Paper

A paper was presented at a special Festive Board on August 28, 2009. If a Mason would like to receive a copy they may contact the Secretary at JaycoleS@aol.com.

The paper was given by Brother Tim Whipple and is entitled:

Dedicated to a Proposition: The 87 Year Journey from Philadelphia to Gettysburg

Beowulf and Hiram

Beowulf and Hiram

Donald E. Mosier

June 02, 2009

Copyright © 2009 Donald E. Mosier, All Rights Reserved

First presented at Specialis Procer Lodge, U.D., Des Moines IA June 26, 2009

As many of you may know, I have a fondness for old literature, including classic poetry. Of course I cannot read most classic poetry in its original form, since my literacy is limited to English and mathematics. As a result, I am forced to read translations of such great works as Tolstoy’s War and Peace, Homer’s The Iliad and The Odyssey, and Dante’s Divine Comedy. I even struggle with Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, which is written in English. OK, it is written in Middle English, which is still truly another animal, despite its similarities to modern English. As a result, I am always on the lookout for outstanding translations of these works. Occasionally,
my collection grows when a new translation is recommended, much to the consternation of my wife, who believes that libraries should be in public buildings, not private homes. Of course she is wrong about this, as I am about everything else.

Despite my fondness for all these works, I must admit that one stands high atop my “shelf of admiration”. That work is Beowulf, a relatively short poem, written in Old English about events in Denmark and Geatland (or southwestern Sweden). The story itself is pretty simple, telling the tale of a young Geat warrior, Beowulf, who seeks fame and fortune by traveling to Denmark with several companions, where he kills a monster, Grendel, which had been terrorizing the Danish King Hrothgar for 12 years. After killing the monster, he is forced to kill yet another monster, identified only as Grendel’s mother, who seeks revenge for the death of her son. After collecting a fortune in compensatory gifts, he returns to Geatland, shares the wealth, eventually becomes King, and rules for 50 years. He is then forced to battle a dragon, killing it in its lair, but suffering mortal wounds in the process. Mixed into this violent combination of gore, mayhem, and death are several historical interludes, tying the heroic events of the poem
into the context of the late 5th century.

Exciting, huh? Well, if that is all there was, it would be pretty boring. There must be some stronger appeal. After all, this poem has been mandatory reading in many literature classes throughout the years. And I was sufficiently impressed by the poem that I honored my pet Rottweiler with the name Beowulf. But remember, this is a poem, and the power of the story is amplified, perhaps created, by the poetry. While I really wish I could read Old English, I suspect I never will. However, the first time I was exposed to this poem, I was fortunate to read from a translation by Burton Raffel1, which I still consider the best of the four or five that I have read. And while Raffel’s poetry may not be as good as other translations, his word selection and phrasing evoke power and wonder among the death and destruction and violence, making the story real. Based on his translation, I can truly imagine the power and majesty of the original.

Sometimes the simplest and most trivial coincidence can lead a person into fertile fields of possibility. I had read the poem several times, enjoying it simply as escapism. But one day, while rereading a portion of the story, I was struck by one phrase, in which Hrothgar talks about
Beowulf:

And I’ve heard that when seamen came, 375
Bringing their gifts and presents to the Geats,
They wrestled and ran together, and Higlac’s
Young prince showed them a might battle grip,
Hands that moved with thirty men’s strength,
And courage to match.

A mighty battle grip! Surely this was just a coincidence, the accidental result of a simple word choice by the translator. It is certainly not identical to a “strong grip” or a “lion’s paw”. But for some reason, this coincidence stuck in my head. I must note that other translators include the reference to “hands with the strength of 30 men”, while say nothing about a mighty grip. I did a bit of on-line research using Old-English dictionaries, and came up with the following, very literal, translation of the phrase:

The Geat fire maker there understood (or had skill in) the virtuous craft of 30 men in his finest handgrip.

I must admit, this translation does not really match up with any image of a violent young warrior. But then, I was looking at the Old English words in a very different light than other translators. I was, most certainly, forcing my own slant onto possible meaning. But, never-the-less, this translation worked, and reinforced my initial “ahah” moment. So now, as I reread
the poem, I also viewed it with different eyes, with different perspective, and with different purpose. I was now searching for further coincidences.And I found them! I found so many, in fact, that I can hardly believe I hadn’t noticed them before. They were hidden in plain sight, right before my unseeing eyes.

The Hall, and its Fronting Street

Much of the poem’s first half takes place in or near Herot, a great meadhall built by Hrothgar, King of the Danes. Raffel’s description brings majesty to this structure.

And he thought of greatness and resolved 66
To build a hall that would hold his mighty
Band and reach higher toward Heaven than anything
That had ever been known to the sons of men.

… The work 73
Was ordered, the timbers tied and shaped
By the hosts that Hrothgar ruled. It was quickly
Ready, that most beautiful of dwellings, built
As he’d wanted, and then he whose word was obeyed
All over the earth named it Herot.

More detail is found in the description of Beowulf’s approach to Herot.

They marched, Beowulf and his men 306
And their guide, until they could see the gables
Of Herot, covered with hammered gold,
And glowing in the sun—that most famous of all dwellings,
Towering majestic, its glittering roofs
Visible far across the land.

The majesty of this great hall, as described in these words, evokes images of another great structure, that need not be described further in this paper. However, an expansion of this description of Herot is found in the notes of a translation by Gummere [2.] It says

The building was rectangular, with opposite doors—
mainly west and east—and a hearth in the middle of the
single room. A row of pillars down each side, at some
distance from the walls, made a space which was raised
a little above the main floor, and was furnished with two
rows of seats. On one side … was the high seat midway
between the doors. Opposite this, on the other raised
space, was another seat of honor. At the banquet soon
to be described, Hrothgar [the king] sat in the chief high
seat, and Beowulf opposite to him.

Of course, anyone who has spent time in a Lodge room will immediately recognize close parallels to this description. Replace the hearth with an altar, and the image becomes even clearer. Of course, the pillars are on the inside, and obviously they are wooden rather than worked stone. But the parallels are uncanny.

The approach to the great hall was described quite simply

The path he’d shown them was paved, cobbled 320
Like a Roman road.

The translation by Morris and Wyatt [3] describes it like this

Stone diverse the street was …

The notes from the Grummere translation add clarification. “Either merely paved, the strata via of the Romans, or else thought of as a sort of mosaic, an extravagant touch like the reckless waste of gold on the walls and roofs.” It is, perhaps, a stretch, but not such a painful one, to see in this a “checkered mosaic pavement” leading to the great hall.

The hall itself was a place of great celebration and remembrance. The unknown poet, who was undoubtedly a Christian writing of pagan times, described it in flowery terms.

As day after day the music rang 88
Loud in that hall, the harp’s rejoicing
Call and the poet’s clear song, sung
Of the ancient beginnings of us all, recalling
The Almighty making the earth, shaping
These beautiful plains marked off by oceans,
Then proudly setting the Sun and Moon
To glow across the land and light it;
The corners of the earth were made lovely with trees
And leaves, made quick with life, with each
Of the nations who now move on its face.

Truly, just as the other great structure with which we are all familiar, Herot was a hall for the celebration or worship of life. And some critics, J.R.R. Tolkien among them, argue that, while Beowulf was clearly a pagan, Hrothgar exhibited regular indications of having been converted to
Christianity. This is partially illustrated in the following lines, describing Hrothgar’s actions after the death of Grendel.

Thus that guardian of Denmark’s treasures 1046
Had repaid a battle fought for his people
By giving noble gifts, had earned praise
For himself from those who try to know truth.

But perhaps the seekers of truth were something else.

The Killing of the Monsters

The monsters in this poem are truly monstrous. They are much more than just enemy fighters. A mighty warrior such as Beowulf would gain little fame or fortune from dispatching such puny, insignificant adversaries. In fact, he performs that very killing in some of the historical tidbits buried in the poem, with little fanfare. Such battles are scarce worth mention. But Grendel, Grendel’s mother, and the dragon, are evil creatures. Grendel, and by relational reference his mother, is described as the spawn of Cain:

…that demon, that fiend 101
Grendel, who haunted the moors, the wild
Marshes, and made his home in a hell
Not Hell, but earth. He was spawned in that slime,
Conceived by a pair of those monsters born
Of Cain, murderous creatures banished
By God, punished forever for the crime
Of Abel’s death. The Almighty drove
Those demons out, and their exile was bitter,
Shut away from men; they split
Into a thousand forms of evil—spirits
And fiends, goblins, monsters, giants,
A brood forever opposing the Lord’s
Will, and again and again defeated.

Giants, of course, were the traditional enemies of Odin and the other Norse Gods. Here the poet casts them in terms more familiar to the Christian listener. But dragons, on the other hand, are ancient creatures of fable and imagination, too terrible even to be compared to any offspring of man. What could be more appropriate for Beowulf’s final challenge than battle-royal with a beast evoking the fires of hell. The poet’s Christian listeners would contemplate a battle between the brave, virtuous (but pagan) hero and a demon-like creature, spawned in Hell, belching
fire and brimstone. Dragons are creatures of our imagination. They need little description; and that is all we get from the poet.

… And a stalker 2270
In the night, a flaming dragon, found
The treasure unguarded; he whom men fear
Came flying through the darkness, wrapped in fire,
Seeking caves and stone-split ruins,
But finding gold. Then it stayed, buried
Itself with heathen silver and jewels
It could neither use nor ever abandon.
So mankind’s enemy, the mighty beast,
Slept in those stone walls for hundreds
Of years;

These were the monsters that Beowulf faced, faced with courage and determination, and finally destroyed. But how did they die? They died horrible deaths, as perhaps the poet and listener would presume they deserved. There is no sympathy in this poem for the monsters, just as there was no mercy for three other impious, murderous wretches.

Beowulf lay in wait for Grendel in the halls of Herot, awake while his men slept, anticipating the arrival of the monster. He faced Grendel with no armor or weapon save his own great strength. When Grendel came, killing one of Beowulf’s men, Beowulf grasped him with his bare hands,
with that “strong grip”, and ripped the monsters arm from his body.

… Then he stepped to another 745
Still body, clutched at Beowulf with his claws,
Grasped at a strong-hearted wakeful sleeper
--And was instantly seized himself, claws
Bent back as Beowulf leaned up on one arm.
That shepherd of evil, guardian of crime,
Knew at once that nowhere on earth
Had he met a man whose hands were harder;
His mind was flooded with fear—but nothing
Could take his talons and himself away from that tight
Hard grip.

… Suddenly 781
The sounds changed, the Danes started
In new terror, cowering in their beds as the terrible
Screams of the Almighty’s enemy sang
In the darkness, the horrible shrieks of pain
And defeat, the tears torn out of Grendel’s
Taut throat, hell’s captive caught in the arms
Of him who of all the men on earth
Was the strongest.

… Grendel 811
Saw that his strength was deserting him, his claws
Bound fast, Higlac’s brave follower tearing at
His hands. The monster’s hatred rose higher,
But his power had gone. He twisted in pain.
And the bleeding sinews deep in his shoulder
Snapped, muscle and bone split
And broke. The battle was over.

… No Dane doubted 832
The victory, for the proof, hanging high
From the rafters where Beowulf had hung it, was the
monster’s
Arm, claw and shoulder and all.

Grendel was killed, his arm plucked off, a gaping hole left in his chest. His heart was not torn out, but his life’s blood most certainly was.

