Chapter VI: Part 6

Nachmanides’ inconsistency has also proved beneficial in another respect. For mysticism has, by its over‐emphasising of the divine in man, shown a strong tendency to remove God altogether and replace Him by the creature of His hands. Witness only the theological bubble of Shabbethai Tsebi—happily it burst quickly enough—which resulted in mere idolatry (in more polite language, Hero Worship) on the one side, and in the grossest antinomianism on the other. Nachmanides, however, with a happy inconsistency, combined with the belief of man’s origin in God, a not less strong conviction of man’s liability to sin, of the fact that he _does_ sin—even the patriarchs were not free from it, as we have seen above—and that this sin _does_ alienate man from God. This healthy control over man’s extravagant idea of his own species was with Nachmanides also a fruit of the Torah, within the limits of which everything must move, the mystic and his aspirations included, whilst its fair admixture of 365 _Do not’s_ with 248 _Do’s_ preserved him from that “holy doing nothing” which so many mystics indulged in, and made his a most active life.

Much of this activity was displayed in Palestine, “the land to which the providence of God is especially attached,” and which was, as with R. Judah Hallevi, always “his ideal home.” There he not only completed his _Commentary on the Pentateuch_, but also erected synagogues, and engaged in organising communities, whose tone he tried to elevate both by his lectures and by his sermons. His career in Palestine was not a long one, for he lived there only about three years, and in 1270 he must already have been dead. A pretty legend narrates that when he emigrated to Palestine his pupils asked him to give them a sign enabling them to ascertain the day of his death. He answered them that on that day a rift in the shape of a lamp would be seen in the tombstone of his mother. After three years a pupil suddenly noticed this rift, when the mourning over the Rabbi began. Thus, stone, or anything else earthly, breaks finally, and the life of the master passes into light.

What life meant to him, how deeply he was convinced that there is no other life but that originating in God, how deeply stirred his soul was by the consciousness of sin, what agonies the thought of the alienation from God caused him, how he felt that there is nothing left to him but to throw himself upon the mercy of God, and how he rejoiced in the hope of a final reunion with Him—of all these sentiments we find the best expression in the following religious poem, with which this paper may conclude. Nachmanides composed it in Hebrew, and it is still preserved in some rituals as a hymn, recited on the Day of Atonement. It is here given in the English translation of Mrs. Henry Lucas.(101)

Ere time began, ere age to age had thrilled,
I waited in his storehouse, as he willed;
He gave me being, but, my years fulfilled,
I shall be summoned back before the King.

He called the hidden to the light of day,
To right and left, each side the fountain lay,
From out the stream and down the steps, the way
That led me to the garden of the King.

Thou gavest me a light my path to guide,
To prove my heart’s recesses still untried;
And as I went, thy voice in warning cried:
"Child! fear thou him who is thy God and King!"

True weight and measure learned my heart from thee;
If blessings follow, then what joy for me!
If nought but sin, all mine the shame must be,
For that was not determined by the King.

I hasten, trembling, to confess the whole
Of my transgressions, ere I reach the goal
Where mine own words must witness ’gainst my soul,
And who dares doubt the writing of the King?

Erring, I wandered in the wilderness,
In passion’s grave nigh sinking powerless;
Now deeply I repent, in sore distress,
That I kept not the statutes of the King!

With worldly longings was my bosom fraught,
Earth’s idle toys and follies all I sought;
Ah! when he judges joys so dearly bought,
How greatly shall I fear my Lord and King!

Now conscience‐stricken, humbled to the dust,
Doubting himself, in thee alone his trust,
He shrinks in terror back, for God is just—
How can a sinner hope to reach the King?

Oh, be thy mercy in the balance laid,
To hold thy servant’s sins more lightly weighed,
When, his confession penitently made,
He answers for his guilt before the King.

Thine is the love, O God, and thine the grace,
That folds the sinner in its mild embrace;
Thine the forgiveness, bridging o’er the space
’Twixt man’s works and the task set by the King.

Unheeding all my sins, I cling to thee;
I know that mercy shall thy footstool be:
Before I call, oh, do thou answer me,
For nothing dare I claim of thee, my King!

O thou, who makest guilt to disappear,
My help, my hope, my rock, I will not fear;
Though thou the body hold in dungeon drear,
The soul has found the palace of the King!

POSTSCRIPT

The third letter of Nachmanides to which I have alluded above, is embodied in the following will by R. Solomon, son of the martyr Isaac. Neither the date nor the country of the testator is known, but style and language make it probable that he was a Spanish Jew, and lived in the fourteenth century. I give here a translation from the whole document as it is to be found in the Manuscripts.

