Are the so-called “Higher” Degrees actually Symbolic? or Sorcery? Part 2 of a series

by Midnight Freemason Contributor

Patrick Dey

In the first part to this essay, we looked at what symbols are from a philosophical point of view, largely relying on Jean Baudrillard’s conception of them as a simulacrum, a distortion that conceals reality, because symbols deny that reality can ever be faithfully expressed and thus must generate a signifier that stands in owing to this absence. I personally favor Baudrillard’s conception of what symbols are, and I find his system of the four orders of simulacra to be helpful in understanding Symbolic Craft Masonry as it transitions into the so-called “higher” degrees.

As was discussed in the conclusion of Part I, we looked at how we as Free and Accepted Masons are symbolic craftsmen, symbolic stonemasons building symbolic temples, which at once conceals the reality of the stonemason guild heritage we have inherited and denies that the reality of the stonemasons of old can be fully expressed as a reflection in ourselves. But the so-called higher degrees in Masonry — Scottish Rite, York Rite, Shrine, et cetera — are a different problem. Royal Arch Masons are not a real thing. Nor are Select Masters, or the Order of the Red Cross, or the Knight of the East, or the Knight of the Sword, et cetera. These never existed. These are not real things. The only degrees of the appendant bodies that is based on something real are the Order of Malta and the Order of the Temple — the Knights Hospitallers and the Knights Templar. Sure, there are some things based on real orders, such as Saint Thomas of Acon. Then there are some weird ones, like the Masonic Rosicrucians, which did not really exist, but rather was a sort of literary fiction of millenarianism and a call for a greater reformation that the Protestant Reformation failed to achieve. Rosicrucians were believed to have been real for a long time, but today we know historically they did not actually exist.

This is no longer symbolic in the way the Blue Lodge Degrees are symbolic. In fact, they fall specifically into what Baudrillard designates as the third order of simulacra, one that “masks the absence of a profound reality.” He calls this order the “order of sorcery,” as it merely “plays being an appearance.” It conjures a reality that never actually existed.

This is exactly what these higher degrees are: they conjure something that never even existed, be it a Knight of the East and West or a Most Excellent Master, and claims we are now the symbolic manifestation of this title. The symbolic has to be based on something real, something that will yield a sign that may be utilized. A symbol has meaning — in fact, it has many meanings; it is a plethora. It is so much a plethora of meanings that it cannot claim to faithfully represent everything, and that the symbol must stand in for a reality that is inexpressible. Not so with sorcery. It makes up a reality. It conjures appearances like the sorcerer conjures spirits and shades of the dead. The sorcerer does not call upon a real person and they show up in the flesh, but rather calls up the shadowy image of someone who no longer is, or something that never existed, like a demon or an angel (note: Baudrillard is a Post Structuralist philosopher, an atheist, and in particular Nietzschean in that he follows the principle that God is dead).

This is the trap hidden within the higher degrees of Masonry: that these degrees are symbolic or based on something that actually existed, when in fact we know deep down there was never any such thing as a Perfect Master or Master of the Symbolic Lodge — I mean that Scottish Rite Degree right there fully embodies this very simulacrum: there could not have been a real Master of the Symbolic Lodge because the Symbolic Lodge is by its name symbolic of an actual real lodge, and the Master of such cannot be based on anything real. One becomes a symbolic Master of the Symbolic Lodge is simply ridiculous. It does not need a reality to pretend that it is real.

Much the same can be said about offices and titles within the Masonic bodies themselves.

I suppose since we’re here, we might as well discuss the fourth order simulacrum, in which this is something that does not even need reality, it does not care if there is a reality, it is pure simulation. It neither needs to reflect, conceal, or deny reality, it is what is now real. It is “hyperreal.” It produces without regard for reality whatsoever. The best way I can describe this is in “content creation” on social media platforms. You may have found videos on YouTube that make you start to lose your sense of direction as to what this video even accomplishes: something like a reaction video to a critique video of an analysis video of a movie that is loosely based on historical events. Sometimes you find reaction videos to reaction videos to… you get it. What is even happening here? Are we creating videos just to create videos? Looking for any excuse to upload content to generate views and reactions and comments so advertisements have a place to sell us stuff we don’t need? And what do we call these people? “Content creators.” It is not about creating something visionary or artistic or original or to explore something meaningful, but to simply create content for the sake of creating content. This dives into what Baudrillard calls “hyperreal,” “hyperproduction,” and such terms.

If I had to designate anything in Masonry that meets this hyperreality of the fourth order of simulacra, it would be the endless proliferation of more Masonic bodies, more offices, more committees, more degrees, more dues cards, more, more, more. We all know these kinds of Masons. It is not about what they can contribute to Masonry, what they get out of Masonry, or even what they enjoy about Masonry, but the accumulation of titles and offices for the sake of accumulating titles and offices. We have lost any semblance of the origins of Freemasonry, and in fact, we no longer care. We have lost any vestige of what it means to be a Mason, and what makes a man and Mason, and who we are supposed to be as Masons, and really we no longer care. The real value, the most precious meaning that underlines all of the Masonic institution, it no longer makes a difference. It is the endless accumulation of as mabt accolades as possible just so we can have them, and any regard for the real value that makes Masonry what it is, it simply is not regarded.

I am certain that if Baudrillard were alive today, he would shake his head and say “Patrick, please stop doing this to my work.” And I am probably stretching his philosophy to match some criticism I have of Masonry that he would hate me for. Yet, it is exactly what I saw myself falling into as I continued to move forward in Masonry. I originally wanted to only do esoteric research and writing when I became a Mason. I wanted to know what the Masons knew so that it may further my studies. And as the years went on, I found myself more and more concerned with being in officer lines, and accepting any invitation to a Masonic body that came my way. I found myself driving everywhere across the State of Colorado every night doing something, and none of it was fun. Most of it was boring, and furthermore, I only ever seemed to complain about everything I had to go to. Then the Covid lockdown happened and suddenly I had an opportunity to reassess why I was doing any of this anyway. Then I was married, and then I became a father, and that happened within a very short period. I realize that none of this was what I wanted to do when I became a Mason. I was so far away from what gave me joy, that I became a miserable person chasing titles and offices. That was when I started to revisit things I enjoyed: reading, writing, studying, research, philosophy, mysticism, et cetera. I revisited Baudrillard’s work, because — well, firstly, because I was doing research on Douglas Darden, and I wanted to get a better idea of how Baudrillard influenced his architectural designs — but secondly, because something about Baudrillard resonated with how I was feeling. There was something “unreal” or even “hyperreal” about chasing titles and offices.

