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Short Talk Bulletin Vol 01 No 11
SHORT TALK BULLETIN - Vol.I November, 1923 No.11
THE RITE OF DESTITUTION
by: Unknown
Nothing in Freemasonry is more beautiful in form or more eloquent in
meaning than the First Degree. Its simplicity and dignity, its blend of
solemnity and surprise, as well as its beauty of moral truth, mark it as a
little masterpiece. Nowhere may one hope to find nobler appeal to the
native nobilities of as man. What we get out of Freema-sonry, as of
anything else depends upon our capacity, and our response to its appeal;
but it is hard to see how ant man can receive the First Degree and pass out
of the lodge room quite the same man as when he entered it.
What memories come back to us when we think of the time when we took our
first step in Freemasonry. We had been lead, perhaps, by the sly remarks
of friends to expect some kind of horseplay, or the riding of a goat; but
how different it was in reality. Instead of mere play-acting we
discovered, by contrast, a ritual of religious faith and moral law, an
allegory of life and a parable of those truths which lie at the foundations
of manhood. Surely no man can ever forget that hour when, vaguely or
clearly, the profound meaning of Freemasonry began slowly to unfold before
his mind.
The whole meaning of initiation, of course, is an analogy of the birth,
awakening and growth of the soul; its discovery of the purpose of life and
the nature of the world in which it is to be lived. The lodge is the world
as it was thought to be in the olden times, with its square surface and
canopy of sky, its dark North and its radiant East; its center an Altar of
obligation and prayer. The initiation, by the same token, is our advent
from the darkness of prenatal gloom into the light of moral truth and
spiritual faith, out of lonely isolation into a network of fellowships and
relationships, out of a merely physical into a human and moral order. The
cable tow, by which we may be detained or removed should we be unworthy or
unwilling to advance, is like the cord which joins a child to its mother at
birth. Nor is it removed until, by the act of assuming the obligations and
fellowships of the moral life, a new, unseen tie is spun and woven in the
heart, uniting us, henceforth, by an invisible bond, to the service of our
race in its moral effort to build a world of fraternal good will.
Such is the system of moral philosophy set forth in symbols in which the
initiate is introduced, and in this light each emblem, each incident,
should be interpreted. Thus Freemasonry gives a man at a time when it is
most needed, if he be young, a nobel, wise, time-tried principle by which
to read the meaning of the world and his duty in it. No man may hope to
see it all at once, or once for all, sand it is open to question whether
any man lives long enough to think it through - for, like all simple
things, it is deep and wonderful. In the actuality of the symbolism a man
in the first degree of Freemasonry, as in the last, accepts the human
situation, enters a new environment, with a new body of motive and
experience. In short, he assumes his real vocation in the world and vows
to live by the highest standard of values.
Like every other incident of initiation it is in the light of the larger
meanings of Freemasonry that we must interpret the Rite of Destitution. At
a certain point in his progress every man is asked for a token of a certain
kind, to be laid up in the archives of the lodge as a memorial of his
initiation. If he is "duly and truly prepared" he finds himself unable to
grant the request. Then, in one swift and searching moment, he realizes -
perhaps for the first time in his life - what it means for a man to be
actually destitute. For one impressive instant, in which many emotions
mingle, he is made to feel the bewilderment, if not the humiliation, which
besets one who is deprived of the physical necessities of life upon which,
far more than we have been wont to admit, both the moral and social order
depend. Then, by a surprise as sudden as before, and in a manner never to
be forgotten, the lesson of the Golden Rule is taught - the duty of a man
to his fellow in dire need. It is not left to the imagination, since the
initiate is actually put into the place of the man who asks his aid, making
his duty more real and vivid.
At first sight it may seem to some that the lesson is marred by the
limitations and qualifications which follow; but that is only seeming.
Freemasons are under all the obligations of humanity, the most primary of
which is to succor their fellow man in desperate plight. As Mohammed long
ago said, the end of the world has come when man will not help man. But
we are under special obligations to our brethren of the Craft, as much by
the prompting of our hearts as by the vows we have taken. Such a
principle, so far from being narrow and selfish, has the indorsement of the
Apostle Paul in his exhortations to the earl Christian community. In the
Epistle to the Ephesians we read: "As we have therefore opportunity, let
us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of
faith." It is only another way of saying that "Charity begins at home,"
and for Masons the home is the lodge.
So, then, the destitute to which this Rite refers, and whose distress the
initiate is under vows to relieve, as his ability may permit, are a
definite and specific class. They are not to be confused with those who
are poverty-stricken by ,D,d, of criminal tendencies or inherent laziness.
