IN HOLLAND
HOLLAND was at this time the one European country in which man
was allowed to worship his Maker according to the dictates of his
conscience. Commercial activity in Europe has always been accompanied,
or followed, by speculative freedom, and where these two forms of
national vigour flourish religious bigotry languishes. The Dutch, like
the Italians, and even in a higher degree, had from the earliest times
shown a spirit of insubordination to papal authority. The decrees of
the Holy See had frequently met with a stubborn resistance in which
beggars and princes, prelates and burgesses heartily participated.
The long feud between Guelf and Ghibelline, stirred up by Gregory
Hildebrand’s overweening ambition, had found both the people and the
clergy of Holland on the side of the Pope’s enemies. And not only the
decrees but also the doctrines of Rome had often failed to command
obedience in this undutiful daughter of the Church, who from the
very first lent an attentive ear to the whisperings of infidelity.
All the heresies that sprang up in Europe from the beginning of the
twelfth century to the beginning of the sixteenth--from Tanchelyn
to Luther--had been welcomed by the Dutch. Wickliffe found numerous
sympathisers in the Netherlands; and the victims of the Holy See eager
avengers. Many Hollanders, who had taken part in the crusade against
Huss and his followers in Bohemia, returned home horror-struck at the
cruelty of those under whose banner they had fought. Scepticism grew
with the growth of ecclesiastical depravity and persecution with the
growth of ecclesiastical authority, so that in no other region, not
even excepting Spain, was the infernal ingenuity of the Inquisition
more severely taxed than in Holland. It was here that the longest
anathemas were pronounced, and the most hideous tortures endured. The
annual returns of the banned, fleeced, flayed, and burnt, amounted to
thousands. But at last tyranny bred despair, and despair rebellion.
People and nobility were united in a common cause. If the burgesses
hated the priests for their persecuting spirit, the barons hated them
as cordially for the wealth and power which they had contrived to
usurp. And then came the invention of the printing press to prepare
the way for the great day of the Reformation, on which was signed the
death-warrant of mediaeval Catholicism.
In Holland alone rebellion did not degenerate into a new species of
despotism. While the hidalgos of Castile, impelled by lust for glory
and gold, carried into a new world the cross and the cruelty of the
old, conquering kingdoms for Charles and Philip, souls for Christ
and wealth for themselves; while even in England one sovereign was
engaged in persecuting Popery, another Puritanism, and a third both,
the citizens of the Netherlands were laying the foundations of a less
splendid but far more solid prosperity. As in the Venetian, so in the
Dutch Republic, integrity and intelligence in the individual were
esteemed more highly than orthodoxy, and an extensive commerce was
regarded as more valuable to the State than a rigid creed--an attitude
which earned the Hollanders a reputation for worldly weakliness and
carnal self-seeking among our stern upholders of sanctity and inspired
their brother-Protestants of Barebone’s Parliament to denounce them
as enemies of Christ. Briefly, the Dutch had never submitted to the
suicidal necessity of extinguishing liberty at home in order to
achieve greatness abroad, nor had they subscribed to the mad doctrine
which, under one form or another, had obsessed Europe during so many
centuries: that it is a good man’s duty to make a hell of this world in
order to inherit paradise in the next.
It was in Holland, accordingly, that the Jews of Spain and Portugal,
fleeing from the holocausts of the Holy Office, found a harbour of
safety. Whilst the Netherlands lay under Spanish rule these emigrants
were repeatedly expelled from various Dutch cities, owing to the
citizens’ dread of seeing the Inquisition--which had been introduced
into the country by Charles V. in 1522--established amongst them.
But the liberation from the foreign yoke was to change all this--not
without a struggle. In 1591 a Jewish consul of the Sultan of Morocco
proposed to the burgesses of Middelburg that they should permit the
Portuguese Marranos to settle in their town. The shrewd burgesses would
gladly have welcomed these commercial allies, but they were obliged
to yield to the prejudices of the Protestant clergy, not unnaturally
embittered by their long fight for liberty. The opposition, however,
was short-lived. The Dutch recognised kindred spirits in the Jews.