This essay has been an attempt (essay) at describing the dangers I feel are inherent in the so-called higher degrees, and especially in the chasing of titles and offices. Is that why you became a Mason? It is not why I became a Mason, and it took becoming miserable for me to realize that. For me, it started with something symbolic.

The symbolic is not dangerous unto itself, so long as we recognize it for what it is: a concealment of a reality that cannot be fully expressed, and so it must deny reality and create an image that substitutes the reality that is not expressible. There is joy in the symbolic, because symbols are useful. That is the power of Masonic symbolism: they are useful to us, and we should always be endeavoring to further explore and utilize the power they hold. But beyond the symbolic, what value is there? Is there a value to chasing degrees that are based on nothing that ever existed? Do they even serve a purpose or have utility? Or is their only utility the obtaining of those degree titles? Is that what Masonry is about? Does that even serve the individual Mason, or does it even serve the fraternity itself?

Some of these Masons I have known, and I have asked them: “Why do you do this?” And I have heard quite a few respond with: “It is the only way I will matter.” With that, I want to hang my head and sob.

Me personally, it does not matter, and that is why I resigned from a number of officer lines, including a Grand Line, and turned down other appointments to other lines, and demitted from several bodies, and turned down invitations to other bodies. I love the symbolic. It is what brought me into Masonry, and anything beyond the symbolic is probably not for me. I suppose there are Masons who just enjoy helping and being a part of things, and so any opportunity to participate and help, they say “yes!” Don’t get me wrong, because I love the “yes! Masons.”

All I advise is to assess why you became a Mason. You do not have to keep the same goals you had when you became a Mason. Everyone grows and changes over the years, and that is wonderful. But are you being true to yourself as a Mason? The value and meaning in these things are all that matters. Truly. And if you lose sight of what is real and meaningful to you as an individual. If being a title-seeker is the only way to make your life meaningful, then something was missed along the way.

I do not want to blame Masonry for the fault of people. Masonry did not create the problem of title-seeking and abandoning many men in the desert of the real. People do that in everything, be it Masonry, YouTube videos, politics, yoga, church, bridge clubs, Google Earth photo-locations, Wikipedia entries, name it. This happens in everything. Seriously, did you know that if you upload enough photos and locate them in Google Earth, you get invited to a secret Google club? I know a former Mason who became infatuated with this. I digress. Masonry did prove to be fertile grounds for this kind of phenomenon to occur.

Without a conductor to follow and put our trust in, sometimes, many times, this Masonic journey becomes uncertain. O Mother Lodge, how far we’ve wandered. From that blindfolded interim where we had no way of conducting ourselves, uncertain of our future, we had to trust someone else, and now we are our own conductors, and I personally feel too many good men and Masons have fallen into a trap that is neither meaningful to themselves or Masonry.

To conclude, I will simply say: never lose sight of what you believe in. It is the difference between a trap into a meaningless desert and what provides you with a meaningful existence.

~PD

Patrick M. Dey is a Past Master of Nevada Lodge No. 4 in the ghost town of Nevadaville, Colorado, and currently serves as their Secretary, and is also a Past Master of Research Lodge of Colorado. He is a Past High Priest of Keystone Chapter No. 8, Past Illustrious Master of Hiram Council No. 7, Past Commander of Flatirons Commandery No. 7. He currently serves as the Exponent (Suffragan) of Colorado College, SRICF of which he is VIII Grade (Magister). He is the Editor of the Rocky Mountain Mason magazine, serves on the Board of Directors of the Grand Lodge of Colorado’s Library and Museum Association, and is the Deputy Grand Bartender of the Grand Lodge of Colorado (an ad hoc, joke position he is very proud to hold). He holds a Masters of Architecture degree from the University of Colorado, Denver, and works in the field of architecture in Denver, where he resides with wife and son.

What Even Are Symbols? Part 1 of a series

by Midnight Freemason Contributor

Patrick Dey

Throughout our Masonic journeys, we are constantly presented with symbols and symbolism. Whenever we ask what something means, the short answer is: that it’s symbolic. But what even is a symbol? We have some idea of what symbols are. We have many experiences with the symbolic, so we can muster a working conception of what a symbol is from our personal experience, but having a philosophical framework might be best to really grasp how symbols work and how they are utilized.

This is important: symbols have a utility. I think when we designate symbols as something “spiritual” or “esoteric,” it shuts down any practical use of the symbols. When, in fact, a symbol may be spiritual or profane, or both. They have a utility, they are useful, regardless if it is spiritual or profane. But to make use of symbols, we should have a firmer grasp of what even are symbols.

Firstly, symbols are part of a “sign” system. Within linguistic theory, we have signs and meanings of signs. This is what has long been called a “signified and signifier” relation (i.e. Ferdinand Saussure), and they are arbitrary in their relationship. For instance, we have the word “tree.” It is just a sound we make or just some lines on a piece of paper. The word “tree” is the signifier, the sign. It signifies the idea of what we call a tree, the signified. Plato would delineate these as thing and thingness — a particular example of a tree and the tree-ness of trees. I don’t always agree with Plato, so let’s go back to Saussure. We could, of course, arbitrarily change the signifier as we prefer, and so long as everyone is in agreement that we are changing the signifier, then we can now use a different word sign for the same idea. You see this in legal contracts, where it will state at the beginning that Mr. Joe Brown (hereafter referred to as the Defendant). Thenceforth, any time the documents say “Defendant,” we know that means Joe Brown. Or a better example: have you ever had to deal with someone so despicable that everyone referred to them as “he who must not be named”? We know who everyone is talking about, but we have adopted a new signifier for them, but it still maintains the same signification.

