Not to Suppress, but to Learn to Control

There is a well-known story about Alexander the Great. When he was still a young man, no one could tame a wild horse named Bucephalus. The horse was so headstrong that even experienced riders could not handle him. But Alexander managed to bring him under control. Seeing this, his father, King Philip, said: “My son, seek a kingdom worthy of your abilities, for Macedonia is too small for you.” There is an interesting idea in this story that closely reflects the Jewish understanding of human nature. In Judaism, powerful desires, passions, and inner conflicts are not necessarily regarded as signs of a person’s spiritual corruption. Sometimes, quite the opposite is true. The stronger certain impulses are within a person, the greater their potential may be, provided they learn to direct those impulses properly. Jewish tradition speaks of the yetzer hara — the evil inclination. But it is important to understand that this is not simply some form of evil that must be destroyed. It is also the powerful energy of human desire: the drive to possess, to achieve, to experience pleasure, to gain recognition, and to influence the world around us. Without this force, human beings would lose much of their ability to act, create, build, and develop.

The problem begins when desires control a person rather than the person controlling their desires. That is precisely why spiritual work in Judaism is not about becoming a being without passions or emotions. Its purpose is to learn how to direct these forces in the right direction. The Book of Proverbs says: “Better one who is patient than a mighty warrior, and one who rules his spirit than one who captures a city” (Proverbs 16:32). Notice that wisdom here is measured not by the absence of inner struggle, but by the ability to exercise self-control. A person may possess tremendous energy, a strong character, and powerful desires, but true strength is revealed in whether they can govern all of these. Of course, strong temptations do not in themselves prove that someone possesses exceptional spiritual strength. But neither do they mean that a person is doomed to keep failing. In Jewish tradition, a human being is not regarded as a helpless prisoner of their own nature. Each person has free will, reason, the good inclination — the yetzer hatov — and the possibility of turning to the Almighty for help.

And this is where Alexander’s story becomes a valuable example. One can fear a wild horse, attempt to suppress its strength, or learn to guide it. Then the very energy that once seemed dangerous becomes a source of forward movement. The same is true of human beings. Their task is not necessarily to eliminate everything within themselves that is powerful and untamed. Sometimes they must learn to transform these forces into patience, creativity, love, responsibility, and service to the Almighty. Therefore, when someone notices strong passions or a difficult temperament within themselves, they should not immediately conclude that something is spiritually wrong with them. What matters far more is understanding where that energy is directed and who is controlling it. After all, the same inner fire can destroy a life or become the force through which a person accomplishes extraordinary things. The difference lies not in the intensity of the fire itself, but in whether a person has learned how to handle it.