They shared their implacable hatred of the Spanish tyrant and of
Catholicism, as they shared their aptitude for trade. Under William
of Orange the dream of toleration became a political reality, and in
1593 the first contingent of Portuguese pseudo-Christians landed at
Amsterdam.
But, though the flames of the _Quemadero_ had been left far behind,
the fear which centuries of ill-usage had instilled into the Jews’
hearts remained with them. The secrecy, with which these hunted
refugees at first deemed it necessary to meet and worship, excited
the suspicion of their Christian neighbours, who, not unreasonably,
concluding that so many precautions covered a sinister design, informed
the authorities. ♦1596♦ On the Fast of Atonement the Jews, while at
prayer, were surprised by armed men. The appearance of these myrmidons
awakened memories of the Inquisition in the breasts of the worshippers,
who fled, thereby deepening the suspicion. And while the Jews were
trying to escape from imaginary Papists, the Dutch officers searched
the Jewish prayer-house for crucifices and wafers. An explanation
ensued, the prisoners were released, and the congregation returned
to its devotions. After this incident, which made it clear to the
Dutch that the Marranos were not Papist conspirators, but only
harmless hypocrites, the latter were allowed to stay, under certain
restrictions, and a synagogue was inaugurated in 1598 amid great
enthusiasm.
The good news drew more refugees from Spain and Portugal to Holland.
The persecuted crypto-Jews of the Peninsula began to look upon
Amsterdam as a new Jerusalem, or rather as a new world--so different
and so novel was the treatment which they met with there from that
to which they were accustomed in every other Christian country. To
Amsterdam, therefore, they continued to flee from the racks and
the stakes of the Inquisition--men, women, and even monks--in ever
increasing numbers, so that a new synagogue had to be built in 1608.
Six years afterwards they secured a burial ground in the neighbourhood
of the town. The community rejoiced exceedingly in the acquisition
of this cemetery, though on every body carried thither they had to
pay a tax to each church that the funeral procession passed on its
way. Tolerated though they were, these Peninsular exiles were still
distrusted by the common people as Catholic spies in disguise, and it
was not till 1615 that they were officially recognised as settlers
and traders. Before long a Hebrew printing press was established in
Amsterdam, and gradually mere tolerance grew into warm welcome. The
community was about this time joined by immigrants driven out of
Germany by the ravages of the Thirty-Years’ War. These German Jews
formed the mob of the colony; despised by their cultured brethren as
uncouth and, in turn, despising them as spurious Jews. Hence arose a
schism, and the German section set up a synagogue of their own. But
community of creed and the subtle affinity of blood, reinforced by the
necessity of presenting a united front to a hostile world, overcame
the prejudices of class, and a reconciliation was effected in 1639.
Amsterdam speedily became the seat of a prosperous and united Hebrew
congregation, and the stronghold of a vigorous and uncompromising
Judaism. The colony consisted of men and women, everyone of whom had
suffered for the faith. It was natural, therefore, that they should
strive to safeguard by all means in their power a treasure preserved
at so enormous a cost of blood and tears. Faith, unfortunately, is not
far removed from fanaticism, and the victims of tyranny are only too
prone to become its ministers. The Jews of Amsterdam had undergone a
long and severe course in the most distinguished school of cruelty and
bigotry, and it is no wonder if they graduated with high honours. The
Rabbis enjoyed an immense power over the souls and the purses of their
disciples; they levied heavy fines upon members of the Synagogue who
incurred their displeasure; and in their promptitude to stifle freedom
of thought they rivalled the Satraps of the Church. A sad illustration
of Hebrew intolerance is supplied by the story of the hapless Uriel
Acosta.
He was a gentleman of Oporto, one of those Marranos whose fathers had
been taught to love Christ by torture, and who had bought the right
of residence in their native land by baptism. Though brought up as a
devout Catholic and destined for a clerical career, Uriel was repelled
by the mechanical formalities of Catholicism, and he reverted to the
old faith; thus escaping from the meshes of the Church only to fall
into those of the Synagogue. ♦1617♦ On his arrival at Amsterdam the
idealist was rudely awakened to the meanness of reality. He found
actual Judaism widely different from the picture which his vivid
imagination had drawn of it, and he was, unfortunately for himself, too
honest to conceal his disappointment. The independence of character
which had induced Uriel to give up social position, home, and fortune
for the sake of conscience, also caused him to disagree with the pious
mummeries of the Hebrew priests. A long contest between the individual
and the institution ended in an inglorious victory for the latter.
