the wrath of the orthodox communities. But in their detestation of the
Rabbis the Chassidim returned in full measure all the hatred they
received. The Zaddik is the Moses of his age: the Rabbis its Korah and
Abiram. Where the Chassidic party in any community gained the upper hand,
the Rabbi was deposed and a Zaddik, if that was possible, elected in his
place. The issue of these bitter attacks upon the old nobility of the
Jewish race was a rigorous persecution. In many places the Chassidim were
excommunicated, in others their leaders were publicly scourged and put
into the stocks. Their books were burnt and their synagogues forcibly
closed. But persecution produced only the usual result of increasing the
popularity and the numbers of the sect. The devotion of the Chassidim to
each other and to their common cause was increased a hundred‐fold by
suffering. In one case a distinguished Zaddik was accused of treason,
before the Russian authorities, and was thrown into prison. In Russia,
however, the power of money is considerable, and on payment of a large
ransom not only was the beloved Zaddik released but as an obvious
consequence his reputation greatly profited: the day of his release was
celebrated as a yearly festival, while his sufferings were regarded by his
followers as a sin‐offering that atoned for the iniquities of his age.
From this time the government maintained a purely neutral attitude towards
the new sect, and ere long the persecution by the orthodox ceased.
The cessation of persecution may possibly be accounted for by the fact
that Chassidism as a secession soon ceased to be formidable. There were
early divisions within the sect. Even Beer’s disciples began to quarrel
over theological differences and to found separate communities. When once
the course of corruption and spiritual decay had begun, it was the
interest of the false Zaddikim to accentuate these differences. Each
Zaddik sought to have a whole little sect to himself, from which to draw
an undivided revenue. And each deluded little sect as it arose boasted of
the exclusive possession of the true Zaddik.
It must not be supposed that these strictures apply to the whole class of
Zaddikim. The greater number of Baalshem’s leading disciples as well as
Beer’s were beyond question men of pure, unalloyed piety, who would have
rejected with scorn any idea of making a trade of their sacred profession.
Their motives and their zeal were alike ideal. Many gave up highly paid
posts as Rabbis when they joined the new sect. Some emigrated to Palestine
to lead a holy life on holy ground, others sought to become religious
specialists, following out practically, although with some exaggeration, a
favourite doctrine of the Founder, that he who observes but one
commandment devotedly and lovingly, may reach the goal desired: the union
with God. Thus one Zaddik made it his business never to tell the smallest
falsehood, whatever the cost or the inconvenience of truth might be. It is
related that the Russian Government, suspecting the Jews of his town of
smuggling, consented to withdraw the charge if he declared his brethren
innocent. Having no alternative but either to bring misfortune on his
brethren or to tell an untruth, he prayed to God to save him from this
dilemma by sending death upon him. And lo! when the officials came to
fetch him before the law court they found him dead. Another, thinking that
the commandment in Exodus xxiii. 3, relating to the help that should be
given to a neighbour or enemy when “his ass is lying under its burden,”
was practically unobserved, devoted himself to its fulfilment. He was
continually to be seen in the streets, helping one man to load his waggon,
and another to drag his cart out of the mire. A third made the service of
the oppressed his religious specialty. It is said that one day his wife,
having had a quarrel with her maid, was setting out to the magistrate of
the town to obtain satisfaction. Noticing that her husband was about to
accompany her, she asked him whither he was bound. He replied, “to the
magistrate.” His wife declared that it was below his dignity to take any
part in a quarrel with a servant. She could deal with the matter herself.
The Zaddik replied, “That may be, but I intend to represent your maid, who
when accused by my wife will find no one willing to take her part.” And
then, bursting into a passion of tears, he quoted Job xxxi. 13: “If I did
despise the cause of my man‐servant or of my maid‐servant, when they
contended with me, what shall I do when God riseth up?”
Several Zaddikim were learned men and thinkers of no ordinary kind. The
works of Solomon Ladier or of Mendel Witipsker, read with attention and
without Western preconceptions, certainly give the impression of both
originality and depth of thought. But most characteristic of all is the
passionate yearning of authors such as these towards the Divine. The
reader is astonished and moved by the intense sincerity and ardour of
their longing after God. But, despite the adherence of these worthy men,
the fate of Chassidism, as a regenerative force, was sealed from the day
when Zaddikism replaced the original doctrines of the sect.