Symbols are a type of sign, but signs do not have to be symbols. Similarly, in geometry, a square is a type of rectangle, but a rectangle does not have to be a square. A square is a special kind of rectangle. Similarly, a symbol is a very special type of sign. Signs usually have a very limited signifier-signified relationship. For instance, if I show you a red octagon, you would interpret that to mean “stop.” Usually, it means to stop the car at this line, but we can put a red octagon in a pop-up warning on a computer, warning you that you are about to do something dangerous on the computer and to not proceed, but the red octagon has pretty much the same meaning, though it is being used in different contexts.

Symbols are what Carl Jung would call “multivalent.” That is, symbols mean a lot of different things, and they can be variously related or not. The red octagon sign really only has one meaning (in American sign systems): to stop. We could use it for something else, such as “this is a mountain,” and we could mutually agree with each other that it now means that, but that would get confusing. Symbols have a flexibility and vagueness that goes beyond a simple sign-signified relationship.

I have never found Jung’s definitions of symbols to be all that helpful. He gets very esoteric and mystical without ever really providing a clear notion of what symbols are. Jung sometimes appears to believe that symbols are so esoteric that it would be a detriment to the idea of symbols to even try to define them. Kind of a cop-out. Jean Baudrillard, on the other hand, gives a very good idea of what symbols are, namely they are simulacra for something that cannot be easily summarized, usually something so large and complex that the symbol stands in for a very broad and complicated system of ideas. In other words, the symbol represents something that cannot be completely comprehended or expressed.

Baudrillard puts symbols within his degrees of simulacra, as outlined in Simulacra and Simulation (1981). There are four orders of simulacra, according to Baudrillard, and each order distorts reality more and more to the point that we find ourselves living in the “desert of the real,” a world full of signs, but no meaning. The first order is a simple copy. Such as a head bust of a famous person. We know that the bust is not that person, but is a faithful representation of their image.

Second-order simulacra are symbols. According to Baudrillard, symbols are not any sort of representation of the likeness of another image, but rather a sign, a signifier for something that cannot be captured in any meaningful way. We will follow the example used by Baudrillard that he takes from Jorge Luis Borges, a one-paragraph short story called “On Rigor in Science” (1946). In this story, there is an empire that has advanced the science of cartography so precisely that the map the cartographers create is the exact same scale as the empire itself — a one-to-one scale, as the map covers the entire empire. For Baudrillard, this means that the physical territory itself has been replaced by the map, the thing meant to represent the empire, not supersede it. Out in the deserts on the fringes of the empire pieces of this ancient map can still be found, hence Baudrillard’s term “the desert of the real.”

Symbols do not function in this way. Rather than express the entirety of the empire at a one-to-one scale, a simple sign will be used. Rather than create a globe to map the world that is the exact same size as Earth to represent the Earth and all things upon it, we could make a simple image of, say, a circle with a cross through it, the classic symbol for Earth. Or we could draw a small, very crude image of a blue and green sphere that vaguely depicts the lands and seas of this planet. This is not just a mere abstraction, but a symbol representing something much greater than can ever be pragmatically depicted without the map replacing the territory, and the globe replacing the planet.

There is more happening on this planet, and more to what makes this “our world” than can ever be depicted: people, plants, production, destruction, birth, death, wars, truces, weather, the intricacies of the clouds, the particulars of a husband and wife arguing, the nuances of children playing… such cannot be captured, and instead of mapping them entirely, we may create a simple image that represents everything that is “the world.” This is how we generate a symbol.

The Lodge itself is like this. The Lodge is described in such a way that it represents the world: east, west, north, south, up, down, center, out, with the starry decked heavens above. A simple box that is longer than it is wide is symbolic of something much greater than can ever truly be mapped. And even the Lodge itself is symbolized in various ways: the circumpunct bounded by two lines, or a simple oblong square, et cetera. Because as much as the Lodge is a symbol of the world in all its manifold complexities, so too is the Lodge a multifaceted thing representing all the various aspects of Freemasonry.

The circumpunct symbol is a very interesting case, as it represents numerous things all at once. It represents the individual brother at the Altar, circumscribed by the boundaries of his passions, but also a representation of the circumambulation he made during his initiation. The two lines further represent the Saints John, which represent the solstices (the Tropics of Capricorn and Cancer), which adds to the astrological solar image of the circumpunct itself. This symbol is a loaded image of a variety of things, from the image of initiation to the brethren of the Lodge assembled to the cosmos itself. But this symbol also has a function. Remember I said at the beginning that symbols have a utilitarian function, they are not useless nor do they reside strictly in the realm of the sacred.

For Masonic symbols, they appear to be sacred to the uninitiated, they seem like mystical contrivances of uncertain meaning or power. Yet, to the initiated, we understand these meanings, representations, and significations. The circumpunct reminds us to keep within moderation, to not let our passions and desires get the better of us. The Saints John and the solstitial tropics remind us that even the sun itself has boundaries that it will not cross: it will not go any higher nor farther north in the summer, and that it will not go lower nor farther south in the winter. So too should we set boundaries for ourselves so that we may not transgress. But also we have our brethren there to help us, those to the north of us and those to the south of us when we took our oaths. And so forth.

It feels like we could get into Baudrillard’s conception of the “hyperreal” with the circumpunct being a symbol for the Lodge and the Lodge being a symbol for the world, that a symbol is symbolic of another symbol, and it is kind of getting distorted to the point that we lose the concept of the original, the world. But I digress.

My point here is that symbols are not abstractions or a copy of something. They are a signifier of something much more complex than can be completely represented. However, do not think that Baudrillard feels the symbolic is a good thing. He regards it as “it masks and denatures a profound reality,” whereas the first order of simulacra is “the reflection of a profound reality.” The symbolic is “an evil appearance — it is of the order of maleficence.” For Baudrillard, the symbolic conceals reality, rather than being an abstract expression of it. It denies that reality can ever be fully expressed, and thus must present a signifier to stand in for this lack.

