Yedidyah Ha-Alexandri and the Crisis of the Modern Jewish Age: Philo of Alexandria as an Exemplary Ḥasid in Naḥman Krochmal’s Thought

Abstract

The present article sets out to answer the question of the extent to which Naḥman Krochmal’s reappraisal of Philo of Alexandria in the light of his Jewish faith reflects a deep spiritual crisis that was engulfing the Maskilic world: the encroaching expansion of modern Hasidism with its transformed understanding of traditional Judaism among Eastern European communities. To this end, a major component of Krochmal’s Jewish historical thought as expressed in his masterful unfinished work Guide of the Perplexed of the Modern Age can be revealed. The examination employs two methods in order to uncover the intent behind Krochmal’s fragmentary presentation of Philo: exploring his utilization of Dähne’s Geschichtliche Darstellung der jüdisch-alexandrinischen Religionsphilosophie to demonstrate the congruence of Philo’s thought with Tannaitic ethics and drawing on similar depictions of Philo found among his circles and pupils. The study claims that Krochmal’s revival of Philo as a key Jewish thinker is politically mobilized for an ideological assault on the Hasidim, with whom the Maskilim had ongoing conflicts. Reconstructing his portrayal of Philo as a paragon of Second Temple Judaism, the paper argues that Krochmal projects his own spiritual crisis from the Maskilic settings of nineteenth-century Galicia onto the Jewish reality of first-century Alexandria, thus reproducing a valiant image of Philo as the embodiment of the Maskilic consciousness that was grappling with the ancient, overly theoretical Hasideans of his days.

1. Introduction

When approaching Philo of Alexandria (c. 15 BCE–c. 50 CE) from the perspective of Jewish history, one is initially almost compelled to accept the silence with which rabbinic tradition passes over him.1 This silence becomes all the more remarkable if one bears in mind the tremendous impact that Philo’s allegorical exegesis of Scripture exerted on world history in general and on the formation of Christian theology in particular. The first prominent intellectual who is commonly mentioned in this context is the sixteenth-century Renaissance thinker Azariah de’ Rossi (1511–1578), four consecutive chapters of whose Light of the Eyes wrestles with Philo’s convoluted body of thought from the Jewish viewpoint.2 However, in his final analysis, de’ Rossi remains quite ambivalent towards Philo, primarily taking issue with the fact that he does not mention or acknowledge the rabbinic oral tradition (De’ Rossi 2001, pp. 140–41). The first Jewish author who managed to transform the rabbi’s apparent silence into a lively discourse through a profound and systematic engagement with Philo is none other than the Galician Maskil Naḥman Krochmal (alias RaNaK; 1785–1840), one of the founders of modern Jewish historiography. Revealing a wide array of striking commonalities between Philo’s patterns of thought and those found in Tannaitic and Amoraic works, Krochmal suggests that the Jewish Alexandrians were actually partaking in an active dialog and exchange of ideas with the rabbis and that the boundaries between both factions were in fact much more blurred than they appear at first sight (Boyarin 2004, pp. 112–16; H. Wolfson 1962, vol. 1, p. 56). As the prominent historian of the Wissenschaft des Judentums Heinrich Graetz (1817–1891) notes, with unreserved appreciation, “Krochmal was the first to initiate the philosophical observation of history, specifically Jewish history, [providing] a clear overview of its convoluted paths”, thus demonstrating “how to exploit and utilize the rich seam of the Talmud for historical investigation”, from which “he drew the most fruitful findings for the elucidation of the inner processes of Jewish history”.3

The present analysis will focus on Krochmal’s seminal historiographical approach to Philo’s treatises found in what may be considered the most prominent and methodological treatment of his thought to be produced during the Jewish Enlightenment: Ḥidot Minni Kedem (“Dark Sayings of Ancient Times”), Chapter 12 of his monumental Hebrew opus Moreh Nevokhei ha-Zeman (“Guide of the Perplexed of the Modern Age”, henceforth Guide), a work which he began writing in the early 1830s, but never managed to complete.4 In the Guide, Krochmal provides a meticulous and comprehensive metaphysical account of Jewish history, drawing on the substantial achievements of modern scholarship (Klausner 1952, p. 195) and on a Hegelian conceptual framework.5 This innovative historiographical treatment of the Jewish religion was not confined to academic objectives; it was also committed to and deeply immersed in its spiritual dimensions. The Guide’s ultimate aim was to offer perceptive and historically oriented observations about the complex and swiftly changing Jewish reality of the nineteenth century with which many young Jewish Eastern European intellectuals were struggling to come to grips.6 Our particular examination also concerns this unique objective of the Guide, insofar as it sets out to answer the following question: To what extent does Krochmal’s reconstruction and rediscovery of Philo reflect his own concerns regarding the spiritual crises of his time, and to what extent does it merely express his intrinsic historiographical interest in the Second Temple era? The answer to this question will be fleshed out in three thematic steps. In the first part, I will discuss Philo’s overall position in Krochmal’s modern Jewish historiography. I will then turn to Krochmal’s fragmentary chapter on Philo and attempt to provide a reconstruction of his employment of Tannaitic sayings, primarily taking into account his extensive use of August F. Dähne’s Geschichtliche Darstellung der jüdisch-alexandrinischen Religions-Philosophie. This is a source he seems to have drawn on much more heavily than August Neander’s Genetische Entwickelung der vornehmsten gnostischen Systeme, a fact that is nevertheless insufficiently acknowledged by scholarship. Finally, I will draw attention to three famous Eastern European Maskilim who viewed Philo as an ancient Hasidean and who were either part of or influenced by Krochmal’s intellectual circles, thus assisting us in reconstructing substantial parts of Krochmal’s highly fragmentary presentation of Philo: Solomon J. L. Rapoport (1790–1867), Isaac Baer Levinsohn (1788–1860), and Avrom Ber Gotlober (1811–1899).

Through these three steps, it will be shown that Krochmal’s historical perception of Philo was actually much more intricate than has hitherto been presumed. This article will put forward the claim that Krochmal’s image of Philo was not that he was merely a Jewish sage who criticized some of the aberrant Alexandrian Jews of his time (whom Krochmal perceived as ancient Hasideans) from an outsider’s perspective, but rather that Philo himself was an exemplary Hasidean who—like many of his contemporary Tannaʾim—endorsed Judaism’s golden mean or middle path (derekh ha-emẓaʿ)7 and also conceded the pivotal role of the practical modus vivendi alongside the theoretical one. Bearing in mind the fact that the Hasideans mentioned in Tannaitic literature (Ḥasidim ha-Riʾshonim; “the pious men of old”) and 1 and 2 Maccabees (Ἀσιδαῖοι) are anything but a distinctly defined faction,8 I will contend that Krochmal attempts to reconstruct this ancient Jewish party by drawing on thought patterns taken from his own mindscape and from the intimate Maskilic settings of Galicia.9 It will be argued that the driving force behind Krochmal’s historiographical enterprise of rehabilitating Philo’s thought must also be understood as part of his ideological Maskilic polemics against modern Hasidism—a spiritual and social movement that emerged from eighteenth-century Eastern Europe with a strong emphasis on Kabbalistic principles and their actual realization10—and the deep spiritual crisis in which he found himself when faced with its encroaching expansion.11 Krochmal exploits his historical Hasidean reconstruction of Philo as a moderate, rationalist counter-image to the Hasidim of modern Eastern Europe, which he perceives as radical, bigoted, and irrational. Given this assumption, as will be suggested, one may take Krochmal’s productive engagement with Philo to mean that the Alexandrian embodied and foreshadowed genuine Maskilic values, and as such that he points to the unified ideal of the Haskalah as a faithful continuation of the authentic Tannaitic ideal that incorporates both the objectives of the practically oriented men of deeds and those of the ancient theoretical Hasideans. He appears to transfer the emotionally charged sectarian conflicts that were repeatedly erupting between the Maskilim and the Hasidim in Eastern Europe to the situation of the Jews in first-century Alexandria. In doing so, he constructs a particular historical narrative of the past, of the inner turmoil of the ancient Jewish Alexandrian communities, by drawing upon the present; namely, upon the dire religious conflicts between the Maskilim and the Hasidim in the first three decades of nineteenth-century Galicia. At the same time, it will be shown that in their relentless polemics with modern Hasidim, Krochmal and his Maskilic circles did not exclusively seek to reveal what Ḥasidut was not, but that they also devoted vigorous efforts to excavating and describing what it truly was, at least as documented in Tannaitic literature.

