Creed and Deed: A Series of Discourses

III. REFORMED JUDAISM

Reformed Judaism originated in Germany; its leading representatives have invariably been Germans. The history of Germany during the past one hundred years is the background upon which our account of the movement must be projected.

The Jews of Germany had waited long and patiently for deliverance. At last, toward the close of the eighteenth century it came, and one whom they delight to call their "Second Moses" arose to lead them into the promised land of freedom. This was Moses Mendelssohn. His distinguished merits as a writer on philosophy and aesthetics we need not here pause to dilate upon, but shall proceed at once to consider him in his relations to the political, social, and religious emancipation of his people. In each of these different directions his example and influence upon others served to initiate a series of salutary changes, and he may thus appropriately be termed the father of the Reform movement in its widest acceptation. It was Mendelssohn who, in 1781, inspired Christian Wilhelm Dohm to publish his book "On the Civil Amelioration of the Jews," a work in which an earnest plea for their enfranchisement was for the first time put forth. The author points to the thrift and frugality that mark the Jewish race, their temperate habits and love of peace, and exposes the folly of debarring so valuable a class of the population from the rights of the citizen. He appeals to the wisdom of the government to redeem the errors and injustice of the past; he defends the Jews against the absurd charges which were still repeated to their discredit, and strenuously insists that liberty and humane treatment would not only accrue to their own advantage, but would ultimately redound to the honor and lasting welfare of the state. Dohm's book created a profound impression, and though it failed to produce immediate results, materially aided the cause of emancipation at a later period.

Again Mendelssohn was the first to break through the social restraints that obstructed the intercourse of Jews and Christians, and thus triumphed over a form of prejudice which is commonly the last to yield. His fame as a writer greatly assisted him in this respect. The grace and freshness of his style, the apparent ease with which he divested the stern problems of philosophy of their harsher aspects, had won him many and sincere admirers. His "Phaedon" was eagerly read by thousands, whom the writings of Leibnitz and Kant had repelled. On the afternoon of the Jewish Sabbath he was accustomed to assemble many of the choice spirits of the Prussian capital, among whom we may mention Lessing, Nikolai, and Gleim, in his home. The conversation turned upon the gravest and loftiest topics that can occupy the human soul. The host himself skilfully guided the stream of discussion, and the waves of thought flowed easily along in that placid, restful motion which is adapted to speculative themes. The spirit that of old had hallowed the shades of Academe presided over these gatherings. Mendelssohn emulated the plastic idealism of Plato and the divine hilarity of Socrates. The singular modesty, the truthfulness and quiet dignity that adorned his character were reflected upon the people from whom he had sprung, and produced a salutary change in their favor in the sentiments of the better classes.

But it is as the author of a profound revolution in the Jewish religion, that Mendelssohn attracts our especial interest. Not, indeed, that he himself ever assumed the character of a religious reformer. He was, on the contrary, sincerely devoted to the orthodox form of Judaism, and even had a change appeared to him feasible or desirable, he would in all probability have declined the responsibility of publicly advocating it. His was the contemplative spirit which instinctively shrinks from the rude contact of reality. He had neither the aggressive temper nor the bold self-confidence that stamp the leader of parties. And yet, without intending it, he gave the first impulse to Jewish Reform, whose subsequent progress, could he have foreseen it, he would assuredly have been the first to deprecate.

The condition of the Jews at the close of the last century was in many respects unlike that of any other race that has ever been led from a state of subjection to one of acknowledged equality. Long oppression had not, on the whole, either blunted their intellects or debased their morals. If they were ignorant in modern science and literature, they were deeply versed in their own ancient literature, and this species of learning was not the privilege of a single class, but the common property of the whole people. What they lacked was system. In the rambling debates of the Talmud the true principles of logical sequence are but too often slighted, and the student is encouraged to value the subtle play of dialectics on its own account, without regard to any ultimate gain in positive and useful knowledge. Impatience of orderly arrangement being allowed to develop into a habit, became contagious. It impressed itself equally on the thought, the manners, the language* of the Jews, and contributed not a little to alienate from them the sympathies of the refined. Such, however, was the preponderating influence of the Talmud that it not only engrossed the attention of the Jewish youth to the exclusion of secular knowledge, but even perverted the exegesis of the Bible and caused the study of Scripture to be comparatively neglected.

