I think of Gandhi as the prototypical karmayogi, and in that context, I’m not surprised to find his definition of prayer as work. It is the work. The work. It is the means by which we are purified and awakened. Prayer, in its various forms, transforms us and prepares us to be the hands of the Divine.
For Gandhi, prayer has very little to do with invoking God to take action. (Actually, Gandhi remorselessly admits to being a fatalist.) Rather, we are the action of God. And prayer is the act of connecting with the Divine in devotion in order to prepare us for the work. If we must ask God for anything, “nothing can be grander than to ask God to make us act justly towards everything that lives” (p. 32). In that sense, this book is a useful glimpse into why petitionary prayer is the lowest form of prayer (that is, to reductionistically define prayer as merely asking God for health, wealth, and fair weather).
Personally, Gandhi’s complete disinterest in linguistic squabbles about the Divine is refreshing. God, Om, Rama – all were empty terms to him. What mattered was the effect those names had when deeply rooted in the heart of the sincere devotee. I find myself similarly drifting to such utilitarian appraisal of religious language.
On a critical note, I must say the book was editorially fragmented more than I anticipated. The contextless excerpts of letters, sermons, and speeches made it difficult to connect with his words. My lower rating is primarily because of this.
Lastly, what I appreciate most about this book are the insights into the humanity of Gandhiji. For instance, the image of a young Gandhi, terrified of ghosts at night, who learned from his nurse to recite the name of God as a mantra to dispel his fear. This image moved me enough that I passed the practice on to my young son. Similarly, I must say that my lungs were squeezed to read the account of Gandhi’s assassination, final prayer, and last breath. I will carry those images with me for quite some time.