history 6

HISTORY OF FREEMASONRY

CHAPTER VI

History of Freemasonry - by H.L. Haywood

THE GOTHIC BUILDERS

SOMEWHERE and somehow in the gloom of the Dark Ages,

Operative Craft Masonry was developing the social form in which

it was to emerge as the immediate ancestor of Speculative

Freemasonry. Few periods of history are so obscure and

mysterious as is that which comprehends the centuries of pillage

and bloodshed when "the glory that was Greece and the grandeur

that was Rome" had disappeared from sight, trodden down beneath

the conquering footsteps of barbarian hordes. The Northern

invaders were mighty in destruction but for long seemed impotent

to rebuild where they had razed. Charlemagne indeed erected upon

the ruins of Roman rule in Western Europe an ambitious political

structure, but when the Carolingian empire in turn succumbed to

the disintegrating influences of the times, the fairest lands relapsed

into anarchy and barbarism.

Everywhere religion and superstition were in a death struggle for

supremacy, the advantage going first one way and then the other.

Philosophy was degraded from its once high estate, while

witchcraft and demonology, bigotry and ignorance, vied with one

another for hegemony of the human mind. Art languished, science

perished and the learning of the ancients slumbered in parchments

until a more propitious and a kindlier age should awaken it once

more. The Saracen East alone gave shelter to intellectual

refinements too subtle to attract the coarser genius of Europe. In a

day when light and learning suffused the understanding of Persia

and when Omar the Tentmaker was lifting his voice in song or,

with educated contemporaries of the Near East, was discussing the

complications of algebra, kings who could neither read nor write

reigned in France, England and Germany.

Viewed in retrospect it is as if a malevolent fate had drawn a

curtain of fog across the face of the earth from the Bosphorus and

the strait of Gibraltar to the arctic circle. Now and then a stray

breath of history lifts a corner of the veil to disclose marching

armies and besieged cities. From behind it come the clang of sword

upon shield, the twang of bow, the thud of battle-axe and the shrill

clamor of martial trumpets. Then the mist begins slowly to clear

away, lifting, not upon a scene of desolation, as might be expected,

but upon a new and sturdy civilization which, in some seemin0v

miraculous way, has come into being in the midst turmoil and

confusion.

During that long period when the western mind, like a field that

has lain fallow, had been storing up the energy which was to raise

humanity to novel and unimagined heights, seeds of a new social

and artistic order had germinated. Most striking of all the products

of the Dark Ages was that style of building which is spoken of as

Gothic architecture. Along with it developed the system of

medieval operative guilds, of which that of the stone masons was

at once the most interesting and most complex. Both the

architecture and the guild system contained innumerable vestiges

of earlier ancestry, but each was so distinctive in itself as to defy

exact identification with anything that had gone before. When

Gothic architecture is dispassionately measured by that of the

Byzantine or of the Greco-Roman period, the contrasts appear to

be greater than the resemblances. Similarly when the guild system

is measured by the collegia or the Ancient Mysteries, the

differences appear greater than the similarities. That Gothic

architecture and the medieval guilds were codevelopments due to

common causes appears to be established by an overwhelming

preponderance of the historical evidence.

A list of theories that Freemasonry in approximately its present

form has descended from the days of King Solomon has already

passed in review. Among these was the theory that primitive man

originated the Fraternity; the theory that it came from the Ancient

Mysteries; the theory that it came from the collegia' with attendant

hypotheses of transmission through Britain, Byzantium or

Southern France; the Comacine theory, which will be examined

hereafter in greater detail. Still other theories have been advanced

from time to time, as that it originated among ancient Jewish

theosophists and was transmitted through the Kabbalists; that it

sprang from the Druses of Mount Lebanon; that it came from

antiquity through the Dionysian Artificers; that it was originally a

system of Egyptian mystery cults; that it was founded by the

Druids of ancient Britain; that it was brought from the Orient by

Crusaders; that the Knights of the Temple acquired it from the

Society of the Assassins. It is necessary, however, for the

champion of any such hypothesis to present evidence that

Freemasonry has continued as one big fraternity from the

beginning down to the present. Not only has this not been done,

but the testimony of history is heavily against the supposition.