For, apart from the obvious theological considerations already suggested,
there are two points of inherent weakness in the cult of the Zaddik which
naturally doomed it to perversion and failure. The necessary
qualifications for “Zaddikship” are wholly undefined. We hear a great deal
about what a Zaddik actually is, but we hear very little about what he
should be. The Zaddik has many virtues, but we are nowhere told what are
his indispensable qualifications. Moreover, the Zaddik is a being who can
be comprehended by the understanding as little as an angel, or as God
Himself. He is realised by faith, not conceived by thought. Hence there is
no human test of a true Zaddik except the test of miracles; and every
student of religious history knows the deceitful character of that test.
The second source of danger arose from the Chassidim holding it to be
their sacred duty to provide for the Zaddik a life of comfort and ease.
The Zaddik must pursue his divine avocations undisturbed by grosser cares.
But what were the consequences? The Chassidim believed they could win the
grace and blessing of the Zaddik by the richness and variety of their
gifts. A Zaddik’s career became a very profitable concern. The result of
both defects was that not only was the opportunity given for every
scheming charlatan to become a Zaddik, but inducements were offered to
make the deception lucrative. Hence the anxiety of the false Zaddikim,
already noticed, to found separate communities.
Among the Chassidim of to‐day there is not one in ten thousand who has the
faintest conception of those sublime ideas which inspired Baalshem and his
immediate disciples. It is still the interest of the wretched ringleaders
of a widely spread delusion to crush and keep down every trace of
reflection and thought so that they may play at will with the conscience
and purses of their adherents. The new scientific movement, inaugurated by
such men as Krochmal, Zunz, and others who came under the influence of the
German critical spirit, found in them its hottest and most fanatical
opponents. That the cult of the Zaddikim has not led to still more
disastrous consequences is solely due to the fact that the Chassidim in
general have remained faithful to the Law. It is the Law, against the
excessive study of which the original Chassidim protested, that has put
limits to the license of its modern false prophets.
Amid much that is bad, the Chassidim have preserved through the whole
movement a warm heart, and an ardent, sincere faith. There is a certain
openness of character and a ready friendliness about even the modern
Chassidim which are very attractive. Religion is still to them a matter of
life and death. Their faith is still real enough to satisfy the demands of
a Luther, but it is diverted and wasted upon unworthy objects. If
Chassidism is to be reformed, its worship must no longer be of man; it
must be brought back again to the source of all Beauty, all Wisdom, and
all Goodness; it must be restored to God.
II. NACHMAN KROCHMAL AND THE “PERPLEXITIES OF THE TIME”
In her good‐natured panegyric of mediocrity which is known under the title
of _Scenes of Clerical Life_, George Eliot remarked: “Let us hope that
there is a saving ignorance.”
Strange as this demand may sound, the wish of the great novelist to see
her favoured mediocrities “saved,” has been shared by the great majority
of mankind. I know that I, at least, echo that desire with all my heart.
And I am afraid that I am prompted by some rather selfish reasons. It
would be somewhat hard, when one is born with small abilities, but a great
desire for being saved, to be deprived of the hope held out by the author
of _Adam Bede_.
But there are some, I am afraid, who are not satisfied with this dictum of
George Eliot. They show a strong tendency to make salvation a monopoly of
ignorance. This is a little too selfish. With all due respect to every
form of ignorance, sacred as well as profane, we ought, I think, to
believe that there is also such a thing as a saving knowledge. Nay, we
might go even farther. There may be certain epochs in history when there
is hardly any other path to salvation than knowledge, and the deep search
after truth.
We all know the words of the Psalmist, “The Lord preserveth the simple.”
But as there are periods in the life of the individual when naïveté has to
give way to sagacity and reflection, so there are times in history at
which Providence does not choose to leave men in simplicity. At such times
doubts arise, as though of themselves; questions suddenly become open when
they had been supposed solved for centuries; and the human mind is stirred
by a sceptical breeze of which no man can tell whence it came. One may
under those circumstances be indifferent, but one can be simple no more.
