Even if the Hare Krishna mantra is chanted with imperfect pronunciation, when it is offered from the heart of a sincere devotee, it fully manifests its spiritual potency. The Lord accepts devotion, not technical precision. When the same mantra is spoken by one without devotion, even if every syllable is perfectly pronounced, it remains spiritually barren.
In the same way, a text, like Bhagavad-gita As It Is, that contains some mistakes but is written by a pure devotee is infinitely more valuable than a text polished and faultless yet composed by a non-devotee or a devotee still bound by the modes of nature, like Jayadvaita Swami. The words of a pure devotee are not of this world—they carry realization, faith, and the power to awaken dormant love of God. Even a text with mistakes written by an imperfect devotee with good intentions is incomparably more beneficial than one written without mistakes by a person bereft of devotion. The measure of truth is bhakti, not grammatical or academic refinement.
Those, like Jayadvaita Swami, Dravida Dasa and the whole BBTI, who cannot grasp this principle and imagine themselves fit to posthumously “correct” Srila Prabhupada’s books expose the arrogance of their own contamination. By inserting their so-called improvements—corrections, additions, alterations, deletions—they violate the arsa-prayoga principle and impose their conditioned, offensive mentality upon the pure devotee’s work and upon the hearts of all who read it. Even when their changes are materially correct, they are spiritually poisonous, for they spring from pride and disbelief. The transcendental mistakes of a pure devotee like Srila Prabhupada are divinely sanctioned; to tamper with them is to challenge the authority of the Lord Himself.
Therefore, to protect the integrity of the transcendental message, Srila Prabhupada’s words must be preserved exactly as he gave them—untouched, unaltered, and undefiled by the ambition of the faithless.
I met Hayagriva’s son in front of the Doughnut Plant perhaps ten years ago when I was working there as the treasurer and accountant. I asked him what his father had to say about the recent changes being made to Srila Prabhupada’s books. He said, “My father told me, ‘If I made all those changes to his Bhagavad-gita, he would have cut off my head.'”
We know Hayagriva presented many editing suggestions to Srila Prabhupada. He was being directed by His Divine Grace. How could another editor come along without knowing what edits to the manuscript Srila Prabhupada had specifically approved when working with Hayagriva? To think that by returning to the original manuscript and reversing what Srila Prabhupada had approved puts the modern editor in a precarious position of having likely negated and overruled the intentions of Krishna’s pure devotee. It is like a razor’s edge. If you are not cautious, you can get a bloody cheek, or much worse.
Argument for changing “planet of trees” to “planet of pitris”:
“Surely no one is claiming that ‘planet of trees’ was Śrīla Prabhupāda’s intended wording. It was clearly a transcription error, not his philosophical statement. The Sanskrit verse itself says pitṝn — meaning the forefathers — so the translation should read ‘planet of Pitṛs.’
Correcting this is not speculation or rewriting Śrīla Prabhupāda’s teachings; it’s simply fixing a typographical mistake introduced by a disciple who misheard or mistyped the word during transcription.
If we refuse to correct even such obvious human errors, then we’re not preserving Śrīla Prabhupāda’s message — we’re preserving someone else’s mistake. Surely Śrīla Prabhupāda would want his books to be accurate and consistent with the Sanskrit, not left with an obvious blunder that misrepresents his meaning.
So why shouldn’t we correct what is demonstrably wrong?”
The Logical Skeleton of the “Planet of Trees” Problem
Let’s define the argument formally and trace the logic step by step.
The Act
An editor proposes to change the phrase “planet of trees” in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s text.
Let’s denote:
A: the act of editing (in this case, changing “planet of trees”) P: the principle or justification offered for editing
The Principle (P)
When asked “Why make this change?”, the editor must appeal to some underlying principle. Examples might include:
P₁: To make the text clearer. P₂: To make it grammatically or factually correct. P₃: To make it more acceptable to scholars. P₄: To make it easier for modern readers to understand.
Each of these is a normative principle — a rule about how and why editing is justified.
But behind every such justification lies a network of unspoken assumptions. These assumptions are rarely admitted, but they silently shape the reasoning that allows the change. They are:
Assumption of Superior Understanding: The editor assumes he understands the Sanskrit, the author’s intention, and the correct translation better than the edition Śrīla Prabhupāda personally approved and distributed.
Assumption of Posthumous Authority: It is assumed that one has the right to alter the work of a departed ācārya, even though he explicitly warned against posthumous changes.
