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why this confusion in the temple
Where The Stones
Are Raised
CHAPTER XI
dwight l. smith
Centralize, centralize, centralize. Pattern Freemasonry after
Washington
bureaucracy. Let nothing be done modestly by an individual or a
Lodge; do everything
on state or national level the super-duper way. Make a great
to-do about local selfgovernment,
but accept no local self-responsibility.
AFTER MOSES HAD safely conducted the
Children of Israel through the Red Sea
when pursued by Pharaoh and his hosts, he then, by divine
command, erected a
tabernacle and set it due East and West . . .
The time was some 1,400 years before the Christian era. It was 480 years before
the
foundations for the Temple of Solomon were laid on Mount Moriah.
The long, bitter
years of Egyptian bondage were over. The wanderings in the
wilderness were just
beginning.
To comprehend the true import of this incident in Old Testament lore, we must
try to
picture a simple, nomadic people, living in tents, their
livelihood dependent largely upon
flocks and herds. Their civilization, although crude in
technology and the arts, was
advanced in religion. We are not surprised to read, then, that
soon after the Exodus,
preparations were begun for the construction of a holy place in
which to worship the
Most High.
Only the select ones—the descendants of Levi— were permitted to engage in this
great work. The Gershonites had charge of the furnishings: the
fabrics, the curtains and
cords and hangings. The Merarites had charge of the physical
plant: the boards and the
pillars, the bars and sockets and pins. The Kohathites had
charge of the priestly functions:
the altar and the candlesticks, the table of shewbread, the holy
vessels and, most
important of all, the Ark of the Covenant wherein rested the
tablets of the law.
SlX MONTHS THEY SPENT erecting that
pastoral shrine of Sinai. And when the
time came for the dedication of the tabernacle, great
preparations were made for
transporting the offerings from each of the tribes. It was what
the army would call a
problem in logistics.
So lavish were the gifts that Moses ordered the use of wagons and oxen to bear
them.
But he made one significant exception: only the Gershonites and
the Merarites were
permitted to use wagons, and only to carry secular materials.
The Kohathites, responsible
for the holy objects now consecrated for the adoration of
Jehovah, were forbidden to
transport their burdens by wagon. The Revised Version tells the
story in these words:
But to the sons of Kohath he gave none, because they were charged with the care
of
holy things which had to be carried on the shoulder.1
Thus was it decreed even in that dim, far-off era of human development that
those
things which are sacred and precious, those things which lift
mankind to heights of true
nobility, must be guarded and preserved by our own muscle and
blood and sweat.
The Ark of the Covenant must be carried on the shoulders of men.
ALMOST FIVE HUNDRED years later, at
the quarries in the northeast quarter of
Jerusalem near the Damascus gate, a vast labor force was at
work. By the most laborious
of processes, yet with infinite patience and skill, 80,000
Fellow Crafts were removing
building stone from the place of its underground deposit.
By means of crude wooden rollers 70,000 Entered Apprentices moved the completed
blocks from the quarries to the Temple site on Mount Moriah.
Perhaps the immense
masses could have been transported in their rough and unfinished
state, but that was not
the practice. Each stone was hewn, squared and numbered in the
quarry where it was
raised. Individually, block by block, each received the careful
attention of skilled hands.2
And the work was done with so high a degree of perfection that
when those blocks
arrived at their place each one "fitted with such exactness that
it had more the appearance
of being the handiwork of the Supreme Architect of the Universe,
than that of human
hands."
On many occasions I have walked alongside the working area surrounding
Washington Cathedral, high on Mount St. Alban in the nation's
capital. There I have seen
blocks of Indiana limestone, hewn, squared and numbered in some
Lawrence or Monroe
County quarry. Precision tools have replaced the mallet and
chisel, yet each individual
block still must be fashioned by the hands of a skilled
craftsman in a mill near the quarry
site— and the completed blocks must fit in their places with the
same degree of
exactness. From a literal standpoint the basic methods of
operative masons have not
changed too much.
But when we begin to speak figuratively of the methods of speculative
Masons—that
is a different story.
NOW, WHY HAVE I gone into such detail
to recount two episodes from the Old
Testament?