These are the regulations which I, Solomon, the son of the martyr,
Rabbi Isaac, the son of R. Zadok, of blessed memory, draw up for
myself. That as long as I am in good health, and free from
accident, and think of it, I shall not eat before I have studied
one page of the Talmud or of its commentaries. Should I transgress
this rule intentionally, I must not drink wine on that day, or I
shall pay half a _Zehub_(102) to charity. Again, that I shall
every week read the Lesson twice in the Hebrew text, and once in
the Aramaic version. Should I intentionally omit completing the
Lesson as above, then I must pay two _Zehubs_ to charity. Again,
that I shall every Sabbath take three meals, consisting of bread
or fruit. Should I omit to do so, I must give in charity half a
_Zehub_. Again, in order to subdue my appetites, and not to enjoy
in this world more than is necessary for the maintenance of my
body, I must not eat at one meal more than one course of meat, and
not more than two courses altogether; nor must I drink more than
two cups of wine at one meal, apart from the blessing‐cup (over
which grace is said), except on Sabbath, Festivals, Chanukah (the
Maccabean Dedication Feast), New Moon, and at other religious
meals (for instance, wedding‐dinners and similar festive
occasions). Again, I must not have any regular meal on the day
preceding Sabbath or Festivals. I must not have during the day
more than one course, so that I shall enter upon the holy day with
a good appetite. Should I transgress this resolve intentionally I
shall have to fast a day, or to pay two _Zehubs_. Again, that I
shall not eat the fish called _burbot_,(103) if I think of it.
Again, even on the above‐mentioned days, I must not eat more than
three courses at a meal, nor drink more than three cups of wine,
exclusive of the blessing‐cup. Again, ... I must not swear by God,
nor mention the name of Heaven without a purpose, nor curse any
man in the name of God. Should I, God forbid, transgress it, I
must not drink more than one cup of wine on that day exclusive of
the blessing‐cup. Should I, however, transgress this after dinner,
I must abstain from wine the following day. Should I transgress
it, I have to pay half a _Zehub_. Again, that I shall get up every
night to praise God, to supplicate for His mercy, and to confess.
On those nights when confession is not to be said (Sabbaths and
Festivals), I shall say hymns and psalms. This I shall do when I
am in my house, and in good health, free from any accident. Should
I transgress it, I shall drink not more than one cup of wine the
following day, except the blessing‐cup. I again take upon myself
to give in charity the following proportion of my expenditure—from
each dress which I shall have made for myself or for one member of
my family, costing more than ten _Zehubs_, I must pay one
_Pashut_(104) for each ten _Zehubs_. Again, if I should buy an
animal, or a slave, or a female slave, or ground, that I shall
also pay at the same rate. And if I shall buy clothes for sale,
called _fashas_, I shall pay two _Pashuts_ for each garment. As
often as I have occasion to say the benediction of thanksgivings
for having escaped danger I shall pay a _Zehub_, except when I am
travelling [also involving danger in those times!], in which case
I shall have to pay a _Zehub_ on my arrival, and two _Pashuts_
daily during the journey. Again, from every kind of fish bought
for me, costing more than a _Zehub_, I shall pay a _Pashut_ for
each _Zehub_. And also, if I shall be deemed worthy by God to
marry my children, and to be present at their wedding, to cause
them to give to the poor from the dowry brought to them by their
wives, whether in money or in kind, at the rate of one per cent.
If God will find me worthy of having sons, I must give in charity
according to my means at the time.

I shall also, between New Year and the Day of Atonement in each
year, calculate my profits during the past year and (after
deducting expenses) give a tithe thereof to the poor. Should I be
unable to make an accurate calculation, then I shall give
approximately. This tithe I shall put aside, together with the
other money for religious (charitable) purpose, to dispose of it
as I shall deem best. I also propose to have the liberty of
employing the money in any profitable speculation with a view to
augmenting it. But in respect of all I have written above I shall
not hold myself guilty if I transgress, if such transgression be
the result of forgetfulness; but in order to guard against it, I
shall read this through weekly.

I also command my children to take upon themselves as many of the
above regulations as may be in their power to observe, and also to
bind them (_i.e._ the regulations), from generation to generation,
upon their children. And he who carries them out, and even adds to
them, at pain of discomfort to himself, shall merit a special
blessing. And this is the text of the will which I, the above‐
mentioned Solomon, draw up for my children, may God preserve them.
That they shall pray thrice daily, and endeavour always to utter
their prayers with devotion. Again, that this prayer shall be said
in the _Beth Hammidrash_, or in the synagogue together with the
congregation. Again, that they shall apply all their powers to
maintain the synagogues and the houses of study, which our
ancestors have built, as well as to continue the endowments
established by my ancestors and myself. They must always endeavour
to imitate them, so that goodness shall never cease from among
them. Again, that they shall always have a chair on which a volume
of the Talmud, or some other Talmudical work, shall lie; so that
they shall always open a book when they come home. At least, they
shall read in any book they like four lines before taking their
meal. Again, that they shall every week read the Lesson twice in
the Hebrew text, and once in the Aramaic version. Again, to take
three meals on the Sabbath....