In a way, he has a point. We as Masons are “symbolic” craftsmen. We are not real stonemasons, but rather symbolic of the old stonemason guild system and those who worked within that economic system to build great cathedrals and palaces. We instead build symbolic temples. It is as if the tangible, the real temples that were built are impossible to express their grandeur and sublime nature in any abstract way, and instead must rely on symbolry to express this. But for Baudrillard, it is actually a concealment. Remember: “I hele. I conceal.”

In the second part, we will look at Baudrillard’s third order of simulacra to look at how in Masonry, especially within our so-called “higher” degree systems, this symbolic order breaks down and we begin to see that Masonry becomes something that “masks the absence of a profound reality,” in which we are claiming to be something that never actually existed.

~PD

Patrick M. Dey is a Past Master of Nevada Lodge No. 4 in the ghost town of Nevadaville, Colorado, and currently serves as their Secretary, and is also a Past Master of Research Lodge of Colorado. He is a Past High Priest of Keystone Chapter No. 8, Past Illustrious Master of Hiram Council No. 7, Past Commander of Flatirons Commandery No. 7. He currently serves as the Exponent (Suffragan) of Colorado College, SRICF of which he is VIII Grade (Magister). He is the Editor of the Rocky Mountain Mason magazine, serves on the Board of Directors of the Grand Lodge of Colorado’s Library and Museum Association, and is the Deputy Grand Bartender of the Grand Lodge of Colorado (an ad hoc, joke position he is very proud to hold). He holds a Masters of Architecture degree from the University of Colorado, Denver, and works in the field of architecture in Denver, where he resides with wife and son.

Building on Symbolism: The Cornerstone

by Midnight Freemason Guest Contributor

WB Christian Garrett, 32°, K.T.

The cornerstone has long been considered to be an essential element of many  buildings, a tradition that has long survived throughout many ages and cultures. While  we as Masons are familiar with our symbolic teachings surrounding the cornerstone,  which I will touch on later, I thought it might be helpful to explore some examples of the  use of cornerstones in history.  

Ancient Egyptian and Mesopotamian cultures would lay their foundation stones  in a tradition similar to that of a “ground-breaking” ceremony as a “foundation ritual.”  The purpose of which was to call upon the favor of their Gods to protect their  structures from destruction by the elements or any other malevolent force. During  these “foundation rituals” stones would be hollowed out and filled with vessels  containing an array of different symbolic items pertaining to the intended use of the  building and the Deity it was dedicated too. These stones were then placed in different  corners of the buildings, at the entrance of the structure, or in some instances at a  different point of importance depending on the type of structure being built. 

In the customs and traditions of Freemasonry we see many examples of both  the operative and symbolic uses of the cornerstone. One of our few ceremonies that  are open to public is that of the laying of the cornerstone, of which one of the earliest  mentions dates back to the entry in Mist’s Weekly Journal of May 26th, 1722. It stated  “The first stone of the foundation at the same corner above ground being twelve feet  above the other, was laid with a great deal of ceremony by the society of Freemasons,  who on that occasion, were very generous to the workmen.” 

The cornerstone is also a deeply meaningful symbol within Masonic philosophy.  The newly initiated Entered Apprentice is placed in the northeast corner of the lodge.  This in itself has several meanings. Newly made Masons are the foundation of our  entire Craft, for without new members to carry our traditions forward into the future, our  work dies with us. The laborer of today is the overseer of tomorrow. Thus, we are to  take pride in the laying of these new Masons as cornerstones of our lodges, and to  guide their placement within the craft with studious attention and care.

This placement is also a symbolic halfway point between the darkness of the  North and the light of the East. This first step of the initiate marks a transition from  darkness and error, to that of light and truth. The charge he receives reiterates this by  stating how he should live, walk, and act in the outer world. In this moment, he is a  neophyte that is receiving its first nurturing rays that will perpetuate his growth on his  Masonic journey towards light. 

We all as Masons, from the youngest Entered Apprentice to the Worshipful  Master of the lodge, are ever erecting our spiritual temples. We labour in this daily,  brick by brick, through our charitable acts, selfless deeds, caring spirits, and truthful  dealings with one another. May the cornerstone of our spiritual temples be steadfast  and built upon the principles of integrity, stability, and longevity.

~CG

Christian Garrett is the current Worshipful Master of Cottage Grove Masonic Lodge #51in Cottage Grove, Oregon.  He is also an affiliate member of Eugene Lodge #11 and McKenzie River Lodge #195 in Eugene, Oregon. A 32° member of the Eugene Valley of the Scottish Rite, Scribe of Cottage Grove Royal Arch Chapter #41, Secretary for Hiram Council #7 and Ivanhoe Commandery #2, Senior Warden of Goose and Gridiron Allied Masonic Degrees, and Deputy Director of Units for Al Kader Shriners.

The Symbolism of the Beehive

by Midnight Freemason Guest Contributor

WB Christian Garrett, 32°, K.T.

The beehive is a symbol introduced in the Master Mason lecture, representing industry, cooperation, and the idea that a group of individuals working together can accomplish great things. Bees, as creatures, have long been recognized for their remarkable work ethic and the highly organized and efficient social structure of their hives. For Freemasons, the beehive serves as a reminder of the importance of these values in their own lives.

In Masonic symbolism, the beehive is often depicted as a skep, the traditional woven structure reminiscent of an upside-down basket, or by the hexagonal structure of the cells created by the bees working together within. The hive is often shown with a door or entrance, through which the bees enter and exit. One of the primary lessons that the beehive teaches is the importance of industry. Bees are known for their tireless work ethic, spending their entire lives gathering nectar and pollen and constructing the honeycomb within the hive. Similarly, we as Freemasons are encouraged to work hard and diligently, both in our professional lives and in our Masonic pursuits. By ever being industrious, we as Masons can achieve great things, both individually and as a brotherhood.

