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The following article appeared in the Irish Independent Weekend magazine on
8th March 2003
LODGED IN THE CONSCIENCE
"It depends what you're after", said Michael Walker,
Grand Secretary. I had called Freemasons' Hall looking to write a piece on the
Craft as it negotiated the first twists and turns of the 21st century. The voice
on the phone sounded stern, defensive. Tired of being traduced by a society that
was "all rights and no responsibilities", Mr Walker respectfully cut to the
chase. Were we on a balanced inquiry or "a witch hunt"?

Years ago, it was commonplace for detailed reports on
Masonic meetings to appear in the local press. Somewhere along the line, things
got confused. Rumours of secret signs and sinister self-interest caught the
public imagination. The Order withdrew from routine misrepresentation and
pillorying, and became more introverted. Today, in an attempt to rescue their
image, masons are once again talking openly. But the fundamental problem
remains: few outsiders know what freemasonry is for.
"Freemasonry wishes to make good men better," says Eric
Waller, Grand Master. To join, one must simply ask. Membership is open to all
men of integrity and goodwill, irrespective of colour or creed, on condition
that they profess a belief in a Supreme Being. There is a vetting process, but
few are turned away. The candidate should come with "a desire for knowledge and
wishing to make himself more extensively useful amongst his fellow men". Once
accepted, he must promote the bonds of friendship, compassion and brotherly
love.
He will do this in a number of ways. Most conspicuously,
the Order donates €2.5m to charitable causes every year. This June, a sheltered
housing project will open in Virginia, Co. Cavan, providing 26 bungalows for the
elderly. An ongoing project at Belfast City Hospital, which provides cochlear
implants for congenitally deaf children, is funded by the Freemason's Medical
Research Fund. In 1996, a Grand Masters Festival of Charity underwrote the
purchase of nine ambulances for the Alzheimer's Society of Ireland.
"One gets out of life what one puts into it," Mr Waller
continues. The masons are not registered charity; they simply aspire to be part
of society and not apart from it.

"They stick to you when you're down," as Joyce has it in
Ulysses, where Leopold Bloom is rumoured a member. Caring for widows and
dependants by way of annuities, the Order proudly assists members in distress,
and funds created from the sales of Masonic schools provide for the education of
around 450 students. One member I met was undergoing a course of chemotherapy.
"They put my, daughter through college," he said.
THE ALLEGORY AND THE SYMBOL
Understandably perhaps, masons are bemused at the popular
impression of cabalistic and cigar-chomping 'old pals' doing each other favours
over the festive board. Much of this, it has to be said, is due to the arcane
traditions to which they are wilfully addicted. Theirs is "a system of morality,
veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols", and one must parse the very
roots of craftsmanship to understand it.
One of the world's oldest fraternal societies,
freemasonry stems from the travelling craftsmen who built the great cathedrals
and castles of the Middle Ages, and who formed guilds to maintain skill levels
and protect trade secrets. As the status and reputation of these guilds
increased, so they grew to incorporate honorary members. Once trade unionism and
education formalised at a national level, such 'free'‑masons came to populate
the lodges almost exclusively.
Today meetings are formal affairs, processing lodge
business according to strict and antique protocol. Dress is based on aprons,
collars and gauntlets, and derives from protective garments worn by the original
masons. The Bible is opened as a reminder of God's Law, though in other
countries this could just as easily be, say, the Koran. Any ceremonial business
is heavily symbolic, designed to echo and reinforce the moral lessons being
imparted. Where you and I see a square, the mason sees virtue. Where we see a
compass, the mason sees "a symbolic circumscribing of the passions."

