Is the role of medicine to cure, to relieve suffering, or both?

Medicine has always wrestled with its central purpose. Is it defined by the pursuit of cure-eradicating disease, extending life, and restoring function-or is it equally, if not more, about relieving suffering, even when cure is impossible? This question has resurfaced in modern practice, especially as physicians encounter chronic illnesses, aging populations, and end-of-life care. The balance between cure and comfort lies at the very heart of our profession.

The historical roots of medicine suggest that both cure and relief of suffering were always present. Hippocrates emphasized  "to cure sometimes, to relieve often, to comfort always." This aphorism captures an enduring truth: medicine cannot promise cures for every condition, but it can promise compassion and relief. The physician's role is not diminished by the impossibility of cure; it is transformed. A doctor who cannot cure still carries immense responsibility to heal in another sense-through alleviation of pain and the preservation of dignity.

Research reinforces the importance of this dual mission. A 2019 systematic review on patient priorities in healthcare found that quality of life and relief from pain often ranked as highly-or higher-than clinical outcomes like survival. Patients facing cancer, for example, reported valuing the ability to spend meaningful time with family more than aggressive treatments that offered little extension of life. These insights challenge a cure-centric model and remind physicians that suffering is not only physical but also existential, social, and spiritual.

Palliative care illustrates this balance most vividly. Studies have shown that integrating palliative care early in serious illness not only improves quality of life but can also extend survival in some cases. One landmark 2010 trial in the New England Journal of Medicine found that patients with metastatic lung cancer receiving early palliative care lived longer than those receiving standard oncologic treatment alone. This paradox-that focusing on relieving suffering may sometimes extend life-undercuts the false dichotomy between cure and comfort.

Yet modern medicine often leans heavily toward cure, sometimes at the expense of the patient's broader well-being. The proliferation of high-cost technologies, experimental therapies, and aggressive interventions in ICUs may prolong life but can also prolong suffering. Ethical debates arise: are we treating the disease, or the person living with the disease? Physicians must constantly navigate the tension between offering every possible medical option and recognizing when the most humane option is to relieve suffering rather than chase cure.

From the physician's perspective, this dilemma is also deeply personal. Many doctors struggle with the feeling of failure when a patient cannot be cured. But reframing success as alleviating pain, supporting families, and respecting patient values shifts the narrative. The physician's role is not measured solely by survival curves or tumor shrinkage, but by whether the patient feels seen, heard, and relieved of unnecessary suffering. This broader definition of healing offers doctors themselves a more sustainable and humane professional identity.

Ultimately, medicine is not an either/or between cure and comfort-it is both, depending on context. In acute infections, fractures, or reversible conditions, cure may rightly be the priority. In chronic illness, terminal diagnoses, or conditions resistant to therapy, relieving suffering takes precedence. What unites both roles is the doctor's fidelity to the patient's well-being. As Osler reminded us, "The good physician treats the disease; the great physician treats the patient who has the disease." Perhaps the true role of medicine is not to choose between cure and comfort, but to integrate them as inseparable dimensions of healing.