* The German Jews spoke a mixed dialect of German and Hebrew, which has been likened to the so-called Pennsylvania Dutch.

To weaken the controlling influence of the Talmud became the first needful measure of Reform, and to accomplish this it was necessary to give back to the Bible its proper place in the education of the young. It was an event, therefore, of no mean significance when Mendelssohn, in conjunction with a few friends, determined to prepare a German translation of the Pentateuch, and thus, by presenting the teachings of Scripture in the garb of a modern tongue, to render their true meaning apparent to every reflecting mind. The work was finished in 1783. It holds a like relation to the Jewish Reform movement that Luther's translation held to the great Protestant movement of the sixteenth century. It was greeted with a storm of abuse upon its appearance, and was loudly execrated by the orthodox as the beginning of larger and far-reaching innovations. Its author might sincerely protest his entire innocency of the radical designs imputed to him, but subsequent events have proved the keener insight of his opponents. The influence of the new translation was twofold. In the first place it facilitated a more correct understanding of the doctrine, the literature and language of Scripture; secondly, – and this is worthy of special remark, – it served the purpose of a text-book of the German for the great mass of the Jews, who were at that time unable to read a book written in the vernacular, and thus became the means of opening to them the treasure-house of modern thought.*

* The German of Mendelssohn's translation was written in Hebrew letters.

In the very year in which Mendelssohn's work appeared we notice among the younger generation a general revival of interest in the Hebrew, the mother-tongue of their race. Two students of the University of Konigsberg began the issue of a periodical devoted to the culture of the Hebrew, which was widely read and attracted great attention. Poems, original essays, Hebrew versions of modern writings, appeared in its columns; the style of the Prophets and of the Psalmists was emulated, the works of the ancient masters of the language served as models, and in the aspect of the noble forms employed in the diction of the biblical authors the aesthetic sense of the modern Jews revived. We are inclined to doubt whether the Hebrew Bible, considered merely with a view to its aesthetic value, is even yet fully appreciated. The extravagance of religious credulity and the violent extreme of scepticism have alike tended to obscure its proper merits. The one accustomed to behold in the "holy book" a message from the Creator to his creatures shrinks, as a rule, from applying to the work of a Divine author the critical standard of human composition. The sceptics on the other hand, impatient of the exorbitant claims which are urged for the sacred writings of the Jews, and resenting the sway which they still exercise over the human reason, are hardly in a proper frame of mind to estimate justly its intrinsic and imperishable excellences. And yet, setting aside all questions of the supernatural origin of the Bible, and regarding only the style in which its thoughts are conveyed, how incomparably valuable does it still remain! It would be difficult to calculate the extent to which many of our standard authors are indebted for the grandest passages of their works to their early familiarity with the biblical style. Those who are able to read the text in the original become aware of even subtler beauties that escape in the process of translation. Purity of diction, power of striking antithesis, simple and yet sublime imagery, a marvellous facility in the expression of complex states of feeling, and those the deepest of which the human soul is capable, are but a few of the obvious features that distinguish the golden age of Hebrew literature. Never perhaps has the symbolism of nature been used with such supreme effect to express the unspeakable emotions that are deep down in the heart of man. Such music as that which swells through the pages of Isaiah's prophecies cannot be forgotten; such ringing, rhythmic periods, in which the eloquence of conviction bursts forth into the rounded fulness of perfect oratory, can never fail to touch and to inspire. We know of no nobler pattern on which the modern orator could mould his style. And thus, too, the exquisite poetry of the Song of Songs, the idyl of the Book of Ruth, the weird pathos of Jeremiah's lament, the grand descriptions of Job, will ever be counted among the masterpieces of human genius. Whatever we may think of the doctrines of the Bible, it is safe to predict that the book will live long after the myths that surround its origin shall have been dispelled; nay, all the more, when it shall cease to be worshipped as a fetish will men appreciate its abiding claims to their reverence, and it will continue to hold its honored place in the libraries of the nations. The refining influence of the study of the Bible soon became evident among the contemporaries of Mendelssohn. But in another way also his translation tended to their improvement. We have said that it became the means of acquainting them with the language of the land. A wide field of knowledge, embracing the rich results of modern science, philosophy, and art, was thus laid open to their industry. Eagerly they availed themselves of the proffered opportunity; schools were erected, in which the elements of liberal culture were imparted to the young, and ere long we find a new generation of the Jews engaging in honorable competition with their Christian brethren for the prize of learning and the rewards of literary distinction. It was at this time that Kant's "Critique of Pure Reason" appeared, a work which marks a new epoch in the world's thought. Its profound reasoning and technical style made it difficult of comprehension to all but the initiated. Three Jewish scholars – Dr. Herz, Salomon Maimon, and Ben-David – undertook the task of popularizing its main results, and were among the first to call attention to the transcendent importance of the new system. Plainly new vital energy was coursing through the veins of the Jewish people.