To this end, at the same time, Krochmal endeavored to reclaim the Alexandrian from his long Christian appropriation as Philo Christianus12 and to instead portray him in a more accurate historical light as Philo Judaeus. Part of Krochmal’s rejudaized image of Philo was his understanding of the sects of the Essenes and the Therapeutae (which he regarded as the Alexandrian faction of the Essenes) and Philo’s association with them. Both Philo and the Essenes/Therapeutae were often construed from the Christian perspective as historical phenomena that paved the way for the ensuing emergence of Christianity.13 These Christocentric perceptions of Jewish history were not only present in the works of the Church Fathers, but were also quite widespread in the distinguished nineteenth-century scholarship and philosophy that constituted Krochmal’s main sources.14 Taking August Neander’s (1789–1850) monograph on Gnosticism as its main point of departure, Hegel’s representation of Philo in his Lectures on the History of Philosophy and Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion constitutes a prime example of this inclination: the “giant” (“der Riese”) with his “philosophy of all philosophies”, as Krochmal designates Hegel (Krochmal 2010, p. 432) and his metaphysical system (Klausner 1952, p. 162), considered Philo’s thought, particularly his Logos doctrine, as a nonessential historical precursor to the far more advanced and revolutionary notions of Christianity: the Holy Trinity and the Logos in its incarnation as an individual.15 Using methods of historical criticism, he offered an alternative model to earlier tendentious understandings of Philo. With various references to rabbinic literature, he paints an image of Philo and the Essenes/Therapeutae as Jews, which he then brings into accordance with what he holds to be Judaism’s core principle: the upholding of the golden mean, which emphasizes the indispensability of the practical life alongside the theoretical one. This path, which was delineated by Krochmal’s moderate Maskilic outlook on Jewish religion, was thus projected onto his enlightened portrait of Philo.16

Despite the pivotal role that Philo plays in Krochmal’s Guide, this subject matter has surprisingly attracted hardly any scholarly attention. In total, there has been only a single article exclusively devoted to the topic: Roland Goetschel’s “Philon et le judaïsme hellénistique au miroir de Nachman Krochmal”, which was published in 1986 (Goetschel 1986, pp. 371–83). Goetschel foregrounds Chapter 12 of the Guide and one of its central secondary sources, Neander’s Genetische Entwickelung der vornehmsten gnostischen Systeme (1818), while expanding on diverse elements of Krochmal’s depiction of Philo (Goetschel 1986, pp. 377–83). His assertion is that Krochmal follows Neander rather than Dähne in his approach to Philo.17 In Goetschel’s view (Goetschel 1986, pp. 378–79, 383), Neander’s representations of Philo (premised on both Somn. 1.102 and Migr. 89–93) are of particular significance for Krochmal’s portrayal of him as a spiritual Jewish exegete who quarrels with “the carnal-minded rabbis” (“die fleischlich gesinnten Rabbinen”) for being scriptural literalists on the one hand and with the excessively theoretical theosophists among the Jewish Alexandrians on the other (Neander 1818, pp. 3, 6). A further article by Fischel Lachower, “Niglah ve-Nistar be-Mishnato shel RaNaK” (“The Revealed and Concealed in the Teaching of RaNaK”), which was published in 1951, is also of special interest for our examination. In Lachower’s article—which mainly explores Krochmal’s attitude towards the Kabbalah—Philo secures a crucial place, inasmuch as Krochmal considered his allegorical writings to be ancient sources of kabbalistic precepts. Lachower’s insightful study examines Krochmal’s employment of diverse Tannaitic verses and imageries in order to shed light on his rabbinic understanding of the Philonic worldview (Lachower 1951, pp. 222–23, 230–32). Lachower also emphasizes the clear-cut contrast that Krochmal makes between Ḥasidut and Maʿaseh, with the latter’s adherents being theoretically minded and thus neglectful of concrete matters that are intimately attached to the social realm while the former’s adherents are practically minded (Lachower 1951, pp. 220–23). I will suggest that Krochmal’s idealized presentation of Philo—like various Tannaitic maxims adduced in Chapter 12 of the Guide from the Mishnaic tractate Avot—breaks the mold of this dichotomy to a considerable degree. This Tannaitic perception of Philo, as I will contend, is not unmediated, but actually aligns neatly with classic Maskilic conceptions of Judaism’s true teaching advanced in M. Avot and midrashic literature: the golden mean between Derekh Ereẓ (worldly occupation/labor) and Talmud Torah (the study of the Law). Like Goetschel, Lachower also prioritizes Neander’s impact on Krochmal’s conception of Philo over Dähne’s, since the former provided him with the groundwork for his own account of Philo’s speculative notions (such as the allegorical idea of the Israelite nation as the beholders of God).18 In what follows, I will attempt to counter both Goetschel’s and Lachower’s conjectures concerning Krochmal’s predilection for Neander’s viewpoint and their relegation of Dähne’s two-volume monograph to a secondary position.

2. “And There Is Nothing New”: The Paradigmatic Crisis of Jewish Faith and Yedidyah Ha-Alexandri in “Dark Sayings of Ancient Times”

In a letter from 1838 that Krochmal wrote to the editor of Kerem Ḥemed, Samuel L. Goldenberg (1807–1846), one reads:

And in this way, one significant root is notable, which these days is worthy of being considered a basic principle; i.e., the obligation to concretely observe the laws. According to this principle, faith and the spiritual worship of the heart do not suffice, regardless of whether the belief is a plain thought in the initial phase of imagination or a pure and rational one. [Belief] alone is insufficient as long as we have not fulfilled it to its full extent in the light of the outer world both privately and publicly, through the [ritual] acts [corresponding to] the commandments. This is the foundation of our Torah in all places and throughout all times. […] During the Second Temple period, it was not only the central Pharisean sages in the land of Israel and Babylon who went to great lengths to uphold the Torah’s tenets and to be vigilant about its precise didactic mediation—as is well known to everybody—but also some among the Jews in Alexandria and in the rest of the Hellenistic cities, who were the first, as mentioned above, to establish an inner religion of wisdom based on the secrets of faith and a wholehearted devotion and intention. See Yedidyah—perhaps the greatest among these [Alexandrian] sages—in whose treatises on the allegories of the Torah we find brilliant admonitions about not discounting the deeds in place of knowing their allegorical [content], but rather adhering to them and following them according to the tradition of the fathers. And his admonitions were not against frivolous and evil men, but against the Ḥasidim and the men of theory [Anshei ha-ʿIyyun] whom he regards as being on a higher level than those on the level of the [worshipping] laborers and men of praxis [Anshei Maʿaseh] alone (in Greek: ἀσκητής, practitioner) (this entire [subject] and its expression in [the writings of] our first sages, may their memory be a blessing, will be elucidated at length in my work on the shaʿar [viz. Ḥidot Minni Kedem], which I have exclusively devoted to this sage’s systematic doctrine of God). From this, one may observe that already back then, they wanted to discount deeds in place of theory, as is the case in our present days. And this [phenomenon] does not merely apply to the few theoretical men who drew on the philosophical method, or what they regard as such, but also to the few who are attracted to the mysteries of the traditional wisdom, and there is nothing new.

(Krochmal 2010, p. 439; emphasis in original; my translation)19

With this revealing passage, Krochmal outlines the pivotal objectives and features of his “Dark Sayings of Ancient Times”. Four points warrant our attention:

• Krochmal draws on Philo’s thought as a source through which he isolates the true core of the Jewish faith that persists throughout all of its historical manifestations: the observation of the concrete commandments (kiyyum ha-miẓvvot ba-foʿal).20
• By adducing Philo as his chief reference point, Krochmal can historically contextualize and legitimize his own moderate Maskilic critique, which he levels against radical nonobservant Maskilim and a fortiori against the emerging Hasidic movement of his days that was promptly gaining steam in the Eastern European Jewish communities of the early nineteenth century, which he implicitly accuses of being antinomian, unworldly, and socially detached.21 Taking his cue from Philo’s critique of certain groups of detached Jewish Alexandrians exhibiting antinomian inclinations (Migr. 89–93),22 whom he identifies with the Ḥasidim ha-Riʾshonim (Lachower 1951, p. 222), Krochmal wishes to show that already in the Second Temple era, the markedly theoretical Hasideans were being criticized for having strayed from Judaism’s golden path. He thus detects in Philo’s writings not only an ancient expression of the paradigmatic crisis of the Jewish faith, which repeats itself in diverse manifestations of Jewish history, but also and more importantly the decisive orthodox and authentic answer supplied by Philo himself.
• Krochmal refers to his own analysis of Philo in Chapter 12 of the Guide as elaborating on this contention while also seeking to reveal pervasive links between Philo’s writings and rabbinic literature, mostly to Tannaitic sayings, but also to Amoraic midrashim on divine creation.
• This allusion to Philo must also be understood against the background of Krochmal’s quarrel with Samuel David Luzzatto’s (alias SHaDaL; 1800–1865) repudiation of Maimonides and Avraham ibn ʿEzraʾ due to their strong dependency on Greek wisdom. In fact, this bone of contention constitutes the main thematic point of departure of the letter as a whole.23 On the basis of this very portrayal in Migr. 89–93, Krochmal proclaims in an earlier section of the letter that such antinomian trends in Jewish history cannot by any means serve as sufficient grounds for the complete abolition of the theoretical investigation and elucidation of the pure nature of the Jewish faith (emunah ẓerufah). Implicitly alluding to Luzzatto, he proceeds with the claim that a person who pursues this goal of abolition will give rise to every single rampant superstitious belief, ultimately inducing idolatry to such a degree that morals and faith in toto will become entirely corrupt (Krochmal 2010, p. 435).

