We naturally think of the Decalogue as the work of Moses, but here we are faced by the difficulty that the Decalogue appears to exist in three recensions (Exod. xx. 1–17; xxxiv. 14–28; Deut. v. 6–21). The account in Exod. xxxiv., which forms part of the document "J," is reckoned to be the oldest of these, and the original of this might well go back to the time of Moses. It has been objected that the Decalogue is too ethical to suit the time of Moses, but is this not because we are inclined to read into the Ten Commandments far more than is to be found there? It can be shown that they are little more than ten laws of "rights." A special difficulty is found in ascribing the second commandment to this age, in view of its frequent uncensured breach; but perhaps there is some difference that escapes us between a molten image, which is prescribed in the first draft (Exod. xxxiv. 17), and the later prohibition of the graven image (Exod. xx. 4).
In the foregoing examination we have allowed for the most rigorous demands of advanced criticism, demands which may have to be modified as criticism becomes more of a science, but there remains the need to discover what there was, on these critical assumptions, in the Mosaic religion that provided the way for a further advance into the faith which became the glory of Israel. What is it that makes the difference between Mosaism and the heathen Semitic religions, a difference which was to make the gradual growth of a pure Monotheism possible?
The first important element which needs to be reckoned with is that it was a religion of choice rather than a religion of nature. We saw that it was difficult to conceive how the religion of Jehovah could have been adopted by Israel unless there had been some previous contact. What is so difficult to understand is nevertheless the one element that contained the possibility of progress. The relation of Israel to Jehovah was neither by physical descent nor through the connection of the god with the land, as with the heathen Semitic religions. Jehovah was at first conceived of as the God of the tribe only, but even this was not by nature, but by His gracious choice. Their land was given to them by Jehovah, but His natural connection was with a far distant shrine. This fact in itself must have rendered necessary some more spiritual conception of His habitation, and, though hard enough for the common people to realise, when they entered Canaan and found a full-grown cultus and religion in connection with the god of the land already in possession, it was this fact upon which the Prophets fastened and which could not be denied: the religion of Jehovah was a matter of choice and not of racial or local connection. That choice had been ratified by solemn covenant, to which the Prophets appealed. The relation between Jehovah and Israel depended therefore on the conditions of the covenant being faithfully kept. When we compare the religions of the other Semites, which made the relation of the god and his people one which nothing could break, and from which neither the god nor the people could escape, we can see how this difference constituted one of the ethical germs of the religion which was destined to grow into fuller power and life.
There was another important conception, which was intensified by the fact that the religion of Jehovah was a religion of choice: that of the jealousy of Jehovah. This was often interpreted, especially in the pre-prophetic period, in a very crude and in even a cruel way. The jealousy of Jehovah was very like the human passion: uncertain, arbitrary and irrational, manifesting itself according to the popular mind in outbreaks of fury for ceremonial mistakes, or for causes even less comprehensible (Num. iii. 4; 2 Sam. vi. 7). In all the religions it was thought to be a serious thing to depart from the allegiance to the rightful god, and sure to lay one open to his jealousy and vengeance; but something more is now found in this idea as it develops in Hebrew thought: it is that the jealousy of Jehovah is due to the great difference between Him and the other gods, a difference which came to be recognised as one of character. Something of this must go back to Moses himself.
This difference is also expressed in the idea that He is a God of righteousness. The word "righteousness" does not always have in the Hebrew Scriptures the absolute meaning which it has for us. It was rather equal to our word "rights," which we often employ quite unethically. Jehovah was one who gave right judgments when questions were submitted and answered by the lot, and One who brought victory to the right. It was undoubtedly Israel's right that was chiefly considered, but there was hidden in it an ethical germ which was to bring forth notable fruit when man's sense of right was widened.
This at least was the mark of the new religion which Moses impressed on the people, impressed with such a force that it could never be quite forgotten. It had new thoughts pregnant with meaning for the mind of man and for the future of religion, and these became the fulcrum of the Prophets' appeal. From the bosom of this people was to come forth One who was to reveal the Father as perfectly righteous and impartial, and who demands for His service a righteousness that must far exceed that of the straitest observers of external religion.
It would be easy for us to despise this day of small beginnings, or to refuse to see in it any real revelation of God at all. Doubtless this enquiry may necessitate a change in our conceptions of the work of Moses, but it is one that we are forced to by a multitude of facts, and we must find a theory of inspiration wide enough to fit them. Crude as we may make the beginnings of Israel's faith, natural as we may feel are the laws by which it worked towards its growth, we have not been able to get any nearer to some of those ultimate questions which ask how religion begins, what the nature of revelation is, and how it comes to man's mind. We need not think that God had to break in on the mind of Moses, so that the personality of the man was in abeyance while God worked through him. When God wishes to bring men to a higher truth He does not supernaturally communicate it; He makes human nature to produce personalities whose minds come naturally to the truth. There can be no separation of natural and supernatural here; wherever that separation is to be made, we certainly cannot make it. There can be no meaning in revelation, and no possibility of it, unless God has made man's mind to be growingly in touch with Him and to be capable of receiving His revelation by the natural working of thought, so that it seems to spring up within his own consciousness.
Deeper into this question we are not called upon to go at present, but no one can object that it is less reverent, or that it shows signs of a decay of faith, if men can see God to-day not only in the extraordinary and the supernatural, but also in the ordinary and the natural. If the recognition of God depends on spiritual vision, then those who refuse to narrow the limits within which God can be seen, and who therefore welcome all truth with gladness and without fear, are not to be called godless and unspiritual.
We should learn to be thankful for Moses, for he was faithful as far as he knew; if we were as faithful in proportion to the fuller light which has come to us, religion would be a very real and inclusive thing. We should also learn to take heart, if from these beginnings such mighty movements have sprung. The mistakes inevitable to the human mind do not destroy the possibility of revelation, the error cannot everlastingly obscure the truth, nor in the long run will evil triumph over good. It was possible in that far off age, it was possible in all ages, it is possible now, for a mind still far from the true conception of the ultimate nature of God to yet grasp something, and by a supreme faith in the leading of a Mighty Power to lift a whole nation, and through it the world, one stage further on in goodness and truth.