Uriel Acosta’s rebellion was visited with excommunication and social
ostracism. He was figuratively extinguished in more senses than one.
All his friends and relatives shunned him as a leper, or rather ignored
him as if he had ceased to exist. It was death in life.
Alone in a city whose language he could not speak, stoned by those
for whom he had sacrificed all, spurned even by his nearest and
dearest, Uriel was driven to the publication of a book which cost him
imprisonment and a fine; for the Rabbis denounced it to the Dutch
authorities as hostile not only to Judaism, but also to Christianity.
This widened the breach between him and his brethren. Thus fifteen
years of misery and loneliness dragged on, till, unable to bear his
awful isolation any longer, this poor outcast from a people of outcasts
tried to regain the favour of the Synagogue and the society of his
fellow-men by feigned repentance. ♦1633♦ There ended the second part of
the trilogy. The third began when Uriel’s simulated conversion was seen
through. The discovery led to new persecution and insults innumerable.
He was again ostracized by his relatives, robbed of his betrothed, and
excommunicated by the Synagogue.
Seven years of suffering elapsed, and the victim at last, worn out by a
fight to which his sensitive nature was unequal, prematurely aged and
longing for rest, once more offered to sign a recantation. Pardon was
granted, but not without terrible penalties and fresh humiliation. The
penitent was made to read aloud his confession of sin; he was subjected
to a public castigation--thirty-nine lashes--and was obliged to lie
prone across the threshold of the synagogue for all the congregation to
walk over and trample upon him. This disgrace drove Uriel to despair,
attempt at murder, and suicide.
These things happened in 1640. In the ensuing year John Evelyn, whom
we have seen at Venice, paid a visit to the community--probably to the
very synagogue--that had witnessed poor Uriel’s sufferings, and he
enters his impressions in his Diary as follows:
“_August 19._ Next day I returned to Amsterdam, where I went to a
synagogue of the Jews, being Saturday; the ceremonies, ornaments,
lamps, law, and scrolls afforded matter for my wonder and enquiry. The
women were secluded from the men, being seated above in galleries,
and having their heads muffled with linnen after a fantastical and
somewhat extraordinary fashion.
“They have a separate burying-ground, full of sepulchres with Hebrew
inscriptions, some of them very stately. In one, looking through a
narrow crevice, I perceived divers bookes lye about a corpse, for it
seems when any learned Rabbi dies, they bury some of his books with
him. With the help of a stick I raked out some of the leaves, written
in Hebrew characters, but much impaired.”
“_Aug. 28._ I was brought acquainted with a Burgundian Jew who had
married an apostate Kentish woman. I asked him divers questions; he
told me, amongst other things, that the world should never end, that
our souls transmigrated, and that even those of the most holy persons
did pennance in the bodies of bruits after death, and so he interpreted
the banishment and salvage life of Nebucodnezer; that all the Jews
should rise again, and be lead to Jerusalem.... He showed me severall
bookes of their devotion, which he had translated into English for the
instruction of his wife; he told me that when the Messias came, all the
ships, barkes, and vessels of Holland should, by the powere of certain
strange whirle-winds be loosed from their ankers and transported in
a moment to all the desolat ports and havens throughout the world
wherever the dispersion was, to convey their breathren and tribes to
the Holy Citty; with other such like stuff. He was a merry drunken
fellow.” It was the age of Messianic dreams. Oppression had kindled
the longing for deliverance, and the Jews all over Europe were eagerly
looking to the advent of the Redeemer: an expectation which in the
minds of the untutored and the enthusiastic took strange shapes. But
even then there were Jews affected by other than Messianic chimeras.