Not that one should get too bogged down. Beneath sober
portraits in the Grand Lodge Room, Eric Waller paused to ask our photographer,
"Do you know how to light these candles? It's a masonic secret I don't know." At
another point, I wondered what the MW in his title stood for. "Most Worshipful,"
he said, smiling mischievously. Clearly, he enjoyed freemasonry's moral
structure and convivial elegance. On points of protocol, however, he was deeply
serious. "Yes, secret handshakes exist and no, they are not used outside of a
Masonic context." The equivalent of "a modern swipe card or PIN number", such
signals are a means of identification only. Equally, initiation rites are shared
experiences designed to impart these signals and "bind the members together".
Talk of rolled‑up trousers, bare breasts and silk nooses is moot. What matters
are the values Masonic symbols represent: Truth, Benevolence and Brotherhood.
Still,
the doubts remain. "Can all the rituals be merely symbolic?" asks Martin Short,
author of The Brotherhood, who argues that a heavy concentration of masons in
law and policing perverts justice in the UK. "One must presume that people join
lodges predominantly to feather their own nests, and to form a loose combination
against the interests of everybody who is not a mason."
"That's complete and utter rubbish," says Selwyn Davies,
chairman of the Metropolitan Board of General Purposes. "Of course there is the
odd bad apple; of course masons network, just as members of any club will. But
there is nothing sinister involved. We have always frowned upon having lodges
made up of special interest groups." Eric Waller is adamant: "It does not happen
in Ireland, full stop."
Even so, Masonic conspiracy theories are as old as the
Craft. "Their first and immediate aim is to get the possession of riches, power,
and influence," wrote John Robison, a professor of Natural Philosophy, in 1798.
"To accomplish this, they want to abolish Christianity; and then dissolute
manners and universal profligacy will procure them the adherents of all the
wicked, and enable them to overturn all the civil governments of Europe."
In 1826, a papal Bull against secret societies forced
many Catholic masons, including Daniel O'Connell, to resign from their lodges.
Even today, the pyramid and eye on the dollar bill are peddled as evidence of a
covert organisation using front groups to spread their influence. "People think
we're some kind of sect," admits Mr Waller, wearily. "We're not. There is no
world organisation or international Masonic UN." If anything, one is more likely
to see conspiracy in the songs of Nat King Cole or the plays of Oscar Wilde,
masons both. Mozart, Peter Sellers, John Wayne, Edmund Burke and Gershwin could
also feature on that list, although rank and file members in Ireland come from
all walks of life: electricians, plumbers, financiers, doctors, accountants,
lawyers and priests. "There are no senior legal people involved. It just happens
that way, it's not deliberate on our part."
THE ONLY WOMAN EVER ALLOWED
In deference to tradition, women are excluded. No laws
are being broken here, masons point out, and they have experienced no demand for
inclusion, amongst either members or lobby groups. The only woman ever admitted
was Elizabeth St Leger, in 1712. Having eavesdropped a meeting in her father's
house in Doneraile, she was promptly sworn into membership and, therefore,
secrecy.
The legend does little for transparency, but then the
European Court of Human Rights has declared that freemasonry is not a secret
society. Provisions also exist for suspension and expulsion in cases of 'unmasonic'
conduct. Masons do not consider themselves above the law. "If someone is
convicted of a criminal offence, they :are summarily asked to leave," Mr Davies
explained. "It is not common, but it does happen" .
One reason for confusion is the sheer sluice of
organisations calling themselves Masonic. In Italy, there are almost 60; in
France, there are three grand lodges, only one of which Irish masons recognise.
"It's a nightmare, a minefield. Many such organisations are what we call
'irregular' they do not keep away from religion and politics. We disassociate
ourselves from that completely."
The previous Saturday, an estimated 100,000 anti-war
demonstrators had marched up Kildare Street, just steps from Freemasons' Hall.
Globally, Christians, Jews, Hindus and Muslims seemed more alienated than ever.
Our institutions of spiritual authority were fast losing credibility. In this
context, would statements from such an avowedly moral organisation not be
valuable? "It is just a basic principle of freemasonry that we do not make
public pronouncements on major issues," Mr Waller replies. Members have their
own beliefs and opinions, and the Order prides itself in bringing them together
under a common bond. "One way or the other you would get drawn into controversy
and people would: ask your views on something else ‑ it's the thin end of the
wedge:".
Or indeed, a cop‑out. Nevertheless, this is how the Grand
Lodge of Ireland has been operating since 1725: The administrative HQ and
governing body for hundreds of subordinate lodges and 27,000 individual masons,
the term 'lodge' derives from the temporary lean‑to structures used by
craftsmen. Funded by subs, lodges meet once a month and are located all over the
island and as far afield as in Australia, New Zealand, India and the Far East.
It is said that the sun never sets on Irish freemasonry.
PURPOSEFUL AS CHESS PIECES
Unless recruitment picks up, that may change. My first
impression of Freemasons' Hall was of a beautiful building, but rather a staid
one. Those I met moved about as purposefully as chess pieces. There were
pin‑stripe suits, an old-school museum. Grand Master Waller, his gloves
spotlessly white; said freemasonry fitted him "like a sports jacket or a pair of
old slippers."
A recent article in the London Independent, written by a
mason's son, put it bluntly: "Freemasonry provides the perfect hobby for bored,
middle-aged men engaged in undemanding jobs who hanker for a faintly exotic
social life. Such people are not perhaps as common as they once were."
"For a young person it's not an immediately exciting
experience," agrees Mr Waller, who was made a mason at the age of 25. Today,
members join in their mid‑30s and in smaller numbers - a trend he attributes to
social change rather than the Order's inherent conservatism. "People work
strange hours, they come home late, they have little time for anything outside
of family."