But at this very time, while they were rapidly assimilating the best results of modern culture and winning the respect and confidence of the learned, the Jews of Germany were still laboring under an odious system of special laws, and beheld themselves excluded from the common rights of citizenship. The manly effort of Dohm in their behalf had as yet availed nothing; the voice of bigotry was still supreme in the councils of the sovereign. And yet they felt themselves to be the equals of those whom the law unjustly ranked their superiors, and longed to see the barriers done away that still divided them from their fellow-men. Many of their number had amassed fortunes, and expended their wealth with commendable prudence and generosity. They supported needy students, founded libraries, extended their knowledge, and refined their tastes. Even the Jewish maidens followed the general impulse toward self-culture that was setting with such force in the Jewish community. In particular the works of Schiller and Goethe, as they successively appeared at this period, inflamed their enthusiasm, and none were more zealous than they in spreading the fame and influence of the new school of German literature. Still they were taught to consider themselves an inferior class, and were despised as such. The position of equality which the narrowness of the laws denied them they were resolved to achieve by the weight ol character and the force of spiritual attractions. Henrietta de Lemos, a young girl of singular beauty and attainments, had at this time become the wife of Dr. Herz, of whom we have casually spoken above in his connection with Kant. She is described as tall, graceful, possessing a face in which the features of Hellenic and Oriental beauty were blended in exquisite harmony; while the sobriquet of the "Tragic Muse," by which she became known, denoted the majestic nobleness of her presence. Under the guidance of competent masters she had acquired considerable proficiency in many of the modern and ancient languages, and to a mind stored with various knowledge was added the mellow charm of a most sweet and loving disposition. Attracted by her fame and captivated by her genius, the most eminent men of the day sought the privilege of her society. The art of conversation, which had till then received but little attention in the Prussian capital, was for the first time cultivated in the salon of Henrietta Herz. Sparkling wit and profound philosophy were alike encouraged. Statesmen high in the service of their country sought the amenities of these delightful gatherings. Alexander and Wilhelm von Humboldt, Gentz, Schleier-macher, Friedrich von Schlegel, Mirabeau, Dorothea, the daughter of Mendelssohn, Rahel, afterwards wife of Varnhagen von Ense, were among the intimates of her circle. Christians and Jews met here on terms of mutual deference, and forgot for a while the paltry distinctions which still kept them asunder in the world without. And yet these distinctions, senseless in themselves, were full of ominous meaning to those who felt their burden. Young men eager for advancement in life found their religion an insuperable obstacle in their way. The professions, the army, the offices of the government, were closed against them. On the threshold of every higher career they were rudely repulsed, unless they embraced the base alternative of changing their creed to satisfy their ambition. Under these circumstances that fidelity to the faith of the fathers which had so long marked the conduct of the Jews began seriously to waver, and in many instances gave way. Not, indeed, that the new converts became true and loyal Christians. On the contrary, they considered the rite of baptism a mere hollow form, and left it to the state, which had insisted upon their conformance, to justify the deep disgrace that was thus brought upon the Christian sacraments. Moreover, a certain laxity in the interpretation of dogma had at this time become widely prevalent, which greatly assisted them in setting their conscience at ease. Rationalism had stripped the positive religions of much of their substance and individuality. To none of them was an absolute value allowed. They were regarded as forms in which a principle higher than all forms had found an imperfect and temporary expression. Even the influence of Schleiermacher tended rather to obliterate than to define the outlines of the contending creeds. Schleiermacher, the author of a Protestant revival in Germany, spoke the language of Pantheism, and his opinions are deeply suffused with the spirit of Pantheistic teachings. He defines religion to be the sense of dependence on the Infinite, the Universal. To the fact that different men in different ages have been variously affected by the conception of the Infinite he ascribes the origin of the different creeds. Theological dogmas, according to him, cannot claim to be true in the sense of scientific or philosophical propositions. They approach the truth only in so far as they typically express certain emotional processes of our soul, and those dogmas are nearest the truth which typify emotions of the most noble and exalted character. Allowing Christianity to be what its learned expounders had defined it, intelligent Jews could hardly find it difficult to assume the Christian name. It is estimated that in the course of three decades full one half of the Jewish community of Berlin were nominally Christianized.

