Chapter II: Part 2

Almost as important as the contagion of parental emotion is that of the sentiments of Teachers; yet on this subject nobody seems to think it needful even to institute inquiries. So far as I can learn, the sole question asked nowadays when a professor is to be appointed to a Chair at the Universities is, “Whether he be the man among the candidates who knows most [or rather who _has the reputation_ of knowing most] of the subject which he proposes to teach?” This point being ascertained, and nothing serious alleged against his moral conduct, the fortunate gentleman receives his appointment as a matter of course. Even electors who personally detest the notorious opinions of the professor on religion or politics acquiesce cheerfully in the choice; apparently satisfied that he will carve out to his students the particular pound of knowledge he is bound to give them, and not a drop of blood besides. The same principle, I presume (I have little information on the subject), prevails in schools generally, as it does in private education. A professor or governess is engaged to instruct boys or girls, let us say in Latin, History, or Physiology, and it is assumed that he or she will act precisely like a teaching machine for that particular subject, and never step beyond its borders. A little common sense would dissipate this idle presumption,—supposing it to be really entertained, and that the mania for cramming sheer knowledge down the throats of the young does not make their elders wilfully disregardful of the moral poison which may filter along with it. Every human being, as I have said, exercises some influence over the emotions of his neighbor; but that of a Teacher, especially if he be a brilliant one, over his students, often amounts to a contagion of enthusiasm throughout the class. His admirations are adored, the objects of his sneers despised, and every opinion he enunciates is an oracle. And it is these professors and teachers, forsooth, whose opinions on ethics, theology, and politics it is not thought worth while to ascertain before installing them in their Chairs to become the guides of the young men and women who are the hope of the nation!

It does not require any direct, or even indirect, inculcation of _opinion_ on the teacher’s part to do mischief. It is the contagion of his emotions which is to be feared, if those emotions be base or bad. Let him teach History and betray his enthusiasm for selfish and sanguinary conquerors, or justify assassins and anarchists, or jest—Gibbon fashion—at martyrs and heroes, will he not communicate those base sentiments to his young audience? Or let him teach Science, and convey to every student’s mind that deification of mere knowledge, that insolent sense of superiority in the possession of it, that remorseless determination to pursue it regardless of every moral restraint, which is too often the “note” of modern scientism, will the instruction he affords to his students’ brains counterbalance the harm he will do to their hearts?

And, on the other hand, what a splendid vantage-ground for the dissemination not merely of knowledge, but of elevated feelings, is that of a Teacher! Merely in teaching a dead or modern language, a fine-natured man communicates his own glowing feelings respecting the masterpieces of national literature which it is his duty to expound.

The last point we need notice as regards the contagion of emotions among the young is the subject of Companions. Here again, as in the case of respect for mothers, there is great unanimity in theory. Every one admits that bad companions are ruinous for boys or girls. But, when it comes to taking precautions against the herding of innocent and well-nurtured children with others who have been familiar with vice, I see little trace of the anxious care and discrimination which ought to prevail. Nay, in the case of the children of the poor, it seems to me the law is often wickedly applied to compel good parents to send them, against their own will and convictions, to sit beside companions who have come straight to school out of slums of filth, moral and physical. I have known Americans argue that it is right for children of all classes to associate together, so that the well-trained may communicate good ideas to the ill-trained. The reasoning appears to be on a par with a proposal to send healthy people to sleep in a cholera hospital. But, while we allow ourselves to be terrified beyond bounds by alarms about the infection of bodily disease, we take hardly any precautions against the more dreadful, and quite as real, infection of moral corruption.[10]

The general sentiment of boys and youths in the great public schools and colleges of England—thanks to the high-minded Masters who have been at their head—is, on the whole, good and honorable. It may be taken for granted that a boy from Harrow, Eton, Rugby, Winchester, Westminster, or Uppingham, and _a fortiori_ a man from Oxford or Cambridge, will despise lying and cowardice and admire fair play and justice. How grand a foundation for national character has thus been laid! What a debt do we owe alike to the Masters and the “Tom Browns” who have communicated the contagion of such noble emotions! In Continental _lycées_ and academies, public opinion among the boys is, by all accounts, wofully inferior to that which is current in our great schools. There has never been an Arnold in a French Rugby.

As regards girls, their doubly emotional natures make it a matter of moral life and death that their companions (of whose emotions they are perfectly certain to experience the contagion) should be pure and honorable-minded. It is most encouraging to every woman who reads Mrs. Pfeiffer’s masterly new book, “Women and Work,” to see the rising generation of girls displaying such splendid abilities and zeal for instruction, and—as Mrs. Pfeiffer amply proves—without paying for it in loss of bodily vigor. Fain would I see the “blessed Damozels,” who are still standing behind the golden bars of noble homes, all flocking to the new colleges for women, as their brothers do to Christchurch and Trinity, there to imbibe parallel sentiments of truthfulness and _pluck_, more precious than Greek, Latin, or mathematics!

Leaving now the subject of the Education of the Emotions of the Young, by parents, teachers, and companions, I proceed to speak of the general education of the emotions of the community by public and private instrumentality,—a wide field, over which we can only glance. What machinery is disposable to cultivate the better and discourage the lower emotions, either by the exhibition of the direct natural stimulus to the former and withdrawal of it in the latter cases, or by the aid of contagion?

