The observation has been made that language is a growth; every word
had to be created by man. Back of every word is some want or
necessity of mind or body and the genius to make expression in some
sign or sound that we call a word. "Some words are rough and rugged
like the skins of wild beasts, other glitter and glisten like satin
and gold. Words have been born of hatred and revenge, of love and
sacrifice, of hope and fear, of agony and joy. In them mingle the
darkness and the dawn. They are the garments of thought , the robes
of reason, the shadows of the past, the reflection of the present and
the crystallization of human history."
It has been said that the egocentric instinct in man has made "self-
preservation the first law of nature," that growing out of or
alongside of it is the gregarious instinct which has produced social
governments and philanthropic enterprises. Deeper than these
instincts there is in man a consciousness, however dim, in explicable
forces and agencies, and an urge to realize their potency. In the
childhood of the race this occasioned the thought of supernatural
power in a word.
The word that causes the heavens on high to tremble, The word that
makes the world below to quake.
Constitute the first two lines of a Babylonian hymn inscribed upon a
clay tablet five thousand years ago, in which the wise preisthood of
a great religion sang praises to the might and power of a word.
Some Masonic writers have held that A U M, pronounced "oom," is the
oldest omnific name of God in the world; that it came out of India,
and that it has also been spelled A O M, but pronounced the same way.
Frank C. Higgins has written a book on his name as the "Lost Word,"
and claims it is concealed in the terminal letters of the names of
the three ruffians. To the best of my knowledge this concealment has
not been satisfactorily explained.
In my opinion, Freemasonry is largely indebted to the Hebrews for the
legend of The Lost Word. Shakespeare says, "What's in a name?" The
Jews saw in a name "a sign standing for the personality, the
achievements, the reputation, the character, the power and the glory
of the one who wore it." Joseph meant "increaser," Moses meant "drawn
out of water," Israel meant "Prince of God." At the burning bush the
ineffable name of God Almighty was communicated to Moses; so
overwhelming was its glory that the people pronounced it in whispers.
The third commandment of the Decalogue, delivered from Mount Sinai,
declared, "Thou Shalt not take the name of the Lord, thy God in
vain." The priestly rule contained in Leviticus reads, "He that
pronounceth the name of the Lord distinctly shall be put to death."
At last only the high priest was permitted to utter the name, and
that but once a year. On the day of atonement, and in the holy of
holies, its utterance was accompanied by the beating of cymbals and
the blowing of trumpets, so as to completely extinguish the sound of
the human voice. Such were "the wrappings of secrecy and sanctity
which the Jews threw about the name of God."
As they used no vowels in writing, all that was ever seen were four
consonants, J H V H, the Tetragrammation or four lettered name of God
which we call Jehovah. From the letters there was no clue to the
pronunciation. No one could understand them any more than we could
know that Mr. stands for Mister and Dr. stands for Doctor unless
someone told us so.
According to tradition, the great catastrophe of the Babylonian
captivity was that, through the death of the high pries without a
successor, the name was lost. "At the end of that captivity priests
and scribes began a search for the lost name which has continued
without avail for two and one-half millenniums." The four consonants
they had, but it is doubtful if anyone has been able to supply the
sound of the vowels. It is believed that this four-lettered name of
God is the Lost Word of Masonry today.
Like everything else in our science, it is a symbol.
It is the consummation of all Masonic symbolism because it stands for
the Divine truth. Brotherly love and relief are but the means to an
end; the final design of our Institution is its third principle
tenet, the imperial truth. In some aspects truth seems relative,
because it is not complete, but only partial. Now we see through a
glass darkly, but the ultimates of truth are immutable and eternal,
the Fatherhood of God and the immortality of the soul, "Down to this
deep foundation Masonry digs for a basis of its Temple and finds an
everlasting rock."