Again, that they shall be always modest, merciful, and charitable,
for these are the qualities by which the children of Israel are
known. Let also all their thoughts and meditations be always
directed to the service of the Lord, and be as charitable and
benevolent as possible, for this is all that remains to man of his
labour. They shall also endeavour to regulate their diet according
to the rules laid down by Rabbi Moses (b. Maimon, or Maimonides),
so as to fulfil the words of Scripture: “The righteous eateth to
the satisfying of his soul.” And let them always be careful not to
take the name of God in vain, to be honest in all business
transactions, and let their yea be always yea. They shall always
be under the obligation to train their children to the Study of
the Torah, but one shall devote his life exclusively to the study
thereof. And it shall be incumbent upon his brothers to support
this one, and to invest his moneys, and to provide for him that he
and his family may live respectably, so that he be not distracted
by worldly cares from his studies. Let also the elder love the
younger brothers as their own children, and the younger respect
the elder as a parent. Thus they may always bear in mind that they
are of a God‐fearing family. Let them love and honour scholars,
thus to merit the honour of having scholars for their sons and
sons‐in‐law. This will they shall themselves read weekly, and
shall also make it incumbent upon their children, from generation
to generation, to read weekly, in order to fulfil what is written
(Gen. xviii. 19), “For I know him that he will command his
children,” etc., and also the words of Isaiah (lix. 21), “And this
is my covenant,” etc. But as often as they shall read this will,
they shall also read the two letters below written, which Rabbi
Moses ben Nachman sent to his sons, with a view of being
serviceable to them in many respects. Should, heaven forbid, they
be by any sad accident prevented from fulfilling the injunctions
above laid down, they must fine themselves by not drinking wine on
that day, or by eating one course less at the dinner, or by giving
some fine in charity....

And this is the letter which the above‐mentioned Rabbi sent from the Holy Land to Castile, when his son was staying before the king (in his service):—

“... May God bless you and preserve you from sin and punishment.
Behold, our master, King David, had a son, wise and of an
understanding heart, like unto whom there was never one before or
after. Nevertheless he said to him (1 Kings ii. 2): ‘And keep the
charge of the Lord thy God,’ etc. He also said to him: ‘And thou,
my son, know the God of thy father’ (1 Chron. xxviii. 9). Now, my
son, if thou wilt measure thyself with Solomon, thou wilt find
thyself a worm—not a man, merely an insect; nevertheless, if thou
wilt seek God, he will make thee great; and if thou wilt forsake
him, thou wilt be turned out and forsaken. My son, be careful that
thou read the _Shema_(105) morning and evening, as well as that
thou say the daily prayers. Have always with thee a Pentateuch
written correctly, and read therein the Lesson for each
Sabbath.... ‘Cast thy burden upon the Lord,’ for the thing which
thou believest far from thee is often very near unto thee. Know,
again, that thou art not master over thy words, nor hast power
over thy hand; but everything is in the hand of the Lord, who
formeth thy heart.... Be especially careful to keep aloof from the
women [of the court?]. Know that our God hates immorality, and
Balaam could in no other way injure Israel than by inciting them
to unchastity. [Here come many quotations from Malachi and
Ezra.]... My son, remember me always, and let the image of my
countenance be never absent from before thine eyes. Love not that
which I hate.... Let the words of the Psalmist be always upon thy
lips, ‘I am a stranger in the earth: hide not thy commandments
from me’ (Ps. cxix. 19); and God, who is good and the dispenser of
good, shall increase thy peace and prolong thy life in peace and
happiness, and promote thy honour according to thy wish and the
wish of thy father who begat thee, Moses ben Nachman.”

V. A JEWISH BOSWELL

There is a saying in the Talmud “Nothing exists of which there is not some indication in the Torah.” These words are often quoted, and some modern authors have pressed them so far as to find even the discoveries of Columbus and the inventions of Watt and Stephenson indicated in the Law. This is certainly misapplied ingenuity. But it is hardly an exaggeration to maintain that there is no noble manifestation of real religion, no expression of real piety, reverence, and devotion, to which Jewish literature would not offer a fair parallel.

Thus it will hardly be astonishing to hear that Jewish literature has its Boswell to show, more than three centuries before the Scottish gentleman came to London to admire his Johnson, and more than four centuries before the Sage of Chelsea delivered his lectures on Hero Worship. And this Jewish Boswell was guided only by the motives suggested to him in the old Rabbinic literature. In this literature the reverence for the great man, and the absorption of one’s whole self in him, went so far that one Rabbi declared that the whole world was only created to serve such a man as company.(106)

Again, the fact that, in the language of the Rabbis, the term for studying the Law and discussing it is “to attend” or rather “to serve the disciples of the Wise” may also have led people to the important truth that the great man is not a lecturing machine, but a sort of living Law himself. “When the man,” said one Rabbi, “has wholly devoted himself to the Torah, and thoroughly identified himself with it, it becomes almost his own Torah.” Thus people have not only to listen to his words but to observe his whole life, and to profit from all his actions and movements.

This was what the Jewish Boswell sought to do. His name was Rabbi Solomon, of St. Goar, a small town on the Rhine, while the name of the master whom he served was R. Jacob, the Levite, better known by his initials Maharil, who filled the office of Chief Rabbi in Mayence and Worms successively. The main activity of Maharil falls in the first three decades of the fifteenth century. Those were troublous times for a Rabbi. For the preceding century with its persecution and sufferings—one has only to think of the Black Death and its terrible consequences for the Jews—led to the destruction of the great Schools, the decay of the study of the Law, and to the dissolution of many congregations. Those which remained lost all touch with each other, so that almost every larger Jewish community had its own _Minhag_ or ritual custom.(107)

It was Maharil who brought some order into this chaos, and in the course of time his influence asserted itself so strongly that the rules observed by him in the performing of religious ceremonies were accepted by the great majority of the Jewish communities. Thus the personality of Maharil himself became a standing Minhag, suppressing all the other Minhagim (customs).