Even in such cases, however, man has no cause to despair. When our dearest
beliefs are shaken by all kinds of doubts, Providence sends us also great
thinkers, earnest lovers of truth, who devote their lives to enlightening
our puzzled minds. Not that these men try to answer all the questions by
which we feel perplexed. They endeavour to satisfy us, partly by showing
that many of our difficulties are not difficulties at all, but merely
arise from superficiality, and partly by proving that the great cause
about which we feel so much anxiety does not exactly depend on the
solution of the questions that are troubling us. They give to the things
which are dearer to us than our life a fresh aspect, which enables us to
remain attached to them with the same devotion and love as before. To
speak again in the words of the Psalmist: “Thou sendest forth Thy Spirit,
and they are created, and Thou renewest the face of the earth.”
This spirit that renews the face of things is what I understand by “saving
knowledge.” As men of that saving knowledge we may regard Rabban Johanan
ben Zaccai(19) and his disciples, who made it possible for Judaism to
survive the destruction of the Temple, which some believed to involve the
end of the religion. As such men we may look upon R. Saadiah Gaon and his
followers, who worked at a time when Judaism was menaced in its inner
life, namely in the tradition, by the attempts of the narrow‐minded
Caraites to convert it into a bookish religion.(20) Such men were
Maimonides and his successors, who came to the aid of religion when it had
got into dogmatic troubles by reason of its coming into contact with
various philosophical systems. And in order to approach the subject of the
present essay, I venture to say that a man of such saving knowledge was
also Nachman Krochmal, who lived and laboured in the first half of the
present century, when Judaism had been terribly shaken by the scepticism
of Voltaire, and the platitudes of the so‐called Mendelssohnian school.
Nachman Krochmal was born on the 17th of February in the year 1785. His
father, Solomon Krochmal, was a merchant of Brody, a commercial frontier
town in the north‐east of Galicia in Austria. In his early years Solomon
often used to visit Berlin for business purposes. He is said to have seen
Mendelssohn there on one occasion, and to have learned greatly to revere
the Jewish sage. And it is not unlikely that Nachman’s subsequent
admiration for Mendelssohn was partly due to his father’s influence.
Solomon was a man of considerable wealth, and he, therefore, endeavoured
to give his son the best possible education. But as a respectable member
of a Polish community a hundred years ago, Solomon had to follow the
fashion adopted by his neighbours, and the best possible education
consisted in affording the child an opportunity to study the Talmud and
other Rabbinical works. All other languages and their literatures were
sealed books to the child—a very absurd and regrettable fashion indeed.
But let us not be too hard on Polish Jews. I have been told that there are
countries on our globe where people have been driven by the force of
fashion into the opposite extreme; where, with few exceptions, they think
that the Talmud, as well as the whole Hebrew literature, must needs be
excluded from the programme of a gentleman’s education.
Happily, or the reverse, Krochmal’s childhood did not last long, for in
the year 1798 we find that Nachman, a boy of fourteen, was already married
to a Miss Haberman in Zolkiew. As a result of this foolish custom of
marrying at so very early an age, Nachman was hardly ever a boy; we have
at once to deal with him as a man.
It was then customary in Poland, and perhaps is so still, for the father
of the bride to provide for the support of the young couple for some years
after their marriage. In order to reduce the expense of this arrangement,
the bridegroom had to reside in the same house as his father‐in‐law. Thus
we see Krochmal removing from Brody to Zolkiew, the native town of his
wife. Here Krochmal lived in the house of her father for many years,
entirely devoted to his studies; and he certainly needed all his time for
them. For he now began to expand the sphere of his education, to embrace
subjects quite new to him. By his marriage Nachman seems to have gained a
certain amount of independence, and the first use he made of it was to
study the _Guide of the Perplexed_(21) of Maimonides, the _Commentaries_
of Ibn Ezra on the Bible,(22) and other more or less philosophical works
written in the Hebrew language. His next step was to learn German; but, as
his biographers inform us, he was not able to follow this course without
undergoing many struggles, and overcoming many obstacles.
