Two Sides of Freemasonry, Part 1

In a previous column, I referred to the Freemasons fraternal organization and indicated that this group would make for an interesting topic for a column here in Mind Travel.

Well, here we go . . .

Actually, before we get on with the column, let me say that I'm writing about the Freemasons not because I like them and not because I dislike them.  In fact, I am too far from modern-day Freemasonry to render a judgment.  I don't even know if any of my friends, colleagues, or acquaintances belong to this group.

What I do know is that Freemasonry can teach us something about the power of collaboration—for good or ill.

“He that drinks his cider alone, let him catch his horse alone.”

This maxim from “Poor Richard,” one of the many pseudonyms of Benjamin Franklin, ought to be better known. It’s a clever way of expressing the value of collaboration, and it rings true with me. During my days living on a hobby farm, I never tried to catch a horse alone, but I did go solo when trying to catch a chicken or two, and, well, it’s more fun to watch than it is to attempt.

In any case, Poor Richard’s words are an appropriate introduction to a column on the Freemasons, a fraternal organization with a long and interesting history. Franklin, after all, was an active Freemason, but, more important, both Franklin and Freemasons spoke to the power of collaboration.

From masons to Masons

The origin of the Freemasons lies way back in the Middle Ages, when groups of tradesmen would form groups so that they could support one another.  One of these groups, called "guilds" back then, was formed by masons, who worked with stones and bricks in building projects.  When the cathedral-building industry lagged, however, there was less demand for masons, so the pool of potential guild members shrank, and some groups began admitting people who were not actual masons.  Eventually, the so-called “Freemasons” included many non-masons.

In the eighteenth century, the British Empire--including the American colonies--had many Masonic lodges filled with men who, it's probably safe to say, never held a trowel.

One of those men was George Washington--yes, that George Washington, "first in war, first in peace," and all that.

Actually, in terms of combined American and Masonic prominence, George was second to a fellow founder, Benjamin Franklin.

If you are a longtime reader of Mind Travel, you probably know more than a little about Franklin, who has made numerous appearances here.  As you might have guessed by now, he's my favorite American, largely because, unlike Poe and Yogi Berra and some of my other favorites, he was a "Renaissance Man" (although he lived during the Enlightenment and embodied that era, as well).  More than anyone else I know--including Leonardo da Vinci, the quintessential Renaissance Man--Franklin excelled in a wide variety of fields, some of them very different.  A printer, a journalist, an author, a scientist, an activist, and a statesman, Franklin also invented a musical instrument, founded or co-founded leading institutions (including the American Philosophical Society and the University of Pennsylvania), and pioneered the notion of the matching grant.  He's even in a hall of fame for swimmers.

Perhaps it's no surprise, then, that Franklin was a high-flying Mason.  He brought the same brilliance and energy to masonry that he brought to science, statecraft, and more.

Franklin was inducted into the St. John's Lodge of Masons in the early 1730s, when he was making his famous ascendancy from "Poverty and Obscurity" to "a state of Affluence and some Degree of Reputation in the World" (as he put it in his autobiography).  In classic Franklin style, he advanced to Grand Master for the entire colony of Pennsylvania within a few years.  He would remain a Mason for some 60 years.

Better Together

For me, however, the headline here is not what Franklin did for or through Freemasonry, but rather what Freemasonry did for him and meant to him—and what collaboration in general can do for all of us.

Whatever their rites, symbols, and other trappings, the Freemasons were, similar to other secret--or, for that matter, not-so-secret--societies.  Such organizations bring people together, often to pool their resources and leverage their networks to do far more than any of them can do alone.

In this respect, Freemasonry was a natural fit for Franklin, a purpose-driven man who believed that humans were better together, so to speak--that is, they could collaborate to do good for one another and the wider world.  Indeed, even before he joined the Freemasons, when he was still in his early 20s, he formed a similar organization, known as the Leather Apron Club or, more commonly, the Junto, in which he and other tradesmen pooled their knowledge and connections for mutual benefit and the benefit of others.  (Public libraries grew out of a library that Franklin formed with the shared books of Junto members.)

In an article for Pennsylvania History, R. William Weisberger observes, "Franklin evidently perceived Masonry, like the Junto or Leather-Apron Club, as being an important educational and humanitarian institution in colonial urban centers."  He maintained his commitment to Freemasonry and continued leveraging it for the common good after he moved to France, where, Weisberger explains, he organized Masonic gatherings at his home in Passy and was "able to promote the cause of the American Revolution and to foster the study of Enlightenment ideologies."

If you are passionate about human potential, as Franklin was and I am, you, too, can appreciate the power of working together. As a member of Rotary International, I have met some wonderful service-oriented men and women. In our weekly meetings, we learn from one another and our guest speakers. Outside the meetings, we have read to students in a local elementary school and packed and delivered “Buddy Bags” for schoolchildren. We have not had to catch any horses or chickens, but we probably could if we worked together.

A Lesson for All of Us

The Masons, the Rotarians, and other mutual-improvement organizations set an inspiring and edifying example for communities, whole nations, even the entire world. Healthy competition has its place—on the baseball field, for example—and can help drive individual performance, but collaboration is powerful, too, since it greatly multiplies the impact of individuals. Besides it can eliminate the duplication of resources (in the case of books in a library, for example, but also scientific and other endeavors). When countries work independently to achieve some goal—say, putting astronauts in space—they spend vast amounts of money they don’t need to spend on duplicate resources and sacrifice knowledge they could be getting from one another if they were collaborating.

On the extreme end, nations at odds with one another not only fail to collaborate, but also spend vast amounts of money and human lives competing because they are pursuing independent objectives. You don’t have to be a pacifist (like me) to recognize the practical consequences of this form of competition. Franklin put it this way: “After much Occasion to consider the Folly and Mischiefs of a State of Warfare, and the little or no Advantage obtained even by those Nations who have conducted it with the most Success, I have been apt to think that there has never been or ever will be any such Thing as a good War or a bad Peace.“

All this collaboration, mutual benefit, and service to the greater world seem pretty positive, right?  It's no wonder that Franklin, Washington, James Monroe, and other public-minded individuals became Masons.  (Actually, the Masonic ranks also include a number of people who don't fit my notion of Masons: Mozart, the writer Oscar Wilde, and even the comedian Richard Pryor.)

Clearly, the Freemasonry of the eighteenth century had plenty of good to offer the world, but then came a chapter worthy of a story by Edgar Allan Poe.  In fact, it actually figures in one of Poe's most chilling stories.

Next week, we will take up this dark chapter in the story of the Masons.