If, on the other hand, the attempt be only to show that Freemasonry

contains survivals and inheritances of the cultural experiences of

all past times, the undertaking is by no means difficult. Such an

attempt naturally presupposes a hypothesis that the origins of the

Fraternity as a separate institution are to be sought in a period

which would be calculated to give it the peculiar and distinctive

traits it has been known from its earliest provable history to

possess. The nascency of Gothic architecture supplies precisely

such a period. If the guilds of the Gothic builders did not give

origin to Freemasonry, it is at least certain that Freemasonry first

appears in a recognizable form among those guilds. To go behind

the records which prove that, is to abandon the realm of history for

that of speculation and fancy. It is therefore of importance to

examine as carefully as may be the art and practices of the Gothic

builders for what light they may throw upon the Masonic

institution.

Of the men who worked out this style unfortunately little is known.

There have been almost as many conflicting theories of its origin

as there are of the origin of Freemasonry itself. A phenomenon of

the Dark Ages was the rise in all parts of Europe of free and

self-governing cities. These were essentially different in their

political composition from the feudal governments existing all

around them. They were ruled by their own councils of burgesses

and these in turn were frequently composed of representatives of

important subdivisions of the municipality. Craftsmen in the

various mechanical trades were accustomed to gather into their

own societies; when a society had sufficient numerical strength or

prestige in business it demanded and received a voice in the affairs

of the town. Its existence as a separate entity was recognized by

some form of charter prescribing its duties and privileges and

limiting its power of extending or diminishing its own

membership. These societies, or guilds as they came to be known,

exercised local monopoly in the practice of their respective trades

and in return supplied competent workmen for whatever tasks were

to be performed.

A passion for building had begun to sweep over Europe. It came so

close upon the heels of the eleventh century as to lead many

students to consider it a reaction from the gloomy misgivings with

which Christian countries had awaited the coming of the year

1,000. The belief that this would be the end of the millennium after

which the world was to come to an end had been widespread. But

the world did not come to an end and popular thanksgiving was

manifest in an almost universal desire to perform notable works of

piety. Bishops and abbots expended the offerings of the faithful in

erecting cathedrals, churches and monasteries. Feudal lords and

ladies found admirable means of atoning for sundry misdeeds by

setting aside sums for building or adorning temples. A knight hard

pressed in battle might vow a gift of gold to the shrine of a favored

saint; a general might promise a chapel for success in a minor

campaign or a cathedral, if the campaign was to be hard and the

issue doubtful. Occasionally some secular dignitary might desire a

castle or palace befitting his dignity. The Crusades not only

stimulated the movement still further, but they brought additional

treasure and new ideas from the East and profoundly influenced

the architectural science of the builders.

In the beginning there were no architects in the modern sense, but

there were master builders, who designed the structures, supervised

construction and worked with their own hands along with their

operative brethren. The workers went by the generic name of

masons, but in certain instances were called freemasons. The

etymology and original definition of these terms remain, after

many years of debate, undecided.

Of "Mason" The New English Dictionary prepared by the English

Philological Society says, "The ulterior etymology is obscure;

possibly the word is from the root of the Latin maceria (a wall)."

The first quotation given to illustrate use of the word is dated at

1205. Lionel Vibert says: "Mason may not be German or Latin, but

the ulterior origin is obscure. At all events, when we first find it, it

is purely and simply a trade name, and has no esoteric meaning of

a brother, or son of anything or of anybody."

As to the original meaning of "freemason" there have been many

hypotheses. Edward Conder suggested that among masons in

general a few were capable of working without plans, free

handedly like painters, and were called "freemasons" in

consequence. A more popular theory holds that masons were

exempted by papal bulls from certain of the usual feudal restraints.

Stieglitz looked with favor upon this notion in his History of

Architecture. Leader Scott adopted it in behalf of the Comacine

Masters, of whom she said, "They were Freemasons because they

were builders of a privileged class, absolved from taxes and

servitude, and free to travel about in times of feudal bondage."

