Caro), with which Weiss’s work concludes. I have already transgressed the
limits of an essay, without flattering myself that I have done anything
like justice to the greatest work on Jewish Tradition which modern Jewish
genius has produced. But I should not like the reader to carry away with
him the false impression that our author shares in the general cry, “Save
us from the Codifiers.” Weiss, himself a Rabbi, and the disciple of the
greatest Rabbis of the first half of this century, is quite aware of the
impossibility of having a law without a kind of manual to it, which brings
the fluid matter into some fixed form, classifying it under its proper
headings, and this is what we call codifying the law. And thus he never
passes any attempt made in this direction without paying due tribute to
its author—be it Maimonides or Caro. But however great the literary value
of a code may be, it does not invest it with the attribute of
infallibility, nor does it exempt the student or the Rabbi who makes use
of it from the duty of examining each paragraph on its own merits, and
subjecting it to the same rules of interpretation that were always applied
to Tradition. Indeed, Weiss shows that Maimonides deviated in some cases
from his own code, when it was required by circumstances.
Nor do I know any modern author who is more in favour of strong authority
than Weiss. His treatment of the struggle between the Patriarch R.
Gamaliel and his adversaries, which I have touched on above, proves this
sufficiently. What Weiss really objects to, is a _weak_ authority—I mean
that phonograph‐like authority which is always busy in reproducing the
voice of others without an opinion of its own, without originality,
without initiative and discretion. The real authorities are those who,
drawing their inspiration from the past, also understand how to reconcile
us with the present and to prepare us for the future.
VIII. THE DOCTRINE OF DIVINE RETRIBUTION IN RABBINICAL LITERATURE
“Blessed be he who knows.” These are the words with which Nachmanides, in
his classical treatise, _Gate of Reward_, dismisses a certain theory of
the Gaonim with regard to this question; after which he proceeds to
expound another theory, which seems to him more satisfactory. This mode of
treatment implies that, unsatisfactory as the one or other theory may
appear to us, it would be presumptuous to reject either entirely, there
being only One who knows the exact truth about the great mystery. But we
may indicate our doubt about one doctrine by putting by its side another,
which we may affirm to be not more absolutely true, but more probable.
This seems to have been the attitude, too, of the compilers of the ancient
Rabbinical literature, in which the most conflicting views about this
grave subject were embodied. Nor did the Synagogue in general feel called
upon to decide between these views. There is indeed no want of theodicies,
for almost every important expounder of Job, as well as every Jewish
philosopher of note, has one with its own system of retribution. Thus
Judaism has no fixed doctrine on the subject. It refused a hearing to no
theory, for fear that it should contain some germ of truth, but on the
same ground it accepted none to the exclusion of the others.
These theories may, perhaps, be conveniently reduced to the two following
main doctrines that are in direct opposition to each other, whilst all
other views about the subject will be treated as the more or less logical
results of the one or other doctrine.
1. There is no death without (preceding) sin, nor affliction without
(preceding) transgression.(156) This view is cited in the name of R. Ammi,
who quoted in corroboration the verses Ez. xviii. 20, and Ps. lxxxix. 33.
Though this Rabbi flourished towards the end of the third century, there
is hardly any doubt that his view was held by the authorities of a much
earlier date. For it can only be under the sway of such a notion of
Retribution that the Tannaim were so anxious to assign some great crime as
the antecedent to every serious calamity by which mankind was visited. The
following illustrations will suffice:—“Pestilence comes into the world for
capital crimes mentioned in the Torah, which are not brought before the
earthly tribunal.... Noisome beasts come into the world for vain swearing
and for profanation of the name (of God). Captivity comes upon the world
for strange worship and incest, and for shedding of blood and for (not)
giving release to the land.” As an example of the misfortune befalling the
individual I will merely allude to a passage in another tractate of the
Talmud, according to which leprosy is to be regarded as the penalty for
immorality, slander, perjury, and similar sins.(157)
If we were now to complement R. Ammi’s view by adding that there is no
happiness without some preceding merit—and there is no serious objection
to making this addition—then it would resolve itself into the theory of
Measure for Measure, which forms a very common standard of reward and
punishment in Jewish literature. Here are a few instances:—“Because the
Egyptians wanted to destroy Israel by water (Exod. i. 22), they were
themselves destroyed by the waters of the Red Sea, as it is said,
Therefore I will _measure_ their former work into their bosom (Is. lxv.
