Chapter IX: Part 9

See _Guide_, III., xxvi.

Footnote 121:

_Ibid._, chaps. xxiii. and xxviii.; see also II., chaps. xxxiv. and
xl.

Footnote 122:

See _Guide_, II., chaps. xxxix. and xl.; and especially the _Iggereth
Teman_.

Footnote 123:

All this is explained in many passages throughout Maimonides’ books,
which are too numerous to be particularised.

Footnote 124:

For the “reasons of the commandments” see _Guide_, III., chaps.
xxvi.-xlix.

Footnote 125:

For instance: there is a reason for sacrifices in general. “But we
cannot say why one offering should be a lamb, whilst another is a ram;
and why a fixed number of them should be brought.... You ask why must
a lamb be sacrificed and not a ram? but the same question would be
asked, why a ram had been commanded instead of a lamb, so long as one
particular kind is required. The same is to be said as to the question
why were seven lambs sacrificed and not eight; the same question might
have been asked if there were eight.” _Guide_, III., chap. xxvi.

Footnote 126:

Introduction to _Zera’im_.

Footnote 127:

_Guide_, II., chap. xxxix., and III., chap. xxxiv.

Footnote 128:

See _Guide_, II., chap. xxix.; _Eight Chapters_, chap. viii.

Footnote 129:

Introduction to _Zera’im_; see also _Foundations of the Law_, chaps.
ix. and x.

Footnote 130:

_Guide_, III., chap. li.

Footnote 131:

See R. Shem-Tob’s Commentary on the _Guide_, _loc. cit._

Footnote 132:

_Ibid._

Footnote 133:

Maimonides himself describes the contemporary state of culture among
his people in several places. See, for instance, the _Treatise on
Resurrection_.

Footnote 134:

_Emunoth v’ Deoth_, Preface.

Footnote 135:

R. Jehudah Halevi, despite his profound knowledge of contemporary
philosophy, says categorically: “He who accepts this [the Law]
completely, without scrutiny or argument, is better off than he who
investigates and analyses” (_Cuzri_, II., xxvi. [Dr. Hirschfeld’s
translation]).

Footnote 136:

_Guide_, I., chap. lxxi.

Footnote 137:

As to the state of mind of the forced converts at that time see what
Maimonides says in the _Treatise of the Sanctification of the Name_
and the _Iggereth Teman_.

Footnote 138:

See Section II. above. Note especially what Maimonides says about
prophecy in the Introduction to his _Commentary on the Mishnah_
(written at the time when he lived among the forced converts). Some of
this is quoted in Section II. He writes there with such incisive force
as to make it clear that he has left the realm of pure speculation and
theory, and has a practical object connected with actual circumstances
which had stirred him deeply at the time.

Footnote 139:

All this is clearly hinted in Maimonides’ _Treatise of the
Sanctification of the Name_.

Footnote 140:

_Guide_, III., chap. xxvii.

Footnote 141:

We find all the principles of his system in the Introduction to his
first book (the _Commentary on the Mishnah_), and again at the end of
his last book (_Guide_, III., chap. li.).

Footnote 142:

See Introduction to _Commentary on the Mishnah_.

Footnote 143:

“This is not the place to treat of this matter; but it is my
intention, wherever a matter of belief is mentioned, to explain it
briefly. For I love to teach nothing so much as one of the principles
of religion” (end of _Berachoth_).

Footnote 144:

Especially important in this connection are the Introductions to
_Zera’im_, to chapter _Chelek_ (where he brings in all the principles
of religion), and to _Aboth_ (_Eight Chapters_).

Footnote 145:

His Preface makes it clear that he regarded his book as a sort of
Mishnah in a new form; and it seems (though he does not say it in so
many words) that he intended to hint at this idea by the title of the
book—_Mishneh Torah_.

Footnote 146:

There were many writers who suspected that Maimonides’ idea was to do
away altogether with the study of the Talmud. But this suspicion could
arise only from failure to understand clearly the real purpose of the
book. Even theories are presented here in dogmatic form; but could it
possibly be imagined that Maimonides wanted to do away with the study
of philosophy by the long method of argument and proof—that study
which he regarded as the purpose of the human race? The truth is that
he had in view the social function of religion, and for this reason he
set forth both theories and practical commands in brief and in a
manner suited to the comprehension of ordinary men. He left it to the
chosen few to study the principles of both the theoretical and the
practical law, and to obtain from the original sources a knowledge of
the reasons for both.

Footnote 147:

_Guide_, Introduction.

Footnote 148:

After the publication of the _Guide_ many people discovered that its
opinions were already contained in the innocent-looking dicta of the
_Mishneh Torah_, especially in its first part (_The Book of Science_),
and from that time onward they regarded that book also as heretical,
and waged war on it as well as on the _Guide_.

Footnote 149:

See the letter of R. Jehudah Alfachar to Kimchi: _Collected Responses
of Maimonides_ (ed. Leipsic), Part III., p. 1, _et seq._

Footnote 150:

See Dr. Joel’s monograph, _Spinoza’s Theologisch-Politischer Traktat
auf seine Quellen geprüft_, Breslau, 1870.

Footnote 151:

See _Kerem Chemed_, III., pp. 67-70.