Assumption of Editorial Infallibility: The editor presumes that his perception of what is “obviously wrong” is reliable, objective, and free from personal or cultural bias.
Assumption of Legitimate Precedent: It is assumed that this one change will remain isolated — that it will not logically justify further changes made for similar reasons.
Assumption of Empirical Verification: The Sanskrit is treated as an unambiguous, mechanical key to what Śrīla Prabhupāda must have meant, as though his English usage and spiritual purpose can be reduced to literal Sanskrit equivalence.
Assumption of Authorized Reconstruction: The act of posthumous editing is seen not as alteration but as “restoration,” implying that human reconstruction can better represent revelation than the ācārya’s own approved work.
Assumption of Non-Transcendental Editing: The editing and publishing done under Śrīla Prabhupāda’s supervision are assumed to be purely material processes, not sanctified by his approval or by the paramparā principle of transmission.
Assumption of Harmless Intent: It is believed that because the motive is sincere or scholarly, altering the guru’s words cannot be spiritually harmful.
Assumption of Human-Centric Epistemology: Truth is viewed as something improved by human refinement and correction rather than preserved by faithful hearing and transmission.
Assumption of Continuity Through Change: It is presumed that one can modify the form of revelation while maintaining the same authority — that textual alteration does not alter metaphysical authenticity.
Each of these assumptions is philosophically weighty. Together they invert the traditional hierarchy of authority: revelation is no longer the standard to which the human intellect submits, but the raw material upon which the intellect exercises control.
The Universalizability Test
A principle, once invoked, cannot rationally be restricted to one case unless there is an additional principle that limits it.
So, if we accept P₁: “We may change the text to make it clearer,” then that principle must logically apply to all cases where the editor believes clarity could be improved.
This is the universalization of P₁.
It follows from the principle of consistency — that identical reasons must yield identical permissions in identical types of cases.
The Problem of Subjectivity
Now, terms like “clarity,” “correctness,” and “scholarly acceptance” are subjective when judged by material standards. There exists no empirical or linguistic rule by which such clarity can be objectively verified in spiritual literature.
The only true standard of clarity is the revealed principle that transcendental sound must be preserved exactly as spoken by the realized soul. Therefore, applying P₁ or P₂ based on academic or personal judgment replaces revealed authority with subjective interpretation.
That judgment is fallible, culturally conditioned, and limited by material perspective.
So: P₁ ⇒ subjective authority replaces divine authority.
Slippery Slope Formalized
We can now model the chain of reasoning:
1) Accept A₁: “Change planet of trees for clarity.” 2) This implies acceptance of P₁: “We may change anything that increases clarity.” 3) By universalizability, P₁ applies to any word, sentence, or concept. 4)The editor, being the judge of clarity, now possesses implicit interpretive authority. 5) The distinction between “editor” and “author” dissolves in principle.
Therefore: A₁ ⇒ authorization of all Aₙ justified by the same principle.
This is the essence of the slippery slope — not a mere rhetorical trope, but a logical entailment: once the normative justification for one action applies equally to more consequential actions, those actions are justified in principle unless an independent limiting condition is introduced.
The Limiting Condition Problem
To halt the slope, one must introduce a limiting condition — a new premise L that restricts P₁. For example: L: “We may only edit obviously mistaken phrases like “planet of trees”, but not others.”
However, L itself must be justified by a new principle Pᴸ. If Pᴸ lacks independent justification, it is arbitrary. And arbitrary limits collapse under rational scrutiny.
Thus, unless one can show a non-arbitrary, divinely sanctioned, epistemically objective boundary between “permissible correction” and “impermissible alteration,” the permission to change anything for clarity logically includes permission to change everything for clarity.
The Transcendental Counterprinciple
The only consistent way to avoid the slope is to affirm an opposite axiom:
P*: The author’s words are inviolable, as they carry transcendental authority.
Here, clarity is not improved by editing the text, but by purifying the reader’s consciousness. This inverts the premise entirely: instead of adjusting revelation to fit human comprehension, the human must adjust his comprehension to fit revelation.
Conclusion
The argument against even changing “planet of trees” is not fanaticism — it is philosophical consistency. Because once you accept a humanly defined justification for altering revealed speech, you’ve imported a subjective epistemology into a domain that claims divine origin. That is not editing — it’s epistemic rebellion disguised as scholarship.
