DISCOURSES OF KEIDANSKY
_By Bernard G. Richards_
SCOTT-THAW CO.
_542 Fifth Avenue_
NEW YORK MCMIII
_Copyright 1903
by Scott-Thaw Co.
(Incorporated)_
_First Edition Published
March 1903_
_The Heintzemann Press Boston_
Note
The majority of these papers have appeared in the Boston Evening
Transcript, and thanks are extended to the editors not only for their
permission to reprint the same, but also for the many kindnesses they
have shown my friend Keidansky and myself.
All the papers have undergone many changes, and numerous corrections and
additions have been made.
B. G. R.
Introductory
Heretical, iconoclastic, revolutionary; yet the flashing eye, the
trembling hand, the stirring voice held us spellbound, removed all
differences, and there were no longer any conservatives and extremists;
only so many human beings led onward and upward by a string of
irresistible words.
"Outrageous heresies," some said, yet those who paused to listen for a
moment lingered longer, and as they hearkened to the harangues, marked
the words and followed the flights of fancy, it came to them that these
dreamers of dreams and builders of all sorts of social Utopias upon the
vacant lots of the vague future; these ribald rebels holding forth over
their glasses of steaming Russian tea in the cafés, or on the street
corners under the floating red flag--that they were but a continuation
of the prophets of old in Israel.
Those who paused to listen were loath to depart and some prayed for a
perpetuation of the things that came out of a throbbing heart and
soaring mind. Faint reflections here of the outpourings of a soul, but
mayhap they will shed some little light upon the inner life of that
strange cosmos called the Ghetto and point again to the Dream it has
harbored and cherished through the harsh realities of the centuries.
"Why perpetuate these things," you wrote to me, "since that life is so
fast slipping away from under my feet; practicability is urged on every
hand, and to-morrow I may be led under the canopy, perhaps elected to
the presidency of a congregation, given full charge of an orthodox
paper, or put into a big store on East Broadway, and then, what I said
would only stand out to taunt and menace me about the life that could
not be. Besides, I may become so radical that I shall not want to say
anything." Yes, we change, and the castles we build in the air become
tenement houses, and we are either the tenants, or worse, the landlords;
but "life has its own theories," and if the fine poetry of youth be
reduced to plain prose in later years, and wisdom teach us to be stupid,
why, we are still a pace ahead and those who will come after shall put
their shoulders to the Dream and move it up at least one inch nearer to
life. "And if the dreamer dies," as you said yourself, "will not the
Dream live ever on?"
Surely! And let me send you the glad assurance that death will come
sooner than the presidency of a synagogue.
You are safe, Keidansky; the orthodox will never forgive you.
We change, yet those who fail also come to their own, and even lost
souls make great discoveries. Did you not say that "Life is the
profoundest of all platitudes?"
B. G. R.
New York, March, 1903.
Contents
I Keidansky Decides to Leave the Social
Problem Unsolved for the Present 1
II He Defends the Holy Sabbath 7
III Sometimes He is a Zionist 13
IV Art for Tolstoy's Sake 23
V "Three Stages of the Game" 33
VI "The Badness of a Good Man" 41
VII "The Goodness of a Bad Man" 53
VIII "The Feminine Traits of Men" 65
IX The Value of Ignorance 75
X Days of Atonement 85
XI Why the World is Growing Better 95
XII Home, the Last Resort 105
XIII A Jewish Jester 117
XIV What Constitutes the Jew? 129
XV The Tragedy of Humor 139
XVI The Immorality of Principles 149
XVII The Exile of the Earnest 157
XVIII Why Social Reformers Should be Abolished 165
XIX Buying a Book in Salem Street 173
XX The Purpose of Immoral Plays 183
XXI The Poet and the Problem 193
XXII "My Vacation on the East Side" 199
XXIII Our Rivals in Fiction 211
XXIV On Enjoying One's Own Writings 219
_DISCOURSES OF KEIDANSKY_
I
Keidansky Decides to Leave the Social Problem Unsolved for the Present
The lecture at the Revolutionary Club, Canal street, was over, the
audience rose, one by one, and ere their departure, those who made it
up, lingered on for awhile and stood in little groups of two, three and
four, and earnestly discussed the things that had been, and particularly
the things that might have been, said on the subject. The peroration was
delivered with fervor and gusto by one of the "red ones" of the Ghetto.
It was on "The Emancipation of Society from Government," a theme packed
with meaning for those present, and as almost everybody was willing to
be interviewed on his or her impressions, there was quite a little
exchange of opinion afterwards. The speaker, besieged by a small circle
of questioning dissenters and commentators, was holding an informal,
compulsory reception. A few hard workers of the sweat-shops, who
slumbered peacefully during the discourse, came up towards the platform
to tell the speaker how well they liked it.
It was during this hobnob medley of varying voices that I introduced
Keidansky to a lady, a friend of mine, who, having heard of the wicked
things he says, and the queer things he does, desired very much to meet
him.
As she greeted him the lady rather perfunctorily remarked:
"And so you are a dreamer of the Ghetto?"
"No, Madam," Keidansky answered somewhat brusquely; "I am a sad
reality."
