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.