Post by Tamrin on Oct 3, 2008 11:43:34 GMT 10
James Anderson is a figure of central significance in the new, expansive phase of Freemasonry which began with the founding of the first Grand Lodge, in London in 1717. His importance lies in his authorship of the first and second editions of The Constitutions of the Free-Masons, and especially in his providing a history stressing the antiquity and importance of “the Craft,” in his recording of the early history of Grand Lodge itself, and in his efforts to define the attitude of Freemasonry to religion. His works were given the formal approbation of Grand Lodge, which insisted that all lodges adhere to them. They were to set the standards of British Freemasonry for nearly a century, and even when they were superseded later standards were based on his work. Yet when in the late nineteenth century masonic historians began to dissect his work, it soon became common to deride him, with writers practically queuing up to add denunciations. His version of the history of Masonry contained a
great deal of invention—and was badly written. His definitions at critical points were ambiguous. Even over events of his own time he was inaccurate—sometimes deliberately so. All this is true.Anderson’s status dwindled, and indignation at his failings grew. Was he just incompetent—or deliberately fraudulent?
great deal of invention—and was badly written. His definitions at critical points were ambiguous. Even over events of his own time he was inaccurate—sometimes deliberately so. All this is true.Anderson’s status dwindled, and indignation at his failings grew. Was he just incompetent—or deliberately fraudulent?
That note of combined pride in his labors but caution about the possible limitations of the work seems a suitable point at which to leave Anderson. He was not a man of original ideas, his talents as a writer were limited, but though his works on Freemasonry were a mixture of compilation and fantasy, invention and manipulation, clarity and ambiguity—and indeed error—they were hugely formative for Grand Lodge Freemasonry in his own time and succeeding generations. What he gave Freemasons was acceptable to them. More recent masonic historians want different things, and have felt let down because Anderson failed to satisfy late-nineteenth- and twentieth-century standards of what history should be—and what they thought Freemasonry to be. Freemasonry, as an influential, publicly recognized movement, was just inventing itself, and in the process of invention it was necessary at times to diverge from tradition and innovate—but, as was commonplace, not admit change was being made. There was a necessity for a degree of ingenuity and even fable that Anderson and his colleagues understood. It was an age in which credibility depended largely on claims to antiquity, and that Anderson provided copiously. History was the legend based on fact which gave masons a past on which to base their harmony and unity and their claims to glory. Masonry also claimed “scientific” validity, through its self-identification with geometry, and it assumed divine validation—though only in the widest terms to avoid denominationalism. To thewider world, Anderson was the spokesman of the early Grand Lodge, expounding the non-secret parts of the Craft. At the installation of Norfolk as Grand Master in 1730, the Master of the most senior lodge present had carried the Constitutions on a velvet cushion in front of Grand Master Lord Kingston. It was the clearest possible indication of the status Anderson’s work, for all its faults, had achieved.