The very title given to this chapter of the Guide discloses its affirmative historiographical attitude towards Jewish Alexandrian thought. The full title reads as follows: “Dark Sayings of Ancient Times […] [‘which we have heard and known, that our fathers have told us’ (Psalms 78:3)]: On the Divine Philosophy of the Torah Which Arose and Was Developed among the Jewish Inhabitants of Alexandria and the Hellenistic Cities throughout the Entire Second Temple Period, and on Several of the Systems That Later Emerged from It”.24 Krochmal’s use of Psalm 78:2b–3 (which portrays the transmission of ancient teachings from father to son) to underpin the speculative Religionsphilosophie of Alexandrian Jewry seems to indicate that he wants to convey that its contents conform to traditional mystical Jewish wisdom and perhaps even contain authentic kabbalistic teachings regarding Maʿaseh Berʾeshit and Merkavah.25 By emphasizing the permeation of diverse Philonic ideas relating to the creation account in midrashic literature (Krochmal 2010, pp. 172–74), he appears to indicate how these speculative notions were transmitted and how they may have made their way into kabbalistic traditions.26

With the title’s evocation of Psalm 78:3 (“things we have heard and known, that our fathers have told us”)—as well as the following verse, which is omitted but nonetheless echoed (“We will not withhold them from their children, telling the coming generation”)—and the didactic oral chain of transmission that it outlines, Krochmal insinuates that Chapter 12 also addresses an acute pedagogical crisis that underlies the Jewish tradition (Amir 2018, p. 241, 254). This pedagogical crisis stems from the fact that the paternal chain of instruction that disseminated these ancient teachings of Jewish Alexandrian wisdom has been abruptly broken. It is by means of his “Dark Sayings of Ancient Times” that Krochmal attempts to restore this pedagogical chain of transmission and to uncover the salient parallels of Jewish Alexandrian rationalism to the early rabbinic worldview, which has sunk into oblivion. Taking up this pedagogical challenge specifically in a time of spiritual crisis in which the Maskilic mindset was being submerged and assaulted by the non-rational, superstitious Hasidim, Krochmal understood that it was necessary to (re)produce a historical, pedagogical narrative that places the Maskilic approach at the center of traditional Jewish knowledge.

The fact that Krochmal lays out his view of scholarly research into Judaism within the general framework of world history in Chapter 12 of the Guide, which takes Philo as its focal theme, points to its centrality in Krochmal’s overall Jewish historiography:

Know that it is a great and magnificent principle that we require and that fits us well, for we will frequently search for and investigate the opinions, morals, and qualities which expressed themselves within our nation throughout different time periods. [And we will investigate] by means of the events that we underwent and the connections and intermingling with others that we experienced, which were more considerable than any other nation and tongue, although only to a limited degree. And [we will investigate] how we were affected and modified by their opinions, morals, and qualities, and how we have affected them, our [Gentile] fellow men, from one generation to the next. [This applies] even to those who were distant from us and who approached us gingerly and received only a few of our ways, such as the Greeks in the period of the late Platonists, Plotinus and Proclus; and, in another manner, Muhammed; and like those who were close to us and then distanced themselves, such as the devotees of the renewed testament; or the sayings of Baruch [de Spinoza] the philosopher and the [philosophical] schools following him. It is an obligation of the sages and great ones among us to examine these [matters] in their essence and their roots. All this is for the sake of attaining distinct impressions thereof through the power of exploration and ultimately for clarifying our knowledge of ourselves and our essence, which is the universal soul of Israel [nefesh yisraʾel ha-kelalit].

(Krochmal 2010, p. 167; my translation)27

It is hardly accidental that Krochmal’s overview of the historiographical research aims of the Wissenschaft des Judentums is specifically presented in a chapter primarily devoted to Philo’s doctrines.28 The fact that Philo was immensely influential within general non-Jewish world history aptly evinces Krochmal’s contention that the immanent spirit of Israel underlies various crucial historical periods and their intellectual movements (Feiner 2001, pp. 120–21). This is made clear by his reference to the Jewish impact on Neoplatonism, through which he implicitly refers to Philo, who was widely acknowledged as its forerunner in nineteenth-century scholarship.29

Against this background, it should be stressed that the revival of Philo’s thought in nineteenth-century Jewish scholarship is inextricably related to the emergence of the historical consciousness within modern Judaism. It might, therefore, come as no surprise that already in a 1787 issue of the Maskilic journal Ha-Meʾassef, we find a section in reply to a question concerning the Second Temple period, which accords Philo a key role within the historical understanding of ancient Judaism. The anonymously written section asserts that “if it were not for the Jews Philo and Josephus, two writers of our nation who recorded the historical occurrences relating to us from the time that prophecy ceased from Israel in the days of Ḥaggai, Zekhariah, and Malʾakhi, we would not have any remnant or remembrance from the entire Second Temple period” (Anonymous 1787, p. 10). Ben-Zion Katz goes so far as to describe this brief section as the first historical article written by a Jewish intellectual of the German-speaking realm to be of any academic value (Katz 1956, p. 254). As early as 1821, in the second issue of Bikurei ha-ʿIttim, one can also find a section devoted to Philo’s biography.30 Even Rapoport, who gained recognition among scholars of the Wissenschaft for his biographical studies of great Jewish sages (Feiner 2001, pp. 112–13), intended to compose a thorough biography of Philo that would serve as an overall introduction to Josef Flesch’s (1781–1839) Hebrew translations of the entire Philonic oeuvre.31 With that said, it is evident that the Guide’s famous editor, Leopold Zunz (1794–1886), a celebrated scholar of Jewish history in his own right, ranked Philo—alongside Hillel the Elder, Rabbi ʿAkivaʾ, and Josephus—as one of the four most significant Jewish thinkers of the first century of the Common Era, which was characterized by a strong influence from Greek culture (Zunz 1845, p. 24). In short, with the awakening of historical consciousness and criticism among the Maskilim and Wissenschaftler, the view that Philo’s thought epitomized the Maskilic spirit and its principles began to feature prominently in their scholarly depictions of Judaism.32

3. Reconstructing Krochmal’s Rabbinic-Maskilic Image of Philo

Turning to a closer look at Chapter 12 of the Guide, it is worth noting that Dähne and Neander were not its only sources. From the outset of the chapter, one can, for example, discern the impact exerted on it by Moses Mendelssohn’s Netivot ha-Shalom (also known as the Biʾur) and, specifically, its introduction, Or li-Netivah. In a preliminary discussion on the emergence of the Septuagint and the rise of the Greek language within diasporic Jewish communities, Krochmal explicitly mentions the preparatory treatment of Rabbi Mosheh ben Menaḥem in his Or li-Netivah alongside those of both Azariah de’ Rossi and Johann G. Eichhorn (1752–1827) (Krochmal 2010, p. 166). A closer observation of the following section, which is devoted to Philo’s famous predecessor Aristobulus, exposes Krochmal’s dependency on Mendelssohn’s Or li-Netivah:

והיה בימי תלמי הרביעי ביניהם חכם גדול שמו ארסטובולוס פלוסוף, וחיבר פירוש גדול על תורת משה, ונאבד ולא נשאר ממנו כ"א איזה קונטרסים וזכרון דברים מועטים בפי ובחבורי חכמים נוצרים הקדמונים.	וכן העיד אריסטובו"לו איש יהודי [...] הוא אריסטובול"ו וכתב לתלמי המלך הנקרא תלמי פילומיט"רה, חבור גדול בלשון יון על תורת משה, כולל מאה פרקים, ונאבד באורך הימים, ולא נשאר ממנו כי אם מקומות מעט הבאים מתוך דברי מחברים אחרים [...].
[And there was in the days of Ptolemy the fourth a great sage among them, whose name was Aristobulus, [and he was] a philosopher. And he wrote a large treatise on the Law of Moses, which was lost; and nothing remains but some pages and the testimonies of a few sayings quoted by ancient Christian sages in their treatises.] (Krochmal 2010, p. 167; my translation; my emphasis)	[This was also attested by Aristobulus the Jew […]. This Aristobulus wrote a large treatise in Greek, comprising 100 chapters, on the Law of Moses for King Ptolemy, known as Ptolemy Philometor. This was lost during the time that had elapsed, and only small sections cited in the writings of others remain.] (Mendelssohn 1990 [JubA 15.1], p. 37; my emphasis)33

Krochmal’s reliance upon Or li-Netivah and the Biʾur as a whole within the context of Chapter 12 of the Guide is of relevance to the present examination, for it suggests that Mendelssohn’s explicit and affirmative use of Philo and Jewish Hellenism in his edition of the Pentateuch shaped his own stance on the subject.34

However, Chapter 12 of the Guide suffers from one acute problem, which was pointed out by Leopold Zunz in his edition of it: it is incomplete and extremely fragmentary (Zunz 2010, p. ii).35 The lion’s share of Krochmal’s rabbinic passages, which are cited in a section entitled “A Compilation of Sayings in the Talmudim and Midrashot for the Sake of Elucidating the System of Yedidyah and the Alexandrians” (Krochmal 2010, p. 168; my translation) in order to reveal their parallels with Philo’s views, are often left unexplored. This presents the readers of this chapter with the serious task of reconstructing Krochmal’s original intent. By Drawing on his own fragmented statements and on his central secondary source, Dähne’s Geschichtliche Darstellung der jüdisch-alexandrinischen Religions-Philosophie, which he appears to use as a sourcebook for countless Philonic passages translated into German and also cited in the Greek original, it can be demonstrated in what follows how one may reproduce some of Krochmal’s basic assertions.

Dähne’s two-volume monograph on Jewish Alexandrian philosophy, which was published in 1834, was unparalleled in the German-speaking world of those days thanks to its extensive in-depth treatment of and innovative approach to Philonic thought. It entirely displaced its predecessor, Ernst A. Stahl’s (1772–1795) “Versuch eines systematischen Entwurfs des Lehrbegriffs Philos von Alexandrien” (Stahl 1793, pp. 767–890). To illustrate Stahl’s shortcomings, while at the same time helping us to appreciate the merits of Dähne’s comprehensive presentation of Philo’s body of thought, we will adduce an illuminating observation found in a section titled “Von der Moral des Philon von Alexandrien” from the famous Prussian Enlightenment theologian Johann David Michaelis’s (1717–1791) Moral: “I cannot cite anything meaningful with regard to Philo’s ethics. As valuable as E. H. Stahl’s Versuch eines systematischen Entwurfs des Lehrbegriffs Philos von Alexandrien is in relation to Philo’s dogmatics, it is brief, deficient, and unsatisfactory on the matter of his ethics” (Michaelis 1799, p. 490 n. 217; my translation). This specific deficiency perplexed Michalis, since he had stated that “Philo is full of ethics, also in his allegorical commentaries, and a certain number of his writings are predominantly and mostly dedicated to ethics”.36 Precisely this thematic emphasis is extensively accounted for in Dähne’s book, particularly in the two sections entitled “Die Ethik Philo’s” (pp. 341–424) and “Von der Uebung der alexandrinische-jüdischen ethischen Grundsätze, oder von den Therapeuten und Essenern” (pp. 439–97). Both of these sections foregrounding Philo’s ethics resonated particularly well with Krochmal’s image of Philo as an ancient Jewish sage of the Second Temple period who also assigned pivotal importance to concrete deeds within a given social Umwelt. Dähne’s work helped Krochmal to portray Philo in a universal moral light in accordance with musar literature.37 The moralistic perspective of the musar genre was strongly endorsed by central figures of the early Berlin Haskalah within the framework of their universalistic understanding of Judaism and its pedagogical mediation, such as Moses Mendelssohn, Naphtali Herz Wessely (1725–1805), Isaac Satanow (1732–1804), and David Friedländer (1750–1834).38 As Patrick Koch perceptively observes, the interest in musar literature was echoed in “the Zeitgeist of […] the Jewish Enlightenment, itself influenced by an increasing interest in formulating a new system of ethics in the Humanities” (Koch 2015, pp. 3–4).

Moreover, with respect to his allegorical exegesis, Dähne emphasizes, for example, the fact that Philo and the rabbis had a common hermeneutical approach to Scripture: “In the past a multifold meaning was presupposed, so that there was no longer a natural boundary, and the rabbis, who spoke of a thousandfold meaning of every single verse, in essence rested on the same foundation as Philo did”.39 Both of these focal points are insufficiently accounted for in Neander’s brief introductory chapter on Philo (“Elemente der Gnosis im Philo”, pp. 1–27).40 In fact, Neander sought to read Philo more along the lines of speculative Christian theology and exegesis. He thereby portrays the Alexandrian as a spiritual interpreter of Jewish Scripture who went against the literalist rabbinic tradition of his day. Krochmal, who was aware of these elements, even explicitly criticizes Neander’s Christian portrayal of Philo’s Logos theology.41

Krochmal’s portrayal of Philo as an exemplary antique Jewish sage constitutes the crux of his entire twelfth chapter. He alleges a wide array of rabbinic passages outlining Tannaitic virtues, above all from M. Avot, in order to make this contention plausible.42 For Krochmal, the distinguishing feature of Tannaitic wisdom was its stress on the golden mean (derekh ha-emẓaʿ) of authentic Jewish faith, preserving a delicate balance between practical (maʿaseh) and theoretical (ʿiyyun) matters.43 In fact, this outlook appears to have been mediated via well-known Maskilic portrayals of Judaism’s fundamental precept, which deems Derekh Ereẓ to be a basic prerequisite for Talmud Torah. Wessely’s famous pedagogical treatise Words of Peace and Truth may be taken as the prime example of this stance. In it, he argues that the Jewish tradition purports that the crucial position of Derekh Ereẓ—which he construes to mean human culture and general secular learning subjects (Torat ha-Adam)— fundamentally supplements and even precedes the sacred Talmud Torah (the study of the Law), which he designates as Torat Hashem.44 To substantiate his secular view of the Jewish religion, he draws support from Vayikra Rabba 9:3, in which it is claimed that Derekh Ereẓ “preceded the Torah by twenty-six generations”.45 By focusing on Migr. 89–93—in which Philo criticizes the extremely spiritual and detached Jewish Alexandrians for no longer observing the Mosaic Law in its literal sense while exclusively adhering to its higher allegorical meaning—Krochmal portrays Philo as a central paragon of the original Jewish mindset. At the same time, it seems quite clear that he endeavors to politically exploit his Maskilic portrait of Philo as a genuine ancient Ḥasid by pitting it against the modern Hasidic movement,46 which in those days was gaining a strong foothold in Eastern European Jewish communities and was involved in numerous clashes with Jewish Aufklärer.47 Thus, he is able to expose the modern Hasidic movement’s considerable deviation from the concrete and indispensable observation of the laws in favor of a mystical Schwärmerei and irrational superstition, revealing it to be Hitḥasdut (sanctimoniousness).48 These critical accounts often convey the false impression that the Hasidic movement of the first half of the nineteenth century was monolithic, entailing no substantial variation whatsoever.49 Krochmal appears to have appropriated his monolithic and tendentious view of Hasidism from prior stereotypical critiques by Mitnaggdim, which “were typically distorted to the point where they barely resembled actual Hasidism”.50

However, due to the fragmentary condition of Chapter 12, it is still quite difficult to discern exactly how Krochmal classified Philo. It seems clear that he regarded him as an adherent of the Essenes/Therapeutae, which he, in turn, identifies with the original Ḥasidim mentioned in Tannaitic literature (Ḥasidim ha-Riʾshonim). At the same time, he portrays him as a Jewish thinker who strongly objected to a negative phenomenon that was common in the Hasidean way of life in Alexandria of the first century CE: the Hasideans’ exaggeratedly spiritual and detached mindset. This might suggest that Krochmal understood Philo to be an exemplary Hasidean who upheld the unblemished ancient rabbinic worldview that maintained the golden mean and who, for this reason, harshly criticized the excessively spiritual Hasideans of his days for neglecting the practical observance of the Mosaic Law and Jewish ceremonies.

