by W. E. Gutman
“Karl Marx was right,” he had told Touvier in response to some exasperating platitude. “Religion is the opiate of the people. But unlike opium, which puts users in a state of blissful lethargy, religion inflames passions and brings the worst in man. The sectarian hatreds and paroxysms of ferocious religiosity that convulse the planet epitomize religion’s toxic character. “
Eventually, Montvert had concluded that “God” is a useless and costly hypothesis with which he could dispense. And crypto-agnosticism turned into overt atheism.
But Touvier, the consummate obfuscator, would have resorted to parable in order to prop up an indefensible hypothesis. He would have developed a scenario based on an irrational argument, supported a premise with another premise.
“Ten starving children come to your door begging for a morsel of food,” he would have sermonized. “But you have barely enough to feed one. What do you do? God can’t be everywhere. He can’t right every wrong, heal every wound, redress every injustice, punish every sin.” Touvier would have then shrugged his shoulders, arched his eyebrows with saintly fatalism and hoped that his twisted supposition, like some eloquent and impregnable court summation, would silence the prosecution and help exonerate a scoundrel.
Unruffled, Montvert would have hacked through Touvier’s Gordian Knot by feeding one child and hypnotizing the other nine into believing that they had feasted on a five-course meal. This would have under-scored the nature of God’s unpredictability, the randomness of his heartless neutrality. It would also have added weight to Montvert’s assertion that children do not challenge the “realities” that parents, teachers and “spiritual” shepherds promote.
“We learn soon enough,” he would have added, “that the fairies and the monsters that inhabit our worst childhood nightmares are impostors. Yet, with sufficient parental guidance, including crafty counsel not to wander beyond the limits of the “realities” that parents peddle, and punctuated by the constant drumbeat of religious indoctrination, children enter adulthood fully conditioned to believe -- and keep alive -- charades that owe their stubborn longevity to blind faith.”
Sigmund Freud may or may not have analyzed Bosch’s paintings but it was he who postulated the now widely accepted concept that we are the product of our subconscious. He was careful to add that the “subconscious” is not an amorphous and indelible entity. The subconscious is the end-product of many dynamics, the least of which is genetic. Our subconscious is molded, fashioned and often perverted by early childhood experiences and through encoding (the planting of fixed ideas) by parents, educators, clergy and other figures of authority. No one is “born” a believer or an atheist. No one comes out of the womb a Democrat or a Republican, a fascist or a Maoist. Serial killers and good Samaritans are made not sired. The subconscious is an easy prey. It can be hounded, abducted, duped. It can be dragged to the altar of paganism and idolatry (worship of statues), forced to engage in cannibalism (Communion) and, as a bonus, pushed toward terminal psychosis (the belief in life after death).
In the philosophy of religion, Occam's razor is sometimes applied to argue the existence or non-existence of God. While Occam's razor does not attempt to disprove God's existence, it offers a compelling argument: in the absence of convincing proof that such entity exists, disbelief should be preferred. Montvert rejected the suggestion that Occam's razor compares apples and oranges. Instead, he maintained, it illustrates, with blinding clarity, that while, say, Christianity has branched into often dissimilar and almost always bickering factions -- each cheekily claiming exclusive access to God -- atheism, by its very axiomatic simplicity and absence of pretense, has never changed. A lack of belief cannot be codified. There are no Orthodox, Conservative or Reform atheists. All atheists speak in a single voice. No ideological rift can splinter them.
Nor do atheists feel compelled to defend their ideas as are religious people fixated on convincing others of the validity (and “divine origin”) of their beliefs. An atheist is quite content not to believe; a believer is consumed with the need to nourish his belief and the urge to “share the glad tidings.”