This theory has its attractions, but it must be laid aside until the

papal bulls in question are discovered.

Early writers inclined strongly to the belief that a freemason was

so designated because he worked in free stone, that is, stone

already hewn from the quarry. Dr. Begemann gave credence to the

notion and so did Chetwode Crawley. Still another belief derives

the word from the idea of release from the restraints of

apprenticeship, when a workman, being out of his indentures, was

at liberty to travel about in search of employment. The New

English Dictionary somewhat favors the supposition that certain

workmen of especial skill were "given their freedom" and ascribes

this to a medieval practice of emancipating the best artisans so that

they might offer their services wherever a great building was in

process of construction.

George W. Speth contributed to Ars Quatuor Coronatorum what he

called a tentative inquiry in which he advanced the suggestion that

there may have been two distinct masonic guilds in the Gothic

period. One was stationary and all its members were bound to

work within their local communities; the other was a society of

traveling workmen, the members of which were free to move

about. He believed that much of the work of cathedral building was

so highly specialized that it required workmen of particular

training and that it was from itinerant, rather than stationary, town

guilds that modern Freemasonry is descended.

In addition to these theories, there is a throng of romantic

hypotheses, such as are to be encountered by the student at almost

every step of his incursions into Masonic lore. Mackey's

Encyclopedia of Freemasonry enumerates some of the more

fantastic ones. A writer in the European Magazine for February,

1792, who described himself as "George Drake, lieutenant of

marines, " attempted to trace Freemasonry to the Druids and

derived the word mason from "May's on," the first part being in

reference to May-day and the second to the French impersonal

pronoun, on. He argued that it originally meant "Men of May," but

that was not original with him, since the same derivation was

suggested in 1766 by Cleland in his essays, The Way to Things by

Words, and The Real Secret of Freemasons. Hutchinson thought

the word may have had a Greek origin, coming from mao soon

meaning "I seek salvation, or from mystes, or is perhaps a

corruption of mesouraneo, meaning "I am in the midst of heaven,

or of Mazourouth, a constellation mentioned by Job, or of

mysterion, a mystery." Lessing argued that masa in Anglo-Saxon

signifies a table, and that Masonry is consequently a "society of the

table." Nicola thought the root word was the low Latin noun

masonia signifying an exclusive society or club. C. W Moore in

the Boston Magazine of May, 1844, derived it from lithotomos, a

stone-cutter, thereby prompting Mackey to the sage observation,

"It surpasses our ingenuity to get Mason etymologically out of

lithotomos."

The late William S. Rockwell, "who was accustomed," Mackey

observes, "to find all his Masonry in the Egyptian mysteries,"

derived the word from mai, signifying to love, and son, which

means a brother. "But all of these fanciful etymologies," the

learned commentator wittily adds, "which would have terrified

Bopp, Grimm or Muller, or any other student of linguistic

relations, forcibly remind us of the French epigrammatist, who

admitted that alphina came from equus, but that, in so coming, it

had very considerably changed its route."

Non-Masonic lexicographers have had no great difficulty with the

word. They trace it back through French into various Latin forms

and in every case its verbal ancestors referred to workers in stone

or mortar. This simple and reasonable explanation ought to suffice

for all practical purposes and does suffice for all except

gratification of the peculiar vanity to which Masonic literature has

been so susceptible, a vanity of finding hidden and mysterious

meanings in things that really are obvious. A mason in the

medieval period was therefore one who worked in stone or mortar

and he became a "free" mason either because he worked in "free"

stone or because he was free of his guild or was otherwise

emancipated from restrictions which applied to apprentices, serfs

and villeins.