The reason should be plain, I believe. The Sons of Kohath were not permitted to
transport objects that were sacred and precious by wagon. Holy
things had to be carried
on the shoulders of men—
the hard way.
Stones for the Temple of Solomon were
prepared individually, hewn, squared and numbered in the
quarries where they were
raised— the hard
way.
Perhaps that is an over-simplified way of describing the designs on our
speculative
trestleboard, and yet, is not our grand aim just about as simple
as that?
When American Freemasonry begins to adapt our industrial "know-how" to the slow
and patient process of making a Mason so as to accomplish it in
three evenings at the
most; when we neglect the individual, cease to spend any time on
him or devote any
attention to him, permit him to shift for himself and eventually
to become swallowed up
in a huge, impersonal crowd—then, I maintain, we are failing
miserably in our task.
And when we look upon the individual petitioner for the three
degrees merely as a
check in payment of a fee, or as a potential member of another
organization, we are
prostituting our noble Craft to the basest of uses.
NOW, I AM SURE I hear someone protesting that all this is very good from
an
academic standpoint. But Americans are pragmatic, says my
critic; we must not waste
our time and thought on things idealistic; we must concern
ourselves only with that which
will "work." Very well, then, let's take a quick glance at the
lengths to which our practical
philosophies have brought us:
—Look at the incredible ideas now being proposed to "make over" our Craft to fit
some other pattern. M.W. Harold D. Ross, when Grand Master of
Masons in Illinois,
recognized the watering-down process all too clearly. To his
Grand Lodge he related how
"countless solutions have been proposed to me . . . such as
omitting the learning of the
catechism, classes of candidates, conferring all three degrees
in one night, and (believe it
or not) three black cubes instead of one for rejection." Then he
went on to observe: "It
may well be that our numbers will continue to lessen until we
are a hard core of earnest,
sincere, devoted men committed to the principle that brotherly
love, more than any other
single human experience, is the greatness of mankind."
—Those who occupy positions of leadership in our Lodges are nearing the place
where they can no longer think for themselves nor use the brains
the Great Architect has
given them. We have come to depend so much on centralized
activity and standardized
forms that individual imagination is unthinkable. I am
constantly appalled at the requests
I receive for some kind of "canned" program or ceremony for the
most elementary of
Lodge functions.
—Look how far we have gone already in the direction of centralization and
standardization:
Lodge minutes have long since ceased to have any individuality; they have taken
the
easy course of prefabricated monotony. Floor plans for Masonic
halls have settled down
into a dull sameness; rarely do we see anything distinctive or
creative. Even our temple
designs are beginning to achieve a standardized effect. Who
knows?—perhaps some day
we will be able to identify a Masonic Temple just as readily as
a Howard Johnson
restaurant!
Masonic education programs, well meaning though they may be, are beginning to
resemble a nationally advertised vitamin pill which claims to
contain everything. Looking
over the nation at all such standard products, I find little to
set me on fire and much to
leave me cold. In far too many instances the packages are
pitifully lacking in imagination,
with little or nothing to offer except the reprinting of old
booklets, the production of new
booklets and the staging of dreary and lugubrious group
meetings—a kind of dual
epidemic of bookletitis and workshopitis. What happens when a
Lodge is thoughtless
enough to have its own peculiar set of problems not covered by
the neatly catalogued
"Plans" and "Programs"? Does it have to wait until its ailment
becomes a standard one so
it can qualify for the standard treatment? In the last few years
I have seen countless
examples of how hungry Lodges are for challenging ideas to meet
their individual
needs,
and how enthusiastically they respond to
individual
attention, but I have seen few signs
of any intelligent effort to capitalize on that hunger and that
enthusiasm.
Small wonder our Lodges make use of mass methods when they see their Grand
Lodge leadership using the same technique.
Yes, and ritualistic instruction, if we are not careful, will descend to the
level of the
fussy old drill sergeant I used to know in college who would
spend the entire 50-minute
period, day in and day out, rehearsing the exact manner of doing
squads right.
CERTAINLY THERE ARE circumstances
under which Lodges should do things the
same way, and occasions when both Lodges and individual Brethren
should act together
as a unit. One such occasion comes twice a year with the Feasts
of St. John. Another such
occasion, in Indiana, is the annual Pilgrimage to the Masonic
Home. The ceremonies of
the three degrees always should be
basically
uniform—though certainly not to the point
of being ridiculous. A certain amount of centralization and
standardization is necessary
for efficient and effective operation.
