Dr. Benjamin Spock, the darling of postwar liberal parenting, built his empire on a simple mantra: trust your instincts, shower children with affection, and reject the "rigid" discipline of previous generations. His 1946 bestseller, Baby and Child Care, sold over 50 million copies, making it the go-to bible for millions of parents — second only to the actual Bible in sales for decades. Spock's permissive philosophy — feed on demand, cuddle endlessly, avoid strict schedules—promised a kinder, gentler way to raise kids. It resonated with a generation eager to break from tradition, and Spock became a cultural icon, especially among progressive circles.
But with great influence comes great responsibility, and Spock abjectly failed to wield his responsibly. His most egregious error? Starting in the 1958 edition, he emphatically urged parents to put infants to sleep on their stomachs (prone position). His reasoning: it prevented choking if the baby vomited and avoided flattening the head. Sounds commonsensical, right? That's exactly what Spock banked on—his "common sense" over emerging science.
At the time, prone sleeping wasn't unique to Spock; it was debated and even recommended by some experts fearing aspiration. Fair enough for the 1950s. But by 1970, rigorous studies showed prone sleeping tripled the risk of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). A landmark 2005 systematic review by Gilbert et al. from the Centre for Evidence-Based Child Health in London documented that evidence clearly from 1970 onward. Yet Spock, the self-proclaimed authority trusted by millions, dragged his feet. As epidemiologist Marit Bovbjerg noted in 2011, Spock's book—not just the first major one to push prone sleeping, but by far the most influential—continued recommending it for years after solid evidence proved it deadly.
The human toll? Devastating. The same 2005 review estimated that delayed reversal of prone-sleeping advice caused over 10,000 excess SIDS deaths in the UK alone and at least 50,000 across Europe, the USA, and Australasia post-1970. Bovbjerg cited a broader worldwide figure exceeding 60,000 from the 1950s to 1990s attributable to such "harmful health advice." Spock wasn't solely responsible—other books and paediatricians echoed him — but his was the dominant voice. Parents hung on his every word, and he failed to update promptly despite the mounting body count.
This wasn't just a minor misstep; it exposes the danger of Spock's core philosophy. He prioritised anecdotal "clinical experience" and feel-good instincts over hard evidence. In an era when science was advancing rapidly, Spock clung to outdated hunches, costing thousands of innocent lives. And this from a man who lectured America on morality, from anti-Vietnam protests to nuclear disarmament, while his parenting advice quietly contributed to preventable tragedies at home.
Conservatives long criticised Spock for fostering a generation of spoiled, entitled youth through permissiveness. Vice President Spiro Agnew famously quipped that America paid the price for "Spock-marked" children raised on instant gratification. While Spock denied promoting unchecked indulgence (insisting on firm discipline alongside affection), his reluctance to correct deadly advice when science demanded it reeks of the same hubris: my instincts trump the facts.
The "Back to Sleep" campaigns of the 1990s finally slashed SIDS rates by 50-70% in many countries by promoting supine sleeping. Too late for the victims of earlier complacency. Spock eventually reversed course in later editions (by the late 1970s or 1980s), but the damage was done.
Spock's legacy is mixed: he humanised parenting, encouraging affection in a stiff era. But his resistance to evidence-based correction on a life-or-death issue reveals the peril of unchecked progressivism in expertise. When "trust yourself" overrides science, tragedy follows. Parents deserved better from the man they trusted with their children's lives. In the end, Dr. Spock's permissiveness wasn't just cultural, it was lethal.