But there must have been something very strong and very great about the personality of the man who could succeed in such an arduous task. For we must not forget that the Minhag or custom in its decay degenerates into a kind of religious fashion, the worst disease to which religion is liable, and the most difficult to cure. It is therefore an irreparable loss both for Jewish literature and for Jewish history, that the greatest part of Maharil’s posthumous writings are no longer extant, so that our knowledge about him is very small. But the little we know of him we owe chiefly to the communicativeness of his servant, the Solomon of St. Goar whom I mentioned above.

Solomon not only gave us the “Customs” of his master, but also observed him closely in all his movements, and conscientiously wrote down all that he saw and heard, under the name of _Collectanea_. It seems that the bulk of these _Collectanea_ was also lost. But in the fragments that we still possess we are informed, among other things, how Maharil addressed his wife, how he treated his pupils, how careful he was in the use of his books, and even how clean his linen was. Is this not out‐Boswelling Boswell?

The most striking point of agreement between the Boswell of the fifteenth and him of the eighteenth century, is that they both use the same passage from the Talmud to excuse the interest in trifles which their labours of love betrayed. Thus Solomon prefaces his _Collectanea_ with the following words: “It is written, His leaf shall not wither. These words were explained by our Sages to mean that even the idle talk of the disciples of the wise deserves a study. Upon this interpretation I have relied. In my love to R. Jacob the Levite, I collected everything about him. I did not refuse even small things, though many derided me. Everything I wrote down, for such was the desire of my heart.”

Thus far Solomon. Now, if we turn to the introduction to Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_, we read the following sentence: “For this almost superstitious reverence, I have found very old and venerable authority quoted by our great modern prelate, Secker, in whose tenth sermon there is the following passage: ‘Rabbi Kimchi, a noted Jewish commentator who lived about five hundred years ago, explains that passage in the first Psalm, “His leaf also shall not wither” from Rabbins yet older than himself, that even the idle talk, so he expressed it, of a good man ought to be regarded.’ ”

Croker’s note to this passage sounds rather strange. This editor says: “Kimchi was a Spanish Rabbi, who died in 1240. One wonders that Secker’s good sense should have condescended to quote this far‐fetched and futile interpretation of the simple and beautiful metaphor, by which the Psalmist illustrates the prosperity of the righteous man.” Now Kimchi died at least five years earlier than Croker states, but dates, we know from Macaulay’s essay on the subject, were not Croker’s strong point. But one can hardly forgive the editor of Boswell this lack of sympathy. Had he known what strong affinity there was between his most Christian author and the humble Jew Solomon, he would have less resented this condescension of Archbishop Secker.

As for the Jewish Boswell himself, we know very little about him. The only place in which he speaks about his own person is that in which he derives his pedigree from R. Eleazar ben Samuel Hallevi (died 1357), and says that he was generally called “Der gute (the good) R. Salman.” He well deserved this appellation. In his Will we find the following injunction to his children: “Be honest, and conscientious in your dealing with men, with Jews as well as Gentiles, be kind and obliging to them; do not speak what is superfluous.” And wisdom is surely rare enough to render inappropriate a charge of superfluousness against the work of those who in bygone times spent their energies in gathering the crumbs that fell from the tables of the wise.

VI. THE DOGMAS OF JUDAISM

The object of this essay is to say about the dogmas of Judaism a word which I think ought not to be left unsaid.

In speaking of dogmas it must be understood that Judaism does not ascribe to them any saving power. The belief in a dogma or a doctrine without abiding by its real or supposed consequences (_e.g._ the belief in _creatio ex nihilo_ without keeping the Sabbath) is of no value. And the question about certain doctrines is not whether they possess or do not possess the desired charm against certain diseases of the soul, but whether they ought to be considered as characteristics of Judaism or not.

It must again be premised that the subject, which occupied the thoughts of the greatest and noblest Jewish minds for so many centuries, has been neglected for a comparatively long time. And this for various reasons. First, there is Mendelssohn’s assertion, or supposed assertion, in his _Jerusalem_, that Judaism has no dogmas—an assertion which has been accepted by the majority of modern Jewish theologians as the only dogma Judaism possesses. You can hear it pronounced in scores of Jewish pulpits; you can read it written in scores of Jewish books. To admit the possibility that Mendelssohn was in error was hardly permissible, especially for those with whom he enjoys a certain infallibility. Nay, even the fact that he himself was not consistent in his theory, and on another occasion declared that Judaism _has_ dogmas, only that they are purer and more in harmony with reason than those of other religions; or even the more important fact that he published a school‐book for children, in which the so‐called Thirteen Articles were embodied, only that instead of the formula “I believe,” he substituted “I am convinced,”—even such patent facts did not produce much effect upon many of our modern theologians.(108) They were either overlooked or explained away so as to make them harmonise with the great dogma of dogmalessness. For it is one of the attributes of infallibility that the words of its happy possessor must always be reconcilable even when they appear to the eye of the unbeliever as gross contradictions.

