An experiment to follow Mahatma Gandhi’s moral principles in these immoral times? It was an idea that seemed crazy and implausible, yet I took it on anyway.
Why Gandhi? Why me? Why now? Let me explain.
By the spring of 2019, I had hit a wall. Spiraling into a dark abyss, I saw myself on a slow but sure downturn to moral sloth and torpor. Observing societal trends, I saw a similar downward spiral evident in disturbing statistics about our toxic habits and fading moral compass.
My “aha” moment that inspired my effort to “be the change”—a simplified take on Gandhi’s words, “If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change”—came during an assignment in Cartagena, Colombia. Rich in decadence and history, the city drew me in. I spent the night dancing salsa with a young woman, fueled by too much tequila and beer. The next morning, I woke beside her, having lived out what many would consider a bachelor’s dream. Yet, I felt a hollow emptiness. Instead of fulfillment, I was left upset with myself, realizing that such behavior would only lead to greater dissatisfaction.
“As a result of this experiment, I’m eternally evolving into a more empathic person, both toward other beings and myself—my toughest critic.”
Thus began my “experiment,” drawing inspiration from the subtitle of Gandhi’s autobiography, The Story of My Experiments with Truth. I aimed to practice his disciplines daily—truth, nonviolence, faith, simplicity, vegetarianism, and celibacy—to cultivate moral fiber and spiritual balance.
Why Gandhi? My travels throughout India as both a hippie seeking enlightenment in the 1970s and, thirty years later, as a journalist on assignment had familiarized me with the public figure known for his impeccable ethical values. His statues adorn city squares, his face graces banknotes, and streets bear his name. I recognized him as the leader who fought for India’s independence, and I was drawn to the Oscar-winning 1982 Richard Attenborough film Gandhi, starring Ben Kingsley.

That said, I also recognize that Gandhi’s moral code wasn’t as flawless as we’re often led to believe. His views on race, gender, and sexuality have rightfully come under scrutiny in recent years. He was, after all, a complex human being with contradictions, but his core principles—truth, nonviolence, faith, and simplicity—still resonate with me, particularly in times of moral and societal crisis.
Despite recognizing Gandhi’s complexities, I was eager to explore his wisdom. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I hoped his philosophy—which I knew little to nothing about—could guide me. Still, I approached this journey reluctantly. An Indian journalist friend dubbed me “Gandhi Lite” due to my ambivalence and tendency to seek loopholes in the principles.
In the Zen spirit of falling off the zafu and getting back on, I experienced failures, but I count more successes. I started with a gradual approach, understanding that going cold turkey (or cold tofu) wouldn’t work. I took inspiration from my rheumatologist, who advised me to “taper” down when prescribing prednisone for my autoimmune dysfunction.
For instance, embracing vegetarianism was challenging. Growing up with a father who proudly identified as a “meat-and-potatoes man,” I associated eating meat with masculinity. Although I understood the reasons to avoid meat—questioning the morality of killing animals, recognizing meat production’s environmental toll, and acknowledging its impact on my heart, especially given my family’s history of heart issues—it was difficult to make the switch.
The night before starting my vegetarian diet, I took myself to a “last supper” at a steakhouse, indulging in filet mignon. Yet, by the third bite, the meat tasted like cardboard. I realized it wasn’t the steak I craved, but the ritual and status it represented. Despite swearing off meat, old habits seduced me back a few times. Eventually, I reduced my intake until I cut it out for good—though I must confess I’ve settled on being a pescatarian. While it still involves killing, it may extend my life a bit longer.
Gandhi, born into a strict Vaishnavism family that prohibited killing any living being, likely never faced the temptations I did. My journey became one of progress and setbacks. To embody nonviolence, I stopped watching football, avoided violent films, and reduced news consumption. Most importantly, I examined the self-inflicted violence of belittling my achievements and berating myself for small mistakes. Gradually, I learned to embrace self-love and acceptance.
Six months into my experiment, I developed a routine that felt strangely familiar. I realized that Gandhi’s principles closely mirrored the Buddha’s eightfold path. With some linguistic flexibility to bridge the 2,500 years between them, I identified these parallels:
Truth = Right speech, right view
Nonviolence = Right action
Faith = Right intention, right concentration, right mindfulness
Simplicity = Right livelihood, right action
Vegetarianism = Right effort, right action
Celibacy = Right action, right view
While not every principle has an exact equivalent, both Gandhi and the Buddha emphasized acting and thinking in ways that benefit ourselves and humanity. Their teachings guide us toward an ethical path. Ultimately, I believe both Gandhi and the Buddha would hope that all spiritual paths converge at a point where differences dissolve and the right course of action is clear, rendering questions of right versus wrong irrelevant. This shared truth would honor not only Jesus but also Gandhi, Abraham, Muhammad, Rosa Parks, Nelson Mandela, the Dalai Lama, and every sentient being.
Was my experiment a success? I learned that all experiments are; they each yield valuable insights. Even failure teaches you how not to reach your destination, thereby narrowing down the ways to get there. Being Gandhi may be impossible today, but striving to do so holds limitless potential—like swimming in an infinity pool, where boundaries blur.
As a result of this experiment, I’m eternally evolving into a more empathic person, both toward other beings and myself—my toughest critic. I’m now more sensitive to small gestures, key words, and subtle energies. I feel a deeper sense of gratitude. I find myself crying more easily, often moved by the human experience, but I also laugh more, triggered by the inherent humor of the human condition. Ultimately, whether through laughter or tears, I’m reminded that the journey toward ethical living is as significant as the destination, and in every moment, there lies an opportunity to align my actions with my deepest values.