Cooperation is another key lesson found within the symbolism of the beehive. As the bees work together in a highly organized and efficient manner, each bee performs a specific task that contributes to the overall success of the hive. This cooperation is necessary for the survival of the hive and the production of honey, which serves as a valuable resource for the bees and for humans. So too do we as Masons, strive to cooperate, utilizing our individual skills for the betterment of not only our individual lodges but our fraternity as a whole and thus the world.

By working together, Masons can achieve greater things than we could on our own. The beehive should also be a reminder of the importance of unity. The individual bees within the hive are all part of a larger community, working together for the common good. In the same way, Masons are part of a larger brotherhood, united by shared morals, values, ethics, and goals. Through unity, we can create a strong and cohesive brotherhood that benefits our members and communities alike.

Similarly, In the Old Testament, we see that bees and honey are often used as symbols of industriousness, cooperation, and abundance. For example, in Judges 14:8, Samson finds bees and honey inside the carcass of a lion, symbolizing the idea that even something that seems dead or useless can still contain valuable resources. Likewise, in Proverbs 16:24, Solomon wrote that "gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones," suggesting that kindness and encouragement can be a source of nourishment and strength, thus we are to choose our words wisely.

Finally, the beehive symbolizes the importance of order and organization. Bees have a highly structured social hierarchy, with each bee knowing its place and role within the hive. This order and organization are essential for the efficient functioning of the hive and the accomplishment of its goals. Similarly, we as Masons value order and organization, both within the fraternity and should strive to in our personal lives. But as our yearly election and installation ceremony remind us, we pass on these duties and responsibilities year after year, in a respectful transition of authority.

The Beehive and The Kabbalah:

"A single bee cannot pollinate the field, but by the efforts of the hive, the world can fill with flowers." - Brother Stephen Webinga 32°

The beehive symbolism in Freemasonry can also be related to Kabbalah, the Jewish mystical tradition that seeks to understand the nature of the divine and the universe. In Kabbalah, there are several teachings that align with the lessons of the beehive symbol.

One of the primary teachings of Kabbalah is the concept of Ein Sof, the infinite and unknowable divine essence that exists beyond all creation. Just as the hive represents a community of bees working together for the common good, Ein Sof represents the unity of all things in the universe, working together in harmony to fulfill a greater purpose.

The beehive also relates to the concept of the Tree of Life, which is the central glyph in Kabbalah that represents the divine structure of the universe. The Tree of Life is composed of ten interconnected spheres, or sefirot, that represent different aspects of the divine, such as wisdom, understanding, and compassion. Each sphere is interdependent and necessary for the overall functioning of the Tree, just as each bee is necessary for the functioning of the hive.

In Kabbalah, the Tree of Life is also associated with the concept of the soul, which is said to be composed of ten levels or dimensions that correspond to the sefirot. Each level represents a different aspect of the individual’s spiritual growth and development, and each level builds upon the one before it. The beehive symbol can be seen as a reminder of the importance of each individual’s contribution to the greater whole, just as each bee in the hive is necessary for the survival and success of the entire colony.

Lastly, the beehive can also be related to the concept of tikkun olam, which is a central idea in Kabbalah and Jewish thought more broadly.

Tikkun olam refers to the idea of repairing the world or making it a better place. This is accomplished through acts of kindness, justice, compassion, and by working together to create a more just and equitable society. The beehive in a similar manner represents the idea that by working together, individuals can accomplish great things and create positive change in the world.

In conclusion, the beehive symbol in Freemasonry can be related to Kabbalah through its emphasis on unity, interdependence, and the importance of working together for the greater good. By reflecting on the lessons of the beehive, we as Masons can deepen our understanding of the divine structure of the universe, our place within it, as well as our role in repairing the world to create a more just and compassionate society.

~CG

Christian Garrett is the current Worshipful Master of Cottage Grove Masonic Lodge #51in Cottage Grove, Oregon.  He is also an affiliate member of Eugene Lodge #11 and McKenzie River Lodge #195 in Eugene, Oregon. A 32° member of the Eugene Valley of the Scottish Rite, Scribe of Cottage Grove Royal Arch Chapter #41, Secretary for Hiram Council #7 and Ivanhoe Commandery #2, Senior Warden of Goose and Gridiron Allied Masonic Degrees, and Deputy Director of Units for Al Kader Shriners.

The Gavel

by Midnight Freemason Guest Contributor

RWB Joshua Herbig

The Gavel has long been considered a symbol of authority. Within a Masonic Lodge, it represents the authority placed by the Members of the Lodge upon the shoulders of all Three Principal Officers: The Worshipful Master; the Senior Warden; and the Junior Warden. Yet, it comes mostly into its own in this role as the symbol of authority for the Worshipful Master. It is he who has been elected by the Brethren as the Chief Executive of the Lodge and mandated to rule and govern the Lodge with Equal Parts of both Regularity and Justice. We are often told about the authority of the Worshipful Master and his responsibility to keep the peace and harmony of the Lodge intact, sometimes with a single, definitive rap of his Gavel. With this in mind, let us more closely examine how and why the Gavel can symbolize the exercise of authority.

Freemasons place the Common Gavel as the second working tool to which a newly made Freemason is entitled, preceded only by the 24-inch Gauge and followed by the Plumb, Square, Level and Trowel. The first working tool, the 24-inch Gauge gives us a multitude of lessons, the primary of which is the measuring of our time and how we spend it upon this earth. It reminds us to shape ourselves and our behaviors to better exist within this physical world and the time which we have within it, which is set and must be managed accordingly, before moving on to the spiritual existence awaiting us when our time here is completed. This is a very important moral lesson, but there is more underneath the surface. The 24-inch Gauge, as a practical tool, is one means by which we are able to measure the world around us. It allows us to begin to take stock of our physical surroundings and begin to understand the External as opposed to the Internal. The lesson of measuring the physical world to better understand our place in it repeats with the Plumb, Square, and Level. These additional three tools provide moral lessons as well, but also provide practical ways with which we refine our measurements and understanding of the world that surrounds us. The correct use of these tools allows us to progress from definitive measurements found by using the tools themselves, into the ability to think and extrapolate from known ideas, moving from the External and translating that into a framework for understanding the Internal. These four working tools provide the measurements by which we understand our place in this world and measure how we are to work on and improve ourselves. They allow us to create and refine a template for improvement, but that improvement requires force and action in order to affect a change.

