my professional life, from owning and operating a small practice group, to teaching and carrying out my dentolegal and consultancy work.
I was driven to study the subject in more depth under the guidance of Professor Ray Tallis, a physician, philosopher, poet, and novelist, who was once described as “one of the world’s greatest living polymaths” (Intelligent Life). I remain in touch with him, and he continues to inspire.
In terms of impact, I recall one conversation from my time as a part-time policy adviser at the Department of Health. I attended a meeting with the then Chief Dental Officer, Dame Margaret Seward, and David Lammy – now Deputy Prime Minister – who was serving as a junior health minister at the time. During a discussion about clinical governance, we found ourselves talking about Aristotle’s Doctrine of the Mean. It was a thoughtful exchange, and it made me realise that my interest in philosophy gave me an original perspective – if you can call principles that have stood the test of time for 2000 years ‘original’.
Healthcare today is informed by evidence-based practice, clinical research, and increasingly by technological innovation, but we must not forget its moral core. The American physician and bioethicist Edmund Pellegrino reminded us that medicine is a moral enterprise, grounded in the covenant between clinician and patient. Aristotle’s concept of phronesis guides sound judgment and ethical action in a field that is both scientific and moral in nature.
The word ‘phronesis’ comes from ancient Greece and it means ‘to think’ or ‘to exercise sound judgment’. It was Aristotle who famed it as practical wisdom.
Today, it can be said to be the wisdom that guides clinicians to apply evidence, experience, and ethical values to do the right thing in the right way and for the right reasons.
I like the phrase ‘clinical phronesis’ to describe the specific form of practical wisdom that arises within the clinical setting. It refers to the way practical wisdom is expressed in everyday clinical practice. Phronesis sits alongside theoretical understanding and the mastery of practical skill – what Aristotle called ‘episteme ‘and ‘techne’.
As an aside, I aways remember the journalist and humourist Miles Kington – he wrote for the magazine Punch and had a column in The Times. I was a big fan of his writing. He famously noted that ‘knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit; wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.’ Genius – enough said. It accords with Aristotle’s distinction between episteme and phronesis.
Excuse me for being self-referential, but I recently wrote a chapter titled ‘what it is to be WISE’. I use the word WISE as an acronym to describe the key components of phronesis – Wellbeing, Insight, Sensitivity, and Experiential learning. These four elements capture where wisdom in practice truly takes root.
Wellbeing reminds us that healthcare is ultimately about human flourishing, not just technical success.
Insight is the capacity to see what really matters in complex situations – to interpret context, values, and emotion – not just data.
Sensitivity speaks to empathy and ethical awareness – the ability to respond to others with understanding and compassion.
And Experiential learning is where theory becomes wisdom – reflecting on what went well, what didn’t, and what we might do differently next time.
You can learn knowledge and skills from textbooks or simulation, but phronesis grows through lived experience, by thinking about our actions, and learning from reflection.
That is an interesting question. The relationship between phronesis and evidence is complex – contradictory even. The quest for evidence to support clinical interventions can sometimes create a mirage – the illusion that evidence eliminates the need for judgment.
EBP provides the body of knowledge and technical skill (episteme and techne) and phronesis provides the judgment, deliberation, and discernment needed to translate that general knowledge into personalised care for the individual patient.
As clinicians, we have to manage complexity and uncertainty. These are features of the clinical landscape. Practical wisdom connects the science to the uncertainty and helps us to apply evidence wisely.
I’m tempted to reframe your question as ‘Aristotle and the Algorithm’. My interest in philosophy often overlaps with another passion – artificial intelligence. You may know that we’ve now launched the INFORMED and RECORDS frameworks across medicine and dentistry. In developing those frameworks, I grappled with how Aristotle’s concept of virtue ethics – particularly phronesis – could be integrated into the safer practice framework. I left it out, and your question has brought it back into focus.
AI excels when it comes to theory. It can process vast amounts of information, but to borrow a phrase, ‘there is no ghost in the machine’ when it comes to AI systems. Gilbert Ryle coined that expression to challenge the idea that mind and body are separate entities.
Let’s pay a visit to the sci-fi world where writers have imagined what it would mean if there really was a ghost in the machine – a conscious moral presence within technology. For example, in Isaac Asimov’s I, Robot, androids follow rules but occasionally act as if guided by something deeper. There is a flicker of moral insight beyond their programming. Is that the future of healthcare?
If we analyse AI through the lens of virtue ethics – and accept that a virtuous clinician is someone who has developed phronesis – we see that although AI systems excel in theoretical knowledge, they lack phronesis. Phronesis is computationally irreducible, and by that I mean it cannot be fully captured, or replicated through code or algorithms. It involves WISE, context-specific judgment and the capacity to consider, for example, competing values. The possibility of a truly autonomous moral AI is incompatible with Aristotle’s view of virtue.
So yes, AI is transforming practice but not by replacing clinical wisdom. It offers an additional perspective, but not a decision. Phronesis ensures that technology serves us, rather than the other way around, by guiding how and when its outputs should be trusted, questioned, or ignored.
There’s a famous thought experiment by philosopher Nick Bostrom called the Paperclip Maximizer, in which he asks us to imagine a super-intelligent computer programmed with one simple goal: to make as many paperclips as possible. It begins efficiently enough, improving factories and supply chains, but soon realises it can make more paperclips by upgrading itself and capturing every available resource. Eventually it converts the entire planet into paperclip material. The story is a warning about intelligence without wisdom: an AI that achieves its objective perfectly, yet destroys everything of value in doing so. It shows that phronesis – moral and contextual judgment – must always guide the code in the algorithm.
I will conclude with a reference to TS Eliot’s Choruses from the Rock. There are three lines that reflect his concerns that modern society was gaining knowledge and information but losing wisdom and purpose:
‘Where is the life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?’
Those lines still resonate today, more than 90 years after they were first written. Information is everywhere – it sits in our pockets and flows through our phones on demand, yet wisdom often eludes us. Our dentolegal experience reminds us of that every day.
The algorithm now offers precision, speed, and pattern recognition on a scale once unimaginable, and Aristotelian philosophy reminds us that healthcare must still be guided by phronesis.
The short answer to your question is a tongue-in-cheek ‘no’. The slightly longer answer is ‘not yet’.
Resources relevant to this interview:
Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by W. D. Ross, The Internet Classics Archive. Available at: http://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/nicomachaen.html
Chatzopoulos, GS., Koidou VP., Tsalikis, L., Kaklamanos, EG. (2025) Clinical Applications of Artificial Intelligence in Periodontology: A Scoping Review. MDPI Journal of Healthcare Engineering, Medicina (Kaunas), 61(6) 1066. https://www.mdpi.com/1648-9144/61/6/1066
El Khoury, N. (2025). Exploring the ethical landscape of artificial intelligence in dentistry. Journal of Dental Research, 104(2), 123-130. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC12093131/
Liu, T. Y. (2025). AI in Dentistry: Innovations, Ethical Considerations, and Future Directions. MDPI Journal of Healthcare Engineering, 12(9), 928-935. https://www.mdpi.com/2306-5354/12/9/928