7);” whilst, on the other hand, we read, “Because Abraham showed himself
hospitable towards strangers, providing them with water (Gen. xviii. 4),
God gave to his children a country blessed with plenty of water (Deut.
viii. 1).” Sometimes this form of retribution goes so far as to define a
special punishment to that part of the body which mostly contributed to
the committing of the sin. Thus we read, “Samson rebelled against God by
his eyes, as it is said, Get her (the Philistine woman) for me, for she
pleases _my eyes_ (Judg. xvi. 21); therefore his _eyes_ were put out by
the Philistines (Judg. xviii. 9)”; whilst Absalom, whose sinful pride
began by his _hair_ (2 Sam. xiv. 25), met his fate by his _hair_ (2 Sam.
xviii. 9).(158) Nahum of Gemzo himself explained his blindness and the
maimed condition of his arms and legs as a consequence of a specific
offence in having neglected the duty of succouring a poor man. Addressing
the dead body of the suppliant who perished while Nahum was delaying his
help, he said, “Let my eyes (which had no pity for your pitiful gaze)
become blind; may my hands and legs (that did not hasten to help thine)
become maimed, and finally my whole body be covered with boils.”(159)
“This was the hand that wrote it,” said Cranmer at the stake; “therefore
it shall first suffer punishment.”
It is worth noticing that this retribution does not always consist in a
material reward, but, as Ben Azzai expressed it: “The reward of a command
is a command, and the reward of a transgression is a transgression.”(160)
So again: “Because Abraham showed himself so magnanimous in his treatment
of the king of Sodom, and said, I will not take from thee a thread;
therefore, his children enjoyed the privilege of having the command of
Zizith, consisting in putting a thread or fringe in the border of their
garments.” In another passage we read, “He who is anxious to do acts of
charity will be rewarded by having the means enabling him to do so.”(161)
In more general terms the same thought is expressed when the Rabbis
explained the words, Ye shall sanctify yourselves, and ye shall be holy
(Lev. xi. 44), to the effect that if man takes the initiative in holiness,
even though in a small way, Heaven will help him to reach it to a much
higher degree.(162)
Notwithstanding these passages, to which many more might be added, it
cannot be denied that there are in the Rabbinical literature many passages
holding out promises of _material_ reward to the righteous as well as
threatening the wicked with _material_ punishment. Nor is there any need
of denying it. Simple‐minded men—and such the majority of the Rabbis
were—will never be persuaded into looking with indifference on pain and
pleasure; they will be far from thinking that poverty, loss of children,
and sickness are no evil, and that a rich harvest, hope of posterity, and
good health, are not desirable things. It _does_ lie in our nature to
consider the former as curses and the latter as blessings; “and if this be
wrong there is no one to be made responsible for it but the Creator of
nature.” Accordingly the question must arise, How can a just and
omnipotent God allow it to happen that men should suffer innocently? The
most natural suggestion towards solving the difficulty would be that we
are _not_ innocent. Hence R. Ammi’s assertion that affliction and death
are both the outcome of sin and transgression; or, as R. Chanina ben Dossa
expressed it, “It is not the wild beast but sin which kills.”(163)
We may thus perceive in this theory an attempt “to justify the ways of God
to man.” Unfortunately it does not correspond with the real facts. The cry
wrung from the prophets against the peace enjoyed by the wicked, and the
pains inflicted on the righteous, which finds its echo in so many Psalms,
and reaches its climax in the Book of Job, was by no means silenced in the
times of the Rabbis. If long experience could be of any use, it only
served to deepen perplexity. For all this suffering of the people of God,
and the prosperity of their wicked persecutors, which perplexed the
prophets and their immediate followers, were repeated during the death‐
struggle for independence against Rome, and were not lessened by the
establishment of Christianity as the dominant religion. The only comfort
which time brought them was, perhaps, that the long continuance of
misfortune made them less sensible to suffering than their ancestors were.
