God Said, 'Love Your Enemy, And I Obeyed Him And loved Myself
Ankit Gupta | Jun 03, 2025, 21:19 IST
Many people are their own worst critics. They battle with guilt, shame, self-doubt, and inner conflict. Calling oneself the "enemy" acknowledges this internal war—and loving oneself becomes an act of spiritual obedience and healing. It reflects a deeper truth: sometimes, what we hate most in others is a reflection of what we haven’t accepted in ourselves. So to love the enemy out there, we must begin by embracing the enemy within.
"And God said, 'Love your enemy,' and I obeyed Him and loved myself."
This poetic twist on a biblical commandment opens a gateway to a universal truth that echoes through all spiritual traditions. In Hinduism, the idea of “enemy” is not merely external—it is internal. The ego, attachments, fears, karmic imprints, and ignorance become our true adversaries. The path to liberation begins not with resistance but with recognition, acceptance, and ultimately, love.
Through the Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, Yoga Sutras, and the teachings of Adi Shankaracharya, this article explores how self-love—rooted in wisdom and detachment—is not vanity but obedience to the highest Dharma. To love the enemy is, in essence, to transcend duality, to forgive the self, and to realize the Self.
In the Bhagavad Gita, before Arjuna raises his bow against the Kauravas, he collapses under the weight of his own inner conflict. His real enemy is not Duryodhana but his own confusion, grief, and fear. Krishna does not command him to destroy others but to first destroy the delusions within.
“One who has conquered the mind is a friend. But for one who has failed to do so, the mind acts like an enemy.”
– Bhagavad Gita 6.6
The inner enemy, known in Sanskrit as antar-dvesha, is the portion of ourselves we fear, judge, or reject. It may take the form of guilt, past trauma, unresolved anger, or self-hatred. These elements, when unacknowledged, become projections onto others. We see enemies outside only when we are at war within.
In Vedic cosmology, the universe is a reflection of the Self (Atman). Therefore, our internal state colors the external world. When the rishis said Aham Brahmasmi (I am Brahman), they did not imply pride, but a radical shift in perception—where one ceases to divide reality into friend and foe, self and other.
The Mahabharata itself, often interpreted as a historical war, is also a psychological and spiritual map, where each character represents a part of the human psyche. Duryodhana is greed, Karna is loyalty torn by injustice, and Krishna is the voice of truth guiding the Self back to its source.
Thus, to love the enemy is to love every fragment of our being, even those lost in darkness.
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali identify five kleshas (afflictions) that cause suffering. The first two—Avidya (ignorance of the true Self) and Asmita (egoism)—are the seeds of inner division. When we forget our divine essence and falsely identify with the body, mind, and roles, we create a false self.
This false self becomes our enemy. We judge ourselves harshly. We live in comparison. We chase external validation. And in the process, we reject the very core of who we are.
“Ignorance is seeing the non-eternal, impure, painful, and non-Self as the eternal, pure, joyful, and Self.”
– Yoga Sutra 2.5
In this delusion, self-love becomes difficult. We either become narcissistic—over-identifying with the ego—or we fall into self-loathing, believing we are unworthy of love. But the Upanishads remind us that we are not our fears, failures, or past. We are Sat-Chit-Ananda—existence, consciousness, and bliss.
To love the enemy within is to see through the illusion of separation, to embrace ourselves not as personalities but as pure witnessing awareness. The journey of yoga, of Vedanta, of all sadhana, is this: to stop running from ourselves and sit still in our presence—without judgment, without escape.
In Hindu philosophy, karma is not punishment. It is a mirror. Every experience, pleasant or painful, is a reflection of our past actions, thoughts, and intentions. When we encounter pain, especially self-inflicted, we often turn against ourselves in anger or guilt.
But the Mahabharata teaches a different lesson. Consider Yudhishthira, the most dharmic of the Pandavas. Despite doing everything right, he suffers immense losses. After the war, he questions whether Dharma itself is flawed. His pain is not from others—it is his own moral anguish, his inability to forgive himself.
“The heart of the wise one becomes soft like a flower. The heart of the ignorant one hardens like a stone.”
– Mahabharata, Shanti Parva
True spiritual maturity is not in external control but in internal forgiveness. The Shiva Purana narrates how even Ravana, the demon king, was eventually absorbed into Shiva's essence. Why? Because even the darkest soul is but a distorted expression of the same Divine.
Similarly, to love the self—even the parts tainted by ego, greed, or lust—is to purify them through awareness and compassion. The story of Valmiki, a robber who became a rishi, or Aghoris, who meditate in cremation grounds to transcend fear, are reminders that no part of the self is beyond redemption.
Forgiving oneself is not indulgence. It is obedience to Dharma—to stop punishing oneself and instead transform ignorance into wisdom.
