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.
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.
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.
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 
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