Indeed, a Rabbi of the first century said that his generation had by
continuous experience of misery become as insensible to pain as the dead
body is to a prick of a needle.(164) The anæsthetic effect of long
suffering may, indeed, help one to endure pain with more patience, but it
cannot serve as an apology for the deed of the inflictors of the pain. The
question, then, how to reconcile hard reality with the justice of God,
remained as difficult as ever.
The most important passage in Rabbinical literature relating to the
solution of this problem is the following:—With reference to Exod. xxxiii.
13, R. Johanan said, in the name of R. José, that, among other things,
Moses also asked God to explain to him the method of his Providence, a
request that was granted to him. He asked God, Why are there righteous
people who are prosperous, and righteous who suffer; wicked who are
prosperous and wicked who suffer? The answer given to him was, according
to the one view, that the prosperity of the wicked and the suffering of
the righteous are a result of the conduct of their ancestors, the former
being the descendants of righteous parents and enjoying their merits,
whilst the latter, coming from a bad stock, suffer for the sins of those
to whom they owe their existence. This view was suggested by the
Scriptural words, “Keeping mercy for thousands (of generations) ...
visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children” (Exod. xxxiv. 7),
which were regarded as the answer to Moses’ question in the preceding
chapter of Exodus.(165) Prevalent, however, as this view may have been in
ancient times, the Rabbis never allowed it to pass without some
qualification. It is true that they had no objection to the former part of
this doctrine, and they speak very frequently of the “Merits of the
Fathers” for which the remotest posterity is rewarded; for this could be
explained on the ground of the boundless goodness of God, which cannot be
limited to the short space of a lifetime. But there was no possibility of
overcoming the moral objection against punishment of people for sins they
have not committed.
It will suffice to mention here that, with reference to Joshua vii. 24,
25, the Rabbis asked the question, If he (Achan) sinned, what
justification could there be for putting his sons and daughters to death?
And by the force of this argument they interpreted the words of the
Scriptures to mean that the children of the criminal were only compelled
to be present at the execution of their father.
Such passages, therefore, as would imply that children have to suffer for
the sins of their parents are explained by the Rabbis as referring to
cases in which the children perpetuate the crimes of their fathers.(166)
The view of R. José, which I have already quoted, had, therefore, to be
dropped, and another version in the name of the same Rabbi is accepted.
According to this theory the sufferer is a person either “entirely wicked”
or “not perfectly righteous,” whilst the prosperous man is a person either
“perfectly righteous,” or “not entirely wicked.”
It is hardly necessary to say that there is still something wanting to
supplement this view, for the given classification would place the not
entirely wicked on the same level with the perfectly righteous, and on a
much higher level than the imperfectly righteous, who are undoubtedly far
superior. The following passage may be regarded as supplying this missing
something:—“The wicked who have done some good work are as amply rewarded
for it in _this_ world as if they were men who have fulfilled the whole of
the Torah, so that they may be punished for their sins in the next world
(without interruption); whilst the righteous who have committed some sin
have to suffer for it (in this world) as if "they were men who burned the
Law,” so that they may enjoy their reward in the world to come (without
interruption).(167) Thus the real retribution takes place in the next
world, the fleeting existence on earth not being the fit time either to
compensate righteousness or to punish sin. But as, on the one hand, God
never allows “that the merit of any creature should be cut short,” whilst,
on the other hand, He deals very severely with the righteous, punishing
them for the slightest transgression; since, too, this reward and
punishment are only of short duration, they must take place in this short
terrestrial existence. There is thus established a sort of divine economy,
lest the harmony of the next world should be disturbed.