Irish society is also read as increasingly secular,
materialistic and beset with selfishness. Hardly front-page material. To
illustrate, however, Mr. Waller refers to the Balls Bridge Square. Unearthed
when Limerick's famous bridge was excavated in 1830, a mason's tool dating from
1507 was found, bearing the inscription: 'I will strive to live with love and
care, upon the level by the square.'
TERRIBLE INDICTMENT OF SOCIETY
"I certainly found in my latter years in business, that
you were something of an anachronism if you conducted your affairs in an honest
and ethical way, which I think is a terrible indictment of society generally.
Freemasonry must move into the 21st century, and we are attempting to be frank
and open. But our core principles have remained unchanged for hundreds of years
and will continue to do so. There's nothing old‑fashioned about honesty and
integrity."
This strikes me as a brave statement to make in 2003.
Many nice things happened on the day we met,
but you know the story - in general, the news was disgusting. There was arson,
suicide bombers, impending war. There was also a letter in the papers, written
by Mr Walker, pitching freemasonry as "a beacon, a point of reference, a sheet
anchor to its members" in days of "ever‑lessening values and standards". The
tone was undoubtedly superior, but there was more to it than that. To his eyes,
far from stuffy and irrelevant, masonry was a match lit in, the darkness.
Control, ritual, tradition - granted they are all
alternatives to cynicism, but is freemasonry really "the antidote to society's
ills"? Selwyn Davies opened his briefcase in the Grand Lodge Room, revealing a
Masonic apron, tie and gloves. Amongst the plush carpets and wooden ballot boxes
he found "a basic moral standard", a friendly welcome all over the world (on a
recent visit to Philadelphia, a brother drove 160 miles to take him to lunch).
In such a society as ours, that might seem attractive to people "if they
realised who we really were".
THE SIMPSONS AND THE STONECUTTERS
There's the rub. During the summer months Rebecca Hayes,
Archivist at the Grand Lodge, conducts tours of Freemasons' Hall. She encounters
mixed reactions, especially with regards to religion: "some people have fixed
ideas that aren't strictly correct." I wondered whether she'd seen 'The
Stonecutters' episode of The Simpsons, which mercilessly lampoons secret
societies. She had, but that was before she began work at the Hall. "I wouldn't
mind seeing it again though, knowing what I do now."
In essence, this is exactly what freemasonry would like
us all to do. "I am only too conscious of the fact that the vast majority of the
public probably considers us to be a sinister, secretive organisation," says Mr Waller.
"From our side of the fence, this is almost laughable. Because we're
honest‑to‑goodness ordinary people going about our everyday lives. We don't
cause anybody any trouble, and freemasonry generally is a force for good in the
community."
Nevertheless, the record must be set straight. "For
donkey's years we were our own worst enemies. We kept too low a profile; we kept
our heads below the parapet. When adverse comments appeared in the media,
factual or otherwise, we chose to ignore them." They won't be hiring a PR agency
just yet, but the masonic media presence will rise and their Grand Lodge will
feature in Dublin Tourism's 2003 guidebook.
A stuffy sect to some, fun, fellowship and a moral code
to others; at the end of the day it seems freemasonry is less a secret society
than a society with a few secrets. And as the 21st century unrolls, they may
become even fewer. "We are not yesterday's men," Selwyn Davies asserted. "Not at
all," Mr Waller smiled. "If we were, would our web site have won awards? Would
the Grand Lodge Room have been used for a jazz concert or a fashion show? Our
doors aren't closed, you know!"
The Grand Lodge of Ireland can be found online at
www.irish-freemasons.org.

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