Atheism has no catechism. It warns against the tyranny of absolutist ideas, not hell and eternal damnation. It promises no redemption other than freedom from absurd and useless beliefs and crippling guilt. It dispenses no indulgences or exemptions from sin in exchange for bribes; it has no pontiff and no “church,” no crimson-attired “princes” who live in Babylonian splendor, no avaricious plate-passing beadles; it delivers no sermons, it proffers no threats of fire and brimstone, it promises no agony- or bliss-filled afterlife. Atheists do not maintain an Index of Prohibited Books. They don’t burn books. They have no need for a Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith which, by its very existence, attests to the perilous fragility of religion. Atheists refuse to drift along a stream which is not of their own choosing and are eager to puncture all alibis invented by human beings to spare themselves from being accountable for their choices. Atheists, seldom spontaneously but after much internal turmoil and self-inquiry, conclude that there is no God and that, therefore, human beings are neither created nor pervaded by anyone or anything that can have a plan or idea of what they will be like before they come into being, or before they develop by their own free action. Atheism is simple, clear, unequivocal.
Religion clings to fictions that do not exist in the absolute vacuum of pure thought, but must be “planted” in the mind to burgeon, i.e.,
“God” is the source of all essence and reality; Jesus was the son of “God”; he was born of ‘immaculate’ birth; he rose from the dead and his death and rebirth open a portal to eternal life.”
Whoever or whatever he was, Jesus opposed formal religion, abhorred the mix of politics and worship, and held the self-aggrandizing bluster of virtuous believers in contempt. Religion is learned, not intrinsic. An addict needs his fix because he indulges in drugs in the first place. One does not “get” religion except through osmosis. People never exposed to religion will not suddenly develop an urge to embrace outlandish beliefs without the intervention of some powerful and persuasive medium -- a renunciation of life’s sweetest gifts or an irreversible psychotic episode. Religion may have “tamed” some people but it has poisoned the soul of many others and led to intolerance and lunacy.
We’re all born with a blank slate and only parental rearing, the environment and societal pressures mold us into cookie-cutter replicas of our would-be retrofitters. We’re all endowed with a brain capable of discerning the truth but the brain is soon so badly mangled by indoctrination and rote repetition that we submit to a ritualistic, synchronous reflexive behavior that we are enjoined to believe benefits us and “society.”
Yes, we are the stuff that stars are made of. We are a product of eons of fusion. But “fusion” implies only the amalgamation and compacting of disparate elements. Man's parts are infinitely larger and more diverse than his whole and it is the parts that result in geniuses and idiots, assassins and philanthropists, captains of industry and social parasites, adventurers, human dynamos and couch potatoes, loving parents and infanticides, great artists and uninspired oafs.
It is all that, and more, Montvert is convinced, that Hieronymus Bosch tells us in his always stunning, forever unsettling commentaries on the human condition. The great master belongs to the world. His message to posterity, Montvert insists, will not, must not be silenced.
Cardinal Sins
Careful scrutiny of a number of paintings by Hieronymus Bosch offers strong circumstantial evidence that he may have belonged to a proto-Masonic lodge. In The Marriage at Cana, on display at the Boymans van Beuningen Museum in Rotterdam, can be found several esoteric allusions, some Kabbalistic in origin, others eerily reminiscent of Masonic symbolism and ritual. Two events seem to be taking place independently. In the background, behind two pillars -- Boaz and Jachin -- is an altar composed of twelve superimposed cubes. A magician, perhaps a master of ceremony, points to the second cube from the top tier. In th
e foreground, twelve guests are seated at an L-shaped table. Standing, his back turned, a child hails the group. His left hand is extended upward, the space between thumb and forefinger forming a ninety-degree angle, his right clasping a chalice. A knotted sash encircles his left shoulder.
At first glance, the scene is reminiscent of Christian liturgy -- bread, jugs, a statuette of St. Christopher hunched under the weight of the world, the pelican, symbolic of Jesus -- all conspicuously poised on the altar. A plausible interpretation, one supported by a number of scholars, including Montvert, suggests that the banquet celebrates the marriage of the Jew Jacob of Almaengien, then-Master of the Brotherhood of Free Thought. Almaengien, who had sponsored Bosch in the execution of his most hermetic works, is also known to have been an active member of the Brotherhood of Notre Dame, to which Bosch also belonged. It is reasonable to assume that Bosch may in turn have had some contact with the Brotherhood of Free Thought.