Modern self-love often revolves around indulgence—rest, rewards, and self-care. While these are valid, spiritual self-love is deeper. It is Tapasya—the disciplined fire of purification. To love yourself spiritually is to sit with your wounds, to enter your shadows, and to remain present even in discomfort.
“He who sees all beings in the Self, and the Self in all beings, never turns away from it.”
– Isha Upanishad 6
The Isha Upanishad teaches that oneness is not philosophical—it is visceral. When we truly see the Self in all, including ourselves, there is no enemy left. Love becomes the only response—not emotional love, but existential embrace.
This Tapasya involves:
Ramakrishna Paramahamsa once said, “If you must be mad, be it not for gold, power, or fame. Be mad with love for God.” What if that madness for God included the God within you—your innermost presence, your essential silence?
At the culmination of the Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna rises not just to fight but to see clearly. His despair dissolves in the light of Krishna's wisdom. He sees that there is no death, no enemy, no doer—only the play of Prakriti and the witnessing Purusha.
“The one who sees inaction in action, and action in inaction, is wise among humans.”
– Bhagavad Gita 4.18
This is the ultimate message: the war ends when the division ends. When we love our enemy, and that enemy is the fragmented self, we return to Advaita—non-duality.
The Upanishads, especially the Mandukya Upanishad, speak of Turiya, the fourth state of consciousness. It is the substratum behind waking, dreaming, and deep sleep. In Turiya, there is no “I” and “you,” no lover and beloved, no enemy and friend. There is only existence-consciousness-bliss.
To love the enemy, then, is to collapse all categories. It is to embrace even the ego as a temporary mask of the Self. It is to stop striving for perfection and instead rest in the perfection that already is.
In Tantra, the Devi is not asked to become pure. She is accepted in her wrath and passion as much as in her serenity. The left-hand path does not destroy desire—it transforms it. Likewise, our shadow self is not to be exiled but alchemized into light.
When God said, “Love your enemy,” He did not merely command social tolerance. He revealed a cosmic law—that healing begins at home. That the enemy you refuse to love is not outside you but within you.
And to love yourself is not to worship the ego, but to see beyond it—to embrace the Self that has always been divine, hidden beneath layers of fear and forgetfulness.
In Hindu dharma, love is not a feeling—it is realization. The realization that Tat Tvam Asi—You Are That. That the one who suffers, the one who loves, and the one who commands love are all the same Self.
So love the enemy. And if that enemy is you, love even more fiercely. For in that embrace lies the end of karma, the awakening of Dharma, and the beginning of Moksha.
This poetic twist on a biblical commandment opens a gateway to a universal truth that echoes through all spiritual traditions. In Hinduism, the idea of “enemy” is not merely external—it is internal. The ego, attachments, fears, karmic imprints, and ignorance become our true adversaries. The path to liberation begins not with resistance but with recognition, acceptance, and ultimately, love.
Through the Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, Yoga Sutras, and the teachings of Adi Shankaracharya, this article explores how self-love—rooted in wisdom and detachment—is not vanity but obedience to the highest Dharma. To love the enemy is, in essence, to transcend duality, to forgive the self, and to realize the Self.
A Battle More Ancient Than Kurukshetra
The Enemy Within
( Image credit : Pixabay )
In the Bhagavad Gita, before Arjuna raises his bow against the Kauravas, he collapses under the weight of his own inner conflict. His real enemy is not Duryodhana but his own confusion, grief, and fear. Krishna does not command him to destroy others but to first destroy the delusions within.
“One who has conquered the mind is a friend. But for one who has failed to do so, the mind acts like an enemy.”
– Bhagavad Gita 6.6
The inner enemy, known in Sanskrit as antar-dvesha, is the portion of ourselves we fear, judge, or reject. It may take the form of guilt, past trauma, unresolved anger, or self-hatred. These elements, when unacknowledged, become projections onto others. We see enemies outside only when we are at war within.
In Vedic cosmology, the universe is a reflection of the Self (Atman). Therefore, our internal state colors the external world. When the rishis said Aham Brahmasmi (I am Brahman), they did not imply pride, but a radical shift in perception—where one ceases to divide reality into friend and foe, self and other.
The Mahabharata itself, often interpreted as a historical war, is also a psychological and spiritual map, where each character represents a part of the human psyche. Duryodhana is greed, Karna is loyalty torn by injustice, and Krishna is the voice of truth guiding the Self back to its source.
Thus, to love the enemy is to love every fragment of our being, even those lost in darkness.
Avidya and Asmita
The Root of Self-Alienation
( Image credit : Pexels )
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali identify five kleshas (afflictions) that cause suffering. The first two—Avidya (ignorance of the true Self) and Asmita (egoism)—are the seeds of inner division. When we forget our divine essence and falsely identify with the body, mind, and roles, we create a false self.