Grendel’s mother sought vengeance. She came to the hall the following night, while the warriors were sleeping off the effects of the great celebration ensuing from Grendel’s death. She attacked, seized one of Hrothgar’s favorite retainers, and carried him off to be devoured in her cave. Beowulf followed, tracked her to her lair, and closed in battle. She fought valiantly and fiercely. His sword could not hurt her. Her strength was perhaps his equal. Only his armor saved him from being stabbed to death. But then he saw his chance.

Then he saw, hanging on the wall, a heavy 1556
Sword, hammered by giants, strong
And blessed with their magic, the best of all weapons
But so massive that no ordinary man could lift
Its carved and decorated length. He drew it
From its scabbard, broke the chain on its hilt,
And then, savage now, angry
And desperate, lifted it high over his head
And struck her with all the strength he had left,
Caught her in the neck and cut it through,
Broke bones and all. Her body fell
To the floor, lifeless, the sword was wet
With her blood, and Beowulf rejoiced at the sight.

So now, another monster is dead, her head smote off, a rather severe form of having one’s throat cut from ear to ear. But yet another monster awaits. It waits for more than fifty years, while Beowulf assumes the Geatish throne, and rules well. But yet he comes. The dragon, too, seeks vengeance, but not for the death of Grendel, or even his mother. The dragon seeks vengeance for the theft of a cup, a simple jeweled cup. Perhaps one could claim some relationship with another cup of legend, but I will leave that possibility for others to explore. During the fifty year
wait, Beowulf fights other battles, battles of note in a historical epic, but not in this poem. Here they are merely a postscript. The monsters are where the significance lies.

So Edgetho’s son survived, no matter 2396
What dangers he met, what battles he fought,
Brave and forever triumphant, till the day
Fate sent him to the dragon and sent him death.

Oh yes, Beowulf kills the dragon, but he dies in the process, just like another hero who met three ruffians. Beowulf does not meet the dragon alone. He is helped by a young and faithful retainer, Wiglaf. Beowulf strikes the dragon, draws blood, but his sword breaks. The dragon approaches, spewing burning flames while Beowulf and Wiglaf take shelter behind an iron shield, made especially for this fight. Beowulf knew he would die, knew that was his fate, his doom, his wyrd, but he faced the dragon with determination.

… His weapon 2583
Had failed him, deserted him, now when he needed it
Most, that excellent sword. Edgetho’s
Famous son stared at death,
Unwilling to leave this world, to exchange it
For a dwelling in some distant place—a journey
Into darkness that all men must make, as death
Ends their few hours on earth.

… Then the famous old hero remembering 2676
Days of glory, lifted what was left
Of Nagling, his ancient sword, and swung it
With all his strength, smashed the gray
Blade into the beast’s head. But then Nagling
Broke to pieces, as iron always
Had in Beowulfs hands.

Then the monster charged again, vomiting 2687
Fire, wild with pain, rushed out
Fierce and dreadful, its fear forgotten.
Watching for its chance, it drove its tusks
Into Beowulf’s neck; he staggered, the blood
Came flooding forth, fell like rain.
And then when Beowulf needed him most
Wiglaf showed his courage, his strength
And skill, and the boldness he was born with. Ignoring
The dragon’s head, he helped his lord
By striking lower down. The sword
Sank in; his hand was burned, but the shining
Blade had done its work, the dragon’s
Belching flames began to flicker
And die away. And Beowulf drew
His battle-sharp dagger; the bloodstained old king
Still knew what he was doing. Quickly he cut
The beast in half. It fell apart.

So finally, the third monster is dead, its body severed in twain, and Beowulf is dying. A dead hero. And the three monsters he faced, also dead, one with its chest ripped open, one with its throat (and head) cut off, and the third severed in twain, the just deserts for doers of evil.

The Growth of Beowulf

When we first meet Beowulf, he is a young, brash warrior, hoping to expand upon a growing fame. He does not fear death. He is confident, self assured, full of passion. In fact, the young warrior, were it not for his demonstrated ability, would be viewed a braggart. He heard tales of the terror Grendel was wreaking on Hrothgar and Herot. He gathered a group of men, fifteen warriors in all, and sailed for the land of the Danes. Upon landing on those foreign shores, a watchman demanded a password. The Geats had it not, but Beowulf explained their mission,
their goal, the purpose of their voyage from East to West. The watchman listens, allows them to pass, and guides them to Herot.

I believe your words, I trust in 290
Your friendship. Go forward …
… on into Denmark. I’ll guide you
Myself

Beowulf demonstrates his youthful brashness when explaining his mission to Hrothgar.

… The days 408
Of my youth have been filled with glory. Now Grendel’s
Name has echoed in our land: sailors
Have brought us stories of Herot, the best
Of all mead-halls, deserted and useless when the moon
Hangs in skies the sun had lit,
Light and life fleeing together.
My people have said, the wisest, most knowing
And best of them, that my duty was to go to the Danes
Great King. They have seen my strength for themselves,
Have watched me rise from the darkness of war,
Dripping with my enemies blood. I drove
Five great giants into chains, chased
All of that race from the earth. I swam
In the blackness of night, hunting monsters
Out of the ocean, and killing them one
By one; death was my errand and the fate
They had earned. Now Grendel and I are called
Together, and I’ve come.

Beowulf proved his valor. He killed the evil Grendel. But when Grendel’s mother came, wreaking vengeance for her loss, Beowulf persisted. He was still confident, but now he showed a grim determination to finish the job. He now recognized that actions have consequences. He knew that failure was a very real possibility. But still, he persevered.

… Beowulf spoke 1383
“Let your sorrow end! It is better for us all
To avenge our friends, not mourn them forever.
Each of us will come to the end of his life
On earth; he who can earn it should fight
For the glory of his name; fame after death
Is the noblest of goals.”

… Remember 1474
Hrothgar, Oh knowing king, now
When my danger is near, the warm words we uttered,
And if your enemy should end my life
Then be, oh generous prince, forever
The father and protector of all whom I leave
Behind me, here in your hands, my beloved
Comrades left with no leader, their leader
Dead.

This was quite a change from his first words in Herot. The brash young warrior learned from his experiences. Before, he was a seeker for glory. Now, he performed a grim duty, with concern for his men. And once again, he learned patience and perseverance, qualities which served him
well when he assumed the Kingship of Geatland.

Then came the dragon, a greater evil than Grendel or his mother, a fabulous breather of fire. Beowulf remained confident, but greatly subdued. His life experiences behind him, he went forth to his doom.

I’ve never known fear; as a youth I fought 2511
In endless battles. I am old, now,
But I will fight again, seek fame still,
If the dragon hiding in his tower dares
To face me.

I’d no use for the sword, no weapon, if this beast 2518
Could be killed without it, crushed to death
Like Grendel, gripped in my hands and torn
Limb from limb. But his breath will be burning
Hot, poison will pour from his tongue,
I feel no shame, with shield and sword
And armor, against this monster: when he comes to me
I mean to stand, not run from his shooting
Flames, stand still till fate decides
Which of us wins. My heart is firm,
My hands calm: I need no hot words.

Just as every candidate, representing the chief architect of Solomon’s Temple, faces three ruffians, representing the temptations and trials of youth, manhood, and old age, Beowulf faced three monsters. He learned. He grew from the brash young warrior seeking fame and fortune, to a seasoned, calm, master of men and master of his own passions. He faced his doom, his wyrd and performed his duty. In his own words:

... I’ve worn this crown 2732
For fifty winters: no neighboring people
Have tried to threaten the Geats, sent soldiers
Against us or talked of terror. My days
Have gone by as fate willed, waiting
For its word to be spoken, ruling as well
As I knew how, swearing no unholy oaths,
Seeking no lying wars. I can leave
This life happy; I can die, here
Knowing the Lord of all life has never
Watched me wash my sword in blood
Born of my own family. Beloved
Wiglaf, go, quickly, find
The dragon’s treasure: we’ve taken its life,
But its gold is ours, too. Hurry,
Bring me ancient silver, precious
Jewels, shining armor and gems,
Before I die. Death will be softer,
Leaving life and this people I’ve ruled
So long, if I look at this last of all prizes.

The Word
I have twice mentioned that Beowulf faced his doom, his fate, his “wyrd.” The Old English “wyrd” means fate, chance, fortune, destiny, Providence, event, fact, or deed. Raffel consistently changes it to fate or doom in his translation, but Gummere leaves it intact. At the end of the feast prior to the battle with Grendel, we find the following

That was the proudest of feasts;
Flowed wine for the warriors. Wyrd they knew not,
Destiny dire, and the doom to be seen
By many an earl when eve should come
And before Beowulf set off to fight the dragon, we read:
Sat on the headland the hero king,
Spake words of hail to his hearth-companions,
Gold-friend of the Geats. All gloomy his soul,
Wavering, death bound, Wyrd full nigh
Stood ready to greet the gray-haired man,
To seize his soul-hoard, sunder apart
Life and body.

Of course in Masonry, we frequent refer to a Word, whether it be one that is lost or a substitute. We are taught that the Word is an allegory, with divine implications. But could it be that it is an allegory to Fate or Destiny. And if so, what destiny was lost? What destiny was substituted. Could the lost wyrd have been the original destiny of the operative Mason to learn and teach the science, math, and geometry, used in the building of great cathedrals? Of course, this field of study was lost to the natural philosophers or scientists of the enlightenment. Could the substitute wyrd be the speculative Mason’s destiny to build temples in the hearts of men, the adoption of true philosophy, the transition from operative tospeculative Masonry? Your guess is as good as mine.

Historical Context [4]
The original poem Beowulf exists in a single manuscript, written somewhere between the 8th and early 11th centuries. The first known owner is the 16th century scholar, Lawrence Nowell. It was damaged by fire in 1731, and has since crumbled extensively. Significant effort has been made to recover illegible sections. However, it is unclear if this was the original, as some critics claim, or whether it was actually the transcription of a poem written much earlier. Some critics believe the themes and story are much older, formed through oral traditions and passed down to later ages by scops (Old English poets).

For the purpose of speculation, let us assume that it was available, in some form, in the early 10th century, around the time of King Athelstan, who ruled from 924 to 939 A.D. We have in our possession another document, the Regius (or Halliwell) Manuscript, written about 1390, which
describes some interesting activities happening during Athelstan’s reign.

In time of good King Athelstane’s day;
He made then both hall and even bower,
And high temples of great honour,
To disport him in both day and night,
And to worship his God with all his might.
This good lord loved this craft full well,
And purposed to strengthen it every del, (part)
For divers faults that in the craft he found;
He sent about into the land
After all the masons of the craft,
To come to him full even straghfte, (straight)
For to amend these defaults all
By good counsel, if it might fall.
An assembly then he could let make
Of divers lords in their state,
Dukes, earls, and barons also,
Knights, squires and many mo, (more)
And the great burgesses of that city,
They were there all in their degree;
There were there each one algate, (always)
To ordain for these masons' estate,
There they sought by their wit,
How they might govern it;
Fifteen articles they there sought,
And fifteen points there they wrought,

Legend, or history if you prefer, documents this as the first official sanction of the Mason’s right to congregate and to govern their own affairs.