Footnote 152:

I may remark in passing that Luzzatto (_ibid._) accuses Maimonides of
yet another disservice to Judaism. By making opinions the essential
element of perfection Maimonides, according to him, abolished the
difference between the righteous man and the wicked. “The
philosopher,” he says, “may commit theft, murder, and adultery, and
yet attain eternal life: salvation does not depend on merit.” This
charge was already brought against Maimonides by his medieval
opponents, but it is quite mistaken. Maimonides insists, over and over
again, that until a man has moral perfection it is impossible for him
to reach intellectual perfection to the degree necessary for the
attainment of acquired intellect. See, for instance, the passage from
the introduction to _Zera’im_ quoted above (p. 174).

Footnote 153:

Though the conception of “nationalism” in its current sense is modern,
the national sentiment itself has existed in our people at all times;
and its existence and value have been realised in our literature in
every period, from the Bible and the Talmud to the literature of
Chassidism, though it used to be called by other names (“the love of
Israel,” etc.). But the sentiment and its expression do not appear to
the same extent or in the same form in all ages and in all
individuals, and it is therefore legitimate to ask what was the
attitude of any particular age or any particular thinker to the
national sentiment. An interesting book might be written on the
history of the national sentiment and consciousness in Israel, dealing
with their different manifestations in different ages, their growth
and decline, and their expression in the life of the nation and the
thought of its great men in each period.

Footnote 154:

_Guide_, III., chap. xliii. Similarly in chap. xlviii.

Footnote 155:

End of _Mishneh Torah_.

Footnote 156:

See the _Iggereth Teman_ and the _Treatise of the Sanctification of
the Name_.

Footnote 157:

A German Jewish scholar, Dr. D. Rosin, in his monograph on the ethics
of Maimonides (_Die Ethik des Maimonides_, Breslau, 1876), finds under
the heading of “Nationalism” (p. 148) only two laws in the whole
_Mishneh Torah_ which allude to the duties of the Jew to his people.
But in fact the two laws which he quotes (_Hilchoth T’shubah_, chap.
iii. 11, and _Hilchoth Matnath ’Aniim_, chap. x. 2) emphasise rather
the unity of the members of one faith.

Footnote 158:

Introduction to chapter _Chelek_.

Footnote 159:

See Albo, _Ikkarim_, Part I, chap. 1.

Footnote 160:

See his Introduction to the _Sepher Hammitzvoth_.

Footnote 161:

I remarked on this point years ago in “Past and Future.” [See
_Selected Essays by Ahad Ha’am_, p. 87.]

Footnote 162:

Cf. _supra_, p. 10.

Footnote 163:

See the _Treatise on Resurrection_.

Footnote 164:

Luzzatto (_ubi supra_) seems to suspect that Maimonides’ whole
treatment of resurrection was insincere, and that he was deliberately
throwing dust in the reader’s eyes, in order to conceal his heresy.
But this suspicion is absurd: Maimonides was a man who was not afraid
openly to reject even the immortality of the soul, and to recast all
the fundamental beliefs of Judaism. Any unbiassed reader of the
treatise must realise that Maimonides defends resurrection with
perfect sincerity, but that he is unable to find the real grounds of
his own conviction, because he looks for them in his reason and not in
his feelings.

Footnote 165:

_Commentary on the Mishnah, Aboth_, chap. i. 17.

Footnote 166:

See his letters to Joseph ben Gabar, to the community of Lunel, and to
R. Samuel Ibn Tibbon (_Collected Responses of Maimonides_ (Leipsic),
Part II., pp. 16, 27, 44).

JUDAISM AND THE GOSPELS
(1910)

English Jewry is at ease. There are no doubt traces here and there of anti-Semitism, nor are there wanting in the inner life of the community indications of what may be called “servitude in freedom.” But when all allowances are made, the Jews enjoy a firmer and a more secure position here than in other countries, and anxiety for the future, with all that it involves, plays a smaller part in their mental life. Hence their internal development is more “normal” than elsewhere; it is less at the mercy of external and accidental influences; it is rather determined by the spiritual and cultural resources of the community itself, and corresponds at any given time to the extent of those resources. To this circumstance is due the comparatively late appearance of the Reform movement in Anglo-Jewry. True, in the heyday of the German Reform movement a few people in England attempted to follow the German example; but their small experiment never grew to considerable dimensions, or showed any capacity for development. The reason is that whereas in Germany there was an external, political impulse towards Reform—the desire to combat anti-Jewish feeling, and thus to facilitate the attainment of civil and political rights—in England this motive was less felt. For though certain political restrictions were still in force, the position of the Jews was much better, and their relations with non-Jews were much more satisfactory, than in Germany.