By singling out a few examples and sorting them out into thematic groups, one can throw further light on Krochmal’s programmatic presentation of Philo and his intellectual Jewish environment. For him, Philo’s depictions of the religious rituals of the Essenes and the Therapeutae in Contempl. and Prob. (§§75–91) are especially significant. Through these Jewish sects, he attempts to illustrate how Philo and these sages align with similar ceremonial patterns documented in rabbinic literature. This becomes quite apparent from the outset, when we encounter his allusion to B. Pesaḥim 12b and B. Shabbat 10a regarding the late mealtime (taken in the sixth hour) of the Torah scholars. Krochmal makes two brief and fragmentary remarks on these Talmudic passages: (1) that “our sages taught [this] as well”, and (2) that “Philo spoke about the congregation of the Essenes”.51 In all likelihood, the specific section that Krochmal had in mind is taken from Contempl. 34, where Philo describes the fasting rituals of the Therapeutae who solely “desire the vision of the Existent” (Contempl. 11): “Food and drink none of them would ever deal with before the setting of the sun, since they judge philosophizing to be appropriate for light”.52 In the following paragraph (§35), Philo even mentions the number six in connection with some of the Therapeutae who practice strict fasting, who “only after six days taste necessary food”.53 With a very high degree of certainty, we may assume that Krochmal encountered these Philonic illustrations in Dähne’s monograph, the first volume of which dwells on this specific subject by providing a German translation of the entire section from Contempl. (§§34–37) (Dähne 1834, vol. 1, pp. 447–48). To Krochmal, the images of both Philo and the rabbis conform to his understanding of the Hasideans’ original mindset as involving theoretical investigations coupled with ascetic rituals.54

Four further rabbinic passages from M. Avot that Krochmal employs and thematically correspond to his attempt to portray the Essenes and the Therapeutae as the earliest Ḥasidim are M. Avot 4:21, 5:10, 5:13, and 6:4. The sayings in both M. Avot 5:10 (“‘What is mine is thine and what is thine is thine own’—he is a saintly man [ḥasid]”) and 5:13 (“he that is minded to give and also that others should give—he is a saintly man”) feature the Hasidean virtue of selfless generosity and the ideal of joint property in their agreement with the Essenes’ communion of goods (Prob. 77, 85–87; Hypoth. 11.4–13). For the sake of clarification, Krochmal makes a complementary observation about M. Avot 5:10, stating that this maxim is “in accordance with the pronounced strictness of the [thought] system that necessitates an absolute abandonment of all possessions” (Krochmal 2010, p. 171). His brief remark following his citation of M. Avot 5:13 is even more revealing: he writes that this Tannaitic dictum “perhaps hints at this community”, entertaining the idea that the reference to this Hasidean virtue is an allusion to the Essenes (Krochmal 2010, p. 171).

Krochmal construes the other three Tannaitic sayings as essentially portraying the ascetic Ḥasid victorious struggle over his lower order of desires and passions.55 For instance, he understands M. Avot 5:11 (“hard to provoke and easy to appease—he is a saintly man [ḥasid]”) as the individual’s victory over all the affections of the soul. A more clear-cut example is his reference to M. Avot 6:4, which delineates the ascetic mode of life of the one who strives to follow the path of the Torah (“Thou shalt eat bread with salt and thou shalt drink water by measure […] while thou toilest in the Law”). With reference to this rabbinic saying, Krochmal notes that this is a maxim “conforming to the ethics of this system, demanding that the laborer [adhere to] the obligation to victoriously prevail against the sensual matters”.56 Krochmal was most likely thinking in this respect of a very similar Philonic passage in Contempl. 37, in which the Therapeutae are portrayed as ascetics whose entire nutritional intake is restricted to bread and water. Krochmal must have been acquainted with this testimony from Dähne’s German translation (Dähne 1834, p. 448). He reads the virtue ethical maxim attributed to Rabbi Elʿazar ha-Kappar in M. Avot 4:21 (“Jealousy, lust, and ambition put a man out of the world”) along similar lines, arguing that the Tannaitic sage was deeply familiar with this ascetic Hasidean outlook. However, Krochmal also wants to present Rabbi Elʿazar ha-Kappar as conforming to a balanced mindset that ultimately compels the individual to take part in the pleasure of useful worldly things and that resists radical abstinence.57 He illustrates this through the baraitaʾ invoked in B. Nazir 19a, where Rabbi Elʿazar ha-Kappar appears to posit the contrary; that is, that the ascetic withdrawal from wine and worldly pleasures is what should actually be considered sinful (Krochmal 2010, p. 171).

A closer look at Dähne’s work would actually suggest that Krochmal was attempting to bring these Tannaitic maxims into line with Philo’s virtue ethics, which is often expressed through Hellenistic motifs of athletic competition involving prizes. For example, the Israelite patriarchs and the Essenes are also understood in a similar manner as “athletes of virtue” (ἀθληταὶ ἀρετῆς).58 In Dähne’s subchapter entitled “Die Ethik Philo’s”, one frequently comes across the athletic metaphors of man’s rational soul wrestling with the sensual passions in order to attain the prize of virtue. In one section, we read:

A crucial turning point in the human striving for virtue always arose in the moment where the instruction had led to the attainment of the prize, the (imperturbable) faith, and man, who was beyond the education of his adolescence, had completed his development (τέλειος), so to speak. […] And after these preliminary remarks, it no longer remains unclear as to why it is repeatedly said that [Praem. 27:] he [viz. Isaac] strove for perfection due to his noble nature and that he was awarded the prize of joy, victorious without competition, winning the virtue by dint of his natural powers.

(Dähne 1834, pp. 394–95)59

These depictions seem to have left a lasting mark on Krochmal’s apprehension of Tannaitic moral doctrines. His description of the meaning of the Mishnaic zokheh bears a striking resemblance to Dähne’s explanations of Philonic ethics:

[...] והוא על דרך שיטה זו שכל עבודת העובד הוא התאבקות ונצוח נגד החומרי ועונג הבשר.	Er war eine drückende Last, die des Geistes Ringen nach göttlicher Vollendung und Seligkeit niederhielt und ihn an das Sinnliche fesselte
[And it is according to this ethical system that the entire work of the laborer is wrestling with and victory over the sensual matter and carnal lust] (Krochmal 2010, p. 171).	[It (the human body) was a pressing burden, which held down the spirit’s wrestling for perfection and blissfulness and enchained it to the sensual] (Dähne 1834, vol. 1, p. 328).60

The other major feature of Krochmal’s portrayal of the parallels between Philo and the ancient Hasideans involves their similar Weltanschauung advancing a distinct hierarchical structure, which places the theoretical life above the practical one, without discounting the latter. As Zunz already indicated (Zunz 2010, p. iv), Krochmal’s chief differentiation is between sages devoting their lives to good deeds (Anshei Maʿaseh) and the Ḥasidim primarily focusing on speculative mystical matters (Krochmal 2010, p. 170). The first level is primarily designated as the level of the laborer (madregat ha-ʿoved) and the sin-fearing righteous individual (madregat ha-ẓadik ve-yareʾ ha-ḥetʾ), while the second, superior level is that of the Ḥasid (madregat ha-ḥasid). The third and ultimate level is reserved for the beholders of God (madregat ha-ẓofeh).61 Krochmal lays out his viewpoint by drawing on both the sayings of Ḥaninaʾ ben Dosaʾ in M. Avot 3:11—in which he hierarchically distinguishes between ḥokhmah and yirʾat ḥetʾ and alludes to those who adhered to both62—and those of the prominent Hasidean Pinḥas ben Yaʾir in M. Sotah 9:15:

And this is the proof that those practical men differentiated themselves from the possessors of mysteries, who did not entirely neglect the deeds relating to worldly matters and their obligations towards their fellow men. And herein is a difference from the designation “Ḥasidim”, which refers to those who possess the mysteries and who devote their souls to visions of and absorption in the Godly mysteries by means of complete isolation and abstinence from the [customary] ways of life. And the Hellenistic Jews used the name ἀσκητός to designate those of the first level and ἄσκησις [to designate] their action, and this is the specific word that was admitted into late Aramaic as the term ʿesek [for the action] and ʿOsek for the one possessing this virtue respectively, and as ʿOved and Ish Maʿaseh in Hebrew. The last two levels are found in the famous baraitaʾ of Rabbi Pinḥas ben Yaʾir; they are “the shunning of sin lead[ing] to saintliness, and saintliness lead[ing] to (the gift of) the Holy Spirit” [M. Sotah 9:15]. Here, too, the contrast indicates that the shunning of sin is on the level of the practical men who have not yet withdrawn from worldly deeds and social settings, whose work is to be mindful of the sin [in the world]. And the Ḥasidut is the complete opposite of the mundane world and the deeds therein; [it is] seclusion for the sake of beholding the divine. And the next level, which is the last one, is the intellectual vision of the divine mysteries and the secrets of the Torah, which transcend the [ordinary] methods used by the mere intellect.