How thoroughly conventional, at the same time, the use of the term Christian had become may be judged from a letter addressed by David Friedlander, a friend of Mendelssohn's, to Councillor Teller of the Consistory, in which he offered, on behalf of himself and some co-religionists, to accept Christianity in case they might be permitted to omit the observance of the Christian festivals, to reject the doctrine of the Trinity, of the divinity of Jesus, and, in fact, whatever is commonly regarded as essentially and specifically Christian. It is true the reply of the Councillor was not encouraging.

While the very existence of Judaism was thus threatened in Germany, it seemed about to regain its pristine vigor in France. More than seventeen centuries had elapsed since the Sanhedrin, the High Court of Jerusalem, had passed out of existence. Quite unexpectedly it was recalled to momentary life by the caprice of the great Corsican, who then ruled the destinies of the world. In the year 1806 Napoleon convened a parliament of Jewish Notables at Paris in order to definitely settle the relations of French Israelites to the state. Soon after an imperial decree convoked the grand Sanhedrin for the purpose of ratifying the decisions of the Notables. The glories of Jerusalem were to be renewed in "modern Babylon" on the Seine. On February 9, 1807, the Sanhedrin met in the Hotel de Ville. Care was taken to invest its sittings with due solemnity; the seats of the members were arranged in crescent shape about the platform of the presiding officers, as had been customary at Jerusalem; the president was saluted with the title of Nassi (Prince), as in the olden time; the ancient titles and forms were copied with scrupulous exactness. Two-thirds of the members were Rabbis, the remainder laymen. The opening of the Sanhedrin attracted universal attention, but its proceedings were void of interest. In fact, its sole task was to lend the authority of an ancient tribunal to the action of the Notables, and this having been accomplished it was adjourned after a brief session. In connection with these conventions of the years 1806 and 1807 it behooves us to mention the creation of a new constitution for the French synagogue elaborated by the joint efforts of the imperial Commissioners and the Notables. The form of government adopted was moulded on the pattern of the secular power. A system of consistories was organized throughout France, culminating in a central consistory at Paris with a Grand-Rabbin at its head. The officers of the consistories were treated as officers of the state, the charge of their maintenance was in part defrayed at the public expense, and, in the course of time, they were placed on a footing of almost complete equality with the dignitaries of the Christian churches. The union of the teachers of Judaism in a species of graded hierarchy, dependent upon temporal rulers for their support, was as have have been expected, fruitful of evil results. If it is true that the supremacy of the church over the state disturbs the peace of nations and endangers the very existence of governments, it is equally certain that no religion can long continue to maintain its purity when the church becomes the subservient vassal of the state. Whatever the apparent gain in stability may be, it is more than counterbalanced by the loss of spontaneity and sincerity. Hypocrisy flourishes, the liberty of conscience is abridged, and a spirit of base time-serving eventually prepares the downfall of institutions whose perfect safety is consistent only with perfect freedom.