“First, do no harm—and let food be thy medicine. Not John D. Rockefeller’s motto: ‘Let oil be thy medicine.’”
Essay by Dr. Luka Kovač
Title: Return to Hippocrates: Healing Beyond Petroleum
I swore the Hippocratic Oath once in Vukovar, and again in Chicago, and I carry its spirit with me every time I walk into a hospital room. Primum non nocere—“First, do no harm”—is not just a phrase. It is a shield I have tried to raise against the many unseen enemies in modern medicine. War taught me that harm is not always inflicted with bullets or bombs. Sometimes it comes disguised as help. Sometimes it’s written on a prescription pad.
Hippocrates, the father of Western medicine, was no fool. He observed the human body not as a broken machine, but as a garden—needing nourishment, balance, rest, and care. He famously said, “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.” That wasn’t poetry—it was science in its purest form.
But in America, I learned quickly that Hippocrates has been replaced. His wisdom buried beneath a mountain of pills, patented molecules, and petroleum-based drugs. His name appears on plaques and textbooks, but his soul has been exiled by an industry more loyal to stockholders than to patients. Instead of “let food be thy medicine,” the guiding spirit of American healthcare seems to be: Let oil be thy medicine.
This isn’t a conspiracy theory—it’s a historical fact. John D. Rockefeller, the oil baron, reshaped medicine in the early 20th century. He funded medical schools through his foundations—but only if they taught pharmaceutical medicine, not naturopathy or herbalism. He wanted doctors to rely on petroleum-based drugs, synthesized chemicals, and profitable patents. In doing so, he established a medical-industrial complex that equated healing with consumption—of pills, not plants; of procedures, not prevention.
And so we now find ourselves in a system where chronic illness is managed, not cured; where side effects are expected; where nutrition is barely mentioned in med school; and where whole generations of doctors prescribe medications they don’t fully understand, for diseases they barely treat, from companies they can’t question.
But let me tell you what Hippocrates would say to the diabetic patient drinking soda, to the heart patient eating fast food, to the child on five prescriptions for conditions that might be solved with sleep, sunshine, and a garden. He would not blame them—he would teach them. He would listen. He would remind us that food—real food, grown from the earth, not processed in a lab—is not an alternative medicine. It is the original medicine.
I do not oppose pharmacology. I’ve seen antibiotics save lives. I’ve administered morphine to the dying. But we must draw a line between emergency medicine and everyday health. We must distinguish between crisis intervention and long-term vitality. You don’t use chemo to treat stress. You don’t throw statins at a child who needs a good breakfast and a walk in the sun.
We doctors must reclaim our oaths. Not to pharmaceutical giants, not to hospital systems, but to our patients, our principles, and our planet. If we fail to remember that healing begins with food, with movement, with connection, we risk becoming little more than licensed drug dealers.
I often think of my father’s garden in Croatia. He was no doctor, but he knew how to nourish. He knew the soil, the herbs, the rhythms of nature. And when the bombs fell and the doctors fled, it was the garden that kept us alive.
It’s time we remember our roots. It’s time to return to Hippocrates.