In the grand matter of Legislation I do not know that there is much more to be done than has already been achieved by the abolition of those public punishments of criminals—hanging, drawing and quartering, flogging at the cart’s tail, and the pillory—which must have been frightfully prolific of cruel passions in the spectators. To have taken part in such executions, _e.g._ in the old stonings to death, in the burning of witches and heretics, or in the minor but yet barbarous and cowardly pelting of the helpless wretches in the pillory, must have been an apprenticeship worthy of a Red Indian. Even to have been a passive spectator of a Newgate execution in later years, amid the yelling crowd, must have been excessively demoralizing, and in fact was at last recognized by the Legislature to be so, instead of a wholesome warning. It is a cause for rejoicing that there is an end of this kind of contagious emotion in England, except in the case of experiments on animals, of which the Act of 1876 sanctions the exhibition to classes under special certificates which require the subjects to be fully anæsthetized. On this point the warning of the late lamented Professor Rolleston ought, I think, to have sufficed. He told the Royal Commission: “The sight of a living, bleeding, and quivering organism most undoubtedly does act in a particular way upon what Dr. Carpenter calls the emotiono-motor nature in us.... When men are massed together, the emotiono-motor nature is more responsive, it becomes more sensitive to impression than it does at other times, and that of course bears very greatly on the question of interference with vivisections before masses” (_Minutes_, 1287[11]). The time will come when it will be looked upon as a monstrous inconsistency that the spectacle of the execution of murderers should be shut off from the _adult population on account of its recognized ill effects in fostering contagious cruelty_, and, at the same time, as many as nineteen certificates should be issued in one year by the Home Office, specially authorizing the mutilation of harmless animals _before classes of young men and women_.

Majestic public functions, coronations, thanksgivings, state entries into great cities, and funerals of distinguished men afford admirable machinery for the communication of noble emotions through the masses. It was worth the cost and trouble of last year’s Jubilee ten times over to have sent through so many brains and hearts the thrill of sympathy which followed the Queen to the old throne of her fathers, while the kings of the earth stood around her as witnesses that she had kept the oath to her people, sworn there fifty years before. For one day England and all her vast colonies beat with one heart, and the contagion of loyal emotion, love, reverence, pride, and pity, for woman, empress, mother, widow, ran round the globe. Sad was it (as many must have remembered) that he who would have found the true words to give utterance to the sentiment in the heaving breast of the nation, he whose proud duty it would have been to welcome the Queen to his own Abbey, was lying on that day silent beneath its pavement.

Beyond Legislation and Public Functions, the largest influence which sways the emotions of all educated people is undoubtedly Literature. The power of Books to awaken the most vivid feelings is a phenomenon at which savages may well wonder. The magic which enables both the living and the long departed to move us to the depths of our being by the aid only of a few marks on sheets of paper is a never-ending miracle. It were vain to attempt to do any justice to the subject, or show how the contagion of piety, patriotism, enthusiasm for justice and truth, and sympathy with other nations and other classes than our own, is borne to us in the pages of the poets and historians and novelists of the world. Pitiful it is to think how narrow must be the scope of the emotions of any man whose breast has never dilated nor his eyes flashed over the grandeur of the Book of Job, over Dante or Shakspere, and whose heart has never been warmed and his sympathies extended, backwards through time and around him in space, by Walter Scott, and Defoe, and Dickens, and George Eliot. Alas that we must add that Literature can not only kindle the noblest emotions, but also light up baleful fires, of the basest and most sensual,—to look for which we have not now even to cross the Channel! M. Zola has been translated into English.

After Literature I presume that the Stage is the greatest public agency for the promotion of fine emotions, and it is to the honor of human nature that it is found (at least in our country) to be most popular when it fulfils its office best, and calls out sympathy for generous and heroic actions. When the Roman audience rose _en masse_ to applaud the line of Terence which first proclaimed the brotherhood of man,—“Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto,”—the highest mission of the Drama was fulfilled. Of course no one desires the string of high emotion to be exclusively or perpetually harped upon; and for my own part I think that the mere production of the emotion of harmless merriment is one of the greatest boons of the stage. The contagion of laughter, in a theatre or out of it, is an altogether wholesome and beneficent thing. How it unseats black Care from our backs! How it carries away, as on a fresh spring breeze, a whole swarm of buzzing worries and grievances! How it warms our hearts for ever after to the people with whom we have once shared a good honest _fou rire_! “Behold how good and how pleasant a thing it is for brethren to dwell together in unity,” and (with all respect let us add) in hilarity! A good joke partaken with a man is like the Arab’s salt. Our common emotion of humorous pleasure is a bond between us which we would not thereafter lightly break.

The education of the emotions of actors and actresses, apart from that which they afford to the emotions of the public, is a very curious subject of consideration. Great part of the training of an actor consists in learning to give the uttermost possible external expression to those emotions which it is the task of other people to reduce to a vanishing point. Undoubtedly (as one of the most gifted of the profession has remarked), the “habit of representing fictitious feeling tends to produce a superficial sensibility, and an exaggerated mode of expressing the same.” But it may be questioned whether this extreme be worse than the opposite, wherein the expression of the emotions is so effectually repressed that the feelings themselves die out for want of air and exercise,—a consummation not unknown in the reposeful “caste of Vere de Vere.”