But in more recent years education and the circumstances of life have brought about a change in the internal, spiritual condition of the Anglo-Jewish community: a new generation has arisen, which is very far removed from the _spirit_ of Judaism. It is this internal change in the Jews which has called into being the Reform movement which we now see developing before our eyes. To the difference in origin corresponds a difference in character. In Germany the Reform movement, practical in its motives, took a practical shape. Geiger and other Reformers endeavoured, on the one side, to alter the religious practices, and to bring them into conformity with what they conceived to be the needs of the time; but on the other side they laid stress on the grandeur of the religious and moral principles on which Judaism peculiarly was based, and tried to emphasise the _difference_ between Judaism and Christianity. But in England the Reform movement springs from a spiritual cause—from a conviction on the part of many Jews that they are spiritually _akin_ to their Christian environment. It is not merely the external observances of traditional Judaism that fail any longer to appeal to them; its innermost spirit, the fundamental ideas by which it is distinguished from Christianity, have lost their hold. Hence the movement here aims right at the heart; it wants to change the _spirit_ of Judaism, and to overthrow its historical foundations, so as to reduce its distinctive features to a small compass, and to bring it as closely as possible into accord with the Christian ideas of the non-Jewish community. Thirteen years ago this movement was begun in England by a body of young men, who thus straightforwardly and clearly expressed their aim:

“... Our triumphant emancipation is now working out its natural result upon us. Constant intercourse with non-Jews and extensive secular education must materially affect our opinions. We, who are young and earnest lovers of our religion, are struggling with new ideas which we hardly dare to formulate, because they are contrary to all accepted traditions. Such are the notions that our separateness seems now merely external and artificial, our racial distinctiveness often scarcely perceptible, and our religious ideas almost identical with those of Theists and true Unitarians.”[167]

But as it was difficult for them, in spite of everything, to abandon Judaism altogether, and to join the “Theists and true Unitarians,” they conceived the idea of attaining their object in the reverse way. They would transform Judaism itself, until it should contain nothing but the fundamental ideas of the “Theists and true Unitarians,” and then—so they fondly imagined—these latter would come and find shelter in Judaism, and so the “external and artificial” distinction would be comfortably and pleasantly removed! This movement did not take definite shape at the time, and after a while it disappeared and was no longer heard of. But the causes which had given it birth did not cease to work silently beneath the surface; and quite recently it has come forth again into the light of day, to play its part in the visible life of Anglo-Jewry. This time it appears in a more concrete form and with a clearer consciousness of the goal for which it is making. Its promoters have come to see, after all, that even if their Judaism is to teach the very doctrine of the “liberal” Christian sects, there will still be an “external and artificial” distinction between themselves and the non-Jew, so long as they do not accept the _source_ of that doctrine—so long as they do not admit, with the “liberal” Christians, that the New Testament is the last word in religious and moral development, and Jesus the most perfect embodiment of the religious and moral ideal. For in matters of religion men value not alone the abstract beliefs in themselves, but also—and perhaps more highly—the historical and psychological roots from which those beliefs have grown up in their hearts. It was well said many years ago by Steinthal that if ever a new religion, a philosophical religion, suited to modern times, should unite Jews and Christians, they would still be divided on the question whether the Old Testament or the Gospels had contributed in greater measure to the birth of the new religion.

Our English Reformers, therefore, have decided to remove even this stumbling-block from the path which leads to unity, and have decreed that the New Testament (or at least the Gospels) must be considered a part—and the most important part—of Judaism, and that Jesus must be regarded as a prophet—and the greatest of the prophets—in Israel. This pronouncement is certainly a step forward along a certain line of development, of which we are not yet at the end. We need not therefore be surprised if these Reformers do not realise the strangeness of their attitude, with its combination of contradictory and mutually destructive postulates. Whereas revolution overthrows the old at a single stroke, and puts the new in its place, evolution destroys and builds in sections, so that, until its work is complete, it is full of contradictions and inconsistencies—the old and the new jostling one another in confusion, and creating by their unnatural juxtaposition the impression of a caricature, which is obvious to the onlooker, but not to those who are engaged in the work. So this Reformed Judaism, which wants to be two opposites—Jewish and Evangelist—at once, has its place as a rung in the middle of the ladder, a step on the road of evolution to its final goal. At this stage of the journey our Reformers still think that it is possible to put the Gospels _beside_ the Old Testament and the Talmud. But when they reach the next stage they will recognise that the two cannot exist side by side, but only one above the other, and that when one stands the other falls. The early Christians went through the same process: they regarded their “message” at first simply as a part of Judaism; but when they had travelled the full length of their development, they saw that the Gospels meant the overthrow of the very foundations of Judaism, and then they left it altogether.

If anybody is doubtful about the true character and tendency of this movement, let him read the commentary on the Synoptic Gospels recently published by the leader of the movement, Mr. C. G. Montefiore. The author makes no secret of the fact that the book has been written for Jewish readers, with the object of convincing them that the New Testament ought to occupy an important position in Judaism at the present time, albeit from a Jewish point of view. The claims of the “Jewish point of view” he thinks to satisfy by his frequent efforts to show that the Law of the Rabbis was not so bad as it is painted by the authors of the New Testament and its commentators, and that in many respects the old Judaism rose to the level of the Gospels, nay, had in certain details actually more of truth.[168] But the general atmosphere of the book is so utterly alien from the essential character of Judaism as to make one fact clear beyond a shadow of doubt to any Jew in whom Judaism is still alive—that the Gospels can be received only into a Judaism which has lost its own true spirit, and remains a mere corpse.