A troubling and as yet unsolved enigma centers on the swan which, along with the boar’s head, is being served to the guests. It is known that 14th century mystics considered the swan a symbol of debauchery. An old Flemish proverb -- white outside, black inside -- alludes to hypocrisy, an inference further supported by the presence on the swan’s flank of a crescent moon, then the emblem of heresy (and, to some, a symbol of homosexuality). Yet, the dark meat of the swan was a prized delicacy at the time and a staple dish at the Brotherhood of Notre Dame’s frequent feasts, including the one organized to celebrate Bosch’s own initiation.
Another intriguing detail involves the numerical placement of various objects on the three tiers above the altar: seven on the lowest, five on the middle one and three on the topmost. Three, five and seven are the numbers of steps on a winding stairway that an Apprentice must climb to have revealed to him the secrets and obligations associated with the second degree of Masonry, or Fellowcraft.
The most conjectural clue of all is a mannerism common to all the banquet participants, guests and servers alike. Their open hands, curiously in full view, form a near-perfect right angle -- a square, one of the tools used by operative masons and, symbolically, by speculative Masons, in their labors.
The eternal conflict between good and evil, vice and virtue, damnation and redemption is rarely as forcefully allegorized as in The Temptation of St. Anthony, on exhibit at the Museu Nacional de Arte Antigua in Lisbon. The triptych reeks with malevolence: here a flight of winged monsters, demons, reptiles and witches, there the ordeal of fire, the whole forming a kind of merry-go-round of horrors calculated to bewilder and torment St. Anthony in his quest, after untold trials and self-denials, for spiritual peace.
The left panel, the most relevant in Masonic terms, focuses on a small wooden bridge extending across a frozen pond upon which an exhausted St. Anthony, supported by two Brothers, continues his penitential sojourn. A third helper, a “friend” or guide, long identified as one of several “à la Hitchcock” Bosch auto-portraits, offers, along with his bare left knee, yet another hint of the painter’s initiation into the secret rites. Most striking is the crushing fatigue endured by the group. Despite the assistance given him, St. Anthony seems to have given up. He is overcome with a stifling loneliness, another stage in his perilous journey, made all the more unbearable in that grandest of all voyages -- life -- by despair and faithlessness. Only his guide’s eyes are open. Perhaps only he sees the way while a demon-bird, an escutcheon representing a geometer’s square embroidered on his tunic, taunts a corpulent priest who gets rich dispensing indulgences to incorrigible sinners.
What is Freemasonry? The question is best answered by affirming what it is not. It is not a secret society, a religion, a satanic conclave devoted to the anti-Christ. This, the world’s oldest and largest fraternal organization, the most misunderstood, reviled and feared union of men (and women) who seek enlightenment and dedicate their lives to its dissemination, has no designs or influence on world banking. It is not laboring to bring about a New World Order in which -- depending on one’s leanings or baseless “evidence” -- mankind is either consigned to slavery in the service of capitalism or delivered into the clutches of communism. Freemasonry advocates no sectarian faith or practice. It seeks no converts. It does not solicit members. It raises no money for faith-based institutions, at least not in Europe. It has no dogma or theology. In many lodges it is forbidden to discuss religious (or political) issues. It offers no sacrament and does not claim to bring about spiritual salvation. Despite demented allegations by individuals who have never seen the inside of a lodge, Freemasons do not embrace a new religion, much less an anti-Christian one, any more than they would by joining a political party or a community service organization. There is nothing in Freemasonry that opposes religion except when it meddles in politics. It accepts men and women of all faiths who believe in freedom of conscience, subscribe to democratic values and universal human rights, and embrace the principles of Free-masonry. Candidates must be free of prejudice and dogma, and willing to commit to a lifelong quest for the truth through study, introspection and altruism. Candidates to Freemasonry are not subject to religious rites of passage. They are sometimes asked if they believe in a “supreme being,” but their concept of “deity” need not coincide with the Judeo-Christian model. Freemasonry respects all faiths but it does not engage in theology.