This brings us to the Common Gavel and Trowel, which are not tools of measurement and contemplation but are solely tools of action. They both represent different kinds of action, however, namely destruction and creation. They are the medium by which we actively translate our thoughts, ideas, and willpower, after careful contemplation using the lessons of the other tools of measurement, into force, by which we shape ourselves and the world around us. The Common Gavel allows us to actively shape rough and incongruent components into polished and useable pieces. The Trowel then allows us to reassemble those pieces to create a grand edifice, a building or structure whose beauty greatly surpasses the sum of the individual parts which were assembled to create it. It requires patience and effort to use the trowel correctly to build, yet as a tool, it is utterly useless if the parts with which it is creating the building are not correctly shaped and ready for their proper use. This process of breaking down and shaping is the sole responsibility of the Common Gavel, which is, at its most basic, a medium of destructive force.

While the Force of the Gavel is by its very nature destructive, as it is intended to break things apart or down, this force should not be blind and stupid, exerted with excessive strength onto any task set before it. Rather, it should be controlled; directed by a singular thought and desire to ensure that only enough force is exerted to produce the desired change or effect. A massive stone cannot easily be broken down with light raps from a gavel without needing an amount of time completely unavailable to the lifetime of a man, as we see with the 24-inch gauge. Conversely, the most delicately wrought stonework can be completely and utterly destroyed with the application of a mighty blow with the Gavel upon its delicate surface and structure. Yet at the same time, a single large stone can be broken down into smaller and more manageable pieces by a massive blow placed correctly upon it. Additionally, a small and delicate stone can be adjusted into the proper location within a structure by the application of light taps to gently shift its position. The force of the Gavel can very easily create unwanted destruction with blind or excessive force. It is only with precision and skill, a proper balancing of Strength and Wisdom that allow the Force of the Gavel to be used to create the best-fitting component parts which, when assembled, become a testament of Beauty.

The use of the Common Gavel is inherently necessary to produce the proper pieces to build an amazing edifice, but it is the prudent and judicial wielding of that destructive force that allows those pieces to be correctly shaped. The requirement for the Worshipful Master to use force or wield power in the proper governing of a Lodge makes the Gavel a fitting symbol of the authority invested in him by the Lodge to manage it. However, to the Worshipful Master himself, the Gavel remains a reminder of the inherent requirement to use that power and authority with control and forethought, applied only where and as needed, with only as much force as required to achieve the intended effect. For only then will the Worshipful Master truly balance the requirements of Strength with the forethought and lessons of Wisdom, to achieve within the Lodge a representation of that Beauty inherent in the heavenly kingdom to which we all strive.

~JH

RWB Josh Herbig is a Freemason from the area of Saint Louis, Missouri, USA. He is a Past Master of Gateway Lodge #40 in Creve Coeur, Missouri, and currently serves as the District Deputy Grand Lecturer for the 27th Masonic District of The Grand Lodge of Missouri, A.F.&A.M. He is also a 32nd-Degree Scottish Rite Mason and is a member of the Education Committee for the Scottish Rite Valley of Saint Louis, where he serves as Assistant Instructor for the Master Craftsman-Symbolic Lodge Study Group hosted by the Valley. Additionally, he is a member of Moolah Shrine, A.A.O.N.M.S. 

Josh is currently working as a Project Manager for a Mechanical Contracting Company serving the greater St. Louis region. Josh also Retired as a Sergeant First Class from the United States Army Reserves on April Fool’s Day of 2019, after 22+ years of service and multiple overseas and home station deployments. In his free time, Josh enjoys several hobbies, from making Masonic Gavels to scuba diving, snow skiing, welding, and some minor blacksmithing. He currently lives in the Old Monroe, Missouri area with his wife Julie and their three children.

Keeping the Fire: Cormac McCarthy's The Road and What It Tells Us as Freemasons

by Midnight Freemason Guest Contributor

Phillip Welshans

In Cormac McCarthy's apocalyptic novel, The Road, the main character and his young son are journeying across the ruined remains of what was once the United States, trying to reach the coast where there are rumors of a sanctuary community. Along the way they contend with a wasteland devoid of life and roving bands of marauders and cannibals. Civilization has been destroyed along with the planet and many of the people they encounter along the way have abandoned all hope and act more like animals than human beings. The novel is as much about The Man and Son (we never learn their names) struggling with their internal feelings of desperation, hopelessness, and fear as it is about their survival amidst the ruins of society.

Despite the external horror and darkness, The Man tries to instill in his son a sense for holding onto what makes them human, what ultimately separates them from the barbarism that has taken hold of the world. The Man calls this ineffable essence "the fire" and its preservation, its fragility, and the obligation each of us as humans have to care for it and pass it on, is one of the central messages of McCarthy's novel.

The Son: "Is the fire real? The fire?"

The Man: "Yes it is."

TS: "Where is it? I don't know where it is."

TM: "Yes you do. It's inside you. It always was there. I can see it."

It goes hand in hand with the deep, unconditional love The Man has for his son as the heart of the story. The Man never defines exactly what "the fire" is, but from the story and context we gather that it is, essentially, the precepts of morality, ethics, and mutual affection that emerged from early humans, became codified over countless generations, and eventually served as the cement for human civilization.

As Freemasons, we are both inheritors and caretakers of "the fire" just as The Man and his son are in The Road. We may not be faced with such an apocalyptic world, but the task is no less important. As we learn when we are charged as Entered Apprentices, more excellent rules and useful maxims have never been laid down than are inculcated in the several Masonic lectures. Those maxims are firmly rooted in an intellectual tradition that reaches back to antiquity with the Greeks and before them arguably to the ancient Egyptians. The lessons we learn in the first three degrees of Masonry are part and parcel of that fire that we often hear described within the Craft as "Masonic Light" or just simply light.

