A devotee recently pointed to the following excerpt from a 1973 conversation and argued that, based on this alone, Bhagavad-gītā 18.66 should be “corrected” to replace the word religion with “occupation”:
Prabhupāda: Now, Kṛṣṇa says, sarva-dharmān parityajya [Bg. 18.66]. Satish Kumar: Yes. Prabhupāda: Now, dharma means occupation. Dharma is not translated as “religion.” Satish Kumar: No, no. Prabhupāda: This is wrong translation. Dharma means occupation. Satish Kumar: Activity? Prabhupāda: Activity, occupation. (Conversation, London, July 30, 1973)
Before rushing to “fix” the book, a few points need to be made—especially in light of arsa-prayoga, the principle that the words of the ācārya are not to be tampered with after his departure:
No instruction, and thus no authorization, was given to change the verse. Srila Prabhupada often spoke freely and loosely in conversation, but he gave direct, literal instructions for book changes while present. Here, he did not.
Srila Prabhupada himself frequently translated dharma as “religion.” This is not a one-off occurrence—it appears hundreds of times in his books and lectures. Are we now to “correct” them all? On what authority?
He heard the verse read aloud repeatedly and never objected. This is decisive. He personally approved the printed Gītā, lectured from it, and signed off on it as finished work.
What happens when we find other places where Prabhupada gives different meanings or emphases? Language is fluid, and Srila Prabhupada tailored his wording to context and audience. Selectively mining conversations to override the final, published work is not fidelity—it’s revisionism.
This is exactly how “The Blessed Lord” was removed by Jayadvaita Swami and the BBTI from later editions. Even though Srila Prabhupada accepted that phrase while alive, and even used it himself, editors saw one conversation where he expressed a reservation—and used that as a pretext to delete it from the entire book.
If this logic is allowed, what will be next?
This is the fatal pattern: use a stray comment in a private conversation to overrule the public, authorized book. It weaponizes Prabhupada’s own words against his finished legacy. That is the opposite of arsa-prayoga. That is how the books slowly stop being his.
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 
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