Another cause of the neglect into which the subject has fallen is that our century is an _historical_ one. It is not only books that have their fate, but also whole sciences and literatures. In past times it was religious speculation that formed the favourite study of scholars, in our time it is history with its critical foundation on a sound philology. Now as these two most important branches of Jewish science were so long neglected—were perhaps never cultivated in the true meaning of the word, and as Jewish literature is so vast and Jewish history so far‐reaching and eventful, we cannot wonder that these studies have absorbed the time and the labour of the greatest and best Jewish writers in this century.

There is, besides, a certain tendency in historical studies that is hostile to mere theological speculation. The historian deals with realities, the theologian with abstractions. The latter likes to shape the universe after his system, and tells us how things _ought to be_, the former teaches us how they _are_ or _have been_, and the explanation he gives for their being so and not otherwise includes in most cases also a kind of justification for their existence. There is also the _odium theologicum_, which has been the cause of so much misfortune that it is hated by the historian, whilst the superficial, rationalistic way in which the theologian manages to explain everything which does not suit his system is most repulsive to the critical spirit.

But it cannot be denied that this neglect has caused much confusion. Especially is this noticeable in England, which is essentially a theological country, and where people are but little prone to give up speculation about things which concern their most sacred interest and greatest happiness. Thus whilst we are exceedingly poor in all other branches of Jewish learning, we are comparatively rich in productions of a theological character. We have a superfluity of essays on such delicate subjects as eternal punishment, immortality of the soul, the day of judgment, etc., and many treatises on the definition of Judaism. But knowing little or nothing of the progress recently made in Jewish theology, of the many protests against all kinds of infallibility, whether canonised in this century or in olden times, we in England still maintain that Judaism has no dogmas as if nothing to the contrary had ever been said. We seek the foundation of Judaism in political economy, in hygiene, in everything except religion. Following the fashion of the day to esteem religion in proportion to its ability to adapt itself to every possible and impossible metaphysical and social system, we are anxious to squeeze out of Judaism the last drop of faith and hope, and strive to make it so flexible that we can turn it in every direction which it is our pleasure to follow. But alas! the flexibility has progressed so far as to classify Judaism among the invertebrate species, the lowest order of living things. It strongly resembles a certain Christian school which addresses itself to the world in general and claims to satisfy everybody alike. It claims to be socialism for the adherents of Karl Marx and Lassalle, worship of man for the followers of Comte and St. Simon; it carefully avoids the word “God” for the comfort of agnostics and sceptics, whilst on the other hand it pretends to hold sway over paradise, hell, and immortality for the edification of believers. In such illusions many of our theologians delight. For illusions they are; you cannot be everything if you want to be anything. Moreover, illusions in themselves are bad enough, but we are menaced with what is still worse. Judaism, divested of every higher religious motive, is in danger of falling into gross materialism. For what else is the meaning of such declarations as “Believe what you like, but conform to this or that mode of life”; what else does it mean but “We cannot expect you to believe that the things you are bidden to do are commanded by a higher authority; there is not such a thing as belief, but you ought to do them for conventionalism or for your own convenience.”

But both these motives—the good opinion of our neighbours, as well as our bodily health—have nothing to do with our nobler and higher sentiments, and degrade Judaism to a matter of expediency or diplomacy. Indeed, things have advanced so far that well‐meaning but ill‐advised writers even think to render a service to Judaism by declaring it to be a kind of enlightened Hedonism, or rather a moderate Epicureanism.

I have no intention of here answering the question, What is Judaism? This question is not less perplexing than the problem, What is God’s world? Judaism is also a great Infinite, composed of as many endless Units, the Jews. And these Unit‐Jews have been, and are still, scattered through all the world, and have passed under an immensity of influences, good and bad. If so, how can we give an exact definition of the Infinite, called Judaism?

But if there is anything sure, it is that the highest motives which worked through the history of Judaism are the strong belief in God and the unshaken confidence that at last this God, the God of Israel, will be the God of the whole world; or, in other words, Faith and Hope are the two most prominent characteristics of Judaism.

In the following pages I shall try to give a short account of the manner in which these two principles of Judaism found expression, from the earliest times down to the age of Mendelssohn; that is, to present an outline of the history of Jewish Dogmas. First, a few observations on the position of the Bible and the Talmud in relation to our theme. Insufficient and poor as they may be in proportion to the importance of these two fundamental documents of Judaism, these remarks may nevertheless suggest a connecting link between the teachings of Jewish antiquity and those of Maimonides and his successors.

I begin with the Scriptures.

The Bible itself hardly contains a command bidding us _to believe_. We are hardly ordered, _e.g._, to believe in the existence of God. I say hardly, but I do not altogether deny the existence of such a command. It is true that we do not find in the Scripture such words as: “You are commanded to believe in the existence of God.” Nor is any punishment assigned as awaiting him who denies it. Notwithstanding these facts, many Jewish authorities—among them such important men as Maimonides, R. Judah Hallevi, Nachmanides—perceive, in the first words of the Ten Commandments, “I am the Lord thy God,” the command to believe in His existence.(109)