It is known that Athelstan, and his grandfather, Alfred the Great, had contact with what I will call Viking bands. They fought; they intermarried, and, without doubt, traded traditions. Certain of the pagans were converted to Christianity, not always willingly. Certainly, the oral traditions
of these Viking warriors would have entered into the lore of the English. And it is not unbelievable that these early Masons could have adopted aspects of this tale, and made them their own.

Of course, we do not know where or how the single extant manuscript of Beowulf was written or preserved. But it was first identified in the late 17th century. Masonic scholars also claim that the third degree, as we know it, did not exist when the First Grand Lodge was formed in 1717. But within 30 years, it was strongly present. Could it be that the early modern Masonic authors, working in the early 18th century, took a piece of ancient Masonic lore, expanded upon in a newly rediscovered document, and recast it as our third degree, substituting King Solomon’s Temple for an ancient Danish mead-hall, thereby making it more familiar and meaningful
to men of that day.

Of course, the manuscript was nearly destroyed by fire in 1731. The conspiracy theorists would instantly claim this was an attempt by those same authors to eliminate all trace of the True Source of the Hiramic Legend.

But perhaps we have it backwards. Perhaps the Hiramic Legend, as we know it, already existed in some form during the time of Athelstan. And perhaps the poem Beowulf was nothing more than an allegorical retelling of the story, the first (and previously unidentified) expose of Freemasonry.

In his article, “Beowulf, The Monsters and the Critics”[5], J.R.R. Tolkien takes to task the critics who dismissed the poem as lacking in historical context, filled with unnecessary monsters. He argued against the critics who said the poem put the important historical references on the edge
and the useless monsters in the center. He claimed that the monsters were critical, were, in fact, central to the entire poem, that they were the foil against which Beowulf proved himself and became a man, and that the growth of Beowulf was the entire point of the poem. I likewise
contend that the ruffians in the third degree hold a similar place of significance. What they purposed, that they performed. And against their purpose, Hiram, though losing his life, overcame their evil purpose.

Vidar and Fenrir

Other Norse stories seems to have relevance to our Masonic traditions. We are told that the candidate wears a single shoe because of an ancient Israelitish custom, described in the book of Ruth. This explanation has always left me unsatisfied. I think a more appropriate parallel can be
found in the story of Ragnaroek, the final battle between the Norse Gods and all the forces of evil. For years, Odin had been having his ravens bring scrap leather to Vidar, his son. The following tale is told in The Children of Odin [6]:

Odin, speaking to Vidar, told him,

“And I shall tell why my ravens fly to thee, carrying in
their beaks scraps of leather. It is that thou mayst make
for thyself a sandal; with that sandal on thou mayest put
thy foot on the lower jaw of a mighty wolf and rend him.
All the shoemakers of the earth throw on the ground
scraps of the leather they use so that thou mayst be able
to make the sandal for thy wolf-rending foot.”

Later, during the final battle between the Gods and the forces of evil, the following was related.

By Fenrir the Wolf, Odin was slain. But the younger
Gods were now advancing to the battle; and Vidar, the
Silent God, came face to face with Fenrir. He laid his foot
on the Wolf’s lower jaw, that foot that had on the sandal
made of all the scraps of leather that shoemakers had
laid by for him, and with his hands he seized the upper
jaw and tore his gullet. Thus died Fenrir, the fiercest of
all the enemies of the Gods.

Somehow, the use of a single sandal to ensure that Good would triumph over evil in the last days, seems much more relevant than the explanation we are given. Odin had sacrificed an eye for wisdom. But due to his sacrifice, he saw much. Again from the Children of Odin:

But he saw, too, why the sorrow and troubles had to fall,
and he saw how they might be borne so that Gods and
Men, by being noble in the days of sorrow and trouble,
would leave in the world a force that one day, a day that
was far off indeed, would destroy the evil that brought
terror and sorrow and despair into the world.

If ever more Masonic sentiments were uttered, I know not where it could have been.

The Final Dirge

When I started this paper, my good friend and Brother, John Klaus, cautioned me with the following Latin words, “Si post hoc ergo propter hoc.” (If after this, therefore because of this.) This was good advice. We should never read too much into our own speculations, because
coincidence does not causality make. But sometimes, imagination supersedes reality, wishes really do come true, and what could be, is. With that in mind, let us close with one final scene from the great unknown poet. And as you hear it, remember in your mind’s eye the concluding moments of the Third Degree.

In this scene, Beowulf was dead, slain by the fire-spewing dragon. Nothing remained but for his retainers to honor his life, honor his death, and build a monument to commemorate his accomplishments.

…. The bearers brought 3140
Their beloved lord, their glorious king,
And weeping laid him high on the wood.
Then the warriors began to kindle that greatest
Of funeral fires; smoke rose
Above the flames, black and thick,
And while the wind blew and the fire
Roared, they wept, and Beowulf’s body
Crumbled and was gone.

A gnarled old woman, hair wound 3150
Tight and gray on her head, groaned
A song of misery, of infinite sadness
And days of mourning, or fear and sorrow
To come, slaughter and terror and captivity.

Then the Geats built the tower, as Beowulf 3156
Had asked, strong and tall, so sailors
Could find it from far and wide; working
For ten longs days they made his monument,
Sealed his ashes in walls as straight
And high as wise and willing hands
Could raise them.

And then twelve of the bravest Geats 3169
Rode their horses around the tower,
Telling their sorrow, telling stories
Of their dead king and his greatness, his glory,
Praising him for heroic deeds, for a life
As noble as his name.

… And so Beowulf’s followers 3178
Rode, mourning their beloved leader,
Crying that no better king had ever
Lived, no prince so mild, no man
So open to his people, so deserving of praise.

Let us honor our heroes. Let us emulate them.
As above, so below. As with Hiram, so with Beowulf.


Note and References
1 Raffel, Burton, Beowulf. Penguin Books, 1963. All Beowulf quotations
are from Raffel’s translation unless otherwise noted.

2 Grumerre, Beowulf. Prepared by Robin Kaysuya-Corbet from scanner
output provided by Internet Wiretap, amazon.com Kindle edition,
Incorrectly attributed as a translation by Niles and Heaney

3 Morris, William and Wyatt, A.J., The Story of Beowulf, Mobile
Reference, amazon.com Kindle edition

4 www.wikipedia.org, Beowulf (epic poem article)

5 Tolkien, J.R.R., Beowulf, The Monsters and the Critics

6 Colum, Padraic, The Children of Odin, The Book of Northern Myths,

Appendix—A literal translation of the lines describing the “strong grip”.

Geata fyredon
Geat fire-make/do/perform

Thyder to thance, thaet he thritiges
Thither/whither as skill/purpose/understand that/until he 30 or 30fold

Manna maegen-craeft on his mund-gripe
Man power/virtue-art/force/trade into/onto his handgrip

Heatho-rof haebbe
Brave-top/roof get/have

If you would like a pdf copy of this paper contact the Secretary at JaycoleS@aol.com

Escape to Ethiopia

Escape to Ethiopia

by Kurt Hoffmann

Presented to Specialis Procer 8 May 2009

“Where are you bound?”
A question that has nagged me since my raising to the Sublime Degree of a Master Mason, “why was the Sea Captain departing for Ethiopia?” This question remained in the back of my mind; until I had what Euclid would call a ‘Eureka!’ moment while reading a book regarding different theories as to the location of the Ark of the Covenant.

Thus, I hope to give a number of possible theories as to why the Sea Captain is setting sail for Ethiopia in the time of King Solomon, and why the Ruffians didn’t mind going there.

Before we can explore the theories of why our vigilant Sea Captain is sailing to Ethiopia, we must first be able to define where Ethiopia was in the time of our Three Grand Masters.

In ancient times, the title of ‘Ethiopia’ was used to describe a land with darker-skinned people than those of Canaan and Israel.1 This area included not just the peoples of Africa, but also those of modern-day Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, India, and Pakistan. In antiquity, Ethiopia commonly referred to Southern, or Upper, Egypt, and parts south. This includes much of modern-day southern Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia, and parts of the Arabian Peninsula, including Yemen. For the purposes of this paper, I hope that you will concede with me in that we are referring to Ethiopia as being located as the latter description.

Zipporah
The first of the theories as to Ethiopia was the destination of the Sea Captain deals with Moses. It is believed that before the Biblical Exodus from Egypt, Moses had a number of intimate contacts with the people of Ethiopia. When Moses slew the Egyptian after witnessing the maltreatment of a fellow –Israelite by the Egyptian, Moses fled to Midian, which was an Ethiopian kingdom. It was there that Moses married Zipporah, daughter of Jethro, an Ethiopian prince, and Priest of Midian. 2 Thus, it can be deduced that the peoples of Ethiopia and Israel had relations while Israel was enslaved in Egypt, and they continued until the time of Solomon.
Qemant and Falasha
The second theory predates Moses, and may explain why he sought refuge in the house of Jethro. In roughly 1000BC, there was a great migration of a people from Canaan to Ethiopia. Called the Qemant, this extant tribe’s religious practices bear striking similarities to those of the ancient Hebrews. For example, they practice similar food laws that are much like the kosher food laws of modern Jews, as well as, their veneration for sacred groves like those that Abraham prayed in. This migration of ancient Jews continued until about 500 BC, concluding with the Falasha tribe. The Falasha tribe’s form of Judaism predates the reformations of King Josiah. The most notable of these practices includes the sacrifice of animals at their temples (a practice that King Josiah limited exclusively to the temple in Jerusalem). 3 The migration of a large group of Hebrews to Ethiopia would suggest that the Jews of Solomon’s time continued trade relations with their brethren of Ethiopia.

It is interesting to note that modern Falashas have been migrating to Israel under the Law of Return in current times. This has caused over 85% of the Falasha population in modern Ethiopia to decline sharply.4

One may also wonder, “In the time of Solomon, how would one have sailed to Ethiopia, as the Suez Canal is of modern times?” There are two answers to this:

First, if one were to sail from Joppa in modern-day Tel-Aviv, Israel; he could sail through the Mediterranean to the mouth of the Nile (which was believed to be navigable at that time) and sail on the Nile as far as Elephantine Island, which was considered an Ethiopian port at the time.

Second, it is also possible that the Sea Captain was not sailing from the Jewish port of Joppa, but from a port about 150 miles south of Jerusalem called, Ezion-geber. Ezion-gerber is located on the northern tip of the Red Sea, a short sail from the ports of Ethiopia, and modern-day Somalia.5

A Royal Affair
Another theory as to why the Ruffians were so willing to take a passage to Ethiopia may be explained through the relationship between King Solomon of Israel and the Queen of Sheeba. Being lovers, it can be assumed that King Solomon may have begot a son, named Menelik, by the Queen of Sheeba. Menelik travelled to his father’s court, seized the Ark of the Covenant, and with a number of followers, escaped to his mother’s homeland, Ethiopia. (It is noteworthy that Sheeba is believed to be from modern-day Yemen, which was under Ethiopian control in antiquity).6 Thus, according to the Ethiopian Kebra Nagast brought Solomonic Judaism to Ethiopia. 7 In this adventure, it is assumed that Menelik ventured through Egypt, depositing the Ark of the Covenant in a temple like that in Jerusalem on the island of Elephantine in the Upper Nile.8 It is theorized that the Levite priests, and King Solomon, covered up this theft; although accepted the theft as a protection measure for the Ark from Israel’s future invaders. This would explain why trade was common between Israel and Ethiopia, as Ethiopia was safeguarding the Ark in the temple at Elephantine.