"A sad reality? Why so?" Smilingly, pityingly, she queried.
"Oh, the reasons are not far to seek, not easy to find, and hard to
relate," he said demurely. "Besides, why augment the soporific tendency?
We have just listened to a lecture. The monstrous evil of government
still exists. The tremendous task of its abolition is still before us."
"Yes, I know; but tell me, please."
"Well, then, if I must speak of myself--and I like nothing better--I
will tell you." He cast down his eyes and spoke quickly, as quickly as
he could think of the right words, which he was trying to find with
evident effort. "A dreamer disillusionized, a great might-have-been
become small, a would-be victor vanquished, a social reformer forced by
society to reform, a herald of a new dawn lost in the night, a rebel
rejected by the rabble, a savior of society without even the ghost of a
chance to become a martyr, a visionary grown wise, an enthusiast at last
awakened to things as they are, an idealist knocked out by cold, hard
facts--don't you think it's a sad reality? I--we--wanted to do so many
things and--
"I wanted to change the world, and the world has changed me so that I am
beyond recognition. That's a little and belittling way the world has
with all who wish to save it. We--my comrades and I--wanted to transform
this earth into a Heaven, and we came near going to--the other place.
Pardon me, madam, but some of the fellows actually went there, one sent
me his regards the other day. He is at court now, working for the king
of the ward--assistant chief wire-puller, or something. Good salary;
hardly any work to do. Better than Socialism, he says, under which
system he would, at least, have to perform a few hours' work a day. But
there was a time when he would walk six miles--he had to walk then--to
hear a denunciation of the present political parties and the evil powers
that be. Now he would talk six miles to win a single vote for them. The
others who have gone have not fared so badly as he: they have not grown
so wise, have remained poor, and, more or less--honest. But as to the
things that might have been. There were great books to be written, which
were abandoned because--oh, well, it is so much bother to deal with
publishers. There was a powerful educational movement to be started in
the Ghetto, which has also been relinquished for the manifold blessings
of ignorance.
"Why, I wanted to solve the social problem, and now I do not even see my
way clear to do that. You see, we all came here with a smattering of
Socialistic ideas and Utopian ideals. We brought them over from
Russia--the land of the knave and the home of the slave--and we wanted
to see them realized in this country, where the gigantic development of
industry and the trusts were illustrating the beautiful possibilities of
Socialism. That idea appealed to us Jews, at least, above all others.
And we set ourselves with great zeal to the task of its promulgation.
The common ownership of all the means of production and distribution of
wealth, every member of society contributing to the work of the nation;
those who do not work, neither shall they eat, etc.--we had everything
down fine--too fine. If we were asked, who shall do the dirty work under
Socialism, we answered, the bosses of the present political machines.
"And we demonstrated by all the proofs furnished us by our leaders--at
the rate of ten cents a pamphlet--how the great change was inevitable
from Marx's material conception of history and our own hysterical
conception of materialism. The rich had not as yet consented to the
equal distribution of all wealth; but the poor had; they were fast
coming our way, and we were all getting ready for the great change. Oh,
when a fellow gets the social revolution into his head he can see
millions of proletarians marching to victory, and then the Coöperative
Commonwealth looms up big before him in all its Bellamy glory. But after
awhile, and a few gentle hints in the form of hard knocks--confound
it--comes the calm, sober, second or second-hand thought. Socialism?
What an arch bureaucracy, what a preposterous attempt to harness life
with a monstrous system of rules, regulations and restrictions! What an
endless chain of entangling laws, what an appalling monotony of order!
The individual gagged, bound hand and foot by an overwhelming mess of
statutes; not permitted to tell the truth unless it is officially
recognized as truth by the State. Thousands of laws to be broken every
day and as many heads to be mended. Heaven save us! you cry out, and you
come to realize that it isn't because "a lot of contemptible capitalists
have paid him for it"--as it has been alleged by some of us--that
Herbert Spencer has declared Socialism to be the coming slavery. Perhaps
Spencer wasn't wrong, after all; and the best solution of the social
problem you had becomes a terrible problem, and you lay it on the table,
or throw it into the waste-basket.
"Then comes communism, as preached by my friend John Most and comrade
Peter Kropotkin; individualist anarchism, as presented by Benjamin R.
Tucker and others. Beautiful theories these are, enchanting studies;
but, alas, only theories, so vague, so fantastic, so far off, so dimly
distant, so elusive. And the problem is so stubbornly real, so
disagreeably near, so puzzlingly capricious, and so spitefully
independent of all solutions, that--oh, well--I haven't as yet solved
the social problem, and I don't, as yet, know when I will; but perhaps
the problem will stay long enough, until I get ready to do it."
The speaker looked touchingly perplexed as he continued: "I cannot find
my way through these things, and don't know the way out. The problem is
vexing and vast; the solutions various and voluminous. The solutions are
in themselves highly problematic. Our doubts are endless, our ignorance
is infinite. Finality is the most fatal folly. Nothing is certain but
uncertainty; nothing is constant but change. Even the dream of
transformation becomes transformed. Life has its own theories and is
regardless of our patented plans. The logic of events makes our own
systems illogical. The wind of Time blows out our little labelled
lanterns. Time puts all our wisdom to shame. Life is so pitifully brief,
and the problem that has troubled the ages cannot be solved in a day."