(Krochmal 2010, pp. 168–69; my translation)

In this fragmented passage, Krochmal appears to argue that Tannaitic literature already documents the phenomenon of the lopsided lifestyle of many Hasideans, who solely devote themselves to divine mysteries while altogether disregarding earthly matters within a given social context (Lachower 1951, p. 223). In the final analysis, however, he does not appear to claim that the Hasidean worldview did not put any emphasis on practical deeds. Krochmal’s construal of the Essenes as the ancient Hasideans is somewhat puzzling, since, in Philo’s view, they were actually those who follow the practical course of life (Contempl. 1). Rather, Krochmal wishes to point to a specific degeneration of the original Hasidean mindset, which was no longer sufficiently accounting for practical matters.63 It is precisely in this fact that the radical thrust of his rabbinic image of Philo lies. He seems to impose his Maskilic reading of Philo as a vehement critic of the Hasideans onto the Tannaitic worldview outlined in M. Avot. In doing so, he offers a counterintuitive interpretation of the ancient Hasidean faction—who on the face of it actually appear very much concerned with practical rituals64—as being primarily identified with speculative contemplations and withdrawal from social reality. Krochmal utilizes Philo as a Maskilic paragon of ancient times, which he holds up as a prime example of the Hasidean outlook immersing itself in Godly mysteries, while being unwilling to compromise, like many of his Hasidean counterparts, the fundamental position of the practical commands and ceremonies. He has no principal problem with conceding such a prominent role to a Hellenistic Jewish thinker like Philo, who is nevertheless not even mentioned in rabbinic literature. This seems to stem from the fact that he regards Alexandrian Jewish thought as an important source of various teachings that help to shape Tannaitic wisdom.65 He also alludes to Y. Ḥagigah 15b, where the famous pupil of Rabbi ʿAkivaʾ, Rabbi Yoḥanan Ha-Sandlar, is designated as “a true Alexandrian” (alexandri le-amito huʾ),66 and additionally must surely have been aware of the Zugot, Yehudah ben Tabbʾai, and Yehoshuaʿ ben Peraḥayah, who sought refuge in Alexandria.67

Again, making recourse to Dähne’s account of Philonic ethics, it becomes quite manifest that this was a model for Krochmal’s hierarchical presentation of the different groups within the Tannaitic period. Krochmal’s portrayal particularly corresponds to Dähne’s description of Philo’s understanding of the human being’s varying moral and epistemological levels as symbolically conveyed in the lives and names of the biblical patriarchs:

Philo views his characterization of Cain’s offspring in similar fashion [such as in Post. 125 regarding the meaning of the name “Seth”]: here, too, the numerous names which are mentioned between Seth and Moses indicate the different levels and stages that lie in the middle between the beginning of the permanent virtue and the highest perfection.

(Dähne 1834, vol. 1, p. 364; my translation)

In a few instances, Dähne even outlines the ascending levels of the ascetic life according to Philonic moral precepts (“Grade […] der Askese nach Philo’s Sätzen”),68 which culminate in the vision of God as its ultimate theoretical objective (Dähne 1834, vol. 1, p. 350, 421). Taking his cue from various Philonic passages—such as Leg. 2.89, 1.55, Contempl. 1, Mos. 1.48, Fug. 47, and Decal. 101—Dähne centers Philo’s stance regarding the practical life (βίος πρακτικός) as a conditio sine qua non for the higher theoretical life (βίος θεωρητικός):

For as long as the years of adolescence or manhood provide the individual with even greater powers, he is equally obliged to lead an active, practical life (βίος πρακτικὸς, ἀρετὴ, πρακτικὴ, ἡ πρᾶξις) instead of a contemplative one. In it, he should strive for the higher wisdom and virtue which he himself has achieved and exert it among his fellow men, or at least through this deed refute the generally plain disrepute of the indolent life and at the same time establish the purity of his ascesis.

(Dähne 1834, vol. 1, p. 412; my translation)

The section of Philo’s oeuvre within the thematic context at hand that left the deepest impression on Krochmal is Fug. 25–36 (perhaps even more so than Migr. 89–93), which he translated into Hebrew from Dähne’s German.69 In this insightful and lengthy portrayal, Dähne wished to showcase Philo’s view of “the relationship of the practical life to the theoretical”, which is expressed in a critique leveled against the ascetic Jewish Alexandrians who strictly withdraw from all worldly possessions, including useful ones (Dähne 1834, vol. 1, p. 413). In Fug. 35–36, we read:

State business is an object of ridicule to you people. Perhaps you have never discovered how serviceable a thing it is. Begin, then, by getting some exercise and practice in the business of life both private and public; and when by means of the sister virtues, household-management and statesmanship, you have become masters in each domain, enter now, as more than qualified to do so, on your migration to a different and more excellent way of life. For the practical comes before the contemplative life; it is a sort of prelude to a more advanced contest; and it is well to have fought it out first. By taking this course you will avoid the imputation of shrinking from it through sheer laziness (PLCL 5:29).70

One brief complementary remark that Krochmal parenthetically adds to the beginning of his Hebrew translation of Fug. 35, in which Philo directly addresses his critique to these particular types of men (“To such men, then, let us say” [λέγωμεν οὖν τοῖς τοιούτοις]), is quite illuminating. To Krochmal—alluding to the idea and formulation of M. Avot 3:10 (“He whose fear of sin comes before his wisdom” [ve-kol she-ḥokhmato kodemet le-yirʾat ḥatʾo ein ḥokhmato mitkayemet])71—these men are “namely, those on the level of the Ḥasidut, who have separated themselves [so that this level] takes precedence over their deeds” [hainu lemi she-hevdilu le-madregat ha-ḥasidut kodemet le-maʿassav] (Krochmal 2010, p. 178; my translation).

Krochmal illustrates the presence of this Philonic viewpoint in Tannaitic literature by drawing on “the remarkable parable” (ha-mashal ha-muflaʾ) of Rabbi ʾElʿazar ben ʿAzariah in M. Avot 3:18 (“He whose wisdom is more abundant than his works, to what is he like? To a tree whose branches are abundant but whose roots are few; and the wind comes and uproots it and overturns it”) (Krochmal 2010, p. 169). Krochmal’s explication of Ben ʿAzariah’s metaphorical image is in broad agreement with Philo’s account of the complementary and hierarchical relationship between the practical and theoretical modes of life: “And [this juxtaposition of ḥokhmah and yirʾah also applies to] the remarkable parable that [symbolically] likens the deed to the root of the tree planted in the earth, [i.e.,] in the world’s corporeality, and the wisdom to the tree’s branches, which strive upwards to the heavens, [i.e.,] the cognition of God”.72 It appears anything but a mere coincidence that Krochmal would gravitate towards such Tannaitic imagery.73 In all likelihood, he had in mind a similar metaphorical image of man as a heavenly plant (φυτὸν οὐράνιον) from Philo’s thought—which rests on Tim. 90a74—which he came across in Dähne’s section dedicated to Philo’s anthropology (“Die Anthropologie Philo’s”, pp. 288–341):

With reference thereto [viz. to the Godly creation of man’s rational faculty, Det. 83–84], he designates the human soul […] as divine, an imprint, a reflection, a part, a planting place […] a Godly plant, whose roots extent up to the divine sphere. […] [n. 342:] Quod det. pot. insid. p. 170 [Det. 84] it is called [viz. the human soul]: τὸ θεοειδὲς ἐκεῖνο δημιούργημα, ᾧ λογιζόμεθα, οὗ τὰς ῥίζας εἰς οὐρανὸν ἔτεινε., de plant. N. p. 216 [Plant. 17]: φυτὸν οὐράνιον.

(Dähne 1834, vol. 1, pp. 298–300; my translation)

Accounting for Dähne’s explanation here, it seems that Krochmal utilizes the Philonic notion of man as a φυτὸν οὐράνιον, whose roots extend up to the heavens and whose feet are attached to the earth (Det. 84–85), for his allegorical interpretation of the Tannaitic image of the tree’s branches pointing heavenwards in order to imply a yearning for the vision of the divine. In Det. 85, he continues in a similar fashion to Krochmal by aligning the φυτὸν οὐράνιον according to a hierarchical scheme of a worldly and a heavenly sphere, insofar as he maintains that God raised the human mind “upward[s], that his nourishment may be celestial and imperishable, not perishable and earthly” (PLCL 2:259), while fixing his feet to the earth as they symbolize man’s most corporeal and unconscious part.