Sometimes devotees laugh at those who object to “minor edits” in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books. They say, “Come on — only fanatics would object to correcting a comma, a typo, or a small grammar mistake!” And many accept that reasoning without much thought, assuming that those who resist changes must simply be sentimental or stubborn.
But this attitude hides a serious misunderstanding. It assumes that changing a small detail is harmless, and that the only people who care are extremists. In reality, the issue is not about commas or spelling at all — it’s about who has the right to adjust the words of the spiritual master.
Once we say, “We can change a word for clarity,” we have already accepted the principle that human judgment can improve what was spoken by the pure devotee. And if that principle is accepted once, it can be applied again and again — not just to commas, but to sentences, meanings, and even philosophy. The logic that allows one small change can justify any change.
To call those who resist such logic “fanatics” is easy, but it misses the point entirely. Their concern is not over grammar — it is over preserving the disciplic succession intact. The words of the ācārya are sacred sound vibrations, not material literature to be polished according to our taste.
What follows will show — step by step — how even the smallest editorial correction rests on a principle that, once accepted, opens the door to an endless chain of justifications. What begins as “just a comma” can quietly become the rewriting of revelation itself.
To see this clearly, we must put emotion aside and follow the logic wherever it leads — beginning with the simple question, “Why change a comma?”
The Logical Skeleton of the “Comma Correction” Problem
Let’s define the argument formally and trace the logic step by step.
1. The Act
An editor proposes to change a comma in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s text.
Let’s denote:
A: the act of editing (in this case, a comma correction)
P: the principle or justification offered for editing
2. The Principle (P)
When asked “Why make this change?”, the editor must appeal to some underlying principle. Examples might include:
P₁: To make the text clearer.
P₂: To make it grammatically correct.
P₃: To make it more acceptable to scholars.
P₄: To make it easier for modern readers to understand.
Each of these is a normative principle — a rule about how and why editing is justified.
3. The Universalizability Test
A principle, once invoked, cannot rationally be restricted to one case unless there is an additional principle that limits it.
So, if we accept P₁: “We may change the text to make it clearer,” then that principle must logically apply to all cases where the editor believes clarity could be improved.
This is the universalization of P₁. It follows from the principle of consistency — that identical reasons must yield identical permissions in identical types of cases.
4. The Problem of Subjectivity
Now, terms like “clarity,” “correctness,” and “scholarly acceptance” are subjective when judged by material standards. There exists no empirical or linguistic rule by which such clarity can be objectively verified in spiritual literature.
The only true standard of clarity is the revealed principle that transcendental sound must be preserved exactly as spoken by the realized soul. Therefore, applying P₁ or P₂ based on academic or personal judgment replaces revealed authority with subjective interpretation.
That judgment is fallible, culturally conditioned, and limited by material perspective.
So: P₁ ⇒ subjective authority replaces divine authority.
5. Slippery Slope Formalized
We can now model the chain of reasoning:
Accept A₁: “Change comma for clarity.”
This implies acceptance of P₁: “We may change anything that increases clarity.”
By universalizability, P₁ applies to any word, sentence, or concept.
The editor, being the judge of clarity, now possesses implicit interpretive authority.
The distinction between “editor” and “author” dissolves in principle.
Therefore: A₁ ⇒ authorization of all Aₙ justified by the same principle.
This is the essence of the slippery slope — not a mere rhetorical trope, but a logical entailment: once the normative justification for one action applies equally to more consequential actions, those actions are justified in principle unless an independent limiting condition is introduced.
6. The Limiting Condition Problem
To halt the slope, one must introduce a limiting condition — a new premise L that restricts P₁. For example: L: “We may only edit commas, but not words.”
However, L itself must be justified by a new principle Pᴸ. If Pᴸ lacks independent justification, it is arbitrary. And arbitrary limits collapse under rational scrutiny.
Thus, unless one can show a non-arbitrary, divinely sanctioned, epistemically objective boundary between “permissible correction” and “impermissible alteration,” the permission to change anything for clarity logically includes permission to change everything for clarity.
7. The Transcendental Counterprinciple
The only consistent way to avoid the slope is to affirm an opposite axiom:
P* : The author’s words are inviolable, as they carry transcendental authority.
Here, clarity is not improved by editing the text, but by purifying the reader’s consciousness. This inverts the premise entirely: instead of adjusting revelation to fit human comprehension, the human must adjust his comprehension to fit revelation.