"But what are you going to do about it?" I interrupted.
"Why, I have decided to leave the social problem unsolved for the
present," he answered. "If I could spell English well I would write a
book showing why I refuse to solve it for the present; but as it is,
those who wish to know what I write will have to learn Yiddish. However,
from what I know of the English language, I like it immensely. It is so
rich, so big, has so many words; a splendid means for concealing one's
thoughts. And the English and Americans, who master it, know it and
appreciate the fact. But I see they are putting the lights out. We'll
have to leave the hall now. Good-night, good-night. Pleased to have met
you."
II
He Defends the Holy Sabbath
"We are so happy in this country that we must celebrate even when we
don't want to," said a Hester street storekeeper, and then he quoted the
words of the Psalms in the traditional monotone: "And they who led us
captive requireth of us a song."
He stood on the sidewalk in front of his dreary and dilapidated grocery
store. It was Sunday morning. The chosen people of old who have elected
to come to the chosen country of to-day moved up and down in large
numbers, almost crowding the street. They stood in little groups idly,
and conversed loudly in a more or less Americanized Yiddish, often
lapsing into a curious English of their own. Their dress and outward
appearance denoted the degrees of their Americanization and prosperity.
There were those who live in the Jewish street, or in the immediate
vicinity, which is also within the Ghetto, and others who, after
spending their first years here, have now travelled by the road of
success to "nice, high-toned" districts, such as Allen street in the
West End. On Sunday they all come down there, for then you can meet
everybody, all the "Landsleute," you can hear all the news, and there
was a time when Sunday was the liveliest day on the street. Thus these
people walked up and down the thoroughfare, while some stood in small
gatherings and talked. Women met, chatted for a few minutes, and then
took half an hour in parting.
All the stores were closed, all the places of business deserted, and it
seemed strange and incongruous to see all these people out on the
street. It seemed as if the people were there for no purpose, as if they
had nothing to do. One wondered, at first, if it were a holiday; but the
absence of even a suggestion of the spirit of Sabbath soon made it clear
that there was no religious meaning in this day, so far as the Hebrew
people were concerned. Aside from that, the people would not be out so
if it were a holiday. They would be at home, observing and celebrating
the day. It appeared as if their idleness was forced upon them; they
suggested gatherings of workers who are out on a strike, waiting for
settlement. Upon investigation the stranger found that this was an
enforced idleness, a compulsory holiday. The Christian Sabbath was
forced by law upon the Jews, who had celebrated their Sabbath the day
before, and they could not begin the week's work until their loving
neighbors were through. And this, too, was the week before Passover, the
busiest season in the Ghetto.
My friend, the storekeeper, stood upon the sidewalk in front of his
emporium and continued his plaint, not without quaint gestures:
"They call this the freest country on earth, and yet here we have been
compelled to close up our stores two days in the week for the whole
winter. A number of us have already gone out of business, and the
Uppermost only knows what will happen with the rest. We cannot make it
pay in five days; rent is very high, profits are small, and around here
times are always hard. The poor people who trade with us only know
prosperity by sight or hearsay.
"We have preserved our Sabbath through all the persecutions and
sufferings which we have endured in the past centuries. Our Sabbath is
as dear to us as life itself, and now it is endangered by the laws of
this free land. We cannot afford to close our stores on both Saturday
and Sunday. Sunday used to be one of the best days of the week for
business. It is the first day of the week with us. It is the day after
our Sabbath, when every household needs a new supply of food. It is also
the day on which our people from the country, having a day off, come in
to buy their goods--that is, they used to come in when we were permitted
to keep our stores open on Sunday. Now all is changed, and the business
is going down and down. We will not keep open on Saturday, and the
police won't let us keep open on Sunday. It is outrageous, the way they
treat us; it is scandalous, I say."
Keidansky, the radical of the Ghetto, is quite a unique, native
character. He is the young man who once told me that he had more good
ideas than were good for him, and I believe now that he was right. I met
him one day in one of his resorts, a "kosher" lunch room of the Jewish
district. I asked him for his opinion on the Sunday question, and he
told me what follows--among other things--over a few glasses of Russian
tea:--
"So far as I'm personally concerned, one day is as good as another for a
Sabbath, and we can't have too many of them. Any day on which we can
rest and be at our best, is a holiday. I am too religious to be pious. I
can sanctify as many days as I can celebrate. The new conception of
'kosher' is whatever is wholesome, digestible and tasteful. To be really
happy is to be holy, and those who have lost this world will not be
entrusted with another. I hate uniformity, and it's very tiresome to
rest when everybody else rests; but since it would be most convenient to
suspend business and activity when the majority of the people observe
their Sabbath, since the Christians do not want to rest on the same day
that the Lord rested, and decided to get ahead of God and repose on the
first instead of the seventh day, why, let it be Sunday, then--as far as
I am concerned. Convenience is the first step to happiness, and
tolerance is the beginning of philosophy. There is nothing intrinsically
sacred in any day; it is only an artificial measure of time, and time is
only a blank space, absolutely worthless unless we write upon it with
our deeds. All days are made holy or unholy by what we do in them. So,
you see, so far as I am concerned, Saturday or Sunday, any day, will do.
