In most religions and scriptures, human relationships are celebrated as sacred. But in Muktiveda, the relationship is not only valued—it is made a condition for mukti (liberation). While many traditions emphasize the individual’s path to God, Muktiveda radically insists that no one can journey alone to the Further Shore. When it comes to bhakti (devotion) and mukti, we either sail together or sink together.
Though Muktiveda encourages a personal relationship with God, it never promotes the idea of a private God—a divine figure who exists solely for one’s personal needs, sādhana (spiritual discipline), or even liberation. One’s relationship with God is always interconnected with one’s relationship with fellow bhaktas and other human beings.
This principle comes to life in one of the most profound yet often debated stories in the Uttaraveda—the story of the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1–11).
The Story: Justice, Mercy, and Relationship
Scholars widely acknowledge, as Bart D. Ehrman and others have shown, that this passage was likely not part of the original Gospel but added later. Nevertheless, many believe the event genuinely occurred and survived in the community’s oral tradition and collective memory. Perhaps the evangelist omitted it, and a later scribe—realizing its spiritual and communal significance—preserved it by inserting it into the text.
Regardless of its textual history, the theological message of the story remains powerful. The woman is brought before the Lord—not to uphold community sanctity, but as part of a trap. The accusers want to test whether He will enforce the Law and condemn her or break it by showing mercy. But the Lord, as always, transcends their limited categories.
He neither dismisses the sin nor plays into their trap. Though the only one qualified to condemn her, He forgives her with these immortal words:
“Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin.” (John 8:11)
This act of forgiveness, however, was not denial. It was a call to transformation.
Yet there’s a crucial detail that many overlook:
The man involved in the act of adultery is never brought forward.
According to Jewish law (Leviticus 20:10; Deuteronomy 22:22), both the man and woman caught in adultery were to be punished. The fact that only the woman is presented reveals not only deep-rooted gender bias but also the manipulative intent behind the accusation. The goal was never justice—it was to exploit her shame to trap the Lord.
And the Lord, seeing through their scheme, refuses to judge her based on their selective accusation. As God, He surely knows her heart. As a community leader—had that role been formally assigned to Him—He would have been expected to hear both sides. But He does not submit to their false process. Instead, in one stroke:
- He turns the tables on the accusers
- He acknowledges the sin without condemnation
- He forgives the sinner
- He restores her dignity with a fresh call to live a new life
In doing so, He teaches that restoration must always begin with relationship—not accusation, not shame, not judgment.
Forgiveness and Its Condition: Relationship
This story is not an isolated teaching. Across the Uttaraveda, the Lord repeatedly affirms that forgiveness is not an abstract idea, nor an entitlement. It is always relational. In fact, He makes it clear that our willingness to forgive others is the precondition to receiving forgiveness from God:
- “If you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others… neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” (Matthew 6:14–15)
- “Whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father… may forgive you.” (Mark 11:25)
- “Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” (Luke 6:37)
And of course, the Lord drives this home in the parable of the unforgiving servant (Matthew 18:21–35). A king forgives his servant’s massive debt, but when that same servant refuses to forgive someone else, the king withdraws his forgiveness and punishes him. The message is unmistakable: forgiveness is not complete unless it is extended to others.
Mukti is Not a Private Affair
While many religions acknowledge the value of community, Muktiveda goes further. It insists that relationship is a mandatory element of both forgiveness and final liberation. One cannot receive mukti and enjoy the bliss of heaven in isolation. It is always a shared celebration.
That’s why I often say as a joke:
Try to enjoy the bliss of solitude while you are still alive—because once you cross to the Further Shore, you will never get that opportunity again!
This is not just true of Muktiveda but of most faiths. An interesting exception may be Buddhism, where the concept of Nirvana seems to suggest the dissolution of the individual self, potentially making communal celebration irrelevant. Yet, even the Buddha—who may have recognized the dangers of spiritual ego—founded one of the earliest monastic communities in India. His establishment of the Sangha required monks to live collectively, perhaps to train them in the discipline of solidarity before reaching final release.
Conclusion
The path of mukti is never a solitary trek. Forgiveness, transformation, and liberation are all shaped within the web of human relationships. In the Muktiveda, God is not a private deity to be accessed for personal benefit but a relational God who calls us to live in harmony with others. The story of the woman caught in adultery—and the deliberate absence of the man who shared her sin—highlights how fragile justice becomes when relationships are severed or manipulated.
In the end, the Lord did not just forgive a sinner. He restored a relationship, exposed injustice, and taught a truth deeper than doctrine:
Without right relationship, there can be no true mukti.
Afterthought
Though I long for a heaven where I can enjoy continuous fellowship with other bhaktas, I also know myself well enough to admit that—after spending the greater part of my life in solitude—a crowded heaven will be a significant challenge for me. Even Christian monks, aware of this paradox, were often compelled to live in community—not just to prepare for earthly sanctity, but perhaps also to get used to the communal life of heaven. There were, of course, a few exceptions—solitary ascetics who chose to live in isolation even within monastic settings. But for most, communal living was the norm.
In my case, though, it remains a real concern. Unlike the fortunate Buddhist monk, who, after attaining Nirvana—a kind of “blowing out” of the self—ceases to exist as a conscious person, I will continue to exist with full awareness as a person in heaven. And I know that part of me will miss my solitude.
Still, I take comfort in the hope that heaven will be spacious enough to accommodate everyone—including those of us who prefer a quieter existence. Perhaps there will be special quarters for single people, with occasional opportunities to withdraw into solitude. And maybe the Lord Himself—who also lived single on earth—will choose to dwell with us in our quarters, while leaving the Father to care for the rest of the celestial crowd (after all, it was the Father who first created the concept of family!).
In truth, we singles might need more pastoral care than others in heaven. Those who lived in families on earth had something we never did: a full-time, unpaid, and often costly personal counselor—called a life partner. (Please don’t read any unintended meaning into that line—I’m not referring to any particular gender!)
In any case, since none of us really knows what kind of heaven we’ll inherit, I’ve decided to continue enjoying my solitude here on earth, while also celebrating a bhakti and mukti that firmly insists on the importance of human relationships.
This afterthought is just a lighthearted reflection. Please don’t take it as offense or sarcasm—it is offered in good humor.
Ashram, July 3, 2025
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