When bishop, abbot, prince or baron of the Gothic age got ready to

put up a notable building, his first and most important care was to

select the master builder. He was - as Arthur Kingsley Porter noted

in Medieval Architecture, a work herein extensively quoted - a

man of profession who often traveled great distances to obtain

important commissions. William of Sens in 1174 journeyed from

France to England to apply for the work of rebuilding the cathedral

of Canterbury, which had been destroyed by fire. Villard de

Honnecourt, a master builder of the last half of the thirteenth

century, went to Hungary to supervise the erection of a church, and

his album of sketches contains drawings made by him upon visits

to Laon, Reims, Chartres and Lausanne. In a note on the margin of

one drawing he remarked he had traveled far and had seen many

towers but none like those of Reims. Window traceries he

examined at Reims so impressed him that he confided in another

note his intention of reproducing them in the cathedral of Cambrai.

"Thus it is evident, Porter remarks "that the master builders moved

about freely from place to place for education as well as for

business, and readily undertook every long journey to obtain

commissions. When a new construction had been determined upon,

the bishop or chapter or abbot, as the case might be, let the fact be

known. Usually several applicants for the position of master

builder would present themselves. From these was selected the one

who made the most favorable impression, either as promising to

carry out the work more economically or as being best qualified by

previous training and experience. Other considerations, such as the

pay demanded, or how much of the old edifice the various

applicants promised to preserve, also influenced the selection.

After the successful candidate had been chosen, he entered into

agreement with the ecclesiastical powers, and for a definite wage

undertook to carry out the stipulated construction. Only in

exceptional cases was there anything approaching a contract; as a

general rule in the XIII century the master builder was paid a

regular salary, just as were the men who worked under him."

His first job was to make the necessary drawings, for, contrary to

an impression long held in later times, the Gothic building was

planned in considerable detail before the first stone was laid. Some

of these drawings have come down to modern times, notably one

of the ground plans of the monastery of St. Gallo, dating from the

ninth century, and the sketches of Villard de Honnecourt. They

were, as Porter observed, plain, straightforward line drawings,

made for use and not for display, sufficiently accurate for practical

service yet not overburdened with detail. It is probable that master

builders also constructed models, since that practice was common

among their predecessors of classical times and their successors of

the Renaissance period. Indeed what appears to have been just

such a model was discovered not long ago in Rouen. Since the

master builder's profession required his personal supervision of

every step of the construction, he took up his abode near the scene

of labor and remained there until his task was finished, or he died

or was dismissed, as sometimes happened when his employers

became dissatisfied with his work. An instance of the fate which

befell an unfaithful master workman is revealed in the Chronicle of

Bec, quoted in Medieval Architecture:

"Therefore, when the foundations had been laid deep," the ancient

recorder wrote, "the abbot himself, surrounded by his monks, laid

the first stone of the foundations on the first day of Lent; and

Ingebram, master builder of Notre Dame of Rouen, directed and

aided in the construction. And to his superintendence the abbot

entrusted the beginning and care of that work, and for the first year

Ingebram worked hard at the building, and constructed it with

great success, altering the facade and increasing the length of the

nave and wonderfully adorning it with two broad towers; but after

a year and a half he commenced to absent himself occasionally,

neglecting the work and not finishing it as he had promised. When

the abbot saw and understood this, he took wise council, and, when

now a year and eight months had passed, he removed Ingebram

from the sacred place, and handed the work over to the master

builder Walter of Melun, who finished it in the third year."

Alas for poor Ingebram! Cathedrals must go on and naves must be

lengthened and towers must continue to mount, and when the

Ingebrams grow slack in their work, there is always a Walter of

Melun waiting just around the corner to be called in to finish the

job. Yet it is apparent from the narrative that the abbot was by no

means rash or testy regarding the misconduct of his master builder.

It was his business to keep an eye on the work, and he had every

right to feel aggrieved when the man he most trusted in this, the

most important work of the abbot's life, began to fail him. It is

more than likely that he and Ingebram had been on excellent

personal terms during that first year. For at least two months after

Ingebram's defection had become too apparent to be overlooked,

his Superior officer hesitated to take action. But when the crisis

came there was no question of which held paramount authority.

"The responsibility of the abbot or bishop did not end when the

master builder was engaged," says Porter. "On the contrary he

watched carefully every detail, saw to providing building materials

and frequently interfered even in purely architectural and artistic

matters. At St. Denis, Suger, the abbot, directed where and how

work should be begun, decided from what quarries stone should be

taken, devised how to procure suitable columns, and hunted in the

forests for timber. He even superintended the details of the design

of the stained-glass windows.