Personally I have never been compelled to close up my store. I have
never been so unfortunate as to own a store. This, however, is only my
point of view.
"One of the most immoral things I know of is to force your own petty
brand of morality upon the lives of others, and I can hardly conceive of
anything more irreligious than forcing your particular religion upon
others. To respect the religion of your neighbors is a deeply religious
principle, and those who have no religion at all can almost make up for
it by respecting the religion of others. Religious liberty is one of the
most precious principles of our country, is it not? And here this
fundamental principle is rankly violated by the law, or rather by what I
think must be a silly misinterpretation of the law. There are thousands
of Jews encumbered by and compelled to rest on, if not to observe, a
Christian Sabbath. I do not like to believe with some of the Zionists
that the seed of anti-Semitism has been sown in this country and that a
good crop will soon be up to encourage the restoration of Israel to the
Turk's Palestine. I am rather inclined to think that this idea is
anti-Semitic. But certainly the stranger in this country would be
extremely surprised at the way the Jews are treated here just now in
regard to the observance of Sabbath. Who is to blame? The law or those
who enforce it? Oh, the law. But perhaps our people now suffer the
consequences of having been among the first to bring laws into the
world. When people saw that the world was too good they began to make
laws, and ever since they have kept up making and multiplying them
faster than even the lawmakers can break them. Why, one can hardly walk
two steps before he finds that he is breaking a useless law which it is
very tempting to violate. I am not so radical as some of my friends. I
do not believe that all the stupidity of the age has been incarnated
into our laws. A great deal of it has been left in our customs,
traditions and superstitions; but a law that interferes with religious
liberty in a free country is bad enough.
"I tell you it is just exasperating to walk through the Ghetto of a
Sunday now and see all the places of business closed up and all the
public resorts abandoned. The poor housewives of the Ghetto whose
cupboards are all empty and who need so many things on Saturday night,
after their Sabbath, and have to wait until Monday--it is a great
hardship for them. I tell you it's dead wrong to force this blue law
upon the people. The Hebrew, to whom the traditional Sabbath is as dear
as life, ought to receive due consideration, or rather the right to do
as he pleases, in so far as he does not harm others. The law should have
nothing to do with Sabbath, anyhow. People can never be made religious
by law. If you are going to write about it, tell the whole story and
show how ill-treated we are. Perhaps you can convert the Christians to
the spirit of Christianity. Let the voice of the chosen people be
heard!"
III
Sometimes He is a Zionist
Word flashed across the cables that Dr. Theodore Herzl and other leaders
of the Zionist movement had held a favorable interview with the Sultan
of Turkey, and the followers of the cause--the restoration of Palestine
to the Jews--were all in a flutter of gladness. As it was interpreted by
the faithful, the vague, meagre cablegram meant that the Sultan was
willing, that he was hard up, and that the Holy Land was for sale. And
who could doubt when this was announced by the New York Yiddish dailies,
under four-column headlines? No one could doubt but the jester. He said
that this only proved that the Yiddish papers also had big type in their
composing rooms. He said that the truth about a certain movement could
not be found in any party organ. In fact, if one wanted the absolute
truth about anything he would advise him to go home and sleep it off.
But serious and sane folk will ask no jester for advice. The jester can
only add to the sadness of the nations; but he cannot impair the faith
of the believers. So the Zionists were rejoicing while their opponents
were debating in the lighter vein, and laughing at the mistakes of the
so-called new Moses and the errors of his followers.
The news had also reached Keidansky's circle, and the question was
taken up again for consideration. They were all at Zarling's on Leverett
street, where the "kosher" eatables are inviting, where tea is Russian,
the newspapers Yiddish, and the attendant members of one industrious
family, ranging from several bright pupils of the grammar school up. The
poet, the young lawyer, the short-sighted medical student who has for
many years been writing a scientific work, the Anarchist orator in
embryo, the flower vendor and undiscovered inventor of an ingenious
self-lighting lamp and a wonderful fuel-saving stove--they were all
there, and, of course, Keidansky was with them. They all sat about a
little round wooden table in a corner of the big dusky store, pouring
out wisdom and drinking tea. The long row of "kosher" Vienna wurst
hanging over Zarling's brass-railed counter were mocking and menacing
the vegetarian of the group as he was munching a cheese sandwich.
They were all heartily opposed to Zionism. Each one had the solution for
the social problem, which would also settle the Jewish question, and
Keidansky said that it was highly problematic whether there was such a
thing as a Jewish problem. However, they all had plans for making this a
better world, plans which the Jews were eminently fitted to help to
carry out, and the benefits of which they would reap in the form of an
ideal state of society, with universal brotherhood, and without racial
hatred and anti-Semitism. They took Zionism severely, scathingly to
task, and as there was no Zionist present it was an easy victory. The
Jewish State was nipped in the bud, or rather abolished ere its
establishment. The poet and the orator sailed heavily into the "dubious
personality of Dr. Max Nordau," one of the leaders of the movement, and
thus again avenged themselves on the man who, in his gentle booklet on
"Degeneration," so wantonly threw so much mud on their revolutionary
idols. Reference was made to the demolishing review of the Doctor's book
by the only and original G. Bernard Shaw, and Whitman and Wagner and the
others were saved.
