The Development of Jewish Fiction
JEWISH fiction, as distinguished from fiction in general, is a literary form of recent development among the Jews—strange though it may seem when one remembers that the Jews have been prolific literary producers for almost three thousand years. Without including the Sacred Writ of the pre-exilic period, the Jews of the Dispersion have been mentally active almost without intermission, a fact which is little less than phenomenal when one takes into account the many seemingly overwhelming difficulties wherewith a cruel fate obstructed their progress, and relentlessly haunted their footsteps. Then, too, the frequent change of clime and language, the lack of repose and ease—indispensable for the cultivation of the mental faculties—the inevitable contact with foreign life and influence, and, finally, the insecurity and dependence of their state materially—all these forces united to hinder their progress. But long and bitter experience taught the Jews to be masters of any situation.
Yet, though the Jews led the world in thought—nay, taught the world the holiness of life—they themselves were slow to appreciate its beauty and sentiment. Beauty and sentiment—what had these to do in the circumscribed life of the early Hebrews who restricted life to a duty. “Fear ye the Lord,” which implied righteous living, was to them the Leitmotif of existence. Existence was a struggle between the forces of holiness and worldly indulgence. Not that Judaism ever encouraged asceticism—for Judaism is a religion for the living, and the least inclined to pessimism, but in keeping with the dignity of the Law. The Jews, who are called the Sons of the Law, are expected to maintain a certain solemn attitude befitting their position. As the priests of Jehovah, it is fitting that they should be elevating even in their pleasures, sublime even in their levity.
Though the literary genius of the Jews was developed early in their history, it would be wrong to assume that its motive was artistic. It cannot be claimed that art, for art’s sake, appealed to the early Hebrews. From their exalted standpoint they knew but one artist—the archetype of beauty—another term for holiness. To praise and serve him was to glorify and rejoice in his handiwork.
Undoubtedly their literary genius suffered from this circumscribed, not to say narrow view. Yet, had they allowed their imagination free vent and unlimited expression, they would not be, as they are to-day, the People of the Book, the missionaries of peace.
The early Hebrew writers were not inspired by that artistic soul-hunger for literary glory; they were not attracted by that divine glamour “that doth hedge about the author.” Their motive was neither selfish nor artistic, but prompted rather by the ethical instinct to expound the Law of Sinai—to spread its light abroad. All the native ingenuity, all the peculiar wit and wisdom and originality of Israel’s sages were spent in the exposition and comment of the Holy Writ. Their comments and additions resulted in that vast and magnificent literary corporation the Talmud—a work which people dimly believe to be a mystic sort of book,