"This strict control exercised by the ecclesiastical authorities

explains the eminently scholastic character of the Gothic church.

The master builder and the clerk walked hand in hand. The

function of the former was not to dictate, to impose his artistic

conception on the priest; he was simply an expert, a man with

practical experience called in to execute the desired work in the

best manner possible, to oversee the workmen, and to undertake

those matters for which the bishop or abbot lacked the requisite

technical knowledge. How close this union of client and master

builder was, the thoroughly ecclesiastic character of the cathedral

itself is the best witness. That disagreements, disputes and

misunderstandings of various kinds should arise was only natural,

but in all such altercations the ecclesiastical authorities always

retained the upper hand. It is amusing to read in Gervase what

infinite tact William of Sens was forced to employ (at Canterbury)

to persuade the reluctant monks that it was necessary to destroy the

charred fragments of the glorious choir of Conrad.

"Also the relationship of the master builder to the men under him

was far closer than that existing between the modern architect and

the laborers. The medieval master builder not only superintended

everything connected with the building - the quarrying of the

stone, the stereotomy, the construction of scaffolds and centerings

- but he seems also to have labored much with his own hands.

William of Sens, called from France to direct the construction of

the cathedral of Canterbury, was seriously injured by falling from

the scaffold; and the entire tone of Gervase's account of the

activities of this master builder gives the impression that he

performed with his own hands much manual labor."

There were, however, and especially in the later centuries, master

builders who merely directed the work performed by others. Porter

mentions a passage in a sermon of Nicolas of Berne in which the

preacher used this illustration of a point he desired to make: "The

master builders, with rule and compass in hand, say to others, 'Cut

this here for me,' and do not work themselves and yet they receive

higher pay, like many modern prelates." Another passage quoted in

the same work, was as follows: "Some work by word alone. For

take notice. In great buildings there is usually a single master

builder who directs the construction by word alone, and seldom or

never does manual labor, but nevertheless he receives higher pay

than the others. So there are many in the Church who possess fat

benefices, but God knows what good they do; they work by their

tongue alone, saying, 'Thus you ought to do, but themselves do not

so at all."

This last illustration was taken from a sermon preached in the

fourteenth century and by that time many changes had taken place

in the office of the master builder, which appears to have increased

in prestige since the day when William of Sens tumbled from his

scaffold. William was evidently looked upon as little more than a

first-rate artisan. In the next century Villard de Honnecourt was an

educated man who could afford the luxury of leisurely travel. By

the fourteenth the master builder was distinctly a professional - an

architect he would be called today.

How wide the gulf was which separated the master from his

workman is not clear, but the indications are that it was narrow in

the beginning and widened toward the latter days. The assumption

has been that most of the skilled and semi-skilled labor came from

guilds. It is known that the masons were organized in such

societies, as were most workers at mechanical trades, but records

of their activities are meager. It is not certain whether or not they

were divided into different grades, beginning with those employed

for the ruder kinds of work and progressing to the most expert of

craftsmen. There is not even satisfactory evidence showing it was a

practice for them to move about from place to place, although the

supposition is that the nature of the work itself must have

necessitated mobility, since especially proficient workmen would

naturally gravitate to places where employment was plentiful and

the pay good.

The formation of artisan guilds in towns proceeded in much the

same manner in all parts of Europe. Men engaged in the same kind

of work would band together, agree upon basic qualifications for

membership, choose one or more chief officers, as occasion

seemed to demand, and establish a code of ethics. In due season

the society would obtain a charter or writ of incorporation from the

local authorities. In many instances additional membership was

limited to the sons of those who already belonged, and not even

these might be admitted until they had served long periods of

apprenticeship. All members of the guild usually resided in the

same quarter of the town or in the same street, and its authority not

infrequently extended to regulation of the public and social

conduct of the fellowship.