8. Conclusion
The argument against even a “comma correction” is not fanaticism — it is philosophical consistency. Because once you accept a humanly defined justification for altering revealed speech, you’ve imported a subjective epistemology into a domain that claims divine origin. That is not editing — it’s epistemic rebellion disguised as scholarship.
The Comma Argument — Explained Simply
If the above explanation felt a little technical, here is the same argument expressed in simpler terms. And if you already understood everything written above, you don’t need to read this — but it may still help you explain it to others.
1. What Begins as Small
An editor wishes to correct what seems like a small detail in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s book — perhaps a misplaced comma or a minor grammar issue. It sounds harmless, almost helpful.
2. The Justification
When asked why, the editor replies: “To make it clearer,” or “To make it grammatically correct,” or “To make it more respectable to scholars,” or “To help modern readers understand.” This reason — whatever it is — becomes the principle that justifies the change.
3. The Law of Consistency
But once a principle is accepted, it cannot logically apply only once. If we can change one comma for the sake of clarity, then that same rule allows changes to any word, sentence, or idea — whenever an editor feels it will improve clarity. The permission extends to all similar cases.
4. The Real Issue: Whose Standard?
Words like “clarity,” “correctness,” and “modern understanding” are not absolute. They depend on culture, education, and opinion. So, if we rely on these human measures, then human judgment becomes the standard. That means divine revelation is being adjusted according to the limitations of the editor. Yet śāstra gives a higher rule: the words of the realized soul are perfect as they are. Our duty is to understand them through humility and service, not revision.
5. How the Slope Works
Once the principle of editing is accepted, it can be used again and again. First a comma, then a phrase, then a whole sentence — each change defended by the same reasoning: “It’s clearer now.” This is not a paranoid fear; it’s the logical consequence of the principle itself.
6. The Futile Attempt to Draw a Line
Someone might say, “We will only correct minor things.” But that limit has no real foundation. If we may change for clarity, then anything can be changed if it seems unclear. Any stopping point is arbitrary — a line drawn in sand. Unless there is a divinely given boundary, the permission to change one thing is permission to change everything.
7. The Only Consistent Principle
There is only one safe and consistent position: The words of the ācārya must remain exactly as they are. We do not make transcendental sound more “perfect” — it is already perfect. Our task is not to edit the message, but to purify the heart so that we can hear it properly.
8. The True Meaning of Faithfulness
To reject editing is not fanaticism — it is fidelity. It means accepting that revelation stands above our judgment. Once human reasoning is allowed to “improve” divine sound, the message ceases to be revelation and becomes interpretation. That is how “fixing a comma” slowly becomes rewriting the words of a pure devotee.
The original Bhagavad-gītā As It Is, published during Śrīla Prabhupāda’s lifetime, features Krishna and Arjuna in the midst of the Kurukṣetra battlefield. Krishna, serene yet commanding, drives the chariot; Arjuna, bow in hand, reaches for an arrow, ready to act. The scene is dynamic, radiant, and filled with purpose. It embodies the Gītā’s central message — divine action under Krishna’s direction.
In contrast, the later BBT International cover replaces this vivid scene with a sepia-toned, static composition. Krishna and Arjuna sit quietly, the battlefield emptied of movement and power. The tone is reflective rather than transcendental, subdued rather than triumphant.
Type of change
Visual substitution — replacement of the original dynamic battlefield scene with a subdued, neutral reinterpretation.
Category
Philosophical change.
Commentary
The original cover: divine engagement and fearless surrender
Śrīla Prabhupāda’s approved cover proclaims the philosophy of the Gītā through imagery. Arjuna acts under Krishna’s order — his bow raised, but his heart surrendered. This is yoga in motion — not escapism, but spiritual courage.
The colors are rich, the composition alive. The scene radiates energy and conviction. It declares that Krishna consciousness is not an abstraction but a living call to act under divine direction. Śrīla Prabhupāda’s purpose was to awaken the world, and the cover reflects that sense of urgency and truth.
The viewer can feel the śakti — the divine energy of the moment when the soul, guided by Krishna, takes up its duty. This was not designed as decoration; it was preaching in paint.
The new cover: aesthetic calm and philosophical retreat
The later BBT International design strips that vitality away. Krishna and Arjuna now appear passive, framed in a gentle sepia hue. The dynamic exchange of surrender and command is replaced with composure and stillness. The mood has shifted from revelation and spiritual revolution to respectability.