Keidansky listened silently to all that passed, looked into a book and
sipped his tea. If the conversation was not good he could find something
in his book, and if the book was not interesting he could at least enjoy
his tea. So he once said when told that he was not attentive and not
true to the spirit of "the order of midnight tea-drinkers."
Everybody had spoken, and I turned to Keidansky for a word. "Sometimes,"
he said, "I am Zionist, and all longings leave me and I yearn for naught
but the realization of the old, long-cherished, holy dream that our
people have carried along with them and fondly caressed through their
cruel exiles of the ages--the restoration of our never-to-be-forgotten
home, Palestine. The passion for the race returns, the old feeling of
national pride and patriotism comes back and takes its old place, the
consciousness of Israel awakens within me, and I am completely swayed by
the mastering desire to see Judea 'emancipated, regenerated and
redeemed.'
"I feel again the unity I have forgotten. The old Messianic hope looms
up big before me. The _Heimweh_ of the long-lost wanderer, the
grief-stricken, menaced nomad takes possession of me. I feel the
terrible danger of dissolution: it is so bitter to stare destruction in
the face, to contemplate annihilation of so long and so miraculous an
existence. I feel that there is no place like his old home. The homeless
Jew must return to Palestine. The big world is too small. It has no room
for him. Good or bad, he is always offensive, and he is exalted only to
be cast down into an abyss of misery. Civilization is not even civil,
and it has no hospitality for its earliest light-bearer. The world is a
wretched ingrate. We have given everything, including the means of
future salvation; we receive nothing but calumny, and are doomed to
everlasting damnation. 'We have given you your religion,' we say to the
Christians. 'That's nothing,' they answer; 'it has not affected us in
the least.' And they prove it. They keep on baiting and persecuting and
killing their neighbours, not as themselves. What must we do? Get back
our old home, though we have to pay for it. There, at least, will we
find 'a crust of bread and a corner to sleep in.'
"We must have a common cause, an object of unity, a centre of gravity,
in order to survive as a people, and this is what we can have in the
proposed Jewish State.
"And what an inspiring picture it will be of Israel, bruised and
bleeding from the travail of his long, futile travels, at last
straightening up his back and returning home to rebuild his national
life and his temple in Palestine. There he will create an ideal
republic, fashioned after the teachings of the prophets and the lessons
he has received from the teachers of the nations--a republic that will
teach the world justice and righteousness. 'And from Zion shall issue
the law, and the word of God shall go forth from Jerusalem,' and our
poets to come shall sing new psalms to God on the banks of the Jordan,
in the shades of Lebanon and in the beautiful gardens of Sharon and
Carmel. I have never been there, and though I have gone through life
without a geography, yet I seem to remember all these places. The grand,
vigorous Hebrew language shall come to life again and we shall have a
glorious literature of Israel's resurrection. Ah, how beautiful the
vision that looms up as I contemplate these things! And then--"
Keidansky ceased speaking, paused, and asked for another glass of tea.
"And then?" I asked.
"Then," he continued, "the mood passes, the feeling alters, the picture
that a fleeting fancy has thrown upon the canvas of my view, fades, a
change comes over the spirit of my dream. I remember that I am no
longer the pious little boy praying in the synagogue of Keidan, 'a year
hence in Jerusalem.' The greater vision appears before me, the larger
ideal comes back, and Keidansky is himself again. Sometimes I am a
Zionist, but only sometimes. The rest of the time I am as strongly
opposed to it as any of you, because with all my imputed universalism I
have great hopes for my people, and because I have marked out a greater
role for Israel to play in the history of the future than being a mere
little bee building a little hive in a tiny obscure corner of the
globe."
Here the medical student protested that a man cannot be both for and
against an idea at the same time, that those who are not with us are
wrong and against us, and that Keidansky is a "long distance off"--for
he said, "scientifically analyzed"--
"Scientifically analyzed, you are a bore," Keidansky broke forth
infuriated, "and don't interrupt me when I am solving problems and
making history. Be consistent, boys, and do not ask me to be so. Give
me, at least, the right that you grant to a character in fiction, the
right to be irrational, illogical, and, above all, superbly
inconsistent. I am a character in life and nothing is so fictitious. At
times, I want to be with all, feel with all, believe with all, see the
beauties of all ideals, and also point out the great fact about
them--that they are all fatal--and yet that to be without ideals is
baneful and deadly. I cannot be partial, and that is why they expelled
me from DeLeon's Socialist Labor party. Partiality is destructive to
art, and I might have been an artist, if I had had the patience and
self-abnegation and a lot of other requisites and things.