Yet another objection to the doctrine under discussion remains to be
noticed. It is that it justifies God by accusing man, declaring every
sufferer as more or less of a sinner. But such a notion, if carried to its
last consequences, must result in tempting us to withhold our sympathies
from him. And, indeed, it would seem that there were some non‐Jewish
philosophers who argued in this way. Thus a certain Roman official is
reported to have said to R. Akiba, “How can you be so eager in helping the
poor? Suppose only a king, who, in his wrath against his slave, were to
set him in the gaol, and give orders to withhold from him food and drink;
if, then, one dared to act to the contrary, would not the king be angry
with him?”(168) There is some appearance of logic in this notion put into
the mouth of a heathen. The Rabbis, however, were inconsistent people, and
responded to the appeal which suffering makes to every human heart without
asking too many questions. Without entering here into the topic of charity
in the Rabbinic literature, which would form a very interesting chapter, I
shall only allude now to the following incident, which would show that the
Rabbis did not abandon even those afflicted with leprosy, which, according
to their own notion, given above, followed only as a punishment for the
worst crimes. One Friday, we are told, when the day was about to darken,
the Chassid Abba Tachnah was returning home, bearing on his shoulders the
baggage that contained all his fortune; he saw a leprous man lying on the
road, who addressed him: “Rabbi, do me a deed of charity and take me into
the town.” The Rabbi now thought, “If I leave my baggage, where shall I
find the means of obtaining subsistence for myself and my family? But if I
forsake this leprous man I shall commit a mortal sin.” In the end, he
allowed the good inclination to prevail over the evil one, and first
carried the sufferer to the town.(169) The only practical conclusion that
the Rabbis drew from such theories as identify suffering with sin were for
the sufferer himself, who otherwise might be inclined to blame Providence,
or even to blaspheme, but would now look upon his affliction as a reminder
from heaven that there is something wrong in his moral state. Thus we read
in tractate _Berachoth_:(170) “If a man sees that affliction comes upon
him, he ought to inquire into his actions, as it is said, Let us search
and try our ways, and turn again to the Lord (Lam. iii. 40).” This means
to say that the sufferer will find that he has been guilty of some
offence. As an illustration of this statement we may perhaps consider the
story about R. Huna, occurring in the same tractate.(171) Of this Rabbi it
is said that he once experienced heavy pecuniary losses, whereupon his
friends came to his house and said to him, “Let the master but examine his
conduct a little closer.” On this R. Huna answered, “Do you suspect me of
having committed some misdeed?” His friends rejoined, “And do you think
that God would pass judgment without justice?” R. Huna then followed their
hint, and found that he did not treat his tenant farmer so generously as
he ought. He offered redress, and all turned out well in the end.
Something similar is to be found in the story of the martyrdom of R.
Simeon ben Gamaliel and R. Ishmael ben Elisha. Of these Rabbis we are told
that on their way to be executed the one said to the other, “My heart
leaves me, for I am not aware of a sin deserving such a death”; on which
the other answered, “It might have happened that in your function as judge
you sometimes—for your own convenience—were slow in administering
justice.”(172)
But even if the personal actions of the righteous were blameless, there
might still be sufficient ground for his being afflicted and miserable.
This may be found in his relations to his kind and surroundings, or, to
use the term now more popular, by reason of human solidarity. Now, after
the above remarks on the objections entertained by the Rabbis against a
man’s being punished for the sins of others, it is hardly necessary to say
that their idea of solidarity has little in common with the crude notions
of it current in very ancient times. Still, it can hardly be doubted that
the relation of the individual to the community was more keenly felt by
the Rabbis than by the leaders in any other society, modern or ancient.