Conclusion
I invite you to explore each of these theories, and resolve for yourself why the Sea Captain was traveling to Ethiopia. These are but theories, and I present them to you for consideration. The only one who holds the truth of this is the GAOTU, and to find that answer we must travel to that “country from who’s borne no traveler returns.”

Fiat Lux!


1 Hogan, Timothy. “Ethiopia in Freemasonry.” The Journal of the Masonic Society 1, no. 1 (2008): 30-32.

2 Delany, Martin R. 1853. The Origins of Freemasonry: Part 3. http://www.libraries.wvu.edu/delany/maspt3.htm (accessed 3 January, 2009).

3 Hancock, Graham. The Sign and the Seal: The Quest for the Lost Ark of the Covenant. Crown, 1992: 456.

4 Beta Israel. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beta_Israel (accessed 3 January, 2009).

5 Anderson, Tim. “Why Ethiopia?”

6 Harris, Earl D. 2001. Why Ethiopia? http://www.calodges.org/no712/la-ethiopia.html (accessed 3 January, 2009).

7 Hancock, Graham. The Sign and the Seal: The Quest for the Lost Ark of the Covenant. Crown, 1992: 76.

8 Hancock, Graham. The Sign and the Seal: The Quest for the Lost Ark of the Covenant. Crown, 1992: 426-427.

To download the full text with images, it is available here.

Talk by Ken Davis, Master of Lodge Vitruvian

March 20, 2009

Worshipful Master, Wardens, Brethren, [Guests,]

Thank you for your great hospitality. I’m honored to have sat in lodge with you and to share this Festive Board.

When I was growing up a hundred miles south of here, in Seymour, Iowa, in the 1950s, my family lived on the second floor of a brick building on the square, with a fading Coca-Cola ad painted on its side. Below us was the Seymour Herald, the eight-page weekly newspaper that my parents owned. Across the alley from my bedroom window, above a cafe, was the Masonic Temple.

I knew almost nothing about the Masons. I assumed they were like the Odd Fellows, or like the Lions, of which my dad was a member. My little sister, Polly, was a Rainbow Girl, but I didn’t really know, or care, about that organization’s connection with Masonry. I learned only recently that she was eligible because of my Grandfather West’s Masonic membership in Albia. I knew that my grandpa had “lodge night” every week or two, but I didn’t know, or ask about, any more.

In short, I was a Baby Boomer, one of the first of that huge generation of men who had, and have, almost no interest in Freemasonry. Freemasonry wasn’t seen as evil, only as irrelevant. And for me, it remained so until about five years ago.

I’m not sure what first drew me to the Craft in my late fifties. I guess it was partly The Da Vinci Code and National Treasure. It was partly a growing interest in the Western mystery tradition. It was partly because I was looking for new fellowship. It was partly because I teach James Joyce’s novel Ulysses every year, and I started wondering what role the Masonic membership of its hero, Leopold Bloom, played in making him such a good man.

So I went to the Web. And among the first sites I found opened with a totally black screen except for a Latin phrase at the bottom and a glimmer of light in the middle. I made a guess, clicked on the light, and saw, to my delight, Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man with the Square and Compasses neatly imposed on his multilimbed body. Above, in gold, were the words, “A Mythic Past. A Visionary Future. A Legendary Brotherhood.” It was the Web site of Lodge Vitruvian, Number 767, Free and Accepted Masons, in my city of Indianapolis, Indiana.

(Incidentally, as a Masonic Website, it’s now rivaled in coolness only by that of Specialis Procer. Kudos to Brother Kurt.)

The Web site led me to send an e-mail, then go to lunch with two of Vitruvian’s officers. I was hooked. Over the next year and a half I was initiated, passed, and raised--only the second man for whom Lodge Vitruvian had done so.

As a relatively new Mason, I won’t presume to tell you anything about Freemasonry that you don’t already know, better than I do. And I won’t go into detail about Lodge Vitruvian, except to answer any questions you have. You can read, on Vitruvian’s site (vitruvian.org), several documents by the founders of the lodge, including the widely circulated manifesto Laudable Pursuit--to which your Worshipful Master contributed--and a kind of mission statement by Worshipful Brother Chris Hodapp, author of Freemasons for Dummies and several other books.

What I’d like to do for the next few minutes is give you my own thoughts on the direct relationship between the seriousness of Vitruvian’s ritual and the depth of our fellowship--and, by extension, what our Craft can offer to today’s men.

Since becoming a Mason, I’ve taken the opportunity to visit a number of lodges in Indiana and elsewhere. The most apparent difference I’ve seen between Vitruvian and most of the other lodges I’ve visited is that we seem to take ritual much more seriously. We don’t see degree work as hazing, and there’s none of the heckling from back-benchers that I’ve observed elsewhere. Even my recent PM degree was conducted with dignity, unlike most others I’ve heard about. We take a full year to move a new member through his three degrees. We wear tuxedos, we have high-quality aprons, we try to do our floorwork with military precision, we mostly know our lines, and when possible, we use impressive venues. My own raising took place an hour from Indianapolis, in Muncie, in what is said to be one of the most beautiful lodge rooms in the country. And our most recent initiation was conducted in Madison, Indiana, on the Ohio River, in the preserved lodge room where the Grand Lodge of Indiana held its first meeting in 1818.

Almost all our meetings are followed by Festive Boards, which end with the Ceremony of Seven Toasts, which I look forward to sharing with you tonight. In short, we at Vitruvian have great respect for symbols.

All of us live in an age filled with signs but almost devoid of symbols. In the sense I am using the word sign tonight, a sense drawn from the science of semiology, signs have single, simple, explicit, surface meanings: an octagonal yellow road sign usually means stop, and nothing else. (Even those who choose to ignore that meaning acknowledge it.)

In contrast, symbols have multiple, complex, implicit, deep meanings. The American flag is not just a sign, but a symbol, with a wide range of meanings, positive or negative or both.

To complicate the matter, something can be a sign to one person and a symbol to another. To someone who lost a loved one because of a driver running a stop sign, the octagonal yellow road sign may call up a host of associations and feelings; it may become a symbol. And to someone in the world with no particular feelings either way about the United States (can we imagine such a person?) the American flag will be just a sign, simply identifying the USA. The fading ad painted on the side of my childhood home can be seen as a mere sign, pointing to a particular brand of soft drink, or as a symbol, representing a whole cluster of economic and sociological and psychological and historical meanings.

In some earlier cultures, people lived lives surrounded by what they saw as symbols. A rock wasn’t just a rock; it was a part of the body of Mother Earth, or the residence of a god, or an emblem of solidity, or an instrument of punishment, or all of the above. Our culture, in contrast, has few symbols. We tend to focus on surface meanings. A rock is just a rock--or at best an example of granite or marble or sandstone. Most of us are “fundamentalists” in one way or another, taking what could be symbols and reading them as if they were merely signs, with simple, single meanings, religious or scientific. The literalist religious fanatic and Richard Dawkins have much in common.

The language and imagery of Freemasonry is remarkably rich in symbols, if we respect them as such. As Masons, we have the opportunity, in every lodge meeting, to move beyond our everyday world of signs into a highly charged, deep symbolic world. To us, the Square and Compasses are not just a sign of Freemasonry; separately and together they carry multiple symbolic meanings.

I know that Vitruvian’s members don’t all attach the same meanings to the language of our meetings and degrees. And that’s how it should be. One of my brethren is an ordained Gnostic bishop steeped in Western esotericism, while others declare--quite vocally--that they hold little truck with esoteric interpretations. But we all have enormous respect for the depth of the ritual itself. We are all aware that it goes back, at the very latest, to 17th Century operative masonry, and we are all aware that we are speaking essentially the same words, and performing essentially the same actions, as Brothers Wolfgang Mozart and Johann Goethe and Robbie Burns, as Brothers George Washington and Ben Franklin and Ataturk, as Sir Winston Churchill and both Presidents Roosevelt, the Republican one and the Democratic one. And in my case, as Leopold Bloom and my Grandpa West.

OK, so Masonic ritual, if taken seriously, is deeply symbolic. What’s that have to do with Masonic fellowship?

My answer is that the way we see things as signs or symbols is reflected in the way we see people. In the industrialized, materialist West, too many of us--especially men, I think--see most of other people we encounter as having simple, single meanings. One way we do that is through labeling: he’s a Republican, she’s a Mexican, he’s gay. By giving a person a neat label, we can avoid--we can’t not avoid--looking into the depths of meaning that person carries. Another way we attribute simple, single meanings to people is through seeing them as functionaries, as things that exist solely to serve a narrow function for us. We go through our days not really seeing the people who wash our cars or clean our restrooms or fight our fires or teach our children.

A colleague of mine who teaches psychology was once leaving a ice cream shop near campus holding hands with his wife and carrying their young daughter on his shoulders. They passed two students, then overheard one of the students whisper to the other, “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that guy was my psych professor.” To that student, my colleague existed only in the classroom; he couldn’t possibly eat ice cream, much less have a wife and daughter.

Because we men, especially, tend to look at other people in these ways, we find it very hard to develop close, intimate, deep male friendships. Sure, homophobia plays a role. So does machismo. But I suggest that a more fundamental cause is our male tendency to dismiss other people as having simple, single, superficial meanings rather than complex, multiple, deep meanings.

At least a couple of my brothers in Lodge Vitruvian have partisan political views almost diametrically opposed to mine. When I learned that, from their Web sites and from conversations outside lodge, I honestly questioned whether I had made a mistake joining Vitruvian. I had spent my whole life avoiding relationships with “that” kind of people.

I’ve since learned how foolish my reaction was. I’ve learned that because I share with them a respect for the deep symbolic language of our ritual, for its rich multiple meanings, we are able to look past those surface differences into the depths of each other’s being and respect what we find there. And that’s not sappy sentimentalism, but a truth I’ve learned, to my great surprise, in my seventh decade of life. When we in the Craft see below the surface of things in our ritual, we are getting practice in seeing below the surface of people.

I believe that millions of men in our culture are seeking that depth, without even knowing it. They are looking for deep symbolic meanings below the surface of things, and they are looking for deep male friendships. I suggest that those two yearnings are closely related, and that Freemasonry is uniquely positioned to fulfill them. Lodges like yours and mine are demonstrating that deep respect for ritual can lead to deep respect for one another.

I’ve often commented that if I hadn’t found Lodge Vitruvian’s Web site, I probably would not have become a Mason. I can’t help but believe that many, many other men are like me--seeking not just Freemasonry, but the special kind of Freemasonry illustrated in National Treasure when the Nicholas Cage character sees the Harvey Keitel character’s Masonic Ring—and knows he can trust him. This is the Freemasonry embodied by Lodge Vitruvian and Specialis Procer. In the words of the Vitruvian Web site, we can offer today’s man “A Mythic Past. A Visionary Future. A Legendary Brotherhood.” I’m proud to be able to play a small part in that effort.

Worshipful Master . . . .

The Templar Trials –

Presented by Ron Lindhart - February 27, 2009

As we approach March 18th, the date of the execution of Jacques DeMolay, it may be interesting to review the story of his last days, the charges leveled against the Templars, and the dangerous manipulation of both Church and State that culminated in this interesting event.