"But to return to the larger vision, which eclipses the dreamlet of
Zionism. The Jew must not be relegated to an obscure corner of the
world, to a little platform whereupon he will recite a piece in an
unknown tongue. I want a big stage for him--the world. I want a great
play for him--all its multitudinous activities. For he is a wonderful
actor. He has versatility, illusion, imagination and dramatic power. It
is an inspiring part he plays in the world-drama. So let the play go on,
and do not ask him to waste his energies and bargain with the Sultan for
a bit of barren land that has been taken from him so long ago. He has a
bigger task to perform, a larger mission to fulfil.
"He must live among the nations and help them in their upward struggle
for a higher civilization and a nobler life. If there are evils to be
abolished he will help abolish them, and if there are dire problems,
why, he has brains, which he loans more often than money. And this is
the spectacle that I gloat over and glory in seeing: Israel among the
nations, the saviour and the outcast, the redeemer and the rejected, the
revered teacher and truant student, the honoured guest and persecuted
resident, helping nations to make their histories, here and there,
writing great words in them, ministering to their arts and helping to
humanize humanity. To be persecuted and oppressed by the nations is
inconvenient and annoying, but to make music, paint pictures, write
books, sing songs, mould statues for them--how superb! Ah, what a
tragedy to be a Jew, and yet, how glorious! The nations need the Jew and
he must not desert them in their hour of need, and if he is true to his
best self and keeps on growing he will not die and vanish as a people.
In any case 'tis nobler to die for a good cause than to live in
impotence. So let the Jew remain, with whatever nation he abides, and as
a good citizen help it grow great and good, and show that Ibsen was
right when he called us the aristocracy of the race. Let not, I say to
the Zionists, the Jew be like the little boy who runs away from school
after he receives a thrashing and before he has taught his teacher a
lesson. To sacrifice for Dr. Herzl's scheme our vast opportunities in
the world, which owes us so much, and to which we are so indebted, would
be selling our birthright for a mess of pottage. So let us remain. We
can do so much in so many countries with the teachings and spirit of
Judaism. We, too, are frail and have many faults, but we can improve
where there's lots of room and plenty of opportunities.
"Life is a melodrama, and in the latter acts the long-lost brothers, Jew
and Christian, who have for so long waged war against each other, will
recognize, understand each another, and perhaps, things will end
happily, after all.
"Meanwhile we will forgive France for the Dreyfus affair, because of
her perfect prose and beautiful poetry. I will even forgive Captain
Dreyfus for having been such a bore, if he will stop writing books. Let
the Jews remain in Russia instead of going to Palestine, for think of
the love of freedom that tyranny engenders! Think how good all our
oppressions have been in that they made us love liberty and truth. Think
what a chance to shed blood for freedom there will yet be in Russia. Our
people should remain there. Things are changing. What a fine literature
it is producing, and how noble Russia is--underground.
"Away with your petty neutral little State, I say to the Zionist; the
State to be bought on the instalment plan from the Sultan, to be built
on the soil of superstition, where the Jews will go back to their
traditional customs and fall asleep. The land is barren and sterile, and
I do not believe in starvation, even on holy land. Even the orthodox
must have a religion; but they will never acquire it in Palestine. They
will cling to the old. They will not progress. The Bible--and I bow my
head in reverence for that great work of fiction--will never be edited
and revised as it ought to be, in Palestine. Judaism will not grow in
Palestine. The Jews will cling to the letter, and the spirit of it will
starve. God save the Jews from Palestine. Judaism there will not grow;
it will stagnate and die. The Jews must live among the destroying forces
of civilization. It is only when they outgrow their obnoxious
superstitions and down-dragging traditions that they become great."
The speaker waxed warm; his eyes flashed with enthusiasm, his voice grew
loud.
"I want none of the Jewish State," he said. "The whole world is holy
land. Wherever there are good, honest people is holy land, and from
every corner of the earth shall issue the law, and the word of God shall
go forth from every place, including my garret. Give us a big stage,
give us the world, give us the universe, and let me watch it from its
centre--my garret at 3 Birmingham Alley; let me watch the great and
glorious play with Israel's heroic part in all the activities and growth
and progress of the world, and I will 'thank whatever gods there be.'
And this is my larger dream; a better, more humane world, created by the
brotherhood of men, with Israel as peacemaker and fraternizer. Amen."
IV
Art for Tolstoy's Sake
It was at one of a series of lectures given under the auspices of the
Social Science Circle during the winter season. The audience which
assembled in the gloomy little hall on the third floor of an East
Broadway building was rather small in size. In announcing the lecture no
rewards had been offered to those who would come to listen to it, as
often seemed necessary; the speaker of the evening was only a member of
the club, who worked for his ideas, and not an eminent lecturer who
lived on his reputation and whose name would "draw a crowd."
The majority of young men and women of the Ghetto would not think of
wasting an evening on wisdom; they would commit no such folly, when they
could have "such a lovely time" at the near-by dancing schools. Still,
the few and the faithful were all present, and those who were thirsting
for knowledge came to be saturated. Max Lubinsky was the speaker, and
his theme, "Tolstoy's Theory of Art," was teeming with vital import.