Most antiquarians are convinced, however, that the mason guilds

could not have conformed strictly to this plan. Porter expresses the

general idea when he indicates that this guild was known as "free,"

which meant, among other things, that no fee was demanded of

those who entered the trade. "But with the exception of the

legitimate sons of masters," he continues, "each novice had to

serve an apprenticeship of six years, and no master was allowed to

have more than one apprentice. The great number of skilled

workmen required to construct a cathedral could hardly have found

sufficient work to support them in the city when works on the

church were not in progress. It is therefore probable that, like the

master builders, they moved about from place to place, probably

with their wives and families. But did they move in mass, in great

bands? The fact of the corporation seems to imply it, for it is

difficult to see how a guild could exist if the members were

constantly shifting from one city to another. And in what

relationship could the master builder have stood to these

corporations? Was he merely the chief man of the band, elected by

his fellows? What is known of the master builders seems to

contradict such an hypothesis."

This is a frank admission on the part of Mr. Porter that he is but

guessing. Many of the older historians of Freemasonry, and a few

of the present day, have lacked this modesty. They have boldly

jumped to the conclusion that because Gothic buildings

everywhere exhibit certain unities, therefore the builders must have

belonged to some great fraternity, spread over Britain and a large

part of continental Europe; that this fraternity must have had some

center, perhaps at York, from which it was governed much after

the fashion in which modern Freemasonry is governed by Grand

Lodges; that it was in possession of a set of secrets, derived

nobody knows whence, thereby accounting for the knowledge of

Gothic art possessed in widely separated places.

That the builders of Gothic cathedrals may have comprised a class

apart from other builders, enjoying certain privileges and

immunities and free - as members of other guilds were not - to

move about from one community to another, is a reasonable

hypothesis, although as yet it can be regarded only as a hypothesis.

But that these roving bands of workmen were organized into one

big fraternity there is no evidence to prove; such evidence as there

is points to a contrary conclusion.

The one big fraternity would have needed an international

organization and a hierarchy of officers, and the silence of history

is eloquently persuasive that there was no such organization, no

such hierarchy. It would have included in its membership nobles,

prelates and others bearing the most illustrious names of three

centuries. its influence would have been so great as to make it

conspicuous, as the Knights Templar and the Hanseatic League

were conspicuous. It is inconceivable that such an organization,

doing business with both church and state, would have left behind

it no records, no memorials, no documents; or that its existence

would not have been mentioned in at least some of the writings of

contemporary literature; or that it would not have been noticed in

the official records of the countries in which it must have existed.

Such a society must have had millions of members. Gothic art was

not confined to cathedrals and churches; its principals of

construction and its methods of ornamentation were used in

building bridges, fortifications, civic structures, and even in the

making of clothing, pottery and tools. If these principles were the

secrets of one big fraternity, those employing them must have been

members of that fraternity. It is natural to doubt that a society of

such magnitude could have existed for more than 300 years

without leaving definitive records of itself. No such records have

been found.

What, then, is the conclusion to which these considerations

incontrovertibly point? It is that the mason guilds, like Gothic

architecture itself, underwent a gradual course of development,

gaining in strength, form and beauty as they advanced.

The Gothic buildings of each land exhibited altogether too many

local peculiarities to admit of the supposition of outside control by

some central power. Each nation had to make its own experiments

in the development of the peculiarities of its own style, yet surely,

if a body of Gothic "secrets" had been in the possession of a single

international fraternity, this would not have been necessary.

Whence then did Gothic architecture derive its essential unity?

Why did it everywhere possess those general features by which it

is identified? The answer is not far to seek. That unity followed

necessarily upon its technique. A pointed arch is a pointed arch,

whether it exists in Scotland or in Spain; the builder who employed a flying buttress in France and the one who employed it in England had to use it in the same general manner. Once a master builder had triumphantly solved a problem of construction, he had shown the way to all succeeding builders. A similar tendency is observed in modern times where men are engaged in similar tasks although widely separated in geography. The chief difference is that news of scientific and technical discoveries nowadays is disseminated more rapidly than it could be in the Gothic period.