The author is doubtless correct in saying that a Jewish commentary on the New Testament is needed at the present time.[169] Living in a Christian environment, we imbibe a culture in which many Christian ideas and sentiments are inwoven, and it is therefore necessary for us to know their source, so as to be able to distinguish between them and the universal elements of culture. But this Jewish commentary must be far removed from any polemical propagandist intention on one side or the other. Its sole object must be to _understand_ thoroughly the teaching of the Gospels, to define with _scientific_ accuracy its character, the foundations on which it rests, and the differences which distinguish it from Judaism. What is needed is not the “scientific accuracy” of the Christian commentators (that spring from which Mr. Montefiore drinks with such avidity), who set out with the preconceived idea that the teaching of the Gospels is superior to that of Judaism, and use their “science” merely to find details in support of this general belief. When a writer claims to be “scientific,” he must recognise above all that in the field of religion and morality it is impossible to set up a universal scientific criterion, by which to measure the different teachings, and to pronounce one superior to another. In this sphere everything is relative, and the judge brings to his task a subjective standard of his own, determined by his temperament, his education and his environment. We Jews, being everywhere a minority, are always subject to various influences, which counteract and weaken each other; and we, therefore, are possibly better able than others to understand objectively ideas which are not our own. Hence it was indeed right that there should be a Jewish commentary (not a Jewish panegyric) on the New Testament. Such a commentary might perhaps have enabled Jews of our author’s stamp to recognise that it is possible to treat with seriousness and justice a religion which is strange to us, without shutting our eyes to the gulf which separates it from ourselves.

I should like to dwell for a brief space on the nature of this “gulf.” So large a subject needs a whole book for its full treatment; but something, it seems to me, ought to be said just at this moment—and perhaps the need is not confined to England.

If the heathen of the old story, who wished to learn the whole _Torah_ standing on one leg,[170] had come to me, I should have told him: “‘Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image or any likeness’—that is the whole _Torah_, and the rest is commentary.” The essential characteristic of Judaism, which distinguishes it from other religions, is its absolute determination to make the religious and moral consciousness independent of any definite human form, and to attach it _immediately_ to an _abstract_ ideal which has “no likeness.” We cannot conceive Christianity without Jesus, or even Islam without Mohammed. Christianity made a god of Jesus, but that is not the important fact. Even if Jesus had remained the “son of man,” had been only a prophet, as Mohammed is to the Mussulmans, that would not have affected the thing that really matters—the attachment of the religious and moral consciousness to the figure of a particular man, who is regarded as the ideal of absolute perfection, and the goal of men’s vision; to believe in whom is an essential part of a religion inconceivable without him. Judaism, and Judaism alone, depends on no such human “likeness.” God is the only idea of absolute perfection, and He only must be kept always before the eye of man’s inner consciousness, in order that many may “cleave to his attributes.” The best of men is not free from shortcomings and sins, and cannot serve as an ideal for the religious sentiment, which strives after union with the source of perfection. Moses died in his sin, like any other man. He was simply God’s messenger, charged with the giving of His Law; his image was not worked into the very fabric of the religion, as an essential part of it. Thus the Jewish teachers of a later period found nothing to shock them in the words of one who said in all simplicity: “Ezra was worthy to be the bearer of the Law to Israel, had not Moses come before him” (_Sanhedrin_, 21_a_). Could it enter a Christian mind, let us say, to conceive the idea that Paul was worthy to be the bearer of the “message,” had not Jesus come before him? And it need scarcely be said that the individual figures of the other Prophets are not an essential part of the fabric of Judaism. Of the greatest of them—Hosea, Amos, Isaiah, and others—we do not even know who or what they were; their personalities have vanished like a shadow, and only their words have been preserved and handed down from generation to generation, because they were not _their_ words, but “the word of the Lord that came unto them.”

This applies equally to the Messiah, who is awaited in the future. His importance lies not in himself, but in his being _the messenger of God_ for the bringing of redemption to Israel and the world. Jewish teachers pay much more attention to “the days of the Messiah” than to the Messiah himself. One of them even disbelieved altogether in a personal Messiah, and looked forward to a redemption effected by God Himself without an intermediary; and he was not therefore regarded as a heretic.

This characteristic of Judaism was perhaps the principal obstacle to its wider acceptance. It is difficult for men in general to find satisfaction in an abstract ideal which offers no hold to the senses; a human figure much more readily inspires enthusiasm. Before the triumph of Christianity the Greeks and the Romans used to accuse the Jews of having no God, because a divinity without “any likeness” had for them no meaning; and when the time came for the God of Israel to become also the God of the nations, they still could not accept His sway without associating with Him a divine ideal in human form, so as to satisfy their need for a more concrete and nearer ideal.