Besides Literature and the Stage, Music no doubt is a most marvellous agency for calling out Emotion. It is, in fact, the Art of Emotion. The musician plays with the strings of the human heart while he touches those of his instrument. Since Collins wrote his “Ode to the Passions” and Pope his “Ode on Saint Cecilia’s Day,” there is no need to describe how every emotion known to man may be brought out by music. Something may well be hoped for a generation which, rejecting the more trivial and sensuous music of Italy, finds delight in the exalted play of the emotions which follows the wands of Bach and Beethoven and Wagner. The efforts now made to offer music at once cheap and good to as many of the working classes as can be found to enjoy it is perhaps the most direct way conceivable of fostering their best emotions.

The Beauty of Nature and of Art are also powerful levers of the higher emotions, which it becomes us to use for the benefit of our fellows whenever it is practicable to do so.

But, while these varied engines are at work to stir beneficently the emotions of the masses, there are on the other hand certain agencies in full play amongst us which have, I fear, a totally different effect; which, in fact, can only tend to deaden, if not destroy, the most precious of emotions, those of family affection. I do not know that the question has ever been faced: What are the _moral_ effects of our enormous Hospitals? From the side of the bodily interests of the patients, they may be wholly advantageous.[12] But as regards the sacred institutions of the Family, on which society itself is based, I ask what, except evil, can result from the habitual separation of relatives the moment that illness makes a claim for tenderness and care?

It is the law of human nature that the sentiment of sympathy should be drawn forth by personal service to the suffering; and feelings of gratitude and affection by the receipt of such personal service. In comparison of these sources of emotion, those which act in times of prosperity are weak and poor. If we subtract in imagination from our own affections those which have come to us either through nursing or being nursed in sickness and danger, the residue will represent all which we leave within reach of the million. Many of us can remember quarrels which have been reconciled, unkindnesses atoned for, and bonds of sacred union in faith and eternal hope linked beside beds of pain when death seemed standing at the door. These things form some of the highest educational influences which Providence brings to bear on the human spirit, and out of them arise the sweetest affections, the warmest gratitude, the most vivid sense of a common nearness to God and the Immortal Life.

And of all this the entire working class of the nation is systematically deprived! Formerly it was only in cases of extreme poverty, where the crowded lodging was an altogether unfit place to nurse the sufferer, that recourse was had to the public Hospitals. Now it has become the invariable practice the moment that illness, even of non-infectious kind, declares itself, to send straight away to the hospital artisans, small tradesmen, and farmers from their own comfortable abodes, servants from the large and airy houses where they have labored faithfully, and even children from their mothers’ arms. It is not a mere matter of conjecture that such a custom must do harm and weaken the sense of family obligation. It is a fact that it has done so already, and is doing so more every day. Sons and daughters place their blind and palsied parents in asylums; wives send their husbands in a decline to Brompton Hospital; and it has become a surprising piece of filial devotion if a daughter remain at home to take care of a bed-ridden mother, even when her means fully permit of such sacrifice of time. What deadly injury is all this to the hearts of men, women, and children!

Of course Hospitals have their important uses. No one denies it. Some cases of disease and some degrees of poverty require such institutions. But this does not justify the monstrous over-use of them now in vogue. Even for the class whose homes are too crowded to admit of nursing being properly or safely done in them, I cannot but think that small Cottage Hospitals, where the wife or mother or daughter would be free to perform her natural duties by the bedside, and where she would be shown how best to perform them, would be infinitely preferable for every reason, moral and physical, to our present Palaces of Pain. Excellent also in all ways will be the plan of Nurses provided for the poor in their own homes by the Queen’s wise gift of the balance of her Women’s Jubilee Fund. The secret of the excessive resort to Hospitals is of course the encouragement to patients given by the medical schools attached to them, for the sake of obtaining a large supply of “clinical material.”

Lastly, we come to speak of the Education of the Religious Emotions. We have already referred to the outbursts of contagious enthusiasm in the Crusades and Revivals. It remains to say a few words respecting the various sources of religious emotion, at first and second hand.

A fundamental difference between the Catholic and Puritan mind seems to be that the former seizes on every available means for producing religious emotion _through the senses_; the latter turns away from such means with intense mistrust, and limits itself to appeals _through the mind_. Dark and solemn churches like that at Assisi decorated by Giotto (which the friar who showed it told me was the “best place in the whole world for prayer”), gorgeous altars, splendid functions, pictures, music, incense,—all these are to the Catholic and High Churchman veritable “means of grace”; _i.e._, they call out in them emotions which either are religious or they think lead to religion. Long Prayers, Hymns, Bible-readings, and preachings,—these, on the other hand, are the Evangelicals’ means of grace, and they produce in them emotions distinctly religious. We must, I think, treat these differences as matters of spiritual _taste_, concerning which it is proverbially idle to dispute. Both have their advantages, and both their great perils: the Catholic method has the peril of lapping the soul in a fool’s paradise of fancied piety, which is only sensuous excitement; the Puritan method has that of creating the hysteria of a Revival. In each case it is the contagion of _the emotion of a multitude_ which creates the danger. Solitary religious emotion, either produced by the glory and majesty of Nature or by lonely prayer and communings with God, can lead to no evil; nay, is the climax of purest joy vouchsafed to man. Not misguided are those who enter into their chambers and shut the door “to pray to Him who sees in secret,” or who go up into the hills and woods

“To seek
That Being in whose honor shrines are weak,
Upreared by human hands.”