The Order of Knights Templar was founded around 1119, shortly after the first Crusade. They were encamped in Jerusalem at Temple Rock-- the site of King Solomon's Temple, and the Rock from which Mohammed ascended into heaven. Indeed it is a holy site.
.
In the 12th century, Pope Innocent II exempted the Templars from all political authority, and made them accountable only to the Church. They were free to travel throughout Europe, and paid taxes to no temporal power, They owed allegiance only to the Holy See. Being a monastic order, the knights were associated with the Cistercian Monks, headed by St. Benedict and practiced the rules of that order. They added a Red Cross to the white robes of their brother Benedictines. While the individual Brothers had taken vows of poverty, the order itself was anything but poverty ridden. The “Poor Fellow Soldiery of the Temple of Solomon” had fought bravely and fiercely during each crusade, and in turn, they became the recipients of vast wealth in the form of gifts and support lavished upon them by grateful benefactors across Europe.

The Knights Templar also oversaw the safe transport of persons, supplies, and monies from Europe to the Holy Land, and over the years they developed an efficient banking system unlike any the world had known before. They built a great network of fortress-like priories across Europe to house troops and to facilitate these business ventures. Vast fortunes were deposited in their temples in London and Paris. Their reputation for honesty and uprightness convinced many princes and private individuals to use them as their bankers. A certain mystique grew up around them. Other groups of men respected them… and sought to emulate them… and sought to enrich their own legacy by fabricating unsupported ties to them… ummm…. but I’m getting ahead of myself!

Conflicts over the division of power in the occupied Holy Lands caused problems for the Templars, and the Knights Hospitallers challenged them on several fronts. Even before DeMolay was made Grand Master in 1295, the Papacy had encouraged the two orders to join forces. In 1274 and again in 1293, attempts were made by Rome to force an integration of the two groups. The Templars would have none of it!

In 1307 the Templars had experienced some difficult times. They had lost their status as the feared defenders of the faith in the Holy Lands. 16 years earlier, they had been driven from the Holy Land and the Grand Master Jacques DeMolay was in residence in Cyprus. DeMolay had become Grand Master at the death of his predecessor Guillaume de Beaujeu in 1295. His grand hope was to raise funds and once again go into battle to regain control of the Holy Lands. He worked throughout his tenure as Grand Master to amass the moneys and forces needed for another Crusade to be led by the Templars.

Although the Templars were not what they once had been, they still the posed significant problems for Philip the Fair, King of France. They controlled large tracts of land in France, yet were not answerable to his government. They threatened his unquestioned power, and as bankers, they held debts that would eventually have to be paid. They were like a foreign force, occupying his land, and paying nothing toward the upkeep of the kingdom. Philip also had seen what had happened in Germany. The Teutonic Knights of Prussia, after returning from the crusades, had separated from the king and formed their own state, carved out of the king’s holdings. Philip recognized that the Templars had the power, money, and land holdings to do the same in France. In this battle of wills, something had to give.
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At sunset on Friday the 13 of October 1307 all the Templars were arrested in their commanderies and priories throughout France – by order of Philip, King of France and His Chancellor. How the Templars came to this end is a complex interplay of a lot of strong personalities.

Pope Boniface VIII began his pontificate in December of 1294. Boniface was an exceedingly ambitious man. His Papal Bull, Unam Sanctam, stated unequivocally that both spiritual and temporal power were under the pope’s jurisdiction, and that kings were subordinate to the power of the church.
Philip the Fair was crowned King of France 9 years before Boniface assumed the papal throne. He not only refused to bow to the authority of Boniface VIII, but also harbored even greater illusions of grandeur for himself. The Military Monastic orders should all be combined into one great fighting force, headed by the Rex Bellator or War King. That War King of course, would be Philip the Fair and the future kings of France. This plan never got off the ground. In the midst of these power struggles, Pope Boniface VIII issued “Ausculti Filli” which meant “listen, My Son” aimed squarely at Philip and in no uncertain terms declaring that “God has set popes over
kings and kingdoms.” Philip ignored all claims of papal supremacy.

Philip was often in conflict with his own nobility. His plans to exert total control over his nobles ended in his fleeing the Royal Palace and taking refuge in the Paris Priory of the Knights Templar. While being protected there, Philip saw first hand their wealth and was determined to have it. France was at war with England, and that military action had caused Philip to become deeply indebted to the Templars. If they could be somehow arrested and convicted, Philip’s debts would be cleared, and the French Templar’s wealth would be added to his War Chest.

To aid in his constant struggles with the Church and the Nobility, Philip brought in Guillaume de Nogaret as Chancellor of France. De Nogaret was a lawyer, summoned to the court of Philip the Fair to assist in the various conflicts with Boniface VIII. De Nogeret's solution to the “Boniface problem” was to capture him and transport him to Lyon for a trial. Philip agreed, and de Nogeret traveled to Italy and with the cooperation of the Colonna family, captured Boniface. They held him briefly, but the people's outrage was such that they fled Italy, releasing the pope. Boniface died in 1303, (under somewhat questionable circumstances) and was replaced. His replacement's first order of business was to excommunicate de Nogeret, but his Holiness died of poisoning a couple of months later, amazingly enough, on the day before he was scheduled to excommunicate Guillaume de Nogaret. The ultimate successor to the papacy was Clement V. Clement was Philip’s man and moved the papal residence to France. The Church of Rome was governed by way of Avignon.

It was de Nogaret that drew up the charges against the Templars. The plans were laid and the orders issued to arrest all the Templars in France. On Friday the 13th of October 1307 the Templar priories of France were emptied and in churches across the country, the following Sunday, the Priests explained to the faithful that the Templars were charged with crimes against the church and against nature. The specific charges were:
• During the reception ceremony, new brothers were required to deny Christ, God, the Virgin Mary, and the Saints on the command of those receiving them.
• That the brothers committed various sacrilegious acts either on the cross or on an image of the Christ. That they “spit upon the Cross.”
• That the receptors practiced obscene kisses on the new entrants – on the mouth, navel, or buttocks.
• That the Priests of the order did not consecrate the host, and that the brothers did not believe in the sacraments.
• That the brothers practiced idol worship of a cat or of “a mysterious head in a silver cup. This head was sometimes called Behophat
• That the Brothers encouraged and practiced sodomy.
• That the Grand Master or other high-ranking officials believed they had the power to forgive sins.
• The Templars held their reception ceremonies and chapter meetings in secret and at night.
• The Templars abused the duties of charity and hospitality and used illegal means to acquire property and to increase their wealth.

The arrested brethren if they did not readily admit to the charges were subjected to varying degrees of torture. The main interrogation of the Templars was under the control of the Inquisitors, a group of experienced interrogators and clergy who circulated around Europe at the beck and call of any European noble. The rules of interrogation said that no blood could be drawn, but this did nothing to stop the torture. One account told of a Templar who had fire applied to the soles of his feet, such that the bones fell out of the skin. Other Templars were suspended upside-down or placed in thumbscrews. Of the 138 Templars (many of them old men) questioned over the next few years, 105 of them "confessed" to denying Christ during the secret Templar initiations. 103 confessed that an "obscene kiss" was part of the ceremonies and 123 said they spat on the cross. Throughout the trials there was never any physical evidence of wrongdoing, and no independent witnesses; the only "proof" was obtained through confessions induced by torture. The Templars reached out to the Pope for assistance, and Pope Clement did write letters to King Philip questioning the arrests, but took no further action.
Despite the fact that the confessions had been produced under duress, they caused a scandal in Paris, with mobs calling for action against the blaspheming Order. In response to this public pressure, along with more bullying from King Philip, Pope Clement issued the bull Pastoralis Praeminentiae, which instructed all Christian monarchs in Europe to arrest all Templars and seize their assets. Most monarchs simply didn't believe the charges, though proceedings were started in England, Iberia, Germany, Italy, and Cyprus, with the likelihood of a confession being dependent on whether or not torture was used to extract it.

In order to deal with the Templar Question, Pope Clement issued the bull entitled “Regnas in Coelis” on August 12, 1308. The bull established the Council of Vienne (in southern France, not Austria). The main topic on the agenda was the disposition of the Templars and their lands. The Templars were invited to defend themselves, but DeMolay was already imprisoned in Paris, and other Templar trials were already taking place. It was long believed that nothing of consequence happened when the council convened. Recent discoveries in the Vatican Secret Archives, tell us differently...
In 2004, researchers discovered the Chinon Parchment, dated August 17-20, 1308. This document tells us that Pope Clement secretly absolved Jacques DeMolay and the other Templar leaders of the charges brought against them by the inquisition. An investigation, lead by three Cardinal Priests was held at the castle of Chinon in the diocese of Tours. The Templar leaders, including DeMolay, were questioned and examined. Notes of their responses were taken, records of their appearance and their sworn oaths were documented. The Cardinal’s conclusion was that they should be absolved of any irregularities. The record of the absolution reads like this:
"… we concluded to extend the mercy of absolution for these acts to Brother Jacques DeMolay, the Grandmaster of the said Order, who in the form and manner described above had denounced in our presence the described and any other heresy, and swore in person on the Lord’s Holy Gospel, and humbly asked for the mercy of absolution, restoring him to unity with the Church and reinstating him to communion of the faithful and sacraments of the Church."

This council was not going as Philip had imagined. In yet another power-play, he managed to get the “official” beginning of the council postponed another 3 years until October of 1311. The council’s actions at that time are largely unknown, but eventually, the discussion of the Templar question was put in abeyance. This gave Philip an opportunity to put additional pressure on Clement to denounce the Templars. Clement was finally forced to suppress the order of Knights Templar, not by normal canonically legal channels (a vote of the officials in attendance), but by an apostolic pronouncement for the overall good of the Church. On March 22, 1312, the papal bull, “Vox in excelso” was issued and upheld by the cardinals on April 3, 1312. A new crusade was enthusiastically announced, with Philip as it’s leader. Tithes were levied across Europe and the funds given to Philip for the freedom of the Holy Lands. That Crusade never happened, and Philip used the tithes to expedite his war against Flanders.

After “Vox in Excelso” the Order of Knights Templar was dissolved. In many parts of Europe, the Templars were exonerated. In France, however, they were still subjected to prison. On March 18, 1314, three cardinals sent by the pope sentenced the Temple dignitaries Jacques DeMolay, Hugues de Pairaud, Geoffroy De Charney and Geoffrey De Gonneville to life imprisonment. Realizing that all was lost, Jacques DeMolay rose up and recanted. According to legend, he proclaimed the Templar's innocence, and uttered a curse that both the king and the pope would “appear before God” before the year was out. Philip ordered both DeMolay and De Charney to be burned at the stake. On the eve of March 18, 1314 they were taken to the Isle des Juifs, where they were executed. Clement and Philip were both dead by January 1, 1315. De Nogeret had died in 1313.

The Catholic Church during the 13th and 14th centuries was in the business of hunting down and eliminating heretics. In the medieval mind, this was a worthy goal, but it was also an activity that was easily manipulated, as was the case with the French Templars. Philips’s greed and insatiable need for money tempted him to the Templar’s wealth. His fear of the order’s military prowess and power caused him to feel threatened. His shaky relationship with the church was strengthened when he manipulated the papal election process and moved the residence of the pope to his backyard. As the most powerful monarch on the European scene, for a period of time he was calling the shots for both the church and France. His Chancellor devoted his energies to securing and creating questionable witnesses and he used all the physical torture in his domain to acquire confessions from the brothers. Finally, the order was subdued, its holdings confiscated, its armies and fleets dispersed, and it’s members imprisoned, or killed. The result was not exactly what Philip had hoped for, but the situation had improved for him.