This is not the place to discuss the origin of this distinctive preference on the part of Israel for an _abstract_ religious and moral ideal. Be the reason what it may, the fact remains true, and has been true these thousands of years; and so long as Israel undergoes no fundamental change, and does not become something different, it cannot be influenced on the religious side by a book like the Gospels, which finds the object of religious devotion and moral emulation not in the abstract Godhead alone, but first and foremost in a man born of woman. It matters not whether he be called “Son of God,” “Messiah,” or “Prophet”: Israel cannot accept with religious enthusiasm, as the word of God, the utterances of a man who speaks in his own name—not “thus saith the Lord,” but “_I_ say unto you.” This “I” is in itself sufficient to drive Judaism away from the Gospels for ever. And when our author speaks in glowing terms of the religious and moral exaltation which spring from attachment to Jesus as the ideal of holiness and perfection, meaning, as is evident from his tone, to introduce this attachment into Judaism (pp. cvii, 210, 527), he is simply proving that he and those who think with him are already estranged from the essential nature of Judaism, which does not recognise ideal holiness and perfection in man. “Ye shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy”—that is Judaism. “Ye shall be holy, because the Messiah (or the Prophet) is holy”—that is an ideal better calculated, no doubt, to inspire enthusiasm and exaltation among the peoples; but it will never kindle the religious fire in Israel unless the very last drop of true Judaism be dried up. It was not for nothing that our ancient teachers called God “_the holy one_, blessed be He”: for Judaism absolute holiness exists only in the one God. We have had no doubt, at various periods, our mystic sects, which, influenced consciously or unconsciously by foreign ideas, have here turned aside more or less from the Jewish road. But the sect is only a temporary and partial phenomenon, pointing to some internal disease which affects the national life in a given period. Our history shows that the end of these sects is to die out, or to leave Judaism. Sects come and sects go, but Judaism remains for ever.

This fundamental tendency of Israel to rise clear of “any likeness” in its religious and moral life is evident not only in relation to the religious and moral _ideal_, but also in relation to the religious and moral _goal_. There is no need to dilate on the well-worn truth that the Law of Judaism sees its goal not in the “salvation” of the individual man, but in the prosperity and perfection of the general body; that is to say, of the nation, and, in “the latter end of days,” of the whole human race—a collective idea which has no defined concrete form. In the most fruitful period of Judaism, the period of the Prophets and “the giving of the Law,” it had no clear idea on the subject of the survival of the soul and reward and punishment after death. All the enthusiasm of the Prophets and their disciples was derived not from this source, but from the conviction of their being children of “the chosen people,” which was entrusted by God (as they believed) with the mission of embodying religion and morality, in their highest form, in its national life. Even in later times, when the Babylonian exile had destroyed the nation’s freedom, and the desire for individual salvation had consequently come to play a part in the religious consciousness, the _highest_ good of Judaism still remained collective. Scholars will need no proof of this fact. For those who are not scholars it will be sufficient to examine the daily and festival prayer-books, in order to realise that only a small part of the prayers turns on the particular needs of the individual, while most deal with the concerns of the _nation_ and the human race in general.

Which of these two goals is “superior”? This question has already been endlessly debated; and the truth is that we cannot here establish a scale of values. A man may attain to the highest eminence in his religious and moral life, whether he pursues this goal or that. But individual salvation is certainly nearer to the hearts of most men, and is better suited to kindle their imagination and to inspire them with the desire for moral and religious perfection. If Judaism, as distinguished from other religions, prefers the collective goal, this only means that here also there makes itself felt that tendency to abstraction and to the repudiation of the human image which is peculiar to Israel. So long as this tendency remains—so long, that is, as our people does not lose its essential character—no true Jew will be able to feel any great fondness for the doctrine of the Gospels—a doctrine which rests (despite our author’s endeavours to present the matter in a more favourable light, cf. pp. 211, 918) wholly and solely on the pursuit of individual salvation.

The tendency of Judaism which I have mentioned shows itself in yet one other matter, and this perhaps the most important—in the basis of morality. It is an oft-repeated formula that Jewish morality is based on _justice_, and the morality of the Gospels on _love_. But it seems to me that not all those who draw this distinction fully appreciate its meaning. It is usual to regard the difference only as one of degree, the moral scale and its basis being the same in either case. Both doctrines, it is supposed, are directed against egoism; but the Christians hold that their religion has reached a higher stage, while the Jews refuse to admit their claim. Thus the Christian commentators point proudly to the _positive_ principle of the Gospels: “Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so unto them” (Matt, vii. 12; Luke vi. 31), and thereby disparage Judaism, which has only the _negative_ principle of Hillel: “What is hateful to thyself do not unto thy neighbour.” Mr. Montefiore debates the matter, and cannot make up his mind whether the positive principle really embraces _more_ in its intention than the negative, or whether Hillel and Jesus meant the same thing. But of this at least he is certain, that if Hillel’s saying were suddenly discovered somewhere in a positive form, the Jews would be “rather pleased,” and the Christians would be “rather sorry” (p. 550).

But if we look deeper, we shall find that the difference between the two doctrines on this point is not one of less or more, but that there is a fundamental difference between their views as to the basis of morality. It was not by accident that Hillel put his principle in negative form; the truth is that the moral basis of Judaism will not bear the positive principle. If the positive saying were to be found somewhere attributed to Hillel, we should not be able to rejoice; we should have to impugn the genuineness of a “discovery” which put into Hillel’s mouth a saying opposed to the spirit of Judaism.