In the Dutch synagogue which Evelyn visited on that Saturday in
August 1641, he may perhaps have seen a boy; a wide-eyed, thoughtful
little Hebrew of some nine years of age. Evelyn would have fixed his
intelligent gaze upon that child’s face, had he had any means of
divining that the diminutive Hebrew body before him clothed a soul
destined to open new doors of light to Christian Europe. The boy was
Baruch Spinoza, born on the 24th of November, 1632, of parents who, for
their faith, had given up wealth and a happy home in sunny Spain, and
had sought freedom on the foggy shores of the North Sea. Rabbinical
lore was young Spinoza’s first study; mediaeval Hebrew wisdom, largely
made up of Messianic and Cabbalistic mists, his next; to be followed
by the profane philosophy of Descartes: altogether a singular blend of
mental nutriment, yet all assimilated and transformed by young Baruch’s
brain; a multitude of diverse guides, yet all leading the original mind
the same way--not quite their way. Study bred independent thought,
and independent thought translated itself into independent action.
Baruch ceased to frequent the synagogue; for the synagogue had ceased
to supply him with the food for which his soul craved. ♦1656♦ A bribe
of 1,000 florins a year was offered by the Rabbis, but was firmly
rejected; excommunication followed, and curses many and minute, not
unaccompanied by an attempt at assassination; but they were serenely
disregarded. Baruch was not Uriel. For answer he translated himself
into Benedictus, and the name was not a misnomer; for he was soon to
become known as one of the kindliest of men, as well as one of the
deepest and boldest of thinkers that our modern world has seen.
When the two goddesses appeared to Spinoza, as they do to every one
of us once in our lives: the one plump and proud and persuasively
fair, the other modest of look, reverent, and unadorned; and they
offered to the young Jew of Amsterdam the momentous option of paths,
he did not long hesitate in his choice. Turning his back upon the
world, and a deaf ear to its Siren songs of success, he chose to
earn a modest livelihood by making lenses. Too honest to accept the
Synagogue’s price for hypocrisy, he was too proud even to accept the
gifts of disinterested friendship and admiration, and too fond of his
freedom to accept even a professorial chair of Philosophy. Like his
great contemporary and compatriot Rembrandt, Spinoza was incapable
of complying with the world’s behests or of adapting himself to its
standards. The public did not inspire him, and its applause left
him profoundly unmoved. He scorned the smiles as much as the frowns
of Fortune, and calmly pursued his own path, undaunted by obloquy,
unseduced by temptation: a veritable Socrates of a man, voluntarily
and wholly devoted to the humble service of Truth. In meditation he
found his heart’s delight, and, while grinding glasses for optical
instruments in his solitary attic, he excogitated other aids for
the eye of man. A quiet pipe of tobacco, a friendly chat with his
landlord or his fellow-lodgers and their children, and, when bent on
more violent dissipation, a single-combat between two spiders, or
the antics of a foolish fly entangled in their toils, furnished the
cheerful ascetic with abundant diversion. On those last occasions, his
biographer tells us, “he would sometimes break into laughter.” ♦1677♦
And having lived his own life, Spinoza died as those die whom the
Olympians love: in the meridian of manhood and intellectual vigour,
leaving behind him the memory of a blameless character to his friends,
and the fruits of a mighty genius to the world at large. For the
goddess to whom he had dedicated his whole life did not despise the
sacrifice.
Every man who is born into this world is either a Greek or a Jew.
Spinoza was both. His teaching may be described as a recapitulation of
the world’s thought. Hellenic rationalism and Hebrew mysticism found in
his work an organic union. Briefly stated, the lesson which the Jewish
sage taught the Western mind, like all great lessons, was a very simple
one: that man is not the centre of creation; that the universe is a
bigger affair than the earth; and that man holds an exceedingly small
place even on this small atom of a planet. Old Europe was gradually
growing to the suspicion that one book did not contain the whole of
God’s truth between its covers--that it did not constitute a final
manifestation of the will of God. She was now to hear, much to her
astonishment and indignation, that the human race did not engross the
whole attention of Providence. It was an elementary lesson enough; but
it came as a revelation even to minds like Lessing’s and Goethe’s.
It was a salutary lesson, too; but it was too new to be recognised
as such. Man is a creature of conceit; the _Tractatus_ would teach
him humility. Therefore, the Synagogue anathematized it, Synodical
wisdom condemned it, the States-general interdicted it, the Catholic
Church placed it upon the Index: they all execrated it; none of them
understood it. Posterity has embraced it. To-day who would be a thinker
must in mental attitude, if not in doctrine, be a Spinozist.[125]