But it is so easy to go overboard—and it seems to be the besetting sin of
Americans to
go overboard. Whatever the current trend may be, we become
obsessed with it. In the
Hoosier vernacular, we go "hog wild."
Consider for a moment where centralization and standardization can lead us:
1. They contribute to a deadening mediocrity.
I love some of those personal
comments written by Secretaries on the annual returns of Lodges
a century and more
ago. They lend flavor to what otherwise would be a dull
statistical report. The late
George A. Avery, Grand Secretary of Pennsylvania, once told me
of examining the
original minute book of a Lodge almost two centuries old. Two
pages were pasted
together. Brother Avery and his associates were consumed with
curiosity to know
what profound secret might be hidden between those two pages.
With great effort and no
little expense, a firm of specialists was able to loosen the
glue without damaging the
pages . . . and then to their delight they read the news of the
day written in a childish
scrawl: "Sister has a new pair of drawers."
(At least it was different, and far more interesting than the standard form for
Lodge
minutes.)
2. They smother ambition, initiative, imagination, vision.
I have reached the
place that I glory in the Lodge which tries to hold on to a bit
of individuality no
matter how eccentric it may be. Nine Indiana Lodges (bless
them!) still meet on or
before the full moon. One Lodge has a provision in its by-laws
that so long as that
Lodge exists it will use three burning tapers, and nothing else,
for its Lesser
Lights—blessings on it! Once in awhile I visit a Lodge hall
which has doors at
unorthodox places, and it always makes me want to give three
rousing cheers, for at
least that Lodge is registering a silent protest against
sameness!
3. They stifle the spirit and limit the scope of Masonic charity.
Space does not
permit me to develop this theme except to say that
unquestionably here is an area in
which we fall far short of the mark in doing the work of our
Craft. If ever there was a
subject on which serious thinking needed to be done, it is this.
4. They seek to take the easy way. And
I maintain that Freemasonry must operate
the hard way
if it is to be of any effect. It must deal
with individuals, and not masses;
with Lodges, and not groups of Lodges. All over Indiana, and all
over America, Lodges
need individual attention—and here I mean something beyond
routine ritualistic
instruction. They need the
personal interest
of their leaders. They need inspiration,
encouragement, challenge. But they need it
individually—not
some standard product sent
out from a central office packaged and labeled with a trade
name.
5. They repudiate the basic philosophy of Freemasonry.
The stones for the
Temple, erected for the adoration of the Most High, were hewn,
squared and numbered in
the quarries where they were raised. Tell me, if you can, what
labor-saving device is
there that is of any effect in the development of the immortal
soul of a man?
The working tools of a Mason are designed for the use of
only one man at a time.
The seeker after Light plucks off his shoe— individually.
He affirms his trust in God—individually. He comes face to face with
destitution—alone. He stands in the Northeast
Comer—individually.
He goes forth in search of That Which Was Lost—alone.
He retires to the Sanctum Sanctorum to pray— alone.
He meets the test of fidelity—alone.
He is raised to newness of life—individually and alone.
Andre Gide said it in words few in number but powerful in their impact: "Man is
more
important than men. God made
him
and not
them
in His image. Each one is more
precious than all." When we seek to circumvent personal interest
and attention, to cast
every Freemason in a standard mold and send him to the shipping
room on a conveyor
belt, then we deny the dignity of the individual and abandon our
lofty mission.
We had better think it through.
I never fail to be lifted to new heights by those thrilling words of the late A.
Whitney
Griswold, President of Yale University: "Could
Hamlet
have been written by a
committee, or the
Mono Lisa painted by a club? Could
the New Testament have been
composed as a conference report? Creative ideas do not spring
from groups. The divine
spark leaps from the finger of God to the finger of Adam."
No, there are no short cuts, no mass production techniques, that can make a
perfect
ashlar out of a rough ashlar.
The stones for the Temple must be hewn, squared and numbered in the quarries
where
they are raised.
The Ark of the Covenant must be carried on the shoulders of men.
1 Numbers 3: 25-36; 7: 9.
2 I Kings 6:7.
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