It would lead us too far to give a full account of the difficulties which
the young scholar had to conquer while pursuing his new studies. They will
be sufficiently characterised by the following extract from a Hebrew
letter of his disciple, Solomon Leb Rapoport, who, writing in 1841
concerning his master and friend, remarks: “Consider this, ye inhabitants
of Germany”—and, I may add, ye inhabitants of England—“and you will be
astounded. It is easy for you to avoid being one‐sided, and to study
different sciences, for you possess many schools and teachers from every
branch of learning. It is not so in Poland and Russia even at present,
much less was it so forty years ago. There is no teacher, no guide, no
supporter, for the Jew who desires any sort of improvement. The Jew who
wishes to enter on a new path of learning has to prepare the road for
himself. And when he has entered on it, his friend will come to him and
ask, ‘Is it true that you have got scientific books in your house? Mind
you do not mention it to any one. There are enough bigots in the town to
persecute you and all your family if they get scent of it.’ ” It was under
these conditions that Krochmal pursued his studies, which were by no means
few or easy, for he was not content with a knowledge of only the lighter
portions of German literature. He soon began to read the works of Lessing,
Mendelssohn, and more especially of Kant, who always remained his
favourite philosopher. In his later years he also became acquainted with
the writings of Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel. But to the last he could not
console himself for having missed the advantages of a systematic
university education.
After having learned German, Krochmal proceeded to acquire a knowledge of
Latin and French, and to read the best books written in those languages.
To deepen his knowledge of Hebrew, he studied Arabic and Syraic, but we
are unable to say how far he succeeded in mastering these languages. With
these studies, which appear to have occupied our philosopher for an
interval of ten years after his marriage, the first period of his life
seems also to end. But the hard work of ten years did not pass over the
delicate youth without undermining his health for ever. At the age of
twenty‐four, Krochmal fell sick of an illness which compelled him to
interrupt his work. He was forced to go to Lemberg to consult the doctors
of that town, and he had to remain there for a long time. And now began
Krochmal’s career as a teacher. For during his stay at Lemberg there
gathered round him a band of young scholars whom Krochmal’s fame had
already reached. It is useless to enumerate the names of all these
students. Among them figured Isaac Erter, Samson Bloch, A. Bodek, and many
others. The most gifted of them was undoubtedly Rapoport, who afterwards
became even more famous than his master Krochmal. It is not easy to define
accurately the relation that subsisted between these two men. Graetz, in
his history, calls Rapoport a disciple of Krochmal. Rapoport himself, in
his memoir of Krochmal, describes the latter as a dear friend with whom he
was wont to discuss literary topics. Zunz does not mention Rapoport at all
in his account of our author. It seems to me that this relation may be
most aptly defined by the Talmudic term “Talmid‐Chaber,”(23) “disciple‐
colleague.”
Indeed, Krochmal’s whole method of teaching was rather that of a companion
than of a professor. He gave no set lectures on particular subjects, but
conveyed his instruction rather by means of suggestive conversations with
his younger friends. His usual habit was to walk with his pupils in the
neighbourhood of the town, and to try to influence their minds each in
accordance with its bent. If any of his disciples showed an inclination
for poetry, Krochmal sought to refine his taste by directing his attention
to the best works in Hebrew and German literature. To another, whose fancy
strayed into mysticism, he recommended the writings of Philo and Ibn Ezra,
at the same time suggesting how the works of the latter should be
interpreted. A third who, like Rapoport, was interested in historical
researches, Krochmal instructed in the methods of critical inquiry.
There must have been some fascinating charm in Nachman’s personality,
which made him irresistible to all who came into contact with him.
Rapoport has described his first interview with Krochmal. “It is more than
thirty years since I first made his acquaintance, and beheld the glory of
his presence. Though he was in weak health, still his soul was strong; and
as soon as I conversed with him there came over me a spirit of judgment
and knowledge. I felt almost transformed into another man.” Elsewhere the
same writer says: “Oh, how sweet to me were these walks with
Krochmal—sweeter than all the pleasures of this world. I could never have
enough of his wisdom; with his every word he conveyed a new lesson.”