Be this as it may, there cannot be the shadow of a doubt that the Bible, in which every command is dictated by God, and in which all its heroes are the servants, the friends, or the ambassadors of God, presumes such a belief in every one to whom those laws are dictated, and these heroes address themselves. Nay, I think that the word “belief” is not even adequate. In a world with so many visible facts and invisible causes, as life and death, growth and decay, light and darkness; in a world where the sun rises and sets; where the stars appear regularly; where heavy rains pour down from the sky, often accompanied by such grand phenomena as thunder and lightning; in a world full of such marvels, but into which no notion has entered of all our modern true or false explanations—who but God is behind all these things? “Have the gates,” asks God, “have the gates of death been open to thee? or hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of death?... Where is the way where light dwelleth? and as for darkness, where is the place thereof?... Hath the rain a father? or who hath begotten the drops of dew?... Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?... Canst thou send lightnings, that they may go, and say unto thee, Here we are?” (Job xxxviii.). Of all these wonders, God was not merely the _prima causa_; they were the result of His direct action, without any intermediary causes. And it is as absurd to say that the ancient world believed in God, as for a future historian to assert of the nineteenth century that it believed in the effects of electricity. We _see_ them, and so antiquity _saw_ God. If there was any danger, it lay not in the denial of the existence of a God, but in having a wrong belief. Belief in as many gods as there are manifestations in nature, the investing of them with false attributes, the misunderstanding of God’s relation to men, lead to immorality. Thus the greater part of the laws and teachings of the Bible are either directed against polytheism, with all its low ideas of God, or rather of gods; or they are directed towards regulating God’s relation to men. Man is a servant of God, or His prophet, or even His friend. But this relationship man obtains only by his conduct. Nay, all man’s actions are carefully regulated by God, and connected with His holiness. The 19th chapter of Leviticus, which is considered by the Rabbis as the portion of the Law in which the most important articles of the Torah are embodied, is headed, “Ye shall be holy, for I the Lord your own God am holy.” And each law therein occurring, even those which concern our relations to each other, is _not_ founded on utilitarian reasons, but is ordained because the opposite of it is an offence to the holiness of God, and profanes His creatures, whom He desired to be as holy as He is.(110)

Thus the whole structure of the Bible is built upon the visible fact of the existence of a God, and upon the belief in the relation of God to men, especially to Israel. In spite of all that has been said to the contrary, the Bible _does_ lay stress upon belief, where belief is required. The unbelievers are rebuked again and again. “For all this they sinned still, and believed not for His wondrous work,” complains Asaph (Ps. lxxviii. 32). And belief is praised in such exalted words as, “Thus saith the Lord, I remember thee, the kindness of thy youth, the love of thine espousals, when thou wentest after me in the wilderness, in a land that was not sown” (Jer. ii. 2). The Bible, especially the books of the prophets, consists, in great part, of promises for the future, which the Rabbis justly termed the “Consolations.”(111) For our purpose, it is of no great consequence to examine what future the prophets had in view, whether an immediate future or one more remote, at the end of days. At any rate, they inculcated hope and confidence that God would bring to pass a better time. I think that even the most advanced Bible critic—provided he is not guided by some modern Aryan reasons—must perceive in such passages as, “The Lord shall reign for ever and ever,” “The Lord shall rejoice in his works,” and many others, a hope for more than the establishment of the “national Deity among his votaries in Palestine.”

We have now to pass over an interval of many centuries, the length of which depends upon the views held as to the date of the close of the canon, and examine what the Rabbis, the representatives of the prophets, thought on this subject. Not that the views of the author of the _Wisdom of Solomon_, of Philo and Aristobulus, and many others of the Judæo‐ Alexandrian school would be uninteresting for us. But somehow their influence on Judaism was only a passing one, and their doctrines never became authoritative in the Synagogue. We must here confine ourselves to those who, even by the testimony of their bitterest enemies, occupied the seat of Moses.

The successors of the prophets had to deal with new circumstances, and accordingly their teachings were adapted to the wants of their times. As the result of manifold foreign influences, the visible fact of the existence of God as manifested in the Bible had been somewhat obscured. Prophecy ceased, and the Holy Spirit which inspired a few chosen ones took its place. Afterwards this influence was reduced to the hearing of a Voice from Heaven, which was audible to still fewer. On the other hand the Rabbis had this advantage that they were not called upon to fight against idolatry as their predecessors the prophets had been. The evil inclination to worship idols was, as the Talmud expresses it allegorically, killed by the Men of the Great Synagogue, or, as we should put it, it was suppressed by the sufferings of the captivity in Babylon. This change of circumstances is marked by the following fact:—Whilst the prophets mostly considered idolatry as the cause of all sin, the Rabbis show a strong tendency to ascribe sin to a defect in, or a want of, belief on the part of the sinner. They teach that Adam would not have sinned unless he had first denied the “Root of all” (or the main principle), namely, the belief in the Omnipresence of God. Of Cain they say that before murdering his brother he declared: “There is no judgment, there is no judge, there is no world to come, and there is no reward for the just, and no punishment for the wicked.”(112)

In another place we read that the commission of a sin in secret is an impertinent attempt by the doer to oust God from the world. But if unbelief is considered as the root of all evil, we may expect that the reverse of it, a perfect faith, would be praised in the most exalted terms. So we read: Faith is so great that the man who possesses it may hope to become a worthy vessel of the Holy Spirit, or, as we should express it, that he may hope to obtain by this power the highest degree of communion with his Maker. The Patriarch Abraham, notwithstanding all his other virtues, only became “the possessor of both worlds” by the merit of his strong faith. Nay, even the fulfilment of a single law when accompanied by true faith is, according to the Rabbis, sufficient to bring man nigh to God. And the future redemption is also conditional on the degree of faith shown by Israel.(113)