Dr. Joseph Fort Newton says:
"Freemasonry makes no argument, but presents a picture, the oldest,
if not the greatest, drama in the world, the better to make men feel
those truths which no mortal words can utter. It shows us the
tragedy of life in its blackest hour, the forces of evil, cunning,
yet stupid, which come up against the soul, tempting it to treachery,
a tragedy which, in its simplicity and power, makes the heart ache
and stand still. Then out of the thick darkness there rises, like a
beautiful white star, that in man which is most akin to God, his love
of truth, his devotion to duty, his willingness to go down into the
night of death, if only virtue may survive and throb like a pulse of
fire in the evening sky."
"Here is the ultimate and final witness of our Divinity and
immortality, the sublime, death-defying moral heroism of the human
soul." Translated into personal terms it is the Apostle Peter at his
execution asking to be crucified head downward. It is the Spartan
Leonidas at the Pass of Thermopylae, with a handful of men holding
back the hordes of Persia and spelling out the salvation of the Greek
Republic. It is the Swiss, Arnold von Winkelried, receiving the
points of Austrian spears into his own breast and making his dead
body a bridge of victory for his countrymen. It is the American,
Nathan Hale, grieving that he had but one life to give, but one
supreme sacrifice to make at the altar of our National Liberty. It
is our operative Grand Master, the Tyrian Builder before the brute
forces of death and destruction, surrendering his life but preserving
his integrity.
Brother H.L. Haywood says: "The search for a lost word is not a
search for a mere vocable of a few letters which one might write down
on a piece of paper, it is the search for a truth." It is a quest
for the highest possible life in the spiritual unfoldment of
humanity; it is the seeking after the name, the power and the glory
of God.
The purpose is the same whether this age-old legend of the quest be
woven into a tragic tale like Eugene Sue's "Wandering Jew," or thrown
about a mystic drama like Maurice Maeterlinck's "Blue Bird," or
crystallized in an epic poem like James Russell Lowell's "Vision of
Sir Launfal," whether it be a missing chord of music, the vacancy of
a sanctuary, a design left unfinished by the death of the Master
Builder, or the Lost Word in Masonry to be recovered through
patience, perseverance and time. It always symbolizes a search for
something good and beautiful and true.
At times of meditation and introspection there is something vaguely
haunting in the Legend of The Lost Word; like the fleeting fragrance
of a forest flower experienced in the past, the murmured music of a
rippling brook heard in childhood, the purple sheen of twilight on a
distant hilltop, or some exquisite dream of infinite love in the long
ago; forgotten, but trembling at the doorway of memory.
This quest is the central thought of Henry van Dyke's "The Other Wise
Man," an inspirational story of beauty and charm, which tells of the
days when Augustus Caesar was the master of many Kings and Herod
reigned in Jerusalem.
Artaban, the Median, the fourth wise man; studied the constellations
and certain prophecies of Zoroaster, Balaam and Daniel. Inspired by
the appearance of a star in the sky, he sold his possessions and
bought three gems; a sapphire, a ruby and a pearl; to bear as tribute
to a new-born King. The other three wise men were to wait for him at
the ancient temple of the seven Spheres. Because he tarried in a
palm grove outside the walls of Babylon to minister to a Parthian Jew
in the ravages of a fever, he did not reach the appointed place in
time, and found a note which said, "We have waited past the midnight
hour and can delay no longer. We go to find the King. Follow us
across the desert." This meant that Artaban must sell his sapphire
to buy camels and provisions for the journey . A ministry of mercy
cost him the first jewel.
The third day after the wise men had laid at the feet of a child in a
manger their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, Artaban entered
Bethlehem, weary but full of hope, bearing his Ruby and his Pearl.
The streets were deserted, but from an open door of a low stone
cottage he heard a woman's voice singing softly. He entered and
found a young mother hushing her baby to sleep. She told him of the
strangers from the east who had appeared and gone, that the man from
Nazareth had taken the babe and its mother and fled away to Egypt.
She placed food before him, the plain fare of humble peasants. The
baby slumbered, as great peace filled the quiet room; but suddenly
there came the noise of wild confusion in the street, the shrieking
and wailing of women's voices crying: "The Soldiers of Herod! They
are killing our children."