The converse of the emotions of Awe and Reverence—namely, the tendency to jest and ridicule—are supposed by some to be dangerous enemies to religion. I do not believe they are so. I think a genuine sense of humor and a keen eye for the ludicrous is a most precious protection against absurdities and excesses. Like Tenderness and Strength, the sense of the Sublime and of the Ridiculous are complementary to each other, and exist only in perfection together in the same character. It is the man who cannot laugh who never weeps.

Finally, we reach the point where the religious emotions, produced either alone or by contagion, effect the greatest of spiritual miracles: that “conversion” or revulsion of the soul which ancient India, no less than Christendom, likened to a New or Second Birth. It would appear that, when this mysterious change does not take place by the solitary work of the Divine on the human spirit, it does so by the attractive power of another human soul, which has itself already undergone the great transformation. It is the _living_ Saint who conveys spiritual _life_. He need not be a very great or far advanced soul in the spiritual realm. Many a simple person with no exceptional gifts has “turned to the wisdom of the just” the hearts of strong men, whom the most eloquent and thoughtful of preachers have failed to move by a hair. But the greater the saint, the greater naturally must be his power. It was the contagion of Divine Love, caught from him who felt it most of all the sons of men, which moved the little band in the upper chamber of Jerusalem—who moved the world.

It is worthy of notice that when a man so powerfully influences another as to “convert” him in the true sense, _i.e._ to bring him to the higher spiritual life, it very often happens that at the same time he “converts” him in the lower sense, to the doctrines of the special Church to which he himself belongs. The man has received the impulse of religion from that particular direction. It has come to him colored by the hues of his friend’s piety, and he accepts it, doctrines and all, as he finds it. The matter has been one of emotional contagion, not of critical argument on either side.

It is impossible to form the faintest estimate of the good—the highest kind of good—which a single devout soul may accomplish in a lifetime by spreading the holy contagion of the Love of God in widening circles around it. But just as far as the influence of such men is a cause for thankfulness, so great would be the calamity of a time, if such should ever arrive, when there should be a dearth of saints in the world, and the fire on the altar should die down. A Glacial Period of Religion would kill many of the sweetest flowers in human nature; and woe to the land where (as it would seem is almost the present case in France at this moment) the priceless tradition of Prayer is being lost, or only maintained in fatal connection with outworn superstitions.

To resume the subject of this paper. We have seen that the Emotions, which are the chief springs of human conduct, may either be produced by their natural stimuli or conveyed by contagion from other minds, but that they can neither be _commanded_ nor _taught_. If we desire to convey good and noble emotions to our fellow-creatures, the only means whereby we can effect that end is by filling our own hearts with them till they overflow into the hearts of others. Here lies the great truth which the preachers of Altruism persistently overlook. It is better to _be_ good than to _do_ good. We can benefit our kind in no way so much as by being ourselves pure and upright and noble-minded. We can never _teach_ Religion to such purpose as we can _live_ it.

It was my privilege to know a woman who for more than twenty years was chained by a cruel malady to what Heine called a “mattress grave.” Little or nothing was it possible for her to do for any one in the way of ordinary service. Her many schemes of usefulness and beneficence were all stopped. Yet, merely by attaining to the lofty heights of spiritual life and knowledge, that suffering woman helped and lifted up the hearts of all who came around her, and did more real good, and of the highest kind, than half the preachers and philanthropists in the land. Even now, when her beautiful soul has been released at last from its earthly cage, it still lifts many who knew her to the love of God and Duty to remember what she was, and to the faith in immortality to think what now she must be, within the golden gates.

ESSAY III.
PROGRESSIVE JUDAISM.

When the new “Science of Religions” has been further developed, it will probably be recognized that the character of each is determined, not only by its own proper dogmas, but by those of the religion which it has superseded. Men do not, as they often imagine, tear up an old faith by the roots and plant a new one on the same ground. They only cut across the old and graft the new on its stem. Thus it comes to pass, for example, that much of the sap of Roman Paganism runs through the pores of Latin Christianity, and much of that of Odin worship through those of Teuton and Scandinavian Protestantism. Still more certainly does the faith held by an individual man in his earlier years dye his mind with its peculiar color, so that no subsequent conversion ever wholly obliterates it, but makes him like a frescoed wall on which yellow has been painted over blue, leaving as the result—green. The tint of Anglican piety may be discerned even beneath a pervert Cardinal’s scarlet robe. A Romish acolyte, transformed into the most brilliant of sceptical essayists, still boasts that the ecclesiastical set of his brain enables him “alone in his century” to understand Christ and Saint Francis.[13] A Jew, baptized and become Prime Minister of England, wrote novels and made history altogether in the vein of the author of the Book of Esther. Beneath the wolf’s clothing of the whole pack of modern Secularists, Agnostics, and Atheists, friction reveals (for the present generation, at all events) a flock of harmless Christian sheep.