Because the fire, or Masonic Light, is internal to each man, its discovery and nurturing are essentially internal, personal efforts. In his book Contemplating Craft Masonry, W. Kirk MacNulty describes the Fellowcraft degree as an interior ascent into higher consciousness, with the soul as the seat of man's consciousness. The Middle Chamber lecture is the symbolic representation of this journey and its difficulty: ascending through the first three degrees of Masonry, acquiring the knowledge symbolized by the five orders of architecture, and finally acquiring the self-knowledge that each of the seven liberal arts and sciences contains for each man's soul and consciousness, ultimately leads to the Middle Chamber, which MacNulty describes as a place of contemplation within a man's soul, a place from where we each can ruminate on the fire we carry, the immutable Truth of human civilization. "The knowledge of truth," MacNulty writes, "is an interior experience that must take place within each individual."

Whether it be the Four Cardinal Virtues or the Tenets of our Profession in the Blue Lodge, or other mysteries communicated in appendant degrees, we are each charged with taking the lessons of ancient wisdom, applying them to our own lives, and passing those lessons on to future generations. That is carrying the fire.

~PW

Phillip Welshans is currently serving as the Junior Warden of Palestine Lodge #189 in Catonsville, MD under the Grand Lodge of Maryland A.F. & A.M., and is Senior Warden-elect for the 2023 term. I’m currently going through the process of exemplifying the first three degrees of Masonry in preparation for going into the East in 2024. I am also a member of the Maryland Masonic Lodge of Research #239, and a member of the Hiram Guild of the Maryland Masonic Academy. As a member of the Scottish Right in the Valley of Baltimore, he has completed the Master Craftsman programs and is a member of the Scottish Rite Research Society.

In addition to his officer’s duties, he has been a contributor to the Free State Freemason, the magazine of the Grand Lodge of Maryland. His interests are primarily in Masonic education, particularly the history of the Craft, esoteric topics, and the exploration of the philosophy of Masonry.

A Masonic Dialogue Between Self and Soul

by Midnight Freemason Guest Contributor

Phillip Welshans

William Butler Yeats, Irish playwright and poet, and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1923, has been heralded as arguably one of the greatest English language authors. Yeats was a Symbolist poet in that his work contained symbols or imagery that was designed to evoke some emotion or allude to some idea. His name has also been mentioned among other famous men as being Freemasons, however, there is no record of his having officially joined a Masonic lodge during his life.   

Nonetheless, Yeats was a known occultist and student of mysticism and magic. In 1890, he joined the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and spent the next 35 years of his life studying magic and Hermeticism. In 1925, he authored A Vision, a philosophical and theosophical tract explaining his views on mysticism. Several years later in 1933, he published a collection of poems titled The Winding Stair, which included a particularly well‐known symbolic poem, “A Dialogue of Self and Soul.”1 A Masonic reader of this poem cannot help but see numerous allusions to Masonic themes, symbols, and teachings.   

Yeats begins “A Dialogue of Self and Soul” with the Soul calling us “to the winding ancient stair” (1), in order to focus our minds on the challenging road ahead. We begin as rough, unfinished, or even damaged structures, like the ancient battlements referenced in the stanza. But the journey will require man to concentrate and face “that quarter where all thought is done,” in other words: death, is the common equalizer for humanity. The Soul views this as the ultimate destination for humans. It ends by asking a potentially rhetorical question: Who can examine their own soul and determine the dark from the light (the bad from the good)?   

For Masons, this first stanza of the poem should remind the reader of the Middle Chamber lecture, where the journey via a winding staircase is laid out before the candidate. Freemasonry consists of many journeys, some short and others last a lifetime. Regardless of the length, however, the Soul in this first section admonishes us that the ascent will require our entire concentration, most notably on what lies beyond life: death and the afterlife. In asking “Who can distinguish darkness from the soul,” (8) Yeats implies God/Deity, but we as Masons should also imagine he is asking if humans ourselves can eventually make this distinction. The duality of the human soul, the darkness and the light, is one of the central teachings of the Craft degrees of Masonry and finds its way into many of the teachings of the appendant bodies as well. The Soul’s question takes on greater significance for Masons as a result. 

The Self responds in the second stanza of the poem, arguing that the past of history and present of the material world should not be sacrificed for the benefit of the impossible goals of the Soul’s tomorrow. Yeats uses “Sato’s ancient blade” as the image of a man’s family. Yeats had spent time in Japan, during which a friend named Sato had gifted him a sword that had been in his family for more than half a millennium.  We can equate the sword with a man’s inheritance, both material, but also intellectual, “unspotted by the centuries”. The Self argues this legacy is just as important as our spiritual considerations. For some of us, joining the Fraternity was partly driven by family and a desire to continue the tradition. Posterity and tradition can be powerful motivators for many Brethren. This, the Self states, is not something to take lightly and is not necessarily separate from what the Soul is contemplating. 

Other portions of this stanza allude to this Masonic link. In referencing the ability of the sword, adorned with the “flowering, silken” embroidery to still provide protection even after all these years, Yeats tells us that the Self and its temporal inheritance, even if imperfect and eventually old and worn, provides a benefit to the Soul of physical encirclement and protection. As Masons, we are taught this link between the spiritual and physical applies to all men in the universe, and that while the Soul may be the entity that exists for eternity, it cannot reach its full potential of enlightenment without the Self.   

The third stanza of the poem belongs to the Soul, who responds to the Self by asking which of them is better suited for achieving the ultimate goal: immortality. “Why,” it posits, “should the imagination of a man / Long past his prime remember things that are / Emblematical of love and war?” In other words, how is it the soul can hold these dual memories and reflections at the same time? The physical body cannot do this. While the Self can allow us to enjoy and take advantage of the benefits of material life, the Soul alone can help us contemplate that “ancestral night” and imagine things beyond the physical realm and “deliver from the crime of death and birth.” 

