It should be ob­vious to an­yo­ne that taking the wor­ds of an­yo­ne, in­clu­ding so­meo­ne you like (or even spe­cia­lly so­meo­ne you like) wi­thout skep­ti­cism is a dan­ge­rous pa­th. For exam­ple, you may like Gandhi's phi­lo­so­phy of no­n-­vio­len­ce, or ad­mi­re him for whate­ver rea­so­n.

That is hard­ly an ex­cu­se to take an­y­thing he said as wor­th mu­ch, spe­cia­lly when it's about sub­jec­ts he had ab­so­lu­te­ly no idea abou­t, be­cau­se he had a ten­den­cy to be ab­so­lu­te­ly su­re he knew eve­r­y­thing about eve­r­y­thing.

For exam­ple, did you know he wro­te a book about heal­th? He­re's a quo­te from it:

One ques­tion whi­ch I ha­ve asked myself again and agai­n, in the cour­se of wri­ting this book, is why I of all per­sons should wri­te it. Is the­re any jus­ti­fi­ca­tion at all for one like me, who am no doc­to­r, and who­se kno­w­le­dge of the ma­tters dealt wi­th in the­se pa­ges must be ne­ce­ssa­ri­ly im­per­fec­t, attemp­ting to wri­te a book of this kin­d?

My de­fen­ce is this. The “s­cien­ce” of me­di­ci­ne is itself ba­sed upon im­per­fect kno­w­le­dge, most of it being me­re qua­cke­r­y. But this book, at any ra­te, has been promp­ted by the pu­rest of mo­ti­ve­s. The attempt is he­re ma­de not so mu­ch to show how to cu­re di­sea­ses as to point out the means of pre­ven­ting the­m. And a li­ttle re­flec­tion wi­ll show that the pre­ven­tion of di­sea­se is a com­pa­ra­ti­ve­ly sim­ple ma­tte­r, not re­qui­ring mu­ch spe­cia­list kno­w­le­dge, al­thou­gh it is by no means an ea­sy thing to put the­se prin­ci­ples in­to prac­ti­ce. Our ob­ject has been to show the uni­ty of ori­gin and treat­ment of all di­sea­ses, so that all peo­ple may learn to treat their di­sea­ses the­msel­ves when they do ari­se, as they often do, in spi­te of great ca­re in the ob­ser­van­ce of the laws of heal­th.

Do you no­ti­ce the bait and swi­tch? He kno­ws li­ttle about the ma­tte­r, but he wi­ll wri­te the book an­yway be­cau­se it's rea­lly about the sim­ple sub­ject of di­sea­se pre­ven­tio­n. But rea­ding it "a­ll peo­ple may learn how to treat di­sea­ses the­msel­ve­s". And not just a few di­sea­ses but all di­sea­ses. That pa­ra­gra­ph reeks of fal­se mo­des­ty and sim­ple dis­ho­nes­ty.

But he­y, did you know that he could cu­re the pla­gue?

I ha­ve tried this sin­gle treat­ment [a mud poul­ti­ce] for all va­rie­ties from sim­ple fe­ver up to Bu­bo­nic Pla­gue, wi­th in­va­ria­bly sa­tis­fac­to­ry re­sul­ts.

Of cour­se, in the next sen­ten­ce it sa­ys:

In 1904, the­re was a se­ve­re ou­tbreak of pla­gue among the In­dians in Sou­th Afri­ca. It was so se­ve­re tha­t, out of 23 per­sons that we­re affec­te­d, as many as 21 died wi­thin the spa­ce of 24 hour­s; and of the re­mai­ning two, who we­re re­mo­ved to the hos­pi­ta­l, on­ly one sur­vi­ve­d, and that one was the man to whom was applied the mu­d-­poul­ti­ce.

I won­der what is a re­sult le­ss than sa­tis­fac­to­r­y.

The­re are ob­vious mi­sun­ders­tan­dings of ba­sic fac­ts, su­ch as how res­pi­ra­tion wo­rks [1] what the sto­ma­ch does [2] and even how many bo­nes the­re are in a hu­man ches­t, and the­re are, of cour­se, things that are just weird:

Co­coa is fu­lly as har­m­ful as co­ffee, and it con­tains a poi­son whi­ch dea­dens the per­cep­tions of the ski­n.

Even ha­bi­tual co­ffee-­dri­nkers wi­ll be una­ble to per­cei­ve any di­ffe­ren­ce in tas­te be­tween co­ffee and this subs­ti­tu­te. Good and we­ll-­si­fted wheat is put in­to a fr­yin­g-­pan over the fi­re and we­ll frie­d, un­til it has tur­ned com­ple­te­ly re­d, and be­gun to grow da­rk in co­lou­r. Then it is po­w­de­red just like co­ffee. A spoon of the po­w­der is then put in­to a cu­p, and boi­ling wa­ter pou­red on to it. Pre­fe­ra­bly keep the thing over the fi­re for a mi­nu­te, and add mi­lk and su­ga­r, if ne­ce­ssar­y, and you get a de­li­cious dri­nk, whi­ch is mu­ch chea­per and heal­thier than co­ffee. Tho­se who want to save the­msel­ves the trou­ble of pre­pa­ring this po­w­der may get their su­pply from the Satya­gra­ha As­h­ra­m, Ah­me­da­ba­d.