Whether the order was completely innocent of all charges, we can only surmise. Their meetings were held in secret, they did have a ceremonial of initiation, they had accumulated immense wealth, and there was a certain common thread that ran through the confessions obtained during the inquisition. -- But confessions of suggested improprieties come easily when the questions are asked with a hot iron against the flesh.

In the long run, I suppose it doesn’t make any difference what the truth of the charges may have been, it was an egregious example of tyrannical power carried out by the Church and State. 700 years later, Jacques DeMolay's memory is still revered. He still stands as an example of strength and fidelity, serving as an inspiration to young men between the ages of 13 and 21. Who celebrates and commemorates the reign of Philip the Fair?

ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW ABOUT FREEMASONRY I LEARNED IN THE OPENING OF THE FIRST DEGREE

ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW ABOUT FREEMASONRY
I LEARNED IN THE OPENING OF THE FIRST DEGREE

A paper delivered to
the Stated Communication of
Specialis Procer Lodge U.D.,
A. F. & A. M.
Des Moines, Iowa
January 30, 2009

by John M. Klaus

In the summons to this meeting Bro. Jay identified me as “PGO”—which I finally figured must mean “pregnant otter.” Anyway, here I am.

I had originally thought to address you on a topic of great esoteric significance, and began a rough draft of a paper called tentatively, “The Pre-eminence of Green Beans at Masonic Festive Boards.” Unfortunately I found too little information by Masonic scholars, and too much information in cookbooks to continue to pursue my research.

But, having just dined so well, I CAN tie food to this presentation.
There’s an Italian proverb that says: “Chi mangia bene dorma bene. Chi dorma bene non peccá. Chi non peccá va in cielo.” (“He who eats well sleeps well. He who sleeps well doesn’t sin. He who doesn’t sin goes to heaven.”)
So I hope you have eaten well (and drunk well, too), and that you will be able to slumber in heavenly bliss for the next while, leaving the sinning to me, as I mumble and mutter through my pedantic, platitudinous persiflage. In my defense, you should know that the original version of this evening’s bagatelle ran to 42 pages, single-spaced, in 12-point type—nearly 25,000 words. That would have taken—well, at 175-200 words per minute, YOU do the math. Count your blessings!

Worshipful Master, Brother Secretary, Distinguished Brothers all:
To those who do not know me well, I have some confessions:
I am not a good Masonic ritualist, though I greatly admire those who are.
I do NOT believe that ritual is the primary definition of Freemasonry, or even in the top ten.

I believe that ritual, delivered by rote and without thought, is detrimental to our Craft.
I believe it is the purpose of our Fraternity to make Masons, not to raise up generations of word-spewing automatons.

To support the last statement, let me quote a definition:
One who commits to memory the questions and answers of the catechetical lectures, and the formulas of the ritual, but pays no attention to the history and philosophy of the Institution, is commonly called a Parrot Mason, because he is supposed to repeat what he has learned without any conception of its true meaning. In former times, such superficial Freemasons were held by many in high repute, because of the facility with which they passed through the ceremonies of a reception, and they were generally designated as Bright Masons. But the progress of Freemasonry as a science now requires something more than a mere knowledge of the lectures to constitute a Masonic scholar.1

The date of this definition? 1874.
Its author? None other than that laurel-crowned Masonic scholar Dr. Albert Gallatin Mackey, in his Encyclopedia of Freemasonry.

But, as I said, I’m not a ritualist.
It must seem strange, then, that I come roaring in to deliver a paper based in ritual.
But I have yet to tell you what I think our ritual IS and should do.

You see, another part of me is a student of language, and I believe words are important.
I believe that words reflect the way we think, and the way we view the world.

Even the grammatical structure of a language can give insight into the way its speakers think.
So Masonic ritual, comprised in large part of words, is one key to understanding the meaning of our institution.

Ceremony too plays an important part in deciphering our philosophies.

William Preston, the direct ancestor of Iowa’s ritual, in his Illustrations of Freemasonry that first appeared in 1772, writes about the importance of the ceremonies of opening and closing a Lodge, or, for that matter, any formal meeting; and his words are repeated almost verbatim a few years later by Thomas Smith Webb.[2]

If I’m correct, then, a thoughtful examination of our ritual should provide insight into the deeper meaning of its words and ceremonies.

I’m not going to consider Masonic ritual in any other Grand Jurisdiction. Iowa’s ritual is provocative enough by itself.

Let me be up-front about all of this: most of my observations are pretty simplistic. Most of what I have to say tonight is so superficial as to verge on inaccuracy—but I also presume most of us have some interest in getting home before next Wednesday.

Also in the interest of time, I’m going to consider only the unique part of the opening of the First Degree—the part we rush through without a lot of attention. It’s ironic that I must stop short of the Door Lecture, because it was those words that got me started thinking about this topic.
Maybe we can discuss it sometime in the future.

The candidate for the Entered Apprentice Degree is not in possession of what I will discuss until Lodge is closed following his initiation; nonetheless, he does receive it all during the course of his First Degree.

It’s also important to bear in mind that, until the middle of the eighteenth century, the Entered Apprentice Degree was the only one conferred by Craft Lodges. The other two Degrees arose later, and were originally conferred by a Grand Lodge only. Thus, early on, a Brother’s complete entry into Masonry occurred in the First Degree.

Too often, I think, we breeze through opening and closing ritual in some mumbly-perfunctory fashion, and consider the first two Degrees to be ancillary to the more spectacular drama of the Master Mason Degree. I submit that this is contrary to the very structure of Masonry, which is not hierarchic, but progressive.

So let’s start at the beginning of the First Degree.

Even then, I’ll skip purging the Lodge—though that in itself is a ceremony of great antiquity and significance—because the Initiate will not experience that part of ritual until he is present from the beginning of a Lodge communication.

Once the Master is assured that all in attendance are Masons, he asks a question of the Senior Warden, who has until this point served as an examiner of credentials:

“As an Entered Apprentice, whence came you?”

Note that the Senior Warden has just switched characters. Now he represents a visitor whose credentials need to be examined.

“As an Entered Apprentice, whence came you?”

That’s an interesting question.

The first assumption, obviously, is that he is an Entered Apprentice, and that assumption follows logically from previous information. If all present are Masons, then all present are, by definition, Entered Apprentices.

The important part of the question is: “From whence came you?”

The Masonic writer Oliver Day Street suggested one possible meaning of this question (of myriads) in The Builder magazine for February 1917:
“From whence came you?”
Daily this question is asked by Masons without the slightest thought as to its real meaning.
…

Equally baffling and profound is that companion question, familiar in some jurisdictions, “Whither art thou bound?” [Iowa ritual reserves this question for the first section of the Third Degree.]
…
Simple as these questions appear, they search every nook and cranny, and sound every depth of every philosophy, every mythology, every theology, and every religion, that has ever been propounded anywhere by anybody at any time to explain human life.

They allude to the problems of the origin and destiny of mankind; they lie at the foundation of all the thinking and of all the activities of man except such as are concerned with the purely utilitarian question “What shall we eat and wherewithal shall we be clothed?”

All our better impulses, all our loftier aspirations, all our faiths, all our longing for and striving after a nobler state of existence, either in this or a future life, are but attempts to answer these two questions.

They are the supreme questions which men have been asking themselves and each other ever since men were able to think and to talk, and they are the questions which men will continue to ask oftenest and most anxiously until the time when we are promised that we shall know even as we are known.

It is thus that study and reflection bring out the beauty and the profound significance of the simplest of Masonic formulae.[3]

In other words, near the very beginning of OPENING Lodge on the First Degree, we are presented with one of the most profound questions of all time.

Do you suppose this could be a hint that what is to follow might not be a TV sitcom?

But, of course, that sly old Senior Warden has an answer:
“From the Lodge of the Holy Saints John at Jerusalem.”
HUH?!? What’s up with THAT?

To begin to explore the implications of this answer would require a minimum of a short lecture series; so let me try to compress many thoughts into a few trenchant comments.
First, it posits that the visitor comes from a Lodge, an organized group of like-minded men. It implies, he is affiliated with that Lodge. By extension, then, Masonry is founded in a Lodge structure, of which the visitor is a part.

Second, that Lodge has something to do with the Holy Saints John. There is something of spirituality about this whole thing—else what have saints to do with anything?

Third, the Lodge is at Jerusalem. The specific geography is important.

We’ll take as given the Lodge structure—though that is the subject of many books.
We know—because we’ve studied it—that Masonic Lodges are dedicated to St. John the Baptist, whose Saint’s Day is June 24; and to St. John the Evangelist, whose Saint’s Day is December 27.
Now, obviously, the two Saint’s Days are about six months apart, one in the winter and one in the summer. These days are also very close to the autumnal and vernal equinoxes, times of celebration in virtually all religious and even secular traditions in all times.

But it’s not so simple. These are not the only two Saints John.

I counted no fewer than 35 others, from John who was martyred with Cyrus to John of Kiev, a name that refers to an infant of Kiev as well as to an adult monk, both Orthodox saints. My list is by no means exhaustive.

Back to the Masonic Saints John. John the Baptist is the easier one to nail down. We all know the guy. He’s the one who dressed in animal skins like a hermit, and used to hang out down by the river where he gave sermons, and baptized people in an attempt to help them to deal with their sins and to become better Jews. We think his favorite meal was something like locusts soaked in honey. We also think he may have been Jesus’s cousin, and that he was about six months older than Jesus.

Most important, we know that among the people he baptized was Jesus of Nazareth, and that (according to a report written about a hundred years later) the Spirit of God descended upon the prophet Jesus at that moment, and those present heard the voice of God—or maybe only Jesus heard it, or Jesus and John. Anyway, it was a significant event.

John the Baptist was a preacher and a teacher, and we today would probably find him to be a difficult companion. He preached that one must lead one’s life according to holy rules, and that deviation from those rules is not permissible. A little like some Masons I know, in fact. (Unlike those Masons, John got his head chopped off by Herod Antipas, put on a silver platter, and presented to Herod’s wife Herodias. Another long story…)

More pertinent for us is that four English Lodges got together on June 24, 1717, at the Goose and Gridiron bar and grill in London, and founded the Grand Lodge of England. That just happens to be St. John the Baptist’s Saint’s Day (they planned it that way, of course). For well more than 150 years following that auspicious day, Masons celebrated on June 24 with feasting and celebrations, and Lodge officers were often installed as a part of the festivities.

But that’s not even the beginning of the story. St. John the Baptist’s association with operative masonry has been traced at least to the early fifteenth century, and particularly in Scotland he was associated with pre-Grand-Lodge Freemasonry. There is also an association between the Saint and several of the chivalric orders honored in appendant Masonic bodies.

And for those interested in bizarre conspiracy theories, with Knights Templar clad in chain mail escaping the Pope and French king in October 1307 aboard treasure-laden ships, consider this:
• John the Baptist was Patron Saint of the Knights Templar.

• The surviving Templars, as everybody knows, escaped to Scotland, where they helped Robert the Bruce whale the snot out of Edward II of England and make Scotland independent.
• Many Scottish Masonic Lodges before 1700, and many unaffiliated Lodges in England and Scotland following the formation of the Grand Lodge in 1717, paid particular honor to John the Baptist.