To this, the Self says the duality of the human soul occurs in its material existence as well. The prose here juxtaposes symbols of life and light (flowers, embroidery, and the color purple) with allusions to death and the night (the tower). It is this imperfection of human life that makes it worth living, the Self intimates, that we may continue to live perhaps eventually revoking the “charter to commit the crime once more,” and enjoying immortality beyond the physical. This should speak to us as Masons, for this is the essential process whereby we polish and work the rough ashlars of our lives to fashion them into living stones for that spiritual building, that house not made with hands, eternal in the heaven. 

But Yeats gives the final word in this section of the poem to the Soul, which belies his own focus on the spiritual and occult during his life. We return to “that quarter” mentioned in the first stanza, an allusion to the afterlife. And like the earlier mention, where “all thought is done” , here Yeats writes that in this quarter a soul is filled with such awe “and falls into the basin of the mind / That man is stricken deaf and dumb and blind”. Our journey to the afterlife renders all physical senses, all human material understanding, even our honed intellects, moot. Death, as we Masons know, is the great equalizer. 

This is the soul’s ultimate advantage over the human body: one day the human body will cease to exist, yet the soul, if properly prepared, can live on in a more illuminated state. This is intensely Masonic and alchemical prose, as the immortality of the soul is one of the most central teachings within Masonry. If the soul is immortal, then death is merely another transformation of the material into the ethereal, and life is but one small part of a person’s journey toward that perfect state, exemplified by the perfect ashlar.   

At this point, the Soul departs and we hear from it no more in the remainder of the poem. Presumably, it has ascended into the spiritual plane, leaving the Self to converse with itself and to contemplate its own existence from this point forward. But we should not view this as the less important section of the poem. Instead, the second half of the poem can be read as a meditation on a man’s Masonic journey from rough ashlar towards perfect ashlar and the illumination gained along the way.  

The second section’s first stanza addresses this exact premise. This stanza is essential a series of rhetorical questions. “A living man is blind and drinks his drop. \ What matter if the ditches are impure? \ What matter if I live it all once more?” In other words, every person lives their life in a state of ignorance or blindness. And despite the physical pleasures and material enjoyments available in life, what is the greater point of life if everything lacks permanence thanks to death? And if there is a greater meaning, how do we find it?   

Yeats rubs salt in our wound by adding age into the equation. Time is a one‐way journey in the material world and maturation can be an uncomfortable or even painful process for men, especially when physical growth far outpaces spiritual growth. “The unfinished man and his pain / Brought face to face with his own clumsiness”. As Masons, we are tasked with pursuing our own journeys, making our own progress and advancement, and gaining our own Masonic light. It is a lifelong process, and therein lies the rub. Our spiritual journey is limited by our physical lives. This is an issue central to Masonry: giving men the tools to grow beyond the physical limitations imposed by our material existence even as the sands continue to pass through the hourglass. There is no time to waste. 

“How in the name of Heaven can he escape / That defiling and disfigured shape” (50‐51) the poem continues. How can we hope to transcend the imperfections of the physical world, when most people remain firmly tethered in it? The pressure to bend to the accepted norms of society, to place consumption and accumulation ahead of spiritual well‐being, and to strive for that perfect ashlar, can be overwhelming. But at the end, when death comes, “…what’s the good of an escape / If honor find him in the wintry blast?”, Yeats asks. Masonry is the answer to this dilemma for many men. Masonry and its teachings make physical life rewarding beyond material pleasures, as it uses our finite time in this physical universe to prepare us for the infinite time after death.   

Yeats uses the remainder of the poem to add his own view on these questions. Yeats was clear in his other writing that he was unsure if there was an afterlife, to which all human souls can transcend upon physical death. However, he did believe in reincarnation; that a soul was itself immortal and would transition from one physical form to another over many lifetimes. “I am content to live it all again/ And again” he writes. Masonry espouses the immortality of the human soul as well, and while many Western religious traditions teach an afterlife, not every faith or doctrine does (Buddhism being perhaps the most well‐known). Thus Christian (or Muslim or Jewish) Masons can agree with our Buddhist brethren (and with Yeats) that our souls are immortal, even if we differ in our belief on their ultimate destinations post‐mortem. 

The rest of the poem is largely optimistic then, just as the Master’s lecture in the third degree ends on an optimistic note, despite focusing on death. Yeats writes: 

 I am content to follow to its source

Every event in action or in thought;

Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!

When such as I cast out remorse

So great a sweetness flows into the breast

We must laugh and we must sing,

We are blest by everything,

Everything we look upon is blest. (65‐72)

 

In other words, our physical lives should not be seen as sentences to be served, but as time well‐spent learning, adapting, and preparing ourselves for the next phase of existence. We should memento mori and live to the fullest, for we are lucky creatures indeed to be able to experience the beauties of life while knowing there is still more to come beyond the grave.

1 William Butler Yeats. “A Dialogue of Self and Soul.” Poetry Foundation, 1933, 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43294/a‐dialogue‐of‐self‐and‐soul. All line references in this paper are taken from this poem.

~PW

Phillip Welshans is currently serving as the Junior Warden of Palestine Lodge #189 in Catonsville, MD under the Grand Lodge of Maryland A.F. & A.M., and is Senior Warden-elect for the 2023 term. I’m currently going through the process of exemplifying the first three degrees of Masonry in preparation for going into the East in 2024. I am also a member of the Maryland Masonic Lodge of Research #239, and a member of the Hiram Guild of the Maryland Masonic Academy. As a member of the Scottish Rite in the Valley of Baltimore, he has completed the Master Craftsman programs and is a member of the Scottish Rite Research Society.

In addition to his officer’s duties, he has been a contributor to the Free State Freemason, the magazine of the Grand Lodge of Maryland. His interests are primarily in Masonic education, particularly the history of the Craft, esoteric topics, and the exploration of the philosophy of Masonry.