After a lengthy stay at Lemberg, Krochmal partially, though not entirely,
recovered from his severe illness; he remained weak and pale for the rest
of his days. His antagonists, the Chassidim, believed him to be possessed
by a demon who could find no better dwelling‐place than in the person of
this arch‐heretic. Had it been in their power they would probably have
dragged him to some exorcist for the purpose of driving out his German,
French, Latin, and other symptoms of demoniacal heresy. Happily the
orthodox were powerless to do this, so Krochmal was left unmolested, and
was allowed to resume his walks and studies. It may be here remarked that
Krochmal in general avoided giving the Chassidim any cause for reasonable
complaint. Rapoport asserts that his master was “deeply religious and a
strict observer of the law. He was zealously anxious to perform every
ordinance, Biblical or Rabbinical.” The only liberty that Krochmal claimed
for himself and his disciples was the right to study what they thought
best and in the way they thought best. When this liberty was attacked, he
showed a firmness and resolution which would hardly have been expected
from this quiet and gentle man. To one of his pupils, who made concessions
to the Chassidim and their Zaddikim worship, Krochmal wrote: “Be firm in
this matter unless you wish to earn the contempt of every honest man. One
who is afraid of these people, and debases himself before them bears a
mean soul that was born to slavery. The man that wishes to rise above the
mob, with its confused notions and corrupt morality, must be courageous as
a lion in conquering the obstacles that beset his path. Consideration of
what people will say, what bigots will whisper, what crafty enemies will
scheme—questions such as these can have but one effect,—to darken the
intellect and confuse the faculty of judgment.”
So Krochmal continued his studies without interruption till 1814, when the
death of his wife’s mother brought his period of ease and comfort to an
end. His father‐in‐law seems to have died some time before, and Krochmal
was forced to seek his own living. He became a merchant, but it is to be
regretted that he did not prove as successful a man of business as he was
a man of letters. He found it a hard struggle to earn a living. But the
severest trial which he had to undergo was the death of his wife in 1826.
In a letter, dating from about this time, to a friend who had asked him
for assistance in his philosophical inquiries, Krochmal wrote—“How can I
help you now? I am already an old man; my head is gray, and my health is
broken. In the last three years I have met with many misfortunes. My
beloved wife died after a long illness. My daughter will soon leave me to
get married, my elder son will depart to seek his livelihood, and I shall
be left alone with only a child of ten years, the son of my old age. I
will lift up mine eyes unto the hills: From whence shall my help come?”
Nachman was evidently in very low spirits at this time, but he was in too
true a sense a philosopher to despair. He turned for comfort to his
studies, and at this dark epoch of his life he first became acquainted
with the Philosophy of Hegel, whose system he was wont to call the
“Philosophy of Philosophies.”
For the next ten years the works of Hegel and inquiries into Jewish
history appear to have absorbed all the leisure that his mercantile
occupation left him. We shall presently see what the result of these
studies was. No fresh subjects were undertaken by Krochmal in the last
years of his life; he had already acquired a fund of knowledge vast enough
to engage all his thoughts. There are, however, some remaining points in
his private circumstances which it may not be uninteresting to mention.
Krochmal, as has been already related, was not prosperous in his business.
Things went from bad to worse, and he was compelled in 1836 to seek a
situation. “There ought to be literary men poor,” some writer has
maintained, “to show whether they are genuine or not.” This test Krochmal
successfully passed through. Even as a young man Nachman’s strength of
character was admired by his contemporaries not less than his rare
learning. In his subsequent distress, he gave evidence of the truth of
this judgment. Despite his poverty, his friends could not prevail upon him
to accept the post of Rabbi in any Jewish community. “I am unwilling,” he
wrote to a friend, “to be the cause of dissensions in any Jewish
congregation. I should prefer to die of hunger rather than become a Rabbi
under present circumstances.” He expressed his views on this subject even
more decidedly on a later occasion when the Berlin congregation offered
him the post of Chief Rabbi in that town. In a letter, conveying his
refusal of this honourable office, he says: “I never thought of becoming
the Conscience‐counsellor (_Gewissensrath_) of men. My line of studies was
not directed to that end, nor would it accord with my disposition and
sentiments. The only post that I should care to accept would be that of
teacher in the Jewish Theological Seminary, which, as I was informed, you
were thinking of establishing in Berlin.” The plan to found such an
institution was not realised till forty years later, and in the interval
Nachman had to look for his living in other regions than Jewish theology.
Being in poor circumstances, and as his children and friends had left him,
he felt very lonely at Zolkiew. “Nobody cares for me here,” he writes,
“and I am equally indifferent.” His one desire was to obtain a situation
at Brody, possibly as book‐keeper with a salary of some thirty pounds a
year, on condition that he would be expected to devote only half the day
to his business duties, thus securing for himself leisure for
philosophical studies.