This false self becomes our enemy. We judge ourselves harshly. We live in comparison. We chase external validation. And in the process, we reject the very core of who we are.
“Ignorance is seeing the non-eternal, impure, painful, and non-Self as the eternal, pure, joyful, and Self.”
– Yoga Sutra 2.5
In this delusion, self-love becomes difficult. We either become narcissistic—over-identifying with the ego—or we fall into self-loathing, believing we are unworthy of love. But the Upanishads remind us that we are not our fears, failures, or past. We are Sat-Chit-Ananda—existence, consciousness, and bliss.
To love the enemy within is to see through the illusion of separation, to embrace ourselves not as personalities but as pure witnessing awareness. The journey of yoga, of Vedanta, of all sadhana, is this: to stop running from ourselves and sit still in our presence—without judgment, without escape.
The Mirror of Karma
Forgiveness as Liberation
In Hindu philosophy, karma is not punishment. It is a mirror. Every experience, pleasant or painful, is a reflection of our past actions, thoughts, and intentions. When we encounter pain, especially self-inflicted, we often turn against ourselves in anger or guilt.
But the Mahabharata teaches a different lesson. Consider Yudhishthira, the most dharmic of the Pandavas. Despite doing everything right, he suffers immense losses. After the war, he questions whether Dharma itself is flawed. His pain is not from others—it is his own moral anguish, his inability to forgive himself.
“The heart of the wise one becomes soft like a flower. The heart of the ignorant one hardens like a stone.”
– Mahabharata, Shanti Parva
True spiritual maturity is not in external control but in internal forgiveness. The Shiva Purana narrates how even Ravana, the demon king, was eventually absorbed into Shiva's essence. Why? Because even the darkest soul is but a distorted expression of the same Divine.
Similarly, to love the self—even the parts tainted by ego, greed, or lust—is to purify them through awareness and compassion. The story of Valmiki, a robber who became a rishi, or Aghoris, who meditate in cremation grounds to transcend fear, are reminders that no part of the self is beyond redemption.
Forgiving oneself is not indulgence. It is obedience to Dharma—to stop punishing oneself and instead transform ignorance into wisdom.
Self-Love as Tapasya
Not Pleasure, but Purification
Modern self-love often revolves around indulgence—rest, rewards, and self-care. While these are valid, spiritual self-love is deeper. It is Tapasya—the disciplined fire of purification. To love yourself spiritually is to sit with your wounds, to enter your shadows, and to remain present even in discomfort.
“He who sees all beings in the Self, and the Self in all beings, never turns away from it.”
– Isha Upanishad 6
The Isha Upanishad teaches that oneness is not philosophical—it is visceral. When we truly see the Self in all, including ourselves, there is no enemy left. Love becomes the only response—not emotional love, but existential embrace.
This Tapasya involves:
- Svadhyaya (self-study),
- Vairagya (detachment),
- Shraddha (faith), and
- Dhyana (meditation).
Ramakrishna Paramahamsa once said, “If you must be mad, be it not for gold, power, or fame. Be mad with love for God.” What if that madness for God included the God within you—your innermost presence, your essential silence?
When No Enemy Remains
From Duality to Divinity
At the culmination of the Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna rises not just to fight but to see clearly. His despair dissolves in the light of Krishna's wisdom. He sees that there is no death, no enemy, no doer—only the play of Prakriti and the witnessing Purusha.
“The one who sees inaction in action, and action in inaction, is wise among humans.”
– Bhagavad Gita 4.18
This is the ultimate message: the war ends when the division ends. When we love our enemy, and that enemy is the fragmented self, we return to Advaita—non-duality.
The Upanishads, especially the Mandukya Upanishad, speak of Turiya, the fourth state of consciousness. It is the substratum behind waking, dreaming, and deep sleep. In Turiya, there is no “I” and “you,” no lover and beloved, no enemy and friend. There is only existence-consciousness-bliss.
To love the enemy, then, is to collapse all categories. It is to embrace even the ego as a temporary mask of the Self. It is to stop striving for perfection and instead rest in the perfection that already is.
In Tantra, the Devi is not asked to become pure. She is accepted in her wrath and passion as much as in her serenity. The left-hand path does not destroy desire—it transforms it. Likewise, our shadow self is not to be exiled but alchemized into light.
Loving Yourself Is Loving God
And to love yourself is not to worship the ego, but to see beyond it—to embrace the Self that has always been divine, hidden beneath layers of fear and forgetfulness.
In Hindu dharma, love is not a feeling—it is realization. The realization that Tat Tvam Asi—You Are That. That the one who suffers, the one who loves, and the one who commands love are all the same Self.
So love the enemy. And if that enemy is you, love even more fiercely. For in that embrace lies the end of karma, the awakening of Dharma, and the beginning of Moksha.