To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take up arms against a sea of troubles.” Many of us recognize these lines from Hamlet. Perhaps some of us have pondered them quite often or at least wondered at the depth of emotion that would bring a man to the brink of suicide. But they may also have a Masonic significance. For one thing, they are part of a longer soliloquy that is the source for the ‘undiscovered country’ reference in the Fellowcraft lecture on the level. Also, in these lines, Hamlet raises two important issues, which I think are at the core of Masonry: · What is the relationship between life and death? · How should we live our lives? Masonry is often defined as a system of morality, veiled in allegory and illustrated with symbols. Let’s take a look at this definition for a moment. I think at its core, a system of morality means a code by which to live life. That is, it is a way to govern one’s actions and relationships with the external environment. The allegory referred to is the life and death of Hiram Abiff in the Master Mason degree and the building of King Solomon’s Temple referred to in all three degrees. This allegory is illustrated, perhaps even unveiled somewhat, by the symbols used in all three degrees. Now if the analysis above is correct, then Hamlet’s soliloquy is very much relevant to Freemasonry. In it, Hamlet struggles with the fundamental questions of life and death, which are highly significant to Masonry. In our rituals, Hiram very quickly decides his fate by refusing the ruffians’ demands for the secrets of a Master Mason. Hiram answers the ruffians’ demand, “my life, but not my secrets”. He clearly makes a choice. Perhaps the internal dynamics of this choice are not dramatized the way Hamlet’s are, but it is a vital choice nonetheless. It is a choice that is made as much by the way Hiram lived, as it was by the way that he died. The reference to the ‘undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns’ may be a pointer back to the entire passage from Hamlet for us to consider. Both Hamlet’s speech and the definition of Freemasonry tell us that how we live our lives is directly influenced by how we view death. Are we afraid to die and does this fear constrain our actions so that we refuse to take any risk or action lest it hasten the day of our demise? Do we leave undone things that we should do out of fear of death? Let us review for a moment, Hamlet’s entire soliloquy. To be, or not to be,—that is the question:— Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?—To die to sleep— No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to? —‘tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep; — To sleep, perchance, to dream; —ay, there’s the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause : there’s the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscover’d country from whose bourn No traveler returns, —puzzles the will, And makes rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o’er the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. —Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! —Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remembered. Hamlet, it seems, is caught upon a three-pronged dilemma: · Should he simply accept the inequities of life? · Should fight against these inequities? · Should he kill himself? The contemplation of this undiscovered country stays his hand and puzzles him. Perhaps one of the more telling lines above is “Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.” What does this mean, especially in regard to Hamlet’s fear of death? As we contemplate this question, perhaps we may also want to keep two other things in mind: 1. Hamlet was a Widow’s Son. 2. Is there a relationship between Hamlet’s three-pronged dilemma and the three ruffians in the Master Mason degree? So how or why does conscience make cowards of us all? Is it the fear of death or what happens after death that paralyzes our actions here in life? That is what the author of Hamlet seems to hint at. But what is conscience? The Oxford English Dictionary has several definitions. The following may be the most pertinent to our discussion, since the line in question fromHamlet is used as an example to illustrate the definition. The internal acknowledgement or recognition of the moral quality of one's motives and actions; the sense of right and wrong as regards things for which one is responsible; the faculty or principle which pronounces upon the moral quality of one's actions or motives, approving the right and condemning the wrong. Perhaps the two key words in this definition are ‘internal’ and ‘moral’. First, let us look at the word ‘internal’. This descriptor tells us that conscience springs from within us. It is not found in external sources, although they may help us to shape and understand our internal dialog. It is representative of our own internal plumbline by which we measure our own conduct for its rectitude. The Hebrew word for ‘plumbline’ is ;na—ankh. Symbolically, we can relate this word to the Egyptian Ankh, the symbol of life. We can then develop the symbol further by adding the letter y as a suffix to obtain ykna.[1] When used as a suffix, the letter y is a possessive indicator meaning “my”. In Hebrew, the word ykna means ‘I’. Thus, ‘I’ can symbolically mean “my lifeline”. This is very interesting symbolism, given the meaning of the plumbline in masonry. The plumbline is the tool by which we measure the rectitude of our conduct. Our lifeline—something that is our concept of self—measures our conduct. Recognition of self is one of the three parts of consciousness. The other two are the recognition of the Cosmos and intentional acts that relate self to the Cosmos. That is, consciousness is the recognition of self and how we live. It is a matter of deliberate choices rather than a random walk. Perhaps one of the most critical signs in the emergence of consciousness is the awareness that sooner or later we will die. Death is perhaps both the ultimate mystery and an important symbol. Symbolically, death is often used to indicate profound change. Now, let us look at the word ‘moral’. Is there an absolute standard of morality or is it relative? From whence does morality spring? In the Entered Apprentice degree, we are taught that the square teaches morality. So, let’s consider the square for a moment. It has a horizontal leg and a vertical leg. Perhaps, this can be seen as the blending of the plumb and the level. In the Fellowcraft degree, we are taught that the level is a measure of equality reminding us that death is the great equalizer, at least as we view it on this side of the door. But, as Hamlet notes, we really don’t know what happens on the other side of the door. The plumbline is our own conscience. Thus, perhaps morality springs from within our own conscience and what we think that will mean when we enter through the door or death. Thus, conscience and consciousness are intertwined like the serpents winding up a staff to form the caduceus. Our conscious allows us to better understand what the quiet voice of our conscience tells us and to remain in constant awareness of the cause and the effects of our actions so that our conscience can truly be our guide. The central staff is our life and the wings are our spirit. The caduceus was the heraldic emblem of Hermes, who is most often seen as the messenger god of the Greeks. But Hermes had another role as well. He was also a psychopomp[2], the guide of the soul to its place after death. Zoroastrian thought illustrates this process poetically. The soul must pass Chinvato Peretu, the sword bridge, which connects the earth to heaven.[3] After death, the soul crosses on the sword bridge and is met by a female figure named Daena. If the soul has led a good life, the woman is fair maiden and the soul is allowed to pass. If the soul led less than a moral life, it is met by an aged crone and falls off the narrow Sword Bridge into the Abyss.