The root of the distinction lies here also, as I have said, in the love of Judaism for _abstract_ principles. The moral law of the Gospels beholds man in his individual shape, with his natural attitude towards himself and others, and asks him to reverse this attitude, to substitute the “other” for the “self” in his individual life, to abandon plain egoism for inverted egoism. For in truth the altruism of the Gospels is neither more nor less than inverted egoism. Altruism and egoism alike deny the individual _as such_ all _objective_ moral value, and make him merely a _means_ to a subjective end; but egoism makes the “other” a means to the advantage of the “self,” while altruism does just the reverse. Now Judaism removed this subjective attitude from the moral law, and based it on an abstract, objective foundation, on _absolute justice_, which regards the individual as such as having a moral value, and makes no distinction between the “self” and the “other.” According to this view, it is the sense of justice in the human heart that is the supreme judge of a man’s own actions and of those of other men. This sense must be made independent of individual relations, as though it were some separate abstract being; and before it all men, _including the self_, must be equal. All men, including the self, must develop their lives and their faculties to the utmost possible extent, and at the same time each must help his neighbour to attain that goal, so far as he is able. Just as I have no right to ruin another man’s life for the sake of my own, so I have no right to ruin my own life for the sake of another’s. Both of us are men, and both our lives have the same value before the throne of justice.

I know no better illustration of this point of view than the following well-known _B’raitha_: “Imagine two men journeying through the desert, only one of whom has a bottle of water. If both of them drink, they must both die; if one of them only drinks, he will reach safety. Ben P’tura held that it was better that both should drink and die, than that one should witness the death of his comrade. But Akiba refuted this view by citing the scriptural verse, ‘and thy brother shall live with thee.’ _With thee_—that is to say, thine own life comes before thy neighbour’s” (_Baba M’zia_, 62_a_).

We do not know who Ben P’tura was, but we do know R. Akiba, and we may be sure that through him the spirit of Judaism speaks. Ben P’tura, the altruist, does not value human life for its own sake; for him it is better that two lives should perish, where death demands but one as his toll, so long as the altruistic sentiment prevails. But Jewish morality regards the question from an objective standpoint. Every action that leads to loss of life is evil, even though it springs from the purest feelings of love and mercy, and even if the sufferer is himself the agent. In the case before us, where it is possible to save one of the two souls, it is a moral duty to overcome the feeling of mercy, and to save. But to save whom? Justice answers—let him who can save himself. Every man’s life is entrusted to his keeping, and to preserve your own charge is a nearer duty than to preserve your neighbour’s.

But when one came to Raba, and asked him what he should do when one in authority threatened to kill him unless he would kill another man, Raba answered him: “Be killed, and kill not. Who hath told thee that thy blood is redder than his? Perhaps his blood is redder” (_P’sachim_, 25_b_). And Rashi, whose “sense of Judaism” generally reveals to him the hidden depths of meaning, correctly understands the meaning here also, and explains thus: “The question only arises because thou knowest that _no religious law is binding in the face of danger to life_, and thinkest that in this case also the prohibition of murder ceases to be binding _because thine own life is in danger_. But this transgression is unlike others. _For do what thou wilt, there must here be a life lost._... Who can tell thee that thy life is more precious in the sight of God than his? Perhaps his is more precious.”

If a man brought a question like this to a Christian priest, the priest would certainly begin to expatiate in glowing terms on the duty of a man to sacrifice his life for another, to “bear his cross” in the footsteps of his “Messiah,” so that he might win the kingdom of heaven—and so forth. But the Jewish teacher weighs the question in the scales of objective justice: “Seeing that in either case a life must be lost, and there is none to say which of the two lives is more precious in God’s sight, therefore your own danger does not entitle you to break the sixth commandment. Be killed; kill you must not!” But suppose the case reversed; suppose the question to be “Another is going to be killed, and I can save him by giving my life instead of his, what shall I do?” Then Raba would have replied: “Let such a one be killed, and do not destroy thyself. For do what thou wilt there must here be a life lost; and who hath told thee that his blood is redder than thine? Perhaps thine own is redder.” From the standpoint of Judaism every man’s blood is as red as any other’s, every soul is “precious in the sight of God,” be it mine or another’s, therefore no man is at liberty to treat his life as his own property; no man has a right to say: “I am endangering myself; what right have others to complain of that?” (Maimonides’ Code, _Laws of Murder_, XI. 5). The history of Judaism can tell, indeed, of many acts of self-sacrifice, the memory of which will remain precious and holy for all time. But these are not cases of one life given for the preservation of another similar life, they are sacrifices of human life for “the sanctification of the Name” (the religious ideal) or for “the good of the community” (the religious goal).

And justice demands that we rise above sentiment not only in deciding as between the self and another, but also in deciding as between two other persons. Forty years ago Abraham Geiger—the man in whom our latter-day “Reformers” see their spiritual father—pointed out that the Jewish commandment “Neither shalt thou countenance a poor man in his cause” reveals a morality of unparalleled loftiness.[171] All other moral codes warn us only against favouring the persons of the rich and the powerful; and the Gospels, as is well known, favour the persons of the poor, and have much to say of their merits and their future greatness. All this is very well from the point of view of the heart; but a morality based on justice rises above sentiment, and teaches that it is our duty to help the poor man if we are able, but that mercy must not induce us so far to sin against justice as to favour the poor man in his suit.