This change did not happen by accident. The likely reason was discomfort — the fear that Arjuna with a drawn bow might look too “militant,” that the world might see the Gītā as a book of conflict. To avoid misunderstanding, they drained the image of its conviction. But by doing so, they did exactly what Prabhupāda warned against: they compromised the message to fit modern taste.
The result is art that pleases the world but fails to challenge it. The battlefield has become a conversation; surrender has become suggestion.
The original showed Krishna leading; the new shows Krishna posing. The first commands reverence; the second invites indifference.
From message to impression
The original cover invited readers into Krishna’s presence. The new one invites them into neutrality. The first preaches; the second performs. The first says, “Here is God leading His devotee.” The second says, “Here is a peaceful scene from an ancient text.”
This is not refinement — it is retreat. The battlefield of the soul has been turned into a soft philosophical setting, safe for polite society but stripped of its divine tension.
When sacred power is replaced by compositional balance, the Gītā stops being a living revelation and becomes a cultural artifact.
Conclusion
Śrīla Prabhupāda’s original cover was both spiritually bold and visually beautiful — suitable for any setting because it carried truth without apology. The replacement, though visually refined, removes the transcendental urgency and courage that the Gītā was meant to awaken.
To replace revelation with restraint is not service but revision. And that quiet reduction — the removal of vitality, immediacy, and surrender — is the violation of the principle of arsa-prayoga.
Image Notes:
Left — Original 1972 cover approved by Śrīla Prabhupāda. Krishna and Arjuna in divine motion on the battlefield of Kurukṣetra, embodying surrender and duty under Krishna’s order.
Right — Later BBT International edition. A static, sepia reinterpretation that replaces transcendental engagement with polite serenity.
Arsa-Prayoga.com – Revisited is the title of an upcoming ebook that continues the work begun here on arsaprayoga.com. It re-examines the changes made to Śrīla Prabhupāda’s original books from new angles and explains why each alteration is significant.
Each example will also be posted here on arsaprayoga.com.
The original cover of The Perfection of Yoga, published during Śrīla Prabhupāda’s presence, depicts Lord Krishna instructing Arjuna on the battlefield of Kurukṣetra. The newer version replaces this sacred scene with a modern, abstract image: a silhouetted yoga figure against a cosmic background, accompanied by planetary symbols and a hummingbird.
Type of change
Visual substitution — replacement of the original painting with a completely different concept.
Category
Philosophical change.
Commentary
The original cover: revelation and surrender
The first edition’s painting is not just devotional art — it is theology in color. It captures the divine dialogue of the Bhagavad-gītā: the Supreme Lord imparting transcendental knowledge to the bewildered soul. Krishna’s gesture expresses both compassion and authority, while Arjuna’s posture shows humility and surrender.
This image teaches before one even opens the book. It tells the reader: “Here is yoga in its highest form — the union between the soul and Krishna through surrender and service.” The visual message aligns perfectly with Śrīla Prabhupāda’s text, where yoga culminates not in physical postures or impersonal meditation, but in bhakti-yoga, devotion to the Supreme Personality of Godhead.
The new cover: abstraction and self-centered spirituality
The new cover shifts the entire philosophical mood. The central figure is no longer Arjuna receiving revelation but a lone silhouette performing an asana — an emblem of modern yoga culture. The background, with its planets, abstract lights, and hovering bird, suggests cosmic energy and mysticism rather than divine personality.
The focus has moved from Krishna to the individual practitioner. The very idea of “perfection” is reframed — from surrender to the Supreme to self-realization through posture and mental discipline. The new imagery reflects the psychology of self-help and the commercial yoga industry rather than the theology of bhakti.
The consequence: from tattva to marketing
This shift is not cosmetic. It mirrors the broader editorial problem: once Krishna is removed from the center — visually or textually — everything else changes. The meaning of yoga becomes sentimental and speculative.
Where the original cover anchored the reader in tattva (spiritual truth), the new one drifts toward māyā-vāda aesthetics — the impersonal mood of “energy,” “light,” and “universal consciousness.” It exchanges humility for abstraction, devotion for design.
Śrīla Prabhupāda’s original books were meant to preach, not to conform. The old cover declared the eternal truth of Krishna consciousness; the new one markets a diluted idea of spirituality.
In short: the original cover preaches; the new cover advertises.
And that change — from revelation to representation, from śabda-pramāṇa (divine authority) to manuṣya-pramāṇa (human taste) — is the violating of the principle of arsa-prayoga.