According to the view given by an ancient Rabbi whose name is unknown, it
would, indeed, seem that to them the individual was not simply a member of
the Jewish commonwealth, or a co‐religionist, but a limb of the great and
single body “Israel,” and that as such he communicated both for good and
evil the sensations of the one part to the whole. In the _Midrash_, where
a parallel is to be found to this idea, the responsibility of the
individual towards the community is further illustrated by R. Simeon ben
Yochai, in the following way: “It is,” we read there, “to be compared to
people sitting on board a ship, one of the passengers of which took an awl
and began to bore holes in the bottom of the vessel. Asked to desist from
his dangerous occupation, he answered, ‘Why, I am only making holes on my
own seat,’ forgetting that when the water came in it would sink the whole
ship.” Thus the sin of a single man might endanger the whole of humanity.
It was in conformity with the view of his father that R. Eliezer, the son
of R. Simeon (ben Yochai) said, “The world is judged after the merits or
demerits of the majority, so that a single individual by his good or bad
actions can decide the fate of his fellow‐creatures, as it may happen that
he is just the one who constitutes this majority.”(173) Nor does this
responsibility cease with the man’s own actions. According to the Rabbis
man is responsible even for the conduct of others—and as such liable to
punishment—if he is indifferent to the wrong that is being perpetrated
about him, whilst an energetic protest from his side could have prevented
it. And the greater the man the greater is his responsibility. He may
suffer for the sins of his family which is first reached by his influence;
he may suffer for the sins of the whole community if he could hope to find
a willing ear among them, and he may even suffer for the sins of the whole
world if his influence extend so far, and he forbear from exerting it for
good.(174) Thus the possibility is given that the righteous man may suffer
with justice, though he himself has never committed any transgression.
As a much higher aspect of this solidarity—and as may have already
suggested itself to the reader from the passage cited above from the
anonymous Rabbi—we may regard the suffering of the righteous as an
atonement for the sins of their contemporaries. “When there will be
neither Tabernacle nor the Holy Temple,” Moses is said to have asked God,
“what will become of Israel?” Whereupon God answers, “I will take from
among them the righteous man whom I shall consider as pledged for them,
and will forgive all their sins;” the death of the perfect man, or even
his suffering being looked upon as an expiation for the shortcoming of his
generation.(175)
It is hardly necessary to remind the reader of the affinity of this idea
with that of sacrifices in general, as in both cases it is the innocent
being which has to suffer for the sins of another creature. But there is
one vital point which makes all the difference. It is that in our case the
suffering is not enforced, but is a voluntary act on the part of the
sacrifice, and is even desired by him. Without entering here on the often‐
discussed theme of the suffering of the Messiah, I need only mention the
words of R. Ishmael who, on a very slight provocation, exclaimed, “I am
the atonement for the Jews,” which means that he took upon him all their
sins to suffer for them.(176) This desire seems to have its origin in
nothing else than a deep sympathy and compassion with Israel. To suffer
_for_, or, at least _with_ Israel was, according to the Rabbis, already
the ideal of Moses. He is said, indeed, to have broken the Two Tables with
the purpose of committing some sin, so that he would have either to be
condemned together with Israel (for the sin of the golden calf), or to be
pardoned together with them.(177) And this conduct was expected not only
from the leaders of Israel, but almost from every Jew. “When Israel is in
a state of affliction (as, for instance, famine) one must not say, I will
rather live by myself, and eat and drink, and peace be unto thee, my soul.
To those who do so the words of the Scriptures are to be applied: And in
that day did the Lord God of Hosts call to weeping and to mourning, ...
and behold joy and gladness.... Surely this iniquity shall not be purged
out from you till ye die” (Is. xxii. 12‐14). Another passage is to the
effect that, when a man shows himself indifferent to the suffering of the
community, there come the two angels (who accompany every Jew), put their
hands on his head, and say, “This man who has separated himself shall be
excluded from their consolations.”(178)