That is another problem, in the solution of which Masons will have their
share and do their part - a very dark problem, too, which asks for both
patience and wisdom. No, the needy which this Rite requires that we aid
are "All Poor and Distressed, Worthy Masons, their Widows and Orphans;"
that is, those who are destitute through no fault of their own, but as the
result of untoward circumstances. They are those who, through accident,
disease or disaster, have become unable, however willing and eager, to meet
their obligations. Such are deserving of charity in its true Masonic
sense, not only in the form of financial relief, but also in the form of
companionship, sympathy and love. If we are bidden to be on our guard
against impostors, who would use Masonry for their own ends, where there is
real need , our duty is limited only by our ability to help, without injury
to those nearest to us.
A church, it be worthy of the name, opens its doors to all kinds and
conditions of folks, rich and poor alike, the learned and unlearned. But a
lodge of Masons is different, alike in purpose and function. It is made up
of picked men, selected from among many, and united for unique ends. No
man ought to be allowed to enter the Order unless he is equal to its
demands, financially as mentally and morall-y,able to pay its fees and
dues, and to do his part in its work of relief. Yet no set of men, however
intelligent and strong, are exempt from the vicissitudes and tragedies of
life. Take, for example, Anthony Sayer, the first Grand Master of the
Grand Lodge of England. Towards the end of his life he met with such
reverses that he became tiler of Old Kings Arms Lodge No. 28, and it is
recorded that he was assisted "out of the box of this Society." Such a
misfor-tune, or something worse, may overtake any one of us, without
warning or resource.
Disasters of the most appalling kind befall men every day, leaving them
broken and helpless. How often have we seen a noble and able man suddenly
smitten down in mid life, stripped not only of his savings but of his power
to earn, as the result of some blow no mortal wit could avert. There he
lies, shunted out of active life when most needed and most able and willing
to serve. Life may any day turn Ruffian and strike one of us such a blow,
disaster following fat and following faster, until we are at its mercy. It
is to such experiences that the Rite of Destitution has reference, pledging
us to aid as individuals and as lodges; and we have a right to be proud
that our Craft does not fail in the doing of good. It is rich in
benevolence, and it knows how to hide its labors under the cover of
secrecy, using its privacy to shield itself and those whom it aids.
Yet we are very apt, especially in large lodges, or in the crowded solitude
of great cities, to lose the personal touch, and let our charity fall to
the level of a cold distant almsgiving. When this is so charity becomes a
mere perfunctory obligation, and a lodge has been known to vote ten dollars
for its own entertainment! There is a Russian story in which a poor man
asked aid of another as poor as himself: "Brother, I have no money to give
you, but let me give you my hand," was the reply. "Yes, give me your hand,
for that, also, is a gift more needed than all others," said the first; and
the two forlorn men clasped hands in a common need and pathos. There was
more real charity in that scene than in many a munificent donation made
from a sense of duty or pride.
Indeed, we have so long linked charity with the giving of money that the
word has well nigh lost its real meaning. In his sublime hymn in praise of
charity, in the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, St. Paul does not
mention money at all, except to say "and although I bestow all my goods to
feed the poor, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing." Which
implies that a man may give all the money he possesses and yet fail of that
Divine grace of Charity. Money has its place and value, but it is not
everything, much less the sum of our duty, and there are many things it
cannot do. A great editor sent the following greeting at the New Year:
"Here is hoping that in the New Year there will be nothing the matter with
you that money cannot cure. For the rest, the law and the prophets contain
no word of better rule for the health of the soul than the adjuration:
Hope thou a little, fear not at all, and love as much as you can."
Surely it was a good and wise wish, if we think of it, because the things
which money cannot cure are the ills of the spirit, the sickness of the
heart, and the dreary, dull pain of waiting for those who return no more.
There are hungers which gold cannot satisfy, and blinding bereavements from
which it offers no shelter. There are times when a hand laid upon the
shoulder, "in a friendly sort of way," is worth more than all the money on
earth. Many a young man fails, or makes a bad mistake, for lack of a
brotherly hand which might have held him up, or guided him into a wiser
way.
The Rite of Destitution! Yes, indeed; but a man may have all the money he
needs, and yet be destitute of faith, of hope, of courage; and it is our
duty to share our faith and courage with him. To fulfill the obligations
of this Rite we must give not simply our money, but ourselves, as Lowell
taught in "The Vision of Sir Launfal," writing in the name of a Great
Brother who, though he had neither home not money, did more good to
humanity than all of us put together - and who still haunts us like the
dream of a Man we want to be.
"The Holy Supper is kept indeed,
In what so we share with another's need;
Not that which we give, but what we share,
For the gift without the giver is bare;
Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three,
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me!"
Copyright 1924 by The Masonic Service Association of the United States.
The contents of this Bulletin must not be reproduced, in whole or in part,
without permission.
Published monthly by The Masonic Service Association of the United States
under the auspices of its member jurisdictions.
Entered as second-class matter September 6,1923, at the Post Office at
Washington, D.C., under the Act of August 24, 1912. Acceptance for mailing
at special rate of postage provided for in section 1103, Act of October 3,
1917. authorized February 17, 1923.