• CLEARLY there is a connection.
• (Whatever…)

Not long after the establishment of early speculative Masonry as we know it, our early Brethren figured that, if one blow-out celebration for John the Baptist was a good idea, maybe two would be better, and they started celebrating the Feast of St. John the Evangelist on December 27 as well. The name was right, and so was the time of year, about six months after June 24.
Now, “John the Evangelist” is a generic designation for at least three men, and maybe as many as five: John the Apostle; John who wrote the Gospel of John (probably two different men); John the writer of Epistles (also two men, one of them the Gospel writer); and John of Patmos, who wrote the Book of Revelation. Roman Catholic dogma holds the Apostle, the Evangelist, the writer of Epistles, and John of Patmos to be the same person, but both history and literary style argue otherwise.

John the Apostle was beloved of Jesus, and the most loyal of all the Disciples. From the cross, Jesus commends his mother to John’s care. John may have been Jesus’s best human friend on earth. What better example could there be of brotherly love?

Let’s turn to John who wrote the Gospel—and many scholars think there are at least two authors.

The Gospel of John was almost certainly written long after the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus. It differs significantly from the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke (which are closely related to each other), and its purpose, unlike the purpose of the first three Gospels, is evangelical and didactic much more than it is historical.

The Gospel of John begins as follows (in the King James version):

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe. He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light. That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.

Now, if Freemasonry has only one central symbol, it is light. And nowhere in the Bible, except for the passage from Genesis we repeat after the obligation in each Degree, is light so important as it is here—and light is also an important symbol elsewhere in John’s gospel.

John the writer of Epistles wrote about both love (in the sense of brotherly love) and about communal support. Light is also an important image in several places in these Epistles.

Some scholars believe John’s first Epistle to have been written by the same writer who collaborated on the Gospel of John, and the other two to have been the work of another one or two writers—but it is far beyond our goal here to debate scriptural authorship and authenticity!
John of Patmos is, like the other Johns under consideration here, a murky figure. What we know is that he wrote the Book of Revelation, and that he identifies himself as an exile living on the tiny island of Patmos in the Aegean Sea when he writes the book. It is virtually certain that he is a different figure from the Apostle, the Gospel Writer, and the Epistle Writer. It’s also pretty certain that, if the Book of Revelation were to appear today, there would be plenty of people accusing him of dropping acid or chomping funny mushrooms while writing his book.

So here we have the two Saints John: one the firebrand preacher who is also a somewhat rigid believer in the letter of the law, and the other an amalgam of evangelism, friendship, mystic vision, love, and enlightenment. What better Masonic patrons could there be?

Let us now consider the location of that mysterious Lodge. It is in Jerusalem.
This makes sense for several reasons, but before we consider that, we need to consider the origin of the phrase “from the Lodge of the Holy Saints John at Jerusalem.”

In the earliest versions of ritual, this response was considerably different. In the Graham Manuscript, of 1726, we find a section called “The Sallutation,” as follows:
ffrom whence came you –

I came ffrom a right worshipfull Lodge of Masters and ffellows belonging to
God and holy saint John [note that there is only one Saint John here] who doth greet all true and perfect brothers of our holy secrets so do I you if I finde you to be one –
I greet you well brother craveing your name –
answere J and the other is to sayhis is B [4]

NO mention of Jerusalem here, and clear mention of what we know as the Masonic names of the Entered Apprentice and Fellowcraft grips.

There is evidence that this older usage was common practice well into the mid-eighteenth century.

Remember, however, that ritual was not standardized until much later. There IS mention of Jerusalem in an early exposé of Masonry, The Grand Mystery of Free-Masons Discover’d, that appeared in 1724. While it is an exposé, there is ample evidence of its accuracy regarding early Grand-Lodge era ritual. Toward the end of opening ritual, we find these words:

Q. Give me the Jerusalem word.
A. Giblin
Q. Give me the Universal Word.
A. Boaz.5
For some “giblin” may be a new word, and it has an interesting history.

The redoubtable Dr. Mackey describes the word “giblin:”

Hebrew. A significant word in Masonry. It is the plural of the Gentile noun Gibli, (the g pronounced hard,) and means, according to the idiom of the Hebrew, Giblites, or inhabitants of the city of Gebal. The Giblim, or Giblites, are mentioned in Scripture [First Kings 5:18] as assisting Solomon’s and Hiram’s builders to prepare the trees and the stones for building the Temple, and from this passage it is evident that they were clever artificers.
…
Sir Wm. Drummond confirms [that the word is synonymous with “Mason”] by saying in his origins (volume iii, book v, chapter iv, page 129) that “ the Gibalim were Master Masons who put the finishing hand to King Solomon’s Temple….[6]

He further defines the “Jerusalem word:”

The origin of this phrase may perhaps be thus traced: The theory that after the completion of the Temple a portion of the workmen traveled abroad to seek employment, while another portion remained at Jerusalem, was well known to the Fraternity at the beginning of the eighteenth century. ... It may be supposed that this “Jerusalem Word” was the word which the Masons used at Jerusalem, while the “Universal Word,” which is given in the next question and answer, was the word common to the Craft everywhere. The Jerusalem Word, as such, is no longer in use, but the Universal Word is still connected with the First Degree.[7]

But that’s not the end of the story.
The uneducated amongst our later eighteenth-century Brethren. unlike their gentleman peers, were notorious at mispronouncing words derived from languages other than English. They referred, for example, to the Greek geometer and mathematician Euclid, who is so important to our Craft, as “Eaglet.”

So, like the rascally Ephraimites at the time of Jephthah, they could not frame to pronounce “giblin.”

By and by, the Third Degree came along, and with it the Masonic Hiramic legend. As we all know, there are three bad Fellowcrafts in the story. In our ritual they have funny names.
Several scholars, including Mackey, think that those names come from the word that initially referred to the Phoenician craftsmen who labored on the temple with Solomon’s Israelites and Hiram’s Tyrians.

The names evolved like this: Make the initial g in “giblin” a soft g. Every linguist knows this to be a common transformation. The word now sounds like “jiblin.” Make another of the most common linguistic shifts, from a final n to a final m. “Jiblim.” Transform the two vowels to ones closely related in sound: “Jublum.” Add a schwa in the middle—another very common transformation: “Jubelum.” Hmm. Looks Latin to me. Add other Latin suffixes to make two more Latin names. Jubelo. Jubela.

Isn’t it interesting that all the other Craftsmen have nice, normal Hebrew names? And isn’t it interesting that the skilled stone workers from Gebal, foreigners, whose King did not labor alongside Solomon, turn out to be murderous maniacs?

From the standpoint of linguistic analysis, all those shifts, even taken together, are extraordinarily common, and could have occurred very quickly as ritual spread geographically through the rich dialects of England in the eighteenth century. Fact? No, conjecture. But a pretty solid one.

But why Jerusalem in the first place?

First of all, Jerusalem is the physical location of King Solomon’s Temple, and early Masons sometimes referred to “Solomon Lodge No. 1”—dedicated, of course, to at least one of the Holy Saints John—when speaking of the Temple.

(There is another theory that involves St. John the Almoner, but that is far beyond the scope of these remarks.)

Moreover, the very word “Jerusalem” means “City of Peace.”

The second half of the word, “salem,”—actually S-L-M, since these languages are written without vowels—is a version of a common stem in many Semitic languages. In Afar, Akkadian, Amharic, Arabic, Maltese, Aramaic, and Hebrew, it has the primary or secondary meaning of “peace.” It is also—just by the way—a part of the stem of the word “Muslim.”

Thus the very name Jerusalem suggests peace, rest, contentment, concord, alliance, brotherly love. What better place for a sort of “original Lodge?”

But let us consider a more mundane, if completely conjectural, solution to the Lodge of the Holy Saints John at Jerusalem.

There is no question that early-eighteenth-century Masonic catechisms, particularly in Scotland, and particularly among several Lodges that chose not to affiliate themselves with the early Grand Lodge, mention John the Baptist and John the Evangelist specifically as the patron saints of Masonry. The connection between Jerusalem and the central symbol of Masonry, King Solomon’s Temple, is obvious.

But remember who the early Grand Lodge Masons were.

The men who met at the Goose and Gridiron on St. John the Baptist’s Day in 1717, and many of those who followed them, were SPECULATIVE Masons. Far from being members of the working class, these men were, by and large, “gentlemen,” and, as such, they were educated men.
In the Staircase Lecture in the Second Degree, we gain slight insight what “education” may have meant to these men. Almost certainly, many of them were products of a “Classical” education. That meant they were completely familiar with Christian scriptures. They could read and write not only English, but certainly Latin and Greek, and, in most cases, Hebrew, French, and German as well. Many of them had traveled widely in Europe, and spoke several languages.
They were also completely at home with science (several were members of the Royal Academy, and others became members), and with theology, philosophy, and Classical literature. They could quote Tacitus in Latin and Ovid in Greek, and understood what these writers said.
Such men would have been fascinated by the concept, in the Book of Revelation, of a “New Jerusalem.” And remember that it was John of Patmos, one of the men associated with Saint John the Evangelist, who wrote the Book of Revelation.

Now, of course, John of Patmos intended “New Jerusalem” to refer to the eventual triumph of Christianity. His New Jerusalem is a city large enough to encompass most of the earth, and to be a virtual wonderland for true believers.

But the Enlightenment was nothing if not skeptical in regard to religion, and Freemasonry, at least at the Craft level, rather quickly discarded Trinitarian Christianity as a central belief in favor of a Deistic approach.

To be sure, most, if not all, Freemasons of the first two-thirds of the eighteenth century were nominal Christians, and some of the leaders were clergymen. But the laymen among them were likely more often sideliners than they were officers in the church.

It may be a figment of my own fevered imagination, but I can imagine those Brothers considering the phrase “the Lodge of the Holy Saints John at Jerusalem” to describe symbolically their own fortunate situation.

These men were well aware that they lived in a new era of learning and understanding. As noted, we today call their time the Enlightenment. Moreover, they met in one of the several epicenters of that movement, London. They knew the Biblical description of the New Jerusalem.
All around them were the works of Sir Christopher Wren and other eminent architects, some of them Freemasons.

The Royal Academy boasted some of the finest scientific minds the world has even known. Literature, theatre, music, and the visual arts flourished in their city. The British Empire stretched across the globe, and the British crown smiled with relative benevolence on its subjects.

Is it too difficult a leap, then, for these intelligent, skeptical, well-educated, alert, engaged men to have seen their own time and place as—symbolically, of course—a sort of secular New Jerusalem?

And if they DID live in that rarefied place and time, met to form their Grand Lodge on a day dedicated to one of Freemasonry’s patron saints, and founded a sort of mega-Lodge to unite all of their Fraternity—is it possible, then, that they could have seen the infant Grand Lodge of England as a symbolic Lodge of the Holy Saints John at Jerusalem?

We can probably never know, but it is a rather delightful conceit, and has a certain logical consistency as well.

Let us move on in our ritual. The Master next asks the visitor:
“What came you here to do?”
The Senior Warden lobs a virtual intellectual grenade into the Lodge room: “To learn to subdue my passions and improve myself in Masonry.”

That’s not even a complete sentence, but those eleven words contain the very soul of Freemasonry. “To learn to subdue my passions and improve myself.” NOT “to gain honor and prestige.” NOT “to learn esoteric secrets.” NOT “to become the savior of mankind.” NOT “to become a teacher of great truths.” All is directed to becoming a better, more peaceable person by learning—and following—the tenets of Freemasonry.