The first cla­ss, whi­ch is the lar­ges­t, con­sis­ts of tho­se who, whe­ther by pre­fe­ren­ce or out of ne­ce­s­si­ty, li­ve on an ex­clu­si­ve ve­ge­ta­ble die­t. Un­der this di­vi­sion co­me the best part of In­dia, a lar­ge por­tion of Eu­ro­pe, and Chi­na and Ja­pan. The sta­ple diet of the Ita­lians is ma­ca­ro­ni, of the Irish po­ta­to, of the Sco­tch oat­mea­l, and of the Chi­ne­se and Ja­pa­ne­se ri­ce. [3]

Wheat is the best of all the ce­real­s. Man can li­ve on wheat alo­ne, for in it we ha­ve in due pro­por­tion all the ele­men­ts of nu­tri­tio­n. Many kin­ds of edi­bles can be ma­de of whea­t, and they can all be ea­si­ly di­ges­te­d. [4] [...] man can re­tain his stren­gth by li­ving on me­re wheat boi­led in wa­te­r.

And fi­na­ll­y, the­re are the bi­ts whi­ch are not just wron­g, but al­so ab­so­lu­te­ly fu­cking dan­ge­rous.

Did you know he sa­ys sma­ll­pox is not con­ta­gious, and is rea­lly a di­ges­ti­ve tract con­di­tio­n?

[S­ma­ll­po­x] is cau­s­e­d, just like other di­sea­ses, by the blood ge­tting im­pu­re owing to so­me di­sor­der of the bo­wel­s; and the poi­son that ac­cu­mu­la­tes in the sys­tem is ex­pe­lled in the form of sma­ll-­po­x. If this view is co­rrec­t, then the­re is ab­so­lu­te­ly no need to be afraid of sma­ll-­po­x. If it we­re rea­lly a con­ta­gious di­sea­se, eve­r­yo­ne should ca­tch it by me­re­ly tou­ching the pa­tien­t; but this is not alwa­ys the ca­se. [...] This has gi­ven ri­se to the su­pers­ti­tion that it is a con­ta­gious di­sea­se, and hen­ce to the attempt to mis­lead the peo­ple in­to the be­lief that vac­ci­na­tion is an effec­ti­ve means of pre­ven­ting it.

Oh, vac­ci­na­tio­n! You see, this book was pu­blis­hed in 1921. By 1921, sma­ll­pox was al­ready di­sappea­ring in Eu­ro­pe be­cau­se vac­cio­na­tion wo­rked. And sma­ll­pox vac­ci­na­tion had wo­rked for de­ca­des. He ei­ther knew no­thing about how effec­ti­ve it wa­s, or did not ca­re.

I thi­nk the pro­blem he­re is, un­sur­pri­sin­gl­y, that to so­meo­ne wi­th Gandhi's ba­ck­ground vac­ci­na­tion was evil and just could­n't be ac­cep­ted as so­me­thing po­si­ti­ve.

Vac­ci­na­tion is a bar­ba­rous prac­ti­ce, and it is one of the most fa­tal of all the de­lu­sions cu­rrent in our ti­me, not to be found even among the so­-­ca­lled sava­ge ra­ces of the worl­d.

[...]

Mo­reo­ve­r, vac­ci­na­tion is a ve­ry dir­ty pro­ce­ss, for the se­rum whi­ch is in­tro­du­ced in­to the hu­man body in­clu­des not on­ly that of the co­w, but al­so of the ac­tual sma­ll-­pox pa­tien­t. An ave­ra­ge man would even vo­mit at the me­re si­ght of this stu­ff. If the hand ha­ppens to tou­ch it, it is alwa­ys was­hed wi­th soa­p. The me­re su­gges­tion of tas­ting it fi­lls us wi­th in­dig­na­tion and dis­gus­t. But how few of tho­se who get the­msel­ves vac­ci­nated rea­li­se that they are in effect ea­ting this fil­thy stu­ff!

[...]

As has been we­ll sai­d, co­war­ds die a li­ving dea­th, and our cra­ze for vac­ci­na­tion is so­le­ly due to the fear of dea­th or dis­fi­gu­re­ment by sma­ll-­po­x. [5]

[...]

I can­not al­so help fee­ling that vac­ci­na­tion is a vio­la­tion of the dic­ta­tes of re­li­gion and mo­ra­li­ty. The dri­nking of the blood of even dead ani­mals is looked upon wi­th ho­rror even by ha­bi­tual mea­t-ea­ter­s. Ye­t, what is vac­ci­na­tion but the taking in of the poi­so­ned blood of an in­no­cent li­ving ani­ma­l? Be­tter far we­re it for Go­d-­fea­ring men that they should a thou­sand ti­mes be­co­me the vic­ti­ms of sma­ll-­pox and even die a te­rri­ble dea­th than that they should be guil­ty of su­ch an act of sa­cri­le­ge.

And the­re you ha­ve it, the cla­s­si­cal mo­ral ari­th­me­tic of the re­li­gious: it is be­tter for your son to die in ho­rri­ble su­ffe­ring or be dis­fi­gu­red than for a drop of cow se­rum to be in­jec­ted in hi­m. Ho­w's that for no­n-­vio­len­t?

Fu­ck that shi­t, Gandhi. Fu­ck that shi­t.