For this reason hasty efforts to fuse religious bodies which happen to manifest tendencies to doctrinal agreement seem predestined to failure. Much else besides mere readiness to pronounce similar symbols of faith is needed to gather men permanently into one temple. Amalgamation attempted prematurely can only result in accentuating those diversities of sentiment which have stronger power to dissever than any intellectual affinities have charms to unite. Ecclesiastical schisms are infinitely easier to effect than ecclesiastical coalitions.

Nevertheless, the levelling of the fences which have for ages kept men of different religions apart is, _per se_, a matter for such earnest rejoicing that we may well exult at any instance of it, independently of ulterior hopes or projects. Especially must our sympathies with those who are thus clearing the ground be quickened when the faith to be dis-immured is an old and venerable one, the nearest of all to our own,—a faith whereof any important modification must be fraught with incalculable consequences to the civilized world. The new Reform among the Jews is emphatically such a movement,—an effort to throw down the high and jealous walls behind which Judaism has kept itself in seclusion. The gates of the Ghettos, which for a thousand years shut in the Jews at night in every city in Europe, were not more rigid obstacles to social sympathy and intercourse than have been the nation’s own iron-bound prejudices and customs. But just as these Ghettos themselves, so long “little provinces of Asia dropped into the map of Europe,” have been thrown open at last by the growing enlightenment of Christian States, so the Jewish moral walls of prejudice are being cast down by the advanced sentiment of cultured Jews.

It is the specialty of the higher religions to unfold continually new germs of truth, while the lower ones remain barren and become overgrown with the rank fungi of myth and fable. I do not speak now of the results of external influences bearing on every creed, and tending to vivify and fructify it. Such influences have done much, undoubtedly, even for Christianity itself, which has been stirred by all the agencies of the Saracen conquests, the classic Renaissance, modern ethics and metaphysics, modern critical science, and at last in our time by the extension of the theological horizon over the broad plains of Eastern sacred literature. I am speaking specially of the prolific power of the richer creeds to go on, generation after generation, bringing forth fresh, golden harvests, like the valleys of California. If we look for an instance of the opposite barrenness, we shall find it in the worn-out religions of China, ice-bound and arid as the desolate plains and craters of the moon; the Tae-ping rebellion having been perhaps a solitary development of heat caused by the impingement on them of the orb of Christianity. If, on the other hand, we seek for a supreme instance of fertility, we find it in the religion of Nazareth, which seems to enjoy perpetual seed-time and perpetual harvest.

The question is one of more than historical interest: Is Judaism likewise a religion capable of bearing fresh corn and wine and oil for the nations? We know that both Christianity and Islam are developments of the Jewish idea,—the Semitic development (Islam) carrying out its monotheistic doctrine in all its rigidity, but losing somewhat on the moral and spiritual side; the Aryan development (Christianity) abandoning the strictly monotheistic doctrine, but carrying far forward the moral and the spiritual part. But both these Banyan-like branches have struck root for themselves, and their growth can no longer be treated as derived from the trunk of Judaism. Our problem is, Can Judaism further develop itself along its own lines? Or is it (as generally believed) destined to permanent immobility, with no possible future before it save gradual dismemberment and decay? Shall we best liken it to Abraham’s oak at Mamre, whose leaf has not failed after three thousand years of sun and storm, and when the very levin-bolt of heaven has blasted its crown,—or to the hewn and painted mast of some laden argosy wherein float the fortunes of Israel?

There are, it would appear, three parties now existing among modern Jews. There is, first, the large Orthodox party, which holds by the verbal inspiration of the Old Testament and the authority of the Talmud.[14]

Secondly, there is the party commonly called that of Reformed Jews, which separated about forty years ago from the Orthodox by a schism analogous to that which cut off the Free Kirk from the Kirk of Scotland. The _raisons d’être_ of this reform were certain questions of ritual (the older ritual having fallen into neglect) and the relinquishment by the reforming party of the authority of the Talmud. The progress so effected occasioned great heart-burnings,—now happily extinguished,—and proceeded no further than these very moderate reforms.[15]

Lastly, there is a third Jewish party, existing chiefly in Germany and America, and numbering a few members among the younger generations in England. For convenience’ sake, I shall distinguish it from the older Reformed party by calling it the party of the New Reform, or of Broad Church Jews, the analogy between its attitude towards Orthodox Judaism and that of the late lamented Dean Stanley and his friends to the Church of England being singularly close.

The attitude even of the Orthodox and older Reformed Jews (alike for our present purpose) is, theoretically, not wholly unprogressive, not necessarily purely tribal. They have admitted principles inconsistent with stagnant tribalism. They believe that, though the _ceremonialism_ of Judaism is for Jews alone, yet the mission of Judaism is to spread through all the nations its great central _doctrine_ of the Unity of God. As Philipsohn (who, it is said, has since somewhat receded from his position) observed in his Lectures so far back as 1847:—

Judaism has never declared itself to be in its specific form the
religion of all mankind, but has asserted itself to be the religion
of all mankind in and by the religious idea.... Talmudism itself
admits that he even who no longer observes the law, but who utters
as his confession of faith the words, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our
God the Eternal is One,” may be considered still to be a Jew.
_Development of the Religious Idea_, p. 256.