The mother's face grew white with terror, she huddled with her child
in a dark corner of the room. Artaban's form filled all the doorway,
and looking straight at the Captain he said: "I am alone in this
place and am waiting to give this jewel to the prudent Captain who
will leave me in peace." He showed the Ruby glistening like a great
drop of blood in the palm of his hand.
The lines of greed tightened hard around the Captain's lips. He took
the Ruby in his fingers and gave the order:
"March on, there is no child here, this house is still." Artaban
turned his face to the East and prayed, "God of Truth, forgive my
sin, I have said that which is not to save the life of a child." The
voice of the woman said, very gently, "Because thou hast saved the
life of my little one, may the Lord Bless thee and keep thee, lift up
the light of His Countenance upon thee and give thee peace." Thus he
parted with his second jewel.
Down in Egypt Artaban found faint traces here and there of the holy
family. Though he found none to worship, he found many to help. He
fed the hungry, clothed the naked, healed the sick and comforted the
captive. His years moved swiftly by; after thirty-three had gone, in
his old age an irresistible impulse came upon him to go up again to
Jerusalem. He had his Pearl and was looking for the King.
It was the season of the Passover when he reached the city. There
was great excitement; multitudes were being swept as by a secret tide
toward the Damascus Gate. He joined the throng and inquired the
cause of the tumult and where they were going. "We are going," they
answered, "Outside the city walls to a place called Golgotha where
Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews, is to be crucified."
How strangely the words fell on the tired heart of Artaban. At last
he was to see the King and he still had his Pearl, in time, perhaps
to offer it as ransom. A troop of Macedonian soldiers came down the
street dragging a young girl into bondage and slavery for debts of
her father who had died. Being of Artaban's country, she recognized
the sign of the Priesthood, the Winged circle of Gold which he wore.
Tearing away from the soldiers and throwing herself at his feet, she
prayed, "Have pity upon me, save me from a fate that is worse than
death."
Artaban trembled as a conflict entered his soul. It was the old
conflict which had come to him in the Palm grove and again in the
Stone cottage; the conflict between expectations of faith and the
impulses of love. In the darkness of his mind it seemed clear that
the inevitable comes from God. He took the Pearl from his bosom and
placed it in the slave girl's hand, saying, "This is thy ransom. It
is the last of my jewels which I kept for the King."
As he spoke the sky darkened, the earth quaked, the houses rocked, a
heavy tile shaken from a roof fell and struck the old man on the
temple. He lay breathless and pale.
As she bent over him there came a voice through the twilight, small
and still, like music sounding from a distance. The old man's lips
began to move; she heard him say, "Not so my Lord, for when I saw I
Thee an hungered and fed Thee, or thirsty and gave Thee to drink?
Thirty and three years have I sought Thee, but I have never seen Thy
face nor ministered to Thee, my King." Again the maid heard the
sweet voice, faintly, as from afar, but now it seemed as though she
understood the words. "Verily I say unto thee, inasmuch as thou hast
done unto one of the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it
unto me."
At the end of the journey, in the presence of human need, in the
expression of human sympathy, in the rendering of human service, he
came face to face with his King and discovered his Lost Word. He
heard a Divine voice saying, "Inasmuch" and "Well done, good and
faithful servant."
The Lost Word symbolizes the kind of truth that cannot be acquired
from reading books, that cannot be obtained by paying so much money
and listening to so many college lectures. It symbolizes a truth
that must be wrought out through the vicissitudes of life in personal
experience.
If the Word stands for the personality, the attributes, the power and
the glory of God, we must be satisfied with a substitute, because
human life and ages of time are too short for a complete revelation
of that high and holy name.
The whole design of Masonic science is a quest for the truth.
"Divine truth is symbolized by the Logos, the Word, the Name."
Through this symbol all the other symbols of Masonry guide a man
onward and upward to God.
Over the hills to a valley of endless years,
Over roads of woe to a land without a tear,
Up from the haunts of men to the place where angels are,
This is the march of morality, to a wonderful goal afar.