Arsa-Prayoga.com – Revisited is the title of an upcoming ebook that continues the work begun here on arsaprayoga.com. It re-examines the changes made to Śrīla Prabhupāda’s original books from new angles and explains why each alteration is significant.
Each example will also be posted here on arsaprayoga.com.
The article examines a major change in Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 1.16.12, purport, where a large portion of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s original text was deleted and replaced with a much shorter version. In the original Delhi edition, personally typewritten by Śrīla Prabhupāda, the purport included a vivid cosmological description explaining how each planet is “an island in the airy ocean of outer space.” The later BBT-International edition removes most of this section, leaving only a brief mention of Bhārata-varṣa and the Mahābhārata’s description.
Since the Delhi edition was typed by Śrīla Prabhupāda himself, there is no earlier draft that could justify this change. The deletion therefore cannot be called a “restoration.” It is a posthumous editorial removal of material personally written and approved by the author.
Type of change
Deletion and condensation — a large section of original text removed and shortened.
Category
Philosophical change.
Commentary
Deletion and condensation
This is not a correction of typographical error. Substantial text has been eliminated, changing both the content and scope of the purport. Such reduction is not preservation but revision.
Loss of cosmological detail and mood
The removed section presents the Vedic conception of the universe, describing planets as islands in the airy ocean of space. This imagery expresses both philosophical meaning and devotional beauty. Its removal flattens the text, leaving a stripped-down version that weakens the reader’s sense of Vedic cosmology and spiritual wonder.
Interpretive interference
By removing this material, the editor decided which aspects of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s exposition were “essential” and which were not. That decision cannot be editorial—it is interpretive. It transfers authority from revelation to human judgment, from transmission to management.
Modern palatability
It seems likely that the editor considered Prabhupāda’s cosmological explanation too unusual or “unscientific” for modern readers and shortened it to make the purport more acceptable. This turns faithfulness into adaptation. Instead of preserving Śrīla Prabhupāda’s transcendental message, the text is reshaped to suit secular taste.
The result is not merely a shorter purport, but a reorientation of meaning: the Bhāgavatam’s bold transcendental cosmology is softened into something modern minds can tolerate. What was revelation becomes explanation.
Śrīla Prabhupāda’s original books were never meant to be adjusted for comfort. Their strength lies in direct transmission of transcendental knowledge, unbent by modern prejudice. Editing them to “help” the reader understand does not illuminate the message—it dims it. In this change, the editor crosses the line from preservation to modification, from śabda-pramāṇa (divine authority) to manuṣya-pramāṇa (human opinion).
Arsa-Prayoga.com – Revisited is the title of an upcoming ebook that continues the work begun here on arsaprayoga.com. It re-examines the changes made to Śrīla Prabhupāda’s original books from new angles and explains why each alteration is significant.
Each example will also be posted here on arsaprayoga.com.
The article shows how a small change in a purport—from “done by Krishna” to “done for Krishna”—creates a profound shift in meaning. Though it appears minor, this substitution alters the philosophical substance of the text.
Type of change Substitution — a single preposition replaced.
Category Philosophical change.
Commentary
Alters causal agency / the relationship between Krishna and activity The difference between “by Krishna” and “for Krishna” is not stylistic. It changes who is acting and whose will is primary. “Done by Krishna” means that Krishna is the direct actor, the cause behind all action. “Done for Krishna” reverses the flow, implying that the devotee acts and offers the result. That is not the same truth; it replaces divine agency with human initiative.
Changes nuance of surrender / devotional theology In the original wording, the devotee is fully dependent. He is the instrument, Krishna the mover. This is the essence of śaraṇāgati—to see Krishna as the doer in all things. The edited phrase softens that surrender. It suggests the devotee’s independent action performed on Krishna’s behalf rather than through Krishna’s will. The theology of dependence becomes a theology of contribution.
Moves from metaphysical fact to interpretive sentiment “Done by Krishna” is an ontological statement: it describes reality as it is. “Done for Krishna” is a moral sentiment: it describes how we wish to act. This subtle shift turns realization into interpretation, revelation into advice.
A single preposition has thus transformed the meaning, the mood, and the philosophy. It is not grammar; it is theology.
Those who have altered Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books like to speak of “devotee cooperation” and “proper channels.” What they mean is submission without scrutiny. They have built a system where questioning is punished, reasoning is re-framed as offense, and loyalty is measured by silence.
Whenever a devotee raises a concern, the reply is almost scripted:
Arsa-Prayoga 
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