Keidansky, as a member of the committee in charge of the literary work
of the circle, acted as chairman of the meeting. In introducing the
speaker he made a few remarks, somewhat as follows:
"Tolstoy has theories of art. Personally I am rather sorry for this,
because if he did not have them he would be a greater artist. Even as
theories of life often mar existence, so theories of art impair the
artist. Admitting that art with a purpose can help the world, it is
certain that art for its own sweet sake can create and re-create worlds.
After he had contributed some of the greatest works of art to the
literature of Russia, Tolstoy decided to find out just what art was.
During his investigations, which lasted many years, he found that the
art of the world was in great part lazy, unemployed, corrupt, suffering
from ennui, and ministering to the debauched, poor rich people, whom the
poor man ever envies; he decided that art should become useful and go to
work, and he gave it an employment--the promulgation of his ideas of
social regeneration.
"Once, Tolstoy tells us, art was primitive and simple and pious, and it
was good art and true; but during the Middle Ages, when the upper class
and the nobility became sceptical and pessimistic, and could find no
more consolation in religion, art became divorced from the church,
because they took it up as an amusement and study. And ever since art
got into such bad company--among people of culture and those who
understand it, who cherished all its wonderful enfoldments and caressed
all its capricious moods--ever since art got into such bad company, it
became as beautiful as sin, and so complex, mystic and ambiguous that
even the Russian _muzhik_ or peasant cannot understand it. And so--as it
seems to me--argues Tolstoy, the fact that the _muzhik_ cannot
appreciate 'Tannhäuser' proves conclusively that Wagner never wrote any
real music. Then, the dear old master delves deeply into all
definitions, origins and explanations of art. He finds no designation,
no description that satisfies him; they all hinge on and culminate in
beauty--in the production and reproduction of beauty that is in life, in
nature, in the worlds within us and without; and Tolstoy is rather shy
at mere beauty, and thinks it a temptress, a siren and a song; besides,
beauty, he says, changes and depends on taste, and taste varies, and as
all these definitions are too far-fetched and vague, he finds one that
is still more indefinite. Art is the communication of feeling, the
expression of the religious consciousness. Of course it is that, but
first and foremost it must have the sterling qualities of art in form
and matter.
"Tolstoy, however, would make this the chief basis and standard of art,
for his would be an art that would detract men's minds from mere beauty,
that would make them helplessly pious, that would unite mankind, make
life as monotonous as possible, and convert humanity to Christian
Anarchism.
"Every book, picture, statue and composition of music should be
degradingly moral. And the question arises, what does he mean by
religious consciousness? Walt Whitman expressed his religious
consciousness in a manner that shocked the world, and it is not at all
pleasing to Tolstoy, and yet Whitman was the most religious man that
lived in centuries. The Abbé Prevost wrote "Manon Lescaut" to express
his religious consciousness, and Robert Ingersoll delivered his lectures
to do the same; to express their religious consciousness, great
sculptors mould nude figures of women, out of worship of the divine
beauty of the human form; and St. Francis of Assisi expresses the
spiritual emotion in quite a different manner. But no, Tolstoy has a
certain kind of religious consciousness in mind, and this should be
expressed by all art and all artists in a uniform mode until we have
gone back to primitive conditions.
"I yield to no one in my admiration of the grand old man of Russia. He
is one of the noblest souls that ever walked this earth, and as an
artist, when he is at his best and does not preach, he is superb; there
are few like him. But when he begins to philosophize and moralize, few
can rise to the height of absurdity as quickly as he can. As it seems to
me, Tolstoy's position is something like this:
"'Christianity is a colossal failure,' he says, 'so let us all become
Christians. Our civilization is dreadfully slow in its advance; it has
not as yet outgrown its barbaric primitiveness, so let us all go back to
barbarism. All government is evil, so let us be governed solely by the
teachings of a man who lived nearly two thousand years ago, a man who
was pure and who made no study of the wicked conditions of our time. It
is only thus that we can become free--by a circumlocutory process of
self-abnegation, self-sacrifice and self-annihilation. Let us become
slaves of the theory of minding our neighbors' business and we will be
free. The power of will is the greatest thing in the world; he who
follows his free will becomes a slave and is doomed to damnation. Let us
be ourselves; let us stifle our feelings, become altruists and get away
from ourselves. All government is tyranny; let us abolish all
government, adopt a rigid, ancient, mystic morality, and let everyone
become his own tyrant. Our morality is a failure; it has produced a
false art; therefore we must have a true art which will promulgate our
morality. Art that exists for mere beauty cannot be understood by the
great masses, therefore let us have an art for the masses which will be
beautiful. Our Christianity is a failure, therefore we must convert art
to Christianity and send it forth as a missionary of the Gospels as I
interpret them.' This, as I see it, is the queer position of Tolstoy,
but his theories are exceedingly well-meant and highly interesting, and
I am glad that we are to have a lecture this evening on Tolstoy's
theories of art by one who is a thorough student of Tolstoy and to whom
the master's teachings are near and dear.
"I must not forget that I am not the speaker of the evening; I merely
wanted to hint at the importance of the subject so that you may give it
due attention, but I must not transgress upon the time of the lecturer,
for the way of the transgressor, according to Tolstoy and others, is
said to be hard. Besides, the chairman is not supposed to have any
opinions; his duty is only to eulogize the speaker--in a merciless
manner--and to introduce him with a few appropriate, well-chosen and
ill-fated remarks. The chairman at best is only a relic of barbarism,
and should be abolished."