The saying of the Talmud, “The pious among all nations shall have a place in the world to come,” has become a stock quotation, and has been of the utmost value to modern Jewish orthodoxy. Thus even this most conservative party among the Jews is not without a certain expansive principle. It must be admitted, however, that it does little or nothing to make that principle practically efficacious, and is content to wait for the advent of Messiah to convert the nations by miracle without any trouble to Jews to strive to enlighten them beforehand. Considering what the Jews for ages have had to bear from those who vouchsafed to try to convert _them_, we may pardon this lack of zeal for proselytism as far from unnatural; yet the consequences have been deplorable. He who holds a precious truth concerning eternal things, and fails to feel it to be (as Mrs. Browning says) “like bread at sacrament,” to be passed on to those beside him, loses his right to it, and much of his profit in it. It is “treasure hid in a field.” The attitude is anti-social and misanthropic of a people who practically say to their neighbors: “We possess the most precious of all truths, of which we are the divinely commissioned guardians and witnesses. But we do not intend to make the smallest effort to share that truth with you, and generations of you may go to the grave without it for all we care. We are passive witnesses, not active apostles. By and by, the Messiah will appear, and convert all who are alive in his time, whether they will or not; but, for the present, Christendom is joined to idols, and we shall let it alone.” The faith which speaks thus stands self-condemned. If a creed be not aggressive and proselytizing, like Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity, it confesses either mistrust of itself or else misanthropic indifference to the welfare of mankind. Thus the Orthodox and the elder Reformed Jews have tacitly pronounced their own sentence.

Turn we now from these to the new Reformation. This last is a development of Judaism, truly _on its own lines_, but yet extending far beyond anything contemplated by the elder bodies. To measure it aright, we must cast back a glance over the path which Judaism traversed in earlier times, and note how completely this new and vast stride is a continuance of that march towards higher and wider religious truth.

From the earliest conception of Jahveh as the Tribal God,—a conception which even Kuenen admits to be native to the race of Israel, and untraceable to any other people,—from this conception, which plainly assumed the existence of other and rival gods of neighboring nations, it was an enormous step in advance to pass to the idea of One only Lord of all the earth, whose House should be a “House of prayer for all nations.”

Still vaster was the progress from anthropomorphic and morally imperfect ideas of the character of the tribal God to the adoration of Isaiah’s “High and Holy One, who inhabiteth eternity,” who dwells in the high and holy place with the pure in heart and the contrite.

Again, there was made a bound forward by Judaism when the earlier simple secularism and disbelief of, or indifference to, a future world vanished before the belief in Immortality which grew up in spite of the teachings of Antigonus and Sadok, and (after the Dispersion) never faded out again altogether.

And finally, with the development of the Prophetic spirit, Worship assumed more its true forms of praise, confession of sin, and thanksgiving; and, at the fall of Jerusalem, the bloody sacrifices (long limited to the sacred enclosure) came to an end forever amid the smoking ruins.

These were truly great steps of progress made by Israel of old; but the last of them left the nation to carry into its sorrowful exile an intolerable burden of ceremonialism and dusty superstitions, whereof the Talmud is now the lumber-room, and possessed also by an unhappy demon of anti-social pride, which forbade it to extend to or accept from other nations the right hand of human brotherhood. The Jews did not go out from Jerusalem as the little band of Christian missionaries had gone, eager to scatter their new wealth of truth among the nations, and, though stoned and crucified by those whom they sought to bless, yet ever after by their children’s children to be revered and canonized. The Jews went out as misers of truth, holding their full bags of treasure hid in their breasts. Nor in the ages following the Dispersion, while Christianity diverged further and further from pure Theism, and through Mariolatry and Hagiolatry sank well-nigh to polytheism and idolatry, do we ever once hear of an attempt by any Jewish teacher, even by such a man as Maimonides, to call back the wandering nations by proclaiming in their ears the “schema Israel”—“THE LORD YOUR GOD THE ETERNAL IS ONE.” Before the expulsion from Palestine, for a brief period, Judaism (as one of its bitterest enemies has remarked) showed promise of becoming a proselytizing creed, “when, under the influence of Greek philosophy and other liberalizing influences, it was tending from the condition of a tribal to that of a universal creed. But Plato succumbed to the Rabbins. Judaism fell back for eighteen centuries into rigid tribalism, and, as Lord Beaconsfield cynically said of it, has ever since ‘no more sought to make converts than the House of Lords.’”[16]

At last the long pause in the progress of Judaism, considered as a religion, seems drawing to an end; and we may hail its present advance as the continuance of that noble march which the Jewish race began to the music of Miriam’s timbrel.

This last step forward of Reformed Judaism consists, according to its latest interpreter, in “the struggle now consciously and now unconsciously maintained to emancipate the Jewish faith from every vestige of tribalism, and to enshrine its wholly catholic doctrines in a wholly catholic form.” This end is to be pursued through the “DENATIONALIZATION of the Jewish religion, by setting aside all the rules and ceremonies which do not possess an essentially religious character or are maintained merely for the sake of the national, as distinct from the religious, unity.”