The rudiments of Freemasonry began to meld into a coherent but as yet unstructured concept sometime in the 15th century. It slowly acquired its modern character in the mid-1500s or early 1600s. This was a period of great political turmoil and religious intolerance. Freethinkers, among them agnostics and atheists, and men who wanted to endow God with less paranormal features, were unable to meet and exchange ideas without arousing suspicion, sparking arguments and risking persecution. Masonic lodges soon became temples of rational discourse, inquiry and erudition where men from all walks of life joined to explore new ideas. While the fraternity has maintained its original character and objectives in Western Europe, with Grand Orient Freemasonry being the most secular, free-thinking and radical, it underwent a gradual and significant trans-formation in the U.S. Grand lodges and their constituents steadfastly refused to get involved, to speak out against injustice, corruption and political chicanery. The fraternity turned inwardly, becoming an insular, closed circuit and self-serving institution. It dramatically lowered or abolished heretofore high standards for admission -- among them free thought, tolerance and intellectual refinement. It turned populist, veered sharply toward the political right, made a belief in deity mandatory. It draped itself in the flag instead of embracing a holistic worldview. It became a haven for mediocre men seduced by titles, regalia, medals, certificates, citations, ribbons, plaques and other accolades very rarely bestowed outside of the U.S. except to reward extraordinary service to society.
If there is a link between the waning eminence of American Freemasonry and a decline in membership, it is perhaps because, after having been initiated, new Brothers in America are left suspended in a vacuum. They've paid their dues. They've become small cogs in a large machine busy keeping its own wheels turning, a sort of Rube Goldberg perpetual motion contraption out of sync with its own driving force and, in the long run, utterly without purpose other than self-perpetuation. The intellectual nourishment, spiritual stimulation, social and philosophical dimensions so vital to Freemasonry, are nowhere to be found. American Freemasons are content to bask in the brilliance of a star-studded Masonic constellation: George Washington, Ben Franklin, John Hancock, Paul Revere, Lafayette, Mozart, Bolivar, Garibaldi, Jonathan Swift, Goethe, the Roosevelts, Truman, etc…. They look up to these men as though their wisdom, creative genius and courage are transferable through some generational osmosis. They are not. If a child should not bear the burden of his ancestors' misdeeds, nor should he revel in his father's fame. He must seek his own paths of glory. The above-named Brothers were men of action, builders, shakers, movers, gadflies, thinkers and creative geniuses long before they knocked at t
he outer door of a lodge. It is they who enriched Freemasonry -- not the other way around. They all believed in a better tomorrow, a more just, progressive and nobler human society. All were inspired by other thinkers and revolutionaries. American Freemasons believe the revolution is over. It’s not. So long as there is injustice and suffering, ignorance and intolerance the spiritual revolution must go on. It is this and more that Michel Montvert must have tried to convey during his visit to Cosmopolitan Lodge in New York, and for which he was so harshly censured.
By decree, and following unanimous approval by its constituent lodges, the Grand Lodge of Honduras invites Dr. Manuel Albeniz to Tegucigalpa to confer him with honorary membership for his
“dedication to the promotion of the arts, for his unwavering labors on behalf of Freemasonry and for his unstinting espousal and defense of Truth and Reason.”
The conferral is held at the Francisco Morazán Lodge, named after the martyred Central American statesman and Freemason. A public reception in his honor is later held at the Maya Hotel in the capital’s upscale Colonia Palmira.
In an interview with Diario Tiempo, Albeniz hails the tardy “national reconciliation” that appears to have healed a country long exploited by U.S. economic colonialism and further traumatized by U.S-engineered coups and “dirty wars.” He knows that reconciliation is a euphemism, a pact rammed down the people’s throat that has eviscerated an entire society. He knows that the U.S.-trained military thugs who committed atrocities in the name of “national security” were decorated, par-doned and their victims forgotten. He knows that mass graves were covered with fresh topsoil and generals and colonels were absolved and are now living in serene retirement, some of them in the U.S. He knows that this mock reconciliation whitewashed torture, mass murders and disappearances, that it exonerated the criminals and coerced the victims’ families to “forgive and forget” while denying them any compensation.