Herbert Spencer anticipates, as the highest possible development of morality, the transformation of the altruistic sentiment into a natural instinct, so that at last men will be able to find no greater pleasure than in working for the good of others. Similarly Judaism, in conformity with its own way of thought, anticipates the development of morality to a point at which _justice_ will become an instinct with good men, so that they will not need long reflection to enable them to decide between different courses of action according to the standard of absolute justice, but will _feel_ as in a flash, and with the certainty of instinct, even the slightest deviation from the straight line. Human relations and social grades will not affect them in the least, because the “true judge” within them will pronounce justly on each deed, swayed by no human relation to the doer or the sufferer, considering not whether this one or that is the self or another, is rich or poor. And since Judaism associated its moral aspirations with the “coming of the Messiah,” it attributed to the Messiah this perfection of morality, and said that “he will smell and judge” (_Sanhedrin_, 93_b_), on the basis of the scriptural verse: “And shall make him of quick understanding [Heb. “smell”] in the fear of the Lord; and he shall not judge after the sight of his eyes.” “Because the smell is a very delicate sense, he gives the name of _smell_ to the most delicate feeling ... that is to say, the Messiah _with little attention will feel which men are good, and which evil_” (Isa. xi. 3, with Kimchi’s commentary).

But this development lies far ahead in the hidden future. At present the human race still lacks the instinctive “sense of justice,” and even the best men are apt to be blinded by self-love or prejudice, so as to be unable to distinguish between good and evil. At present, therefore, we all need some touchstone, some fundamental principle, to help each of us to avoid weighting the scales of justice to suit his own ends or satisfy his personal inclinations. Such a principle Hillel gave us: “What is hateful to thyself do not unto thy neighbour.” Altruism teaches: “What thou desirest that others should do unto thee, that do thou unto them.” In other words: take the circle of egoism, and put in its _centre_, instead of the “self,” the “other”; then you will know your whole duty. But Judaism cannot find satisfaction in this substitution, because it demands that _justice_ shall be placed at the centre of the circle—justice, which makes no distinction between “self” and “other.” Now in the circle of egoism there is no place for justice except in a negative form. What egoism does _not_ wish for itself—that, certainly it will be just _not_ to do to another. But what egoism _does_ wish for itself is something which has no limits; and if you oblige a man to _do_ this to others, you are inclining the scales of justice to the side of the “other” as against the “self.”

Even that “great principle in the Law” (as R. Akiba called it), “thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” though in form it appears to be positive, is in reality, if rightly understood, negative. If the Torah had meant that a man must love his neighbour to the extent of sacrificing his life for him, it would have said: “Thou shalt love thy neighbour _more than_ thyself.” But when you love your neighbour _as_ yourself, neither more nor less, then your feelings are in a state of perfect equilibrium, with no leaning either to your side or to your neighbour’s. And this is, in fact, the true meaning of the verse. “Self-love must not be allowed to incline the scale on the side of your own advantage; love your neighbour as yourself, and then inevitably _justice_ will be the deciding factor, and you will do nothing to your neighbour that you would consider a wrong if it were done to yourself.” For proof that this is the real meaning we have only to look further in the same passage of Leviticus, where we find: “And if a stranger sojourn with thee in your land, ye shall not vex him. But the stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself (Lev. xix. 33, 34). Here it is evident that to love the stranger “as thyself” means to carry out the negative precept “ye shall not vex him”; and if the stranger is expressly placed on the same footing as the native, this shows that in relation to the native also the intention is only that self-love must not prove a stronger motive than justice.

But in the Gospels the commandment “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” receives an altruistic sense: it means that your own life is less important than your neighbour’s. Hence it is possible to find some small justification for the habit which Christians have of attributing this verse to the Gospels, as though it appeared there, and not in the Mosaic Law, for the first time. It is true that _the meaning which they put on the verse_ belongs not to our Law, but to the Gospels.[172]

But it must be remembered that in addition to the relation of individual to individual, there is another and more important moral relation—that of nation to nation. Here also some “great principle” is needed to keep within bounds that _national_ egoism which is fraught, perhaps, with even greater danger to the collective progress of humanity than individual egoism. If we look at the difference between Judaism and Christianity, in regard to the basis of morality, from this point of view, we shall see at once that the altruism of the Gospels is in no way suited to serve as a basis for international relations. A nation can never believe that its moral duty lies in self-abasement, and in the renunciation of its rights for the benefit of other nations. On the contrary, every nation feels and knows that its moral duty is to keep its position and use its powers as a means of creating for itself satisfactory conditions of life, in which it can develop its potentialities to the utmost. Since, then, Christian nations could not base their relations one with another on the moral basis of their religion, national egoism inevitably remained the sole determining force in international politics, and “patriotism,” in the Bismarckian sense, attained the dignity of the ultimate moral basis.

But the Jewish law of justice is not confined within the narrow sphere of individual relations. In its Jewish sense the precept, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” can be carried out by a whole nation in its dealings with other nations. For this precept does not oblige a nation to sacrifice, for the benefit of other nations, its life or its position. It is, on the contrary, the duty of every nation, as of the individual human being, to live and to develop to the utmost extent of its powers; but at the same time it must recognise the right of other nations to fulfil the like duty without let or hindrance, and “patriotism”—that is, national egoism—must not induce it to disregard justice, and to fulfil itself through the destruction of other nations.[173] Hence Judaism was able thousands of years ago to rise to the lofty ideal expressed in the words, “Nation shall not lift up sword against nation.” This ideal is, in fact, only an inevitable logical consequence of the idea of absolute justice, which lies at the foundation of Judaism.