The following are the modes in which this programme may be followed out:—

1. Reformed Judaism abandons the Messianic hope. It neither desires nor expects the coming of Messiah, and the resettlement of the Jews in Palestine as a nation it regards as retrogression toward tribalism.[17] 2. It rejects the theory of the verbal inspiration of the Old Testament, nor does it recognize the perfection and immutability of the law contained within the Pentateuch. 3. It rejects the theory of a Divine tradition recorded in the Mischna, and does not admit the authority of the Talmudic laws. 4. It puts aside, as no longer binding, all the legal, hygienic, and agrarian ordinances of the Pentateuch, together with the laws relating to marriages and to the Levites. 5. It cuts down the feasts and fasts to the Sabbath, the Passover, and four others. 6. It adopts the vernacular of each country for a larger or smaller part of the service of the synagogue, instead of retaining the whole in Hebrew.

Besides these six great changes, there are two others looming in the distance. Reformed Judaism still regards the rite of circumcision as binding, though several distinguished reformers (notably Geiger) have recommended that proselytes should not be required to adopt it. Of the change of the Sabbath day from Saturday to Sunday, I am informed that the transference of the holy day has already been made by one synagogue in Berlin, which holds its services on the Sunday, and by many independent Jewish men of business; and that it is very much desired in some other quarters. The difficulty attendant on this change obviously is: that it would prove so favorable to the interests of Jews in a secular sense that, if adopted, the charge of worldly motives is certain to be brought against those who advocate it.

These, then, in brief, are the negations of Reformed Judaism. On the positive side, it reaffirms those dogmas which are the kernel of Judaism,—“the Unity of God; His just judgment of the world; the free relation of every man to God; the continual progress of humanity; the immortality of the soul; and the Divine election of Israel” (understood to signify that the Jews, under the will of God, possess a specific religious mission not yet entirely fulfilled). As to the observances of Reformed Judaism, the framework of life and habit under which it proposes to exist, “they will remain distinctively Jewish, and must not bear the mere stamp of nineteenth century religious opinion.” The Jewish Reformer thus, like many another Radical, is an aristocrat at heart, and shrinks from descending to the level of a _parvenue_ faith. In my humble judgment, he is entirely right in his decision. So long as he places the interests of truth and honesty above all, he cannot do better than hold fast by everything which reminds himself and the world of his pedigree through a hundred generations of worshippers of Jehovah.

The extent to which such reformation as that now sketched prevails at this hour among Jews is difficult to ascertain. The movement has been going on for some time, and yet counts but a moderate number of adherents, chiefly, as I have said, German and American Jews. Nay, what is most unhopeful, the disease of religious indifference, that moral phylloxera which infests the choicest spiritual vineyards, is working its evil way among the broader-minded Jews, as it works (we know too well) among the broader-minded Christians. To unite depth of conviction with width of sympathy has ever been a rare achievement. “Tout comprendre sera tout pardonner,” may be rendered, in intellectual matters, “To find truth everywhere is to contend for it nowhere.”

There is good room to hope, however, that if some fall out of the ranks, the Reformed party will yet possess enough energy, vigor, and cohesion to make its influence erelong extensively felt.

It is a startling prospect which has been thus opened before us. If anything seemed fixed in the endless flux of nations and religions, it was the half-petrified religion of the Jew. That the stern figure which we have beheld walking alone through the long procession of history should come at last and take a place beside his brothers is hard to picture. We live in a time when,

“Faiths and empires gleam,
Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.”

Every solid body is threatened with disintegration; and the new powers of cohesion, if such there be, have scarcely come into play. But, of all changes fraught with momentous consequences, none could well be more important than that of a stripping off of its tribal gaberdine by Judaism, and the adoption of “a law fit for law universal.” The old fable is realized. The wind and hail of persecution blew and pelted the Jew for a thousand years, and he only drew his cloak closer around him. The sunshine of prosperity and sympathy has shone upon him, and, lo! his mantle is already dropping from his shoulders.

For the present we can only treat the matter as a grand project, but we may endeavor to estimate the value of a Reformation of Judaism such as Luther accomplished for Christianity. In the first place, it is, I conceive, the sole chance for the permanent continuance of the Jewish religion that it should undergo some such regeneration. If the proposed Reform perish in the bud, Orthodox Judaism will doubtless survive for some generations, but, according to the laws which govern human institutions, its days must be numbered. In former times, when every nation in Europe held aloof from its neighbors in fear and jealousy, it was possible for alien tribes, like the Jews and gypsies, to move among all, holding rigidly to their own tribal alliances and observances; hated and mistrusted, indeed, but scarcely more so than their Christian next-door neighbors. But now that Christian nations are all blending together under the influence of perpetual intercourse, and their differences of belief, governments, costumes, habits, and ideas are effacing themselves year by year, the presence of a non-fusing, non-intermarrying, separatist race—a race brought by commerce into perpetual friction with all the rest—becomes an intolerable anomaly.

For once Mr. Goldwin Smith was in the right in this controversy, when he remarked that “the _least_ sacred of all races would be that which should persistently refuse to come into the allegiance of humanity.”

