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.
The French Synagogue, as we have indicated, presents a case in point.
During the past seventy years it has stagnated. No single luminous
thought lights up its dreary record, no single whole-souled effort to
appropriate the larger truths of our time dignifies its annals. In the
history of the Reform movement it merits no further mention.