And Keidansky at last introduced the speaker, his friend, Max Lubinsky,
who, after treating his audience to a bit of satire at the expense of
"the eloquent and loquacious chairman," proceeded to give a simple,
sympathetic and modest interpretation of Tolstoy's "What is Art?"
illustrating his talk with copious reading from the book, and now and
then referring to his written notes. It was a comprehensive review of
Tolstoy's book he gave, and as to his own ideas on art he did not
sufficiently differ from Tolstoy to have a formidable opinion on the
matter, and he had too much reverence for the great Russian to voice it
just then. The presiding officer did not close the meeting without again
remarking that "art with a purpose is art with an impediment," and that
"the only excuse of art is its uselessness." From what I overheard after
the meeting I observed that there was a strong anti-Keidansky feeling in
the gathering. He had evidently gone too far, had voiced his notions too
freely, and had no right to take up so much time in speaking. Besides,
most of those present were social reformers, tremendously in earnest,
and they felt, more or less, that Tolstoy was right; that art was only
great as an advocate.
As we were walking together, homeward bound, a little later, I said:
"My dear fellow, you've got yourself into trouble. They are all up in
arms against you and your awful heresies. You have almost delivered the
lecture of the evening yourself, and the circle won't stand for it. Next
thing you know you'll be court-martialed."
"I almost expected that this would happen," said Keidansky, "but I had
to say what I did. It was an imperative duty. I am only sorry that I
forgot a few more things I had on my mind to say. Audiences confuse me
and make me forget my best points. I suppose they will call a special
meeting and pass resolutions to condemn me and my proceedings. But this
will only prove the superiority of individuals over society. Before a
society can pass resolutions, the individual acts. I suppose they'll say
lots of things now. They will say I was trying to make epigrams.
Epigrams are always hateful--to those who cannot make a point in a
volume. They will say I was uttering platitudes. After you convince
people that there are such things as platitudes in the world, they begin
to find them in everything you say. I once had an uncle (he is still
living, only he is very rich, and so I disowned him), and at one time I
explained to him the theory of our moving along the lines of least
resistance. A short while after that we had a very intimate interview
and my uncle told me that I was a lazy, good-for-nothing visionary; that
I did not want to do anything, and moved along the lines of least
resistance.
"I had to say what I did because I did not want the people to go off
with such crude and false conceptions of art. I knew that Lubinsky would
not dare to differ from Tolstoy. He adores the old man. So do I, but I
cannot afford to give up my mind to any one--not until I become a
respectable member of the synagogue, and join a number of secret orders.
Then it does not matter. The worst thing about a charming, noble
personality is that our admiration for it gets the better of our
reasoning power and we become ready to follow it in all its follies.
This is the regrettable influence that Tolstoy has exerted upon
Lubinsky. Thus our emancipators enslave us. 'Be yourself,' says Emerson,
and you become an Emersonian.
"But there is something else I wanted to say on this question of art. We
Jews anticipated and lived in perfect accord with Tolstoy's theory of
art--that art must be religious and must be burdened with a message, or
a purpose--and the result is that we have no fine arts of our own,
except poetry, which has more sighs and sobs and tears and piety than
music and beauty. Of course, the reason for the absence of art among us
is one of the commandments, which forbids the making of images, and oh,
I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this commandment was ever
observed. I do not object so much to the other nine commandments, but
for this one I can never forgive my people. And here, by the way, is an
example of what the religious consciousness can do for art.
"There is a religious consciousness which makes people unconscious of
religion. 'The piety of art is the quest of the unattainable,' and the
more freedom you give it from missions the greater the mission it will
fulfil. One more answer to the theory of art for Tolstoy's sake: Here is
a fable that occurred to me as I was listening to the lecture. I have no
time to elaborate and polish it, but I give you the right to plagiarize
it.
"'You must pardon me,' said Art to Beauty, one day, 'if I do not pay so
much attention to you as I used to, but this is a world of evils and
problems, and I will have to leave you for awhile and go forth and help
to make a better, juster system of society.' And Art went forth to fight
the battle of the poor and the oppressed, and Beauty waited wistfully
for its return, alone and deserted, withered and faded. After many years
Beauty went in quest of her lost lover, Art, who had not returned, and
she came upon a field of battle, and there, transformed into rebel
warrior, was her lost lover, Art. And even as she gazed, a shot was
fired from the enemy, and it pierced the heart of Art, and he lay
prostrate and dead before her."
V
"Three Stages of the Game"
We had been speaking of "the only law that never changes"--the law of
change: of the glorious ascent of the youthful nonconformist, and of the
sad descent of the older and wiser compromiser--a theme, by the way, as
old as age and yet as new as youth. We all had friends we once looked up
to and now looked down upon, and we indulged in a few reminiscences.
Every army had its deserters, every cause its traitors, and the
crusaders who carried the red flag also changed their minds, lost heart
and ran home.