The Jews have shown themselves the sturdiest of mankind, but the influences brought to bear on them now are wholly different from those which they met with such stubborn courage of old. Political ambition, so long utterly closed to them, but to which Lord Beaconsfield’s career must evermore prove a spur; pleasure and self-indulgence, to which their wealth is an ever ready key; the scepticism and materialism of the time, to which their acute and positive minds seem to render them even more liable than their contemporaries,—these are not the elements out of which martyrs and confessors are made. A reformed, enlightened, world-wide creed, which a cultivated gentleman may frankly avow and defend in the _salons_ of London, Paris, Berlin, or New York, and in the progress of which he may feel some enthusiasm,—a creed which will make him free to adopt from Christianity all that he recognizes in it of spiritually lofty and morally beautiful,—such a creed may have a future before it of which no end need be foreseen. But for unreformed Judaism there can be nothing in store but the gradual dropping away of the ablest, the most cultured, the wealthiest, the men of the world and the men of the study,—the Spinozas, the Heines, the Disraelis—and the persistence only for a few generations of the more ignorant, fanatical, obscure, and poor.

Again, besides giving to Judaism a new lease of life, the Reform projected would undoubtedly do much to extinguish that passion of _Judenhasse_ which is the disgrace of Eastern Christendom, and the source of such manifold woes to both races. The root of that passion is the newly awakened sense (to which I have just referred) of impatience at the existence of a nation within every nation, having separate interests of its own and a solidarity between its members, ramifying into every trade, profession, and concern of civil life. Were this solidarity to be relinquished, and the mutual secret co-operation of Jews[18] reduced to such natural and fitting friendliness as exists between Scotchmen in England, and were it to become common for Jews to marry Christians and discuss freely with Christians their respective views,—were this to happen, mutual respect and sympathy would very quickly supersede mutual prejudice and mistrust. After two generations of such Reformed Judaism, the memory of the difference of race would, I am persuaded, be reduced to that pleasant interest wherewith we trace the ancestry of some of our eminent statesmen to “fine old Quaker families,” or remark that some of our most brilliant men of letters have in their veins the marvellous Huguenot blood.[19]

It is superfluous to add that the Jewish people, thus thoroughly adopted into the comity of European nations, and Judaism recognized as the great and enlightened religion of that powerful and ubiquitous race, the true mission of Judaism, as taught by Bible and Talmud—that of holding up the torch of monotheistic truth to the world—would begin its practical accomplishment. The Latin nations in particular, to whom religion has presented itself hitherto in the guise of ecclesiasticism and hagiolatry, and who are fast verging into blank materialism as the sole alternative they know, would behold at last, with inevitable respect, a simple and noble worship, at once historical and philosophic, without priestly claims, and utterly at war with every form of monasticism and superstition. The impression on these, and even on the Northern nations, of such a spectacle could not be otherwise than elevating, and possibly, in the Divine order of the world, might be the means whereby the tide of faith, so long ebbing out in dismal scepticism, should flow once more up the rejoicing shores.

Even if this be too much to hope, I cannot doubt that many Christian Churches would draw valuable lessons from the presence among them of a truly reformed Judaism. Especially in these days of irreverence, of finikin Ritualism on one side and Salvation Army rowdyism on the other, it would be a measureless advantage to be summoned to revert in thought to the solemn and awe-inspired tone of Hebrew devotion which still breathes in the services of the synagogue. It has been a loss to Christians as well as to Jews that these services have hitherto been conducted in Hebrew.[20] Had the synagogue services in London been conducted in the English language, I believe that many of the popular misapprehensions concerning Judaism would never have existed, while the impression of profound reverence which the prayers convey would have reacted advantageously on Christian worship, too liable to oscillate between formalism and familiarity.[21]

I am bound to add, on the other side, that it appears to me there are some very great advantages on the side of Christianity of which it behooves reforming Jews to take account. These are not matters of dogma, but of sentiment; and not only may they be appropriated by Jews without departing by a hair’s breadth from their own religious platform, but they may every one be sanctioned (if any sanction be needed for them) by citations from the Hebrew Scriptures themselves. The great difference between Judaism and Christianity on their moral and spiritual sides, in my humble judgment, lies in this: that the piety and charity, scattered like grains of gold through the rock of Judaism, were by Christ’s burning spirit fused together, and cast into golden coin to pass from hand to hand. Jews have continually challenged Christians to point to a single precept in the Gospel which has not its counterpart in the Old Testament. They are perhaps in the right, and possibly no such isolated precept can be found differentiating the two creeds; but, both by that which is left aside and by that which it chose out and emphasized, Christianity is, practically, a new system of ethics and religion.

To these three things in Christianity I would direct the attention of Jewish reformers:—

The Christian idea of love to God.

The Christian idea of love to Man.

The Christian sentiment concerning Immortality.

For the first, far be it from me to wrong the martyr race by a doubt that thousands of Jews have nobly obeyed the First Great Commandment of the Law (given in Deuteronomy vi. 4, as well as repeated by Christ) and “loved the Lord their God with all their heart and soul and strength,” even to the willing sacrifice of their lives through fidelity to Him. The feelings of loyalty entertained by a Jew in the old days of persecution to the “God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” must have been often a master-passion as fervid as it was deep-rooted. But alongside of this hereditary loyalty to the God and King of Israel there might well grow somewhat of that tender personal piety which springs from the Evangelical idea of God as holding personal relations with each devout and forgiven soul.