If the Master’s first question concerns human origins, the Senior Warden’s answer here addresses all societies and all cultures.

First of all, the answer implies that he has NOT yet attained true wisdom. Like the Buddhist seeking enlightenment, like the Rabbi studying the Kabala, like the Christian archaeologist poring over the Dead Sea Scrolls, he is LEARNG. He is PURSUING. He is IMPROVING.
And what is he learning? Why, he is learning to subdue his passions.

I submit that the subduing of passions is the single most important pillar of human society and civilization. If all passions run rampant, there is no freedom, no responsibility, no government, no societal structure, no language, no art, no civilization. It is the SUBDUING of individual passions—“my passions,” in the Senior Warden’s words—that society and civilization find their genesis.

Moreover, we, of all people, value order and harmony in thought and action. Indeed, we prize harmony most of all, “harmony being the strength and support of all societies, more especially of ours.”

And to improve myself—how? In MASONRY!

And just what is Masonry?

“All Masonry,” one version of the Staircase Lecture tells us, “is a vast allegory of human life.”
There it is.

I am here to improve myself as a human.
Does it get any more important than that?
“Then I presume you are a Mason?” enquires the Master, a bit suspiciously.
“I am so taken and accepted among Brothers and fellows,” replies the Senior Warden.
He is not just “taken to be” a Mason—that is, there is evidence and probability of his identity.
He is also accepted as such.

And by whom? Interestingly, it is not the world at large where such acceptance is important. No, it is rather among “Brothers”—others to whom he is related in some very close sense—and “fellows”—in other words, his peers. Among those who believe as he does, and who practice the same lifestyle, he is well-known and accepted—and that is sufficient.

Feigning some puzzlement the Master asks:
“What makes you a Mason?”
The answer is as profound as it is succinct: “My obligation.”
I have sworn a solemn oath, I am bound by it for life, and it is a pole star in my life—enough so that it helps to define who I am to myself as well as to others.
But this needs to be tested, something we do regularly in Masonry AND in life:
“How do you know yourself to be a Mason?”
Seems to be a simple enough question, but into it are rolled all of self-doubt and self-knowledge. It is a question worthy of Descartes: what do you know for certain?
The answer is also worthy of Descartes’ conclusion that he knows beyond doubt that he has a mind and can think.

The Senior Warden replies that he knows himself to be a Mason “by having been often tried, never denied, and am willing to be tried again.”

Of course this addresses not Masonic knowledge only, but something more important: “How do you know who you are?”

“I know who I am,” the answer means, “by having had to prove myself over and over again, in all kinds of situations, and have come through the examination every time, so feel free to ask me to do it anew.”

The follow-up question is tougher:
“How shall I know you to be a Mason?”
In other words, “You claim to know who you are, and that’s all as may be. But can you prove to ME who you are—and how do you intend to do it?”

“By certain signs, a token, a word, and the perfect points of my entrance.”
Now we’re learning that there are some modes of recognition associated with this organization, and that some of them may not be verbal. In a larger sense, this suggests that it is not a man’s reputation that defines and identifies him, but much more his behavior.
Identity, in other words, is not passive, but active.

“What are signs?”
“Right angles, horizontals, and perpendiculars.”

As curious as that answer appears to be, one should remember that the due guards and signs of all three Craft Degrees are comprised of those specific geometric figures—and geometry and Masonry are identical. All of these geometric constructions are allegories of honest and upright behavior, and even of compassion: a “square deal,” a man who “stands tall,” “walk beside me and be my friend.”

The Master asks for and receives the due guard and sign of an Entered Apprentice.
Tokens, in today’s vernacular, are secret handshakes, and the token of an Entered Apprentice is demonstrated by the Senior Warden and the Junior Deacon.

The word of an Entered Apprentice becomes more important in the second section of the Second Degree, where its definition is explained and expanded.

We must still address “the perfect points of my entrance.”
In many Iowa Lodges, the lecture of the Third Section of the First Degree is no longer in use (though Specialis Procer Lodge does still use it). Thus many men who have become Masons in recent years haven’t a clue as to the meaning of this phrase.

The Perfect Points of Entrance have nothing, of course, to do with geographical points or with places in the Lodge room or anywhere else. They have everything to do with the Initiation of an Entered Apprentice and the manner in which it is accomplished.

The Points of Entrance are the pectoral (referring to the breast), the manual (referring to the hands), the guttural (referring to the throat), and the pedal (referring to the feet). In composite they represent the entire human body.

In the Third Section of the First Degree, they are described like this:
“They [the Points of Entrance] are four, the Pectoral, Manual, Guttural and Pedal. They represent the four cardinal virtues, Fortitude, Prudence, Temperance, and Justice.”
What are not described in this part of the Degree are the gestures that go with this explanation.

The pectoral refers to the candidate’s reception on the point of a sharp instrument

The manual is the due guard of the Degree.

The guttural is the sign of the Degree.

The pedal is the step of an Entered Apprentice as he approaches the altar, or stands in the northeast corner of the Lodge.

In other words, the whole Degree, one of Initiation, is concerned with the “entrance” of the new Brother into our mystic circle—and, in the case of the visitor, they were perfectly executed. Might this be a subtle reminder of the solemnity of our ceremonies, and the importance of performing them accurately?

And there’s something else. Think ahead briefly to the manner in which a Master Mason is Raised. Might the “Five Points of Fellowship” have anything to do with the “Perfect Points of Entrance?”
But there are yet other interpretations of “Points of Entrance.” One of these is found in the aforementioned exposé of 1724, the Grand Mysteries of Free-Masons Discover’d, where we find:

Q. Which is the Point of your Entry?
A. I Hear and Conceal, under the Penalty of having my Throat cut, or my Tongue pull’d out of my Head.[8]

After the due guard, the sign, and word are given, the requirements for entering a Lodge of Entered Apprentices are satisfied, and the Master notes:
“The word is right. I greet you, Brother.”

Then it is important that the regularity of the Brother’s Masonry be established. The Master asks him where he was made a Mason. He learns that it occurred in a “just and lawfully-constituted Lodge of Masons”—a correctly-chartered Lodge with the proper officers in attendance.
What is the governing structure of such a Lodge?

The Senior Warden lists the principal officers of the Lodge in descending order, and the Master then enquires as to their proper physical place in the Lodge, and the nature of their responsibilities to the Lodge. With the exception of the Master (who asks the questions and thus cannot gracefully question himself) each officer answers in turn. The Senior Warden answers for himself and for the Master.

As a side note, bear in mind that in opening on the First Degree, there are seven principal officers. On the Second, there are five, and on the Third three. There are our Masonic mystical numbers three, five, and seven,

The Lodge is then opened in usual fashion.
Now, let look back to consider what this opening ritual teaches us about Freemasonry:

• 1. We learn that Freemasonry is highly symbolic, and that commonplace things or things that are prima facie apparent are often much more complicated.
• 2. We learn that Freemasonry is spiritual, and that it is peaceable.
• 3. We learn that introspection and self-examination are important parts of Masonry, and that they should lead to self-fulfillment and increased understanding of life.
• 4. We learn that Masonry is not a solitary undertaking, but one that involves important relationships with other men.
• 5. We learn that, in order to receive the benefits of the Fraternity, we must swear a solemn oath to undertake certain things.
• 6. We learn that it is as important to be able to show our good faith to others as it is to know that we have it.
• 7. We learn that there are specific modes of recognition associated with this Degree, and what they are.
• 8. While they are not made explicit, there is allusion to the most important parts of the Degree, and to the four cardinal virtues.
• 9. And, finally, we learn the governing structure of the Lodge and the places and duties of its principal officers.

Part of the true genius of the Masonic institution is its structure. It is sometimes linear and sometimes not, sometimes obscure and sometimes obvious, but always it moves according to an ineluctable logic, driven by text and action that is the distillation of centuries of examination by some of the best minds on earth.

While Masonry is not ritual, and ritual is not Masonry, Masonry is taught, in part, through ritual. Once a man has experienced the ritual, however, it is his responsibility to determine its meaning in his own life, and then to apply it.

Let us return, then to the question with which we began:
“Whence came you?”

We meet at a time filled with hope, as our nation has just witnessed the same peaceful transfer of power that every Masonic Lodge sees annually. Yet we also live in a time of great peril, as headlines remind us daily.

Our world, and most of its people, are in darkness. Too often we buy into the notion that what we have is more important than what we know, that who we appear to be is more important than who we are.

Each one of us here has come to this place having sought enlightenment to a greater of lesser extent. If we have taken seriously the obligations we swore and the charges we accepted as we pursued our Blue Lodge Degrees, then we have at least begun to understand the hidden mysteries of our Order.

If we have done more than that, and have put into action the tenets we have learned, we are on the path to enlightenment.

The forthright Brother, however, when engaged in an honest search to apply the lessons of Masonry to himself, will always answer the question thus:

“From the West, and traveling to the East.”

Our working tools are strong, and will serve us well until we lay them down. Until then the journey continues.
And so, my Brothers, I ask each of you:
As a Mason, whence came you here tonight?
Whither are you traveling?
And what are you in pursuit of?
Only you can answer those questions.
But you have a map.
So mote it be.


ENDNOTES
1. Albert Gallatin Mackey, An Encyclopedia of Freemasonry and its Kindred Sciences (New York and London: The Masonic History Company, 1914; reprint of 1874 publication, with addenda), Vol. II, pp. 544.
2. “IN all regular assemblies of men who are convened for wise and useful purposes, the commencement and termination of business is attended with some form. Though ceremonies are in themselves of little importance, yet as they serve to engage the attention, and to impress the mind with reverence, they must be considered as necessary on solemn occasions. They recall to memory the intent of the association, and banish many of those trifling amusements which too frequently intrude on our less serious moments.
“From the most remote periods of antiquity it may be traced. Being founded on a rational basis, the custom still prevails in every civilized country of the world. …
“As the custom is universally admitted among masons, we will proceed to consider the advantages of it, as far as the ties of the society will admit.
“The ceremony used at the opening of our assemblies answers two purposes: it reminds the Master of the dignity of his character, and the brethren of fidelity to their trust. These are not the only advantages resulting from it; a reverential awe for the Deity is inculcated. …
“The closing of our meetings teaches us to offer up the proper tribute of gratitude to the beneficent Author of life; and here the less important duties of the society are not passed over unobserved. By this ceremony we are taught how to support the regularity of our assemblies, and the necessary degree of subordination which takes place in the government of our lodges.
“Such is the nature and utility of this ceremony, that it becomes our duty never to omit it; hence it is arranged as a section in every degree of Masonry, and takes the lead in all our illustrations.”
William Preston, Illustrations of Masonry (London: J. Wilkie, Second Edition, 1775), pp. 47-49.
Oliver Day Street, “Whence Came You?” (National Masonic Research Society, The Builder, Vol. III, No. 2) February 1917.
3. Graham MS.pdf. http://swccwebinfo.com/ialsc/?code=index&middlefile=middleIndex.txt.
4. Anon., The Grand Mystery of Free-Masons Discover’d (London: T. Payne, 1724), p. 9.
5. Mackey, op. cit., p. 310.
6. Ibid., p. 382.
7. Grand Mystery of Free-Masons Discover’d, p. 8.

Historic Interpretation of Masonic Symbols

Readings - November 26, 2008
John Clearman

Still waiting for the paper