During the eight centuries preceding our era, a succession of terrible calamities took place. The Nābhīs upheld the courage of the people by their immovable conviction that the Lord would send a leader, and deliverer of the people from their enemies. Through the whole of this time Israel, though often despairing and sometimes in revolt, resisted doubt; an unknown phenomenon amongst the heathens of antiquity. That which strikes us as so inexplicable is that Judaism showed itself capable of such prodigies of devotion and self-sacrifice, though so little sustained by the bright glimpses of the future life.
The Elohim with whom the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were permitted to hold intercourse, appeared more accessible to the Israelites than the mighty Jehovah of whom they were forbidden to make an image. The more we contemplate the infinite grandeur of the majesty of God, of whom there is no similitude, whose name is “I Am,” to whom, according to Fenelon, even the word spirit is inapplicable, and of whom, according to Descartes and Bossuet, nothing may be said but this, “The Being,” the more it seems possible to fear, to reverence Him; but to love in those days seemed difficult—love was rarely seen.
I desired to know what the best and most profound thinkers could say on the ties uniting them with their Creator, those who had experienced the action of the Divine love in themselves. At the same time I determined to emphasise as little as possible the various forms these thoughts might wear, whether in philosophical systems or in religions which had been founded or organised in the visible Church.
Amongst the thinkers who have occupied themselves with these matters, I will mention one who, about two hundred years ago, was looked upon as a dangerous heretic. Since that time Baruch Spinoza has been anathematised as an atheist, and venerated as a saint; afterwards he was declared by certain philosophers to be no atheist, but was counted as a Pantheist. In our day he is known to be less of a Pantheist than was thought.
Shrinking from such epithets, which disturb my judgment, I will not enter into the question as to which approaches more nearly to the truth.
I spoke once after this manner to some friends of mine, in the presence of one whom I had not seen before.
“You are too diffident,” he said to me, “I will give you a safeguard against obscurity of judgment. Read any system of philosophy you like, you will doubtless discover that error predominates in it; put it aside for the time being and read another, make the round of several systems. With each your first impression will probably be renewed. After that go over each in your mind, not in detail, but taking each in its entirety. You will find that you can point out a certain truth, one truth which will have occurred in all. Let this gradually expand in your mind without unduly forcing it; you will have forgotten the epithets used, and will find one dominant note which will enlighten your judgment.”
The manner in which Spinoza interpreted the sacred writings of his race has perhaps not attracted sufficient attention. His most important work from this point of view has the somewhat repellant title of Tractatus theologico-politicus. It is diffuse and heavy, and its translators have not succeeded in rendering it more agreeable. It is very difficult to grasp in detail, as omissions and reservations abound.
The Views of Spinoza
When reading Spinoza it is necessary to bear in mind—which is not easy—that he is neither a heathen philosopher nor a Father of the Church nor a modern critic, but a learned Jew, living in the middle of the seventeenth century. I will try to reproduce his opinions in his own words, and endeavour to keep them uncontaminated, as far as possible, with the views of the end of the nineteenth century.