It has often been asked what the Rabbis would have thought of a man who fulfils every commandment of the Torah, but does not believe that this Torah was given by God, or that there exists a God at all. It is indeed very difficult to answer this question with any degree of certainty. In the time of the Rabbis people were still too simple for such a diplomatic religion, and conformity in the modern sense was quite an unknown thing. But from the foregoing remarks it would seem that the Rabbis could not conceive such a monstrosity as atheistic orthodoxy. For, as we have seen, the Rabbis thought that unbelief must needs end in sin, for faith is the origin of all good. Accordingly, in the case just supposed they would have either suspected the man’s orthodoxy, or would have denied that his views were really what he professed them to be.

Still more important than the above cited Agadic passages is one which we are about to quote from the tractate Sanhedrin. This tractate deals with the constitution, of the supreme law‐court, the examination of the witnesses, the functions of the judges, and the different punishment to be inflicted on the transgressors of the law. After having enumerated various kinds of capital punishment, the Mishnah adds the following words: “These are (the men) who are excluded from the life to come: He who says there is no resurrection from death; he who says there is no Torah given from heaven, and the Epikurus.”(114) This passage was considered by the Rabbis of the Middle Ages, as well as by modern scholars, the _locus classicus_ for the dogma question. There are many passages in the Rabbinic literature which exclude man from the world to come for this or that sin. But these are more or less of an Agadic (legendary) character, and thus lend themselves to exaggeration and hyperbolic language. They cannot, therefore, be considered as serious legal dicta, or as the general opinion of the Rabbis.

The Mishnah in Sanhedrin, however, has, if only by its position in a legal tractate, a certain _Halachic_ (obligatory) character. And the fact that so early an authority as R. Akiba made additions to it guarantees its high antiquity. The first two sentences of this Mishnah are clear enough. In modern language, and positively speaking, they would represent articles of belief in Resurrection and Revelation. Great difficulty is found in defining what was meant by the word _Epikurus_. The authorities of the Middle Ages, to whom I shall again have to refer, explain the Epikurus to be a man who denies the belief in reward and punishment; others identify him with one who denies the belief in Providence; while others again consider the Epikurus to be one who denies Tradition. But the parallel passages in which it occurs incline one rather to think that this word cannot be defined by one kind of heresy. It implies rather a frivolous treatment of the words of Scripture or of Tradition. In the case of the latter (Tradition) it is certainly not honest difference of opinion that is condemned; for the Rabbis themselves differed very often from each other, and even Mediæval authorities did not feel any compunction about explaining Scripture in variance with the Rabbinic interpretation, and sometimes they even went so far as to declare that the view of this or that great authority was only to be considered as an isolated opinion not deserving particular attention. What they did blame was, as already said, scoffing and impiety. We may thus safely assert that reverence for the teachers of Israel formed the third essential principle of Judaism.(115)

I have still to remark that there occur in the Talmud such passages as “the Jew, even if he has sinned, is still a Jew,” or “He who denies idolatry is called a Jew.” These and similar passages have been used to prove that Judaism was not a positive religion, but only involved the negation of idolatry. But it has been overlooked that the statements quoted have more a legal than a theological character. The Jew belonged to his nationality even after having committed the greatest sin, just as the Englishman does not cease to be an Englishman—in regard to treason and the like—by having committed a heinous crime. But he has certainly acted in a very un‐English way, and having outraged the feelings of the whole nation will have to suffer for his misconduct. The Rabbis in a similar manner did not maintain that he who gave up the belief in Revelation and Resurrection, and treated irreverently the teachers of Israel, severed his connection with the Jewish nation, but that, for his crime, he was going to suffer the heaviest punishment. He was to be excluded from the world to come.

Still, important as is the passage quoted from Sanhedrin, it would be erroneous to think that it exhausted the creed of the Rabbis. The liturgy and innumerable passages in the Midrashim show that they ardently clung to the belief in the advent of the Messiah. All their hope was turned to the future redemption and the final establishment of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. Judaism, stripped of this belief, would have been for them devoid of meaning. The belief in reward and punishment is also repeated again and again in the old Rabbinic literature. A more emphatic declaration of the belief in Providence than is conveyed by the following passages is hardly conceivable. “Everything is foreseen, and free will is given. And the world is judged by grace.” Or, “the born are to die, and the dead to revive, and the living to be judged. For to know and to notify, and that it may be known that He (God) is the Framer and He the Creator, and He the Discerner, and He the Judge, and He the Witness,” etc.(116)

But it must not be forgotten that it was not the habit of the Rabbis to lay down, either for conduct or for doctrine, rules which were commonly known. When they urged the three points stated above there must have been some historical reason for it. Probably these principles were controverted by some heretics. Indeed, the whole tone of the passage cited from Sanhedrin is a protest against certain unbelievers who are threatened with punishment. Other beliefs, not less essential, but less disputed, remain unmentioned, because there was no necessity to assert them.