All of the examples above prompt the conclusion that Krochmal read Philo’s complimentary and hierarchical account of the practical and theoretical modes of life through a Tannaitic lens. From this, there emerges a striking image of Philo as an ancient Hasidean, advancing the golden middle way by reproaching—similarly to Ḥaninaʾ ben Dosaʾ, the exemplary model for the Anshei Maʿaseh—an aberrant negative trend among the Hasideans of his day of neglecting concrete deeds and withdrawing from their social environment. Seen from another perspective, it is quite clear that he applies Dähne’s reproduction of Philo’s viewpoint to the segmented Tannaitic sayings in order to unearth their deeper meaning and broader historical context.

Given this fact, one cannot ignore the resemblance of the ultimate aim of Krochmal’s Guide to his Maskilic perception of Philo’s Jewish philosophy. Both criticize extreme deviancies within their Jewish communities for discounting the concrete deeds that are intimately linked to Jewish laws and ceremonies. This fact is also insinuated in Rawidowicz’s insightful concluding statement regarding Krochmal’s idealized picture of Philo: “RaNaK saw in Philo the highest man of virtue, simultaneously a believer and a maskil, both the harsh criticism of the ‘Rabbis’ (the ‘materialistic among the rabbis’)75 and the man who uncompromisingly observes the commandments”.76 This passage underpins Philo’s rather unique place in the early rabbinic world according to Krochmal’s Jewish historiography: on the one hand, as a member of the Essenian sect—which Krochmal, in turn, construes as being the Ḥasidim ha-Riʾshonim—he is a typical contemporary theoretical Hasidean who is profoundly immersed in speculations regarding the divine. On the other, like many of the great Tannaitic sages recorded in M. Avot, he is unwilling to reduce to insignificance the status of the commandments and the ceremonial elements of the Jewish faith, which are intimately attached to ethical deeds, and, thus, argues for their decisive complementary role within the theoretical modus vivendi.

Although this historiographical engagement with Philo seems to reproduce, mutatis mutandis, Krochmal’s own social settings in Galicia—in which the Maskilic mindset was constantly provoked by the irrational Hasidic outlook—one cannot simply equate the ancient Hasideans with modern Hasidim. It is evident that Krochmal believed them to be entirely different things. The ancient Hasideans, in Krochmal’s view, actually mark the elite intellectual party of the Tannaʾim, who were responsible for the development of central kabbalistic teachings. On the other hand, he conceives modern Hasidim as fanatical, inflammatory, plebeian, ignorant, sanctimonious, schwärmerisch, and a long way from constituting a leading intellectual party.77 In this respect, the Maskilim, with their scholarly achievements and their theoretical views of Judaism, are much closer to the Ḥasidim ha-Riʾshonim than the modern Hasidim are. Drawing on the historical example of the ancient Hasideans, Krochmal merely wishes to point to the destructive potential of the overly theoretical approach to the Jewish tradition. When speaking of modern Hasidism, Krochmal appears to consider that the moderate stance of the ancient Jewish faith has already been completely destroyed.

4. The Hasidean Image of Philo in View of the Maskilic Crisis within Krochmal’s Umfeld

If one turns to Krochmal’s Maskilic intellectual circles, one finds very similar images of Philo as an ancient Hasidean, which also seem to be intended to expose modern Hasidism as deviating from the true essence of the Jewish faith. From the way in which he adduces these examples, it becomes apparent that Krochmal’s belief that Philo’s rabbinic mindset underlined the indispensability of the observation of Jewish law alongside theoretical contemplation was widespread among his circles and pupils. Three prominent Eastern European Maskilim are of particular relevance to us in this context and will facilitate a more coherent understanding of Krochmal’s Philo: Solomon J. L. Rapoport, Isaac Baer Levinsohn, and Avrom Ber Gotlober.

Indeed, when thinking of Krochmal’s prominent pupils, Rapoport, with whom he had a long-running intellectual relationship that persisted over three decades and who was considered by some to be “the father of the Jewish Wissenschaft alongside Krochmal” (Graetz 1870, pp. 494–95), is the one name that outshines all the others.78 Rapoport has won much acclaim in Jewish intellectual circles in both Western and Eastern Europe for his pioneering academic work on biographies of celebrated Jewish thinkers of the past (the so-called Toledot).79 If one observes his historical apprehension of Philo more closely, one is immediately confronted with its various commonalities to Krochmal’s. Reading, for example, Rapoport’s seminal essay on the paytan ʾElʿazar Kalir published in Bikurei ha-ʿIttim in 1830, one notices his strikingly similar portrayal of Philo and the Essenes:

I have already established in my book ʿErekh Milim, with strong evidence against the author of Meʾor ʿEinayim (chp. 3), that the Essene sect, which is mentioned in the books of Philo the Jew and Josephus, is not the [same as the] Boethusians mentioned in the Shisha Sedarim, since it is not remarked anywhere in Philo’s or Josephus’s writings that the Essenes deny the Oral Torah in the explicit manner that this is said about the Sadducees. In his work Quod omnis probus liber sit, Philo wrote that all of their customs in each matter, which could exclusively be transmitted by means of Godly enthusiasm, were passed down to them from their forefathers. Similarly, in his work De vita contemplativa, Philo wrote that they have many ancient books discussing numerous sublime subject matters into which they delve and in which they immerse themselves. It is possible that those books were testaments of Maʿaseh Berʾeshit and Merkavah […]. Hence, I thought it obvious that this sect is part of the sect of the Pharisees, differing merely by being people who are fiercer in their piety and their more ascetic life. They are [in agreement with] most of the wise Ḥasidim of antiquity found in the Mishnayot. The vast number of Mishnayot in chapter 6 of [M.] Avot are based on them. Therefore, Philo wrote in the abovementioned work about the [ascetic] grief-filled lives of these people who eat nothing but a slice of bread with salt and drink [only] a small quantity of water [M. Avot 6:4]. […] I also thought it to be right that the Essenes be denoted as “the vatikin [who] would conclude the recitation of Shemaʿ with sunrise” in Shishah Sedarim (B. Berakhot 9b), and there they were also called the “holy community of Jerusalem”. Various passages in Josephus and Philo reveal the Essenes’ conformity to their prayer [rituals].

(Rapoport 1830, p. 118 n. 20; my translation)

This passage by Rapoport—who was pivotal to the dissemination of Philo’s thought in his own right and also regarded himself as Philo’s great defender against de’ Rossi’s denunciations of him80—contains three remarkable parallels to Krochmal’s image of Philo: (1) The writings of Philo and the Essenes/Therapeutae are an ancient source of authentic kabbalistic wisdom. (2) Philo and the Essenes/Therapeutae are not merely an ascetic and mystical offshoot of the Pharisean sect81 and the rabbinic tradition as a whole, but are specifically associated with the ancient Hasideans mentioned in the Mishnah.82 (3) Both rabbinic passages relating to ascetic and ceremonial aspects of Jewish faith that Rapoport adduces for his thesis (M. Avot 6:4 and B. Berakhot 9b) are also mentioned in Krochmal’s “Dark Sayings of Ancient Times” for the same purpose.83

When considering the book Teʿudah be-Yisraʾel by another renowned Jewish Enlightener and critic of modern Hasidism close to Krochmal’s intellectual circles, Isaac Baer Levinsohn—known as “Russia’s Mendelssohn” due to his pivotal role in the propagation of the Maskilic worldview in the Russian-speaking realm84—one can observe that an almost identical image of Philo as an Essenian sage emerges from it.85 Like Krochmal and Rapoport, Levinsohn also construes the Essenes to be the true ancient Hasideans while leveling criticism against Chapter 3 of de’ Rossi’s Imrei Binah, in which the Essenes are portrayed as a heretical sect who deliberately deny oral tradition.86 He draws support for his hypothesis by resorting to Abraham Zacuto’s (1450–1510) historical account of the Jewish nation in Sefer Yuḥasin, in which Zacuto purports that the Essenes are the Hasideans.87