Many pages might be filled with the further development of these general ideas; and as many more might without difficulty be given to an exposition of the differences between the two doctrines in points of detail, in such a way as to show that the detailed differences are but the outcome of the broad and fundamental difference between Judaism and Christianity, and that all the compromises and concessions whereby Mr. Montefiore tries to make peace between the two creeds have no real value, either theoretical or practical. But it is not my purpose here to write a book, and I will content myself, so far as general principles are concerned, with the brief hints above set forth. As for details, I will touch here on only one point, to which our author himself attaches more than ordinary importance, and will leave the reader to draw his own conclusions as to the rest.

The Gospels, unlike Judaism, forbid divorce, either absolutely, as in the version of Mark (x. 2-12), or with an exception in the case of unfaithfulness, as in the version of Matthew (xix. 3-12). At the present time, when all Christian nations are struggling with the prohibition of divorce, which came to them from the Gospels, and are trying to annul it or restrict its operation within narrow limits, it may be taken as fairly evident that the recognition of divorce, even on other grounds than unfaithfulness, is demanded by the conscience of society. Nor is it surprising that Judaism, with its essentially social aim, has been true to its general spirit in its attitude on this question, and has decided, with the school of Hillel, that divorce is permissible not alone on the ground of unfaithfulness, but also when there is from other causes a rupture of the bond of sympathy between man and wife. The important thing here is not the cause, but the effect—the rupture within the home, which must lower the moral tone of the life of the family, and interfere with the proper upbringing of the children. Long experience has taught Judaism that there is no reason to go back on this decision. Even the enemies of Israel cannot deny that Jewish family life has reached a high level of morality; and a result like this does not come about by a miracle, in the teeth of the national code of law, least of all in the case of the Jews, whose life has always been so profoundly influenced by the prescriptions of the _Torah_.[174] It must indeed be admitted that at first only the husband had the right of divorce, and no wife could divorce her husband. In conformity with the primitive view (a view still widely accepted all over the world) that man alone is important, and woman is but “an help meet for him,” it was demanded above all things of the husband that his position in the home should correspond to his moral obligations as the father of the family, and that he should not be compelled by law to live with a woman who was distasteful to him, and to become the father of “children of a hated wife.” But when once it came to be recognised that married life cannot tolerate constraint, this recognition, limited at first to the side of the husband, was bound to be gradually extended to the wife. Hence arose the provisions under which a man may be compelled to divorce his wife (_K’thuboth_, ch. vii). These provisions enabled the wife to obtain a divorce against the husband’s will, by decree of the courts, on many and various grounds. Thus it is impossible to assert that Judaism does not allow a woman to divorce her husband. In the cases just mentioned it is, in fact, the wife who divorces, though the bill of divorcement is technically given by the husband. What matters is not who performs the legal action, but whose wish it is that brings about the divorce. This tendency to emancipate the wife reached its highest development in the dictum of Maimonides, that if a woman says “My husband is distasteful to me, and I cannot live with him,” although she gives no specific reason for her dislike, the husband is yet compelled to divorce her, “because she is not like a captive woman, that she should consort with a man whom she hates” (_Laws of Marriage_, xiv. 8). Here we see the Jewish attitude to marriage in its full development. Marriage is a social and moral cord, the two ends of which are in the hearts of husband and wife; and if the cord is broken at either end—whether in the husband’s heart or in the wife’s—the marriage has lost its value, and it is best that it should be annulled. It is true that the jurists who came after Maimonides could not rise to the conception of so perfect an equality of the sexes, and did not wholly accept his dictum. But the mere fact that the greatest authority deduced this decision _from the Talmud_ (and the Talmud, in fact, affords ground for his view—see _Maggid Mishnah ad loc._) is proof conclusive as to the real tendency of the Jewish law of divorce, and shows whither it leads in the straight line of development.

But the New Testament view of marriage and divorce reveals a very different tendency (Matthew and Mark, _locc. citt._; Paul, First Epistle to the Corinthians, vii.). As in all the teaching of the Gospels, so here the important thing is _individual_ salvation. For the sake of his individual salvation it is better that a man should not marry at all, but should “suffer,” and be “a eunuch for the kingdom of heaven’s sake.” But he who has not strength to suffer may enter into the covenant of marriage with a woman; only this covenant, too, is an _individual_ matter, based on _religious mysteries_, not a social and moral act, and therefore it can never be annulled, even if it results in injury to the life of society. “He which made them at the beginning made them male and female and said ... they twain shall be one flesh. Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. _What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder._” From this standpoint it is immaterial whether there is love or hatred between the couple, whether their union is or is not a good thing for the life of the family and of society. All this does not affect the real point: God has united them, and how shall man dare to separate them?[175]

The Catholic Church, correctly understanding the Gospel teaching, has built countless houses of refuge for celibates of both sexes, and has forbidden divorce absolutely, without regard to all the evil results of this prohibition in the embitterment of the life of families and the moral corruption of thousands of men and women. Other Christian Churches have stopped short of this extreme, but have still been unable to free themselves from the Gospel standpoint, so that until recently they have tried to restrict and render ineffective the recognition of divorce. But now at last all Christian nations are beginning to see that this standpoint is not productive of good to the world, and are approaching nearer to the Jewish view.[176]