It was not till a much later time, when the Jews came into closer contact with new philosophical schools, and also new creeds which were more liable than heathenism was to be confused with Judaism, that this necessity was felt. And thus we are led at once to the period when the Jews became acquainted with the teachings of the Mohammedan schools. The Caraites came very early into contact with non‐Jewish systems. And so we find that they were also the first to formulate Jewish dogmas in a fixed number, and in a systematic order. It is also possible that their separation from the Tradition, and their early division into little sects among themselves, compelled them to take this step, in order to avoid further sectarianism.

The number of their dogmas amounts to ten. According to Judah Hadasi (1150), who would appear to have derived them from his predecessors, their dogmas include the following articles:—1. _Creatio ex nihilo_; 2. The existence of a Creator, God; 3. This God is an absolute unity as well as incorporeal; 4. Moses and the other prophets were sent by God; 5. God has given to us the Torah, which is true and complete in every respect, not wanting the addition of the so‐called Oral Law; 6. The Torah must be studied by every Jew in the original (Hebrew) language; 7. The Holy Temple was a place elected by God for His manifestation; 8. Resurrection of the dead; 9. Punishment and reward after death; 10. The Coming of the Messiah, the son of David.

How far the predecessors of Hadasi were influenced by a certain Joseph Albashir (about 950), of whom there exists a manuscript work, “Rudiments of Faith,” I am unable to say. The little we know of him reveals more of his intimacy with Arabic thoughts than of his importance for his sect in particular and for Judaism in general. After Hadasi I shall mention here Elijah Bashazi, a Caraite writer of the end of the fifteenth century. This author, who was much influenced by Maimonides, omits the second and the seventh articles. In order to make up the ten he numbers the belief in the eternity of God as an article, and divides the fourth article into two. In the fifth article Bashazi does not emphasise so strongly the completeness of the Torah as Hadasi, and omits the portion which is directed against Tradition. It is interesting to see the distinction which Bashazi draws between the Pentateuch and the Prophets. While he thinks that the five books of Moses can never be altered, he regards the words of the Prophets as only relating to their contemporaries, and thus subject to changes. As I do not want to anticipate Maimonides’ system, I must refrain from giving here the articles laid down by Solomon Troki in the beginning of the eighteenth century. For the articles of Maimonides are copied by this writer with a few slight alterations so as to dress them in a Caraite garb.

I must dismiss the Caraites with these few remarks, my object being chiefly to discuss the dogmas of the Synagogue from which they had separated themselves. Besides, as in everything Caraitic, there is no further development of the question. As Bashazi laid them down, they are still taught by the Caraites of to‐day. I return to the Rabbanites.(117)

As is well known, Maimonides (1130‐1205), was the first Rabbanite who formulated the dogmas of the Synagogue. But there are indications of earlier attempts. R. Saadiah Gaon’s (892‐942) work, _Creeds and Opinions_, shows such traces. He says in his preface, “My heart sickens to see that the belief of my co‐religionists is impure and that their theological views are confused.” The subjects he treats in this book, such as creation, unity of God, resurrection of the dead, the future redemption of Israel, reward and punishment, and other kindred theological subjects might thus, perhaps, be considered as the essentials of the creed that the Gaon desired to present in a pure and rational form. R. Hannaneel, of Kairowan,(118) in the first half of the eleventh century, says in one of his commentaries that to deserve eternal life one must believe in _four_ things: in God, in the prophets, in a future world where the just will be rewarded, and in the advent of the Redeemer. From R. Judah Hallevi’s _Cusari_, written in the beginning of the twelfth century, we might argue that the belief in the election of Israel by God was the cardinal dogma of the author.(119) Abraham Ibn Daud, a contemporary of Maimonides, in his book _The High Belief_,(120) speaks of _rudiments_, among which, besides such metaphysical principles as unity, rational conception of God’s attributes, etc., the belief in the immutability of the Law, etc., is included. Still, all these works are intended to furnish evidence from philosophy or history for the truth of religion rather than to give a definition of this truth. The latter task was undertaken by Maimonides.

I refer to the thirteen articles embodied in his first work, _The Commentary to the Mishnah_. They are appended to the Mishnah in Sanhedrin, with which I dealt above. But though they do not form an independent treatise, Maimonides’ remarks must not be considered as merely incidental.

That Maimonides was quite conscious of the importance of this exposition can be gathered from the concluding words addressed to the reader: “Know these (words) and repeat them many times, and think them over in the proper way. God knows that thou wouldst be deceiving thyself if thou thinkest thou hast understood them by having read them once or even ten times. Be not, therefore, hasty in perusing them. I have not composed them without deep study and earnest reflection.”

The result of this deep study was that the following Thirteen Articles constitute the creed of Judaism. They are:—

1. The belief in the existence of a Creator; 2. The belief in His Unity; 3. The belief in His Incorporeality; 4. The belief in His Eternity; 5. The belief that all worship and adoration are due to Him alone; 6. The belief in Prophecy; 7. The belief that Moses was the greatest of all Prophets, both before and after him; 8. The belief that the Torah was revealed to Moses on Mount Sinai; 9. The belief in the Immutability of this revealed Torah; 10. The belief that God knows the actions of men; 11. The belief in Reward and Punishment; 12. The belief in the coming of the Messiah; 13. The belief in the Resurrection of the dead.