Krochmal’s rabbinic image of Philo is also clearly echoed in Avrom Ber Gotlober’s writings, a key figure of the Haskalah’s Hebrew literature. In his work Toledot ha-Kabbalah ve-ha-Ḥasidut, which was published in 1869, he expounds his view of Philo in very clear terms, while in several instances explicitly adopting ideas from Chapter 12 of Krochmal’s Guide. In Chapter 3 of this book, Gotlober dedicated an entire section to the thesis claiming that the Essenes were the original Hasideans and that the latter barely have any point of commonality with modern Hasidim (Gotlober 1869, pp. 30–37). The same is true of the Therapeutae, to whom Gotlober also devotes an entire section. As he argues, the Therapeutae were part of the Pharisean faction and also bore a strong resemblance to the ancient Hasideans as described in Tannaitic literature (Gotlober 1869, pp. 38–42). Within this framework, Gotlober goes on to accord Philo a prominent role in the last section of Chapter 4. Taking his cue from Chapter 12 of Krochmal’s Guide, he assesses Philo’s ancient Jewish philosophy to be nothing short of the chief source for the kabbalistic system, which is, in turn, to be construed as the authentic system of the ancient Hasideans:

Behold that in the above words [Migr. 91] regarding the matter of the defilement of the Sabbath, we find statements which do not appear anywhere in the written tradition and which are taken from the oral tradition [torah she-be-ʿal-peh], which Philo believed in, like a Pharisee. We have identified in his sayings the first principles of the system of Ḥasidism [shitat ha-ḥasidut]; namely, the striving after the concealed and secret, after the hidden and symbolic underlying the literal words of Scripture, like the soul veiled to the body [Migr. 93].

(Gotlober 1869, p. 42; my translation; emphasis in original)

The various coinciding elements between Krochmal’s rabbinic image of Philo and those of these three Eastern European Jewish Enlighteners clearly indicate that the Guide’s “Dark Sayings of Ancient Times” was instrumental in bringing about a new and innovative way of historically approaching the early rabbinic tradition as one that was closely intertwined with Jewish Alexandrian wisdom as primarily manifested in Philo’s historical and exegetical treatises. Furthermore, the alignment of Philo with the ancient Hasideans within an overall anti-Hasidic framework—as evinced by the writings of these three thinkers—points to him being highly relevant to the ongoing struggles between the Maskilim and modern Hasidism. By referring to Philo’s ancient works, Krochmal’s Maskilic counterparts could better historically contextualize their own spiritual crisis. They could depict their progressive stances not only as being merely rational and firmly rooted in the Jewish tradition, but also as battling a deviant phenomenon of the Jewish faith that went as far back as the origins of Jewish philosophy.

It is, of course, not easy to establish to what degree Krochmal formed these positions on his own, especially when taking into account his long-running affiliation with Rapoport, who was even more committed to rigorous scholarly investigation than Krochmal himself.88 Yet even if we presuppose that Rapoport assisted Krochmal in the development of certain thought structures in this respect, one still needs to bear in mind that Rapoport himself acknowledges the seminal nature of Krochmal’s approach to Jewish history. For this reason, Rapoport repeatedly encouraged his teacher, as he discloses in his eulogy of him, to continue working on the Guide, which he seems to have had direct access to and intimate firsthand knowledge of (Rapoport 1841, pp. 46–48).

5. Conclusions

It might appear prima facie quite baffling as to how one single and highly fragmented Hebrew chapter on Jewish Alexandrian thought from nineteenth-century Galicia established one of the cornerstones of the modern scholarly understanding of Philo from the viewpoint of the Jewish tradition. Precisely this was achieved by one of the most enigmatic figures of modern Judaism, Naḥman Krochmal, with his “Dark Sayings of Ancient Times”. Krochmal’s productive engagement with the subject, which reveals manifold links between Philo and the rabbis, dared to go much further than de’ Rossi’s Light of the Eyes—which ultimately remained quite ambivalent towards Philo and his Hellenized Judaism—and in doing so left an enduring mark on many significant Eastern and Western European Maskilim and Wissenschaftler (Klausner 1952, p. 194).

This paper has shown that the unusual historiographical enterprise of reviving Philo’s Jewish thought undertaken by Krochmal and his Eastern European Maskilic counterparts was by no means exhaustive in its scholarly merits and outreach. He also skillfully leveraged it as a counter-argument against heresy charges leveled against numerous Maskilim by the devotees of the swiftly encroaching Hasidism. Harnessing Philo in order to address the spiritual crisis provoked by the aberrant inclinations of the modern Hasidic mindset with which these thinkers were pronouncedly preoccupied assisted Krochmal in shielding the purified nature of Jewish faith in its complementary dialectical relation to concrete pious deeds. By turning to Philo’s Jewish ethics, he could demonstrate that the Maskilic line of thinking was not only anchored in ancient Jewish traditions in Alexandria, but also in early rabbinic texts. Krochmal’s references to Philo’s thought allowed him to represent the Jewish tradition as being in keeping with the rational Maskilic viewpoint, ruling out any possibility of including the non-rational contemporary Hasidic movement. The historical depictions of Philo’s writings indicated to Krochmal that the intimate spiritual crisis in which he was deeply immersed was actually part of a considerably wider paradigmatic historical crisis of the Jewish faith, which neglected the practical commandments in favor of highly speculative precepts. It is in Philo’s Jewish thought that he discovers an adequate philosophical articulation of the unblemished Jewish solution to and position regarding this sort of spiritual crisis: the golden mean.

Philo’s corpus enabled Krochmal to reanimate and expand on various aspects underlying the Tannaitic worldview, which the Mishnah typically lays out in aphoristic fashion. For example, Philo’s systematic and detailed treatises provided him with the possibility of offering a historical presentation of the enigmatic group of the Ḥasidim Ha-Riʾshonim in a much more comprehensive and nuanced manner, accounting for both their positive and problematic features, while at the same time countering the Christian perceptions of the Essenes and the Therapeutae. Through this deepening of their historical Jewish consciousness, which was facilitated by Philo’s body of work, Krochmal and his moderate Maskilic counterparts could assess the increasingly changing and crisis-ridden Jewish reality of their time and the radical elements of its corrosive potential with sober judgment. From this newly adapted critical perspective, Krochmal evaluated modern Hasidim as a departure from Judaism’s golden mean;89 a mean not only aptly delineated by the Tannaʾim, but also by Philo and the Essenes/Therapeutae, whom he, in turn, construed as being part of the ancient Hasideans. Yet Philo, with his comprehensive moralistic thought and its emphasis on the golden mean, was eventually able to overcome the exceedingly speculative worldview of many of his fellow Hasideans, thus providing Krochmal’s synoptic survey with an ancient precursor to the historical emergence of the exemplary Maskilic frame of mind. As Shmuel Feiner aptly notes, Krochmal construed “the Judaeo-Hellenistic centre in Alexandria” as a “symbol of an unparalleled exemplary period (the stage of ‘power and achievement’ of the second cycle)”, which was “linked to the appearance of enlightened men who spread light, reason, and science, and fought against folly” (Feiner 2001, p. 124). This apt observation necessitates a supplementary remark: alongside these Jewish Alexandrian Enlighteners—with Philo serving as their exemplary representative—Krochmal also identified their Hasidean counterparts in Alexandria, the antinomian, lopsided Schwärmer who believed themselves to be nothing short of “disembodied souls […] explor[ing] reality in its naked absoluteness” (PLCL 4:91).90

In his seminal book Imagined Hasidim: The Anti-Hasidic Writings of Joseph Perl, Jonatan Meir offers a penetrating analysis of the critical attitude that Josef Perl (1773–1839)—a Maskil with whom Krochmal had very close relations—expressed towards modern Hasidism in his satirical literature. In this work, Meir sheds light on Josef Perl and his Maskilic circles’ imagined, distorted representations of modern Hasidism as a social and spiritual movement of Eastern European Jewry (Meir 2013, p. 239). Indeed, the above analysis of Krochmal’s “anti-Hasidic” Maskilic perception of Philo has also exposed this strong negative thrust. But this would be missing a substantial point, for our examination has demonstrated that this critical attitude towards the modern religious phenomenon of Hasidism as Hitḥasdut merely covers one substantial aspect of the subject matter. It does not account for the constructive aspect of their historiographical approaches towards true, ancient Hasideans and Tannaitic literature, which Krochmal and his intellectual circles were attempting to historically reconstruct and better comprehend with the assistance of the voluminous Corpus Philonicum. Focusing on Krochmal’s inclusive attitude towards Jewish Hellenistic literature, this study has further helped to illuminate a common misconception that regards Eastern European Jewish Enlighteners as progressive thinkers who were seeking to radically reform the Jewish faith. On the contrary, by harking back to Philonic treatises, Krochmal, with his moderate Maskilic worldview, endeavored to uncover the true nature of the early rabbinic tradition, to which he was uncompromisingly committed.91