Part 5 of 13 in Masonic Symbols & Symbolic Thinking
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There is something reassuring about a Masonic symbol that begins with a block of stone.
No hidden machinery. No celestial diagram requiring three books and an unusually cooperative imagination. Just a rough stone beside one that has been worked.
The comparison is easy to recognize. Something requires preparation. Work has been done on something else.
Apply that to character, and the questions begin. What needs correcting? What counts as improvement? Who decides when the work is satisfactory?
These are less comfortable questions than the stones first suggest.
The rough and perfect ashlars offer a way to consider them. Their usefulness lies in the contrast between a present condition and a standard toward which someone works—not in sorting humanity into unfinished people and the impressive people who have finished.
Anyone announcing membership in the second group has probably supplied evidence for the first.
What Is an Ashlar?
In building, ashlar refers to dressed stone used in masonry, commonly prepared with regular faces and joints. The architectural term is more specific than “a lump of rock.”
Masonic teaching uses the contrast between rough and perfect ashlars to discuss human development. Familiar explanations describe a rough stone taken from the quarry and another prepared through the work of the mason.[1]
The wording and details vary between traditions. Historical uses of the terms also require care: a “rough” stone need not always mean an entirely shapeless piece of material.
For this essay, the important point is straightforward. A stone’s present condition is compared with a condition requiring preparation.
The moral application follows: we can examine our habits and capacities without assuming that whatever presently exists must be the best possible arrangement.
That is a useful beginning. It is not permission to treat people as construction material.
Unfinished Does Not Mean Worthless
The rough ashlar can correct two comfortable mistakes.
One is the belief that we are already quite satisfactory and that most difficulties arise from other people failing to appreciate this.
The other is the belief that a fault settles the matter permanently: we are simply this sort of person, and nothing useful can be done.
The image offers another possibility. A present limitation need not be a final condition.
Someone may be careless with promises and learn to make fewer, more realistic ones. Someone who interrupts may learn to listen. Someone who avoids disagreement may become capable of speaking plainly without turning every conversation into a contest.
These changes are not guaranteed. Nor are they achieved by adopting a favorable description of oneself.
But they are specific enough to attempt.
That is what I find helpful in the rough stone. It makes room for dissatisfaction without requiring contempt.
We can acknowledge work that remains without declaring the whole person a failure.
Why Stone Makes a Useful Comparison
Stone resists the worker.
The desired result does not appear because the intention was excellent. There must be some understanding of the material, the tools, and the purpose.
Habits can be similarly uncooperative. A resolution made on Sunday evening may encounter serious resistance by Monday lunchtime.
This gives the comparison its practical force. Improvement involves more than recognizing an attractive destination. It requires finding a way to get there, noticing what happens, and adjusting the work.
But stone also helps us see the limits of the metaphor.
A person can question the proposed design. A person can learn, refuse, explain, or point out that the person wielding the chisel has misunderstood the job.
We should be suspicious of any interpretation in which one member becomes the master craftsman and everyone else becomes material awaiting correction.
The strongest application begins with our own conduct.
What am I doing? What effect does it have? What might I reasonably change?
Those questions are demanding enough without appointing ourselves quarry supervisors.
What Makes a Person “Rough”?
It is tempting to answer with a long list of faults. Pride, impatience, resentment, carelessness, vanity—the supply is dependable.
But naming faults in general can become another way of avoiding one in particular.
“I must work on my character” sounds serious. It also leaves considerable room for postponement.
“I agreed to do something, failed to do it, and did not tell the person depending on me” gives us a more useful starting point.
Now there is an action to examine. Was the promise unrealistic? Was it forgotten? Did embarrassment prevent an honest explanation?
Different causes call for different corrections.
A notebook may help with forgetfulness. It will not, by itself, resolve a reluctance to admit failure. Better organization and greater honesty are related possibilities, not interchangeable tools.
The rough ashlar becomes useful when it directs attention toward a habit we can actually identify.
Otherwise, we have an impressive metaphor attached to an unspecified project.
What Does “Perfect” Mean?
The word causes trouble because it can suggest a person beyond criticism.
That would make the symbol both discouraging and rather difficult to illustrate from life.
In the reading developed here, the perfect ashlar represents preparation according to a standard: a stone worked and made suitable for its intended use. Masonic explanations give this image further moral and religious meanings, which should be understood in the context of the particular tradition.[2]
I am not proposing “fitness for use” as the only meaning the symbol has ever carried.
It does, however, provide a practical way to think about improvement without imagining that a degree ceremony has produced an infallible person.
Consider dependability. A dependable person can make a mistake. What matters is also how he handles it: whether he notices, informs those affected, accepts responsibility, and tries to correct the consequences.
That is a more realistic standard than never being wrong.
The worked stone can therefore serve as a standard of comparison rather than a flattering portrait.
It asks what preparation is needed. It does not certify that the answer is “none.”
Improvement Is Not the Same as Polish
A smooth manner can conceal poor conduct.
Someone may speak courteously while evading responsibility. Another person may lack social ease and still be honest, generous, and dependable.
We should not confuse refinement of character with conformity to a preferred accent, background, or style.
The stone metaphor can become especially unhelpful when “roughness” means little more than “not quite like us.”
What fault are we actually identifying? Who is harmed by it? Is the proposed correction ethical, practical, or merely a matter of taste?
These questions matter in any fraternity that speaks about forming character.
A newcomer does not become morally deficient because he is unfamiliar with a custom. An experienced member does not become morally accomplished because he can correct him fluently.
The relevant distinction is between learning a form and practicing what the form is meant to support.
We need both, but they are not the same achievement.
“That Is Just How I Am”
There is a reasonable desire behind the defense of authenticity. People do not want to become artificial, servile, or permanently occupied with pleasing an audience.
But “that is just how I am” can perform several jobs.
It can explain a preference. It can establish a boundary. It can also announce that everyone else will be expected to absorb the cost of a habit we do not intend to examine.
A quick temper does not become harmless because it is genuine.
The question is whether changing the habit would require dishonesty or responsibility. Those are different demands.
A person can remain direct while learning not to humiliate. He can remain independent while keeping agreements. He can admit uncertainty without becoming timid.
The ashlar image need not mean removing individuality. It can mean developing the ability to act deliberately rather than allowing the most familiar impulse to decide everything.
A habit is not necessarily a principle merely because we have had it for years.
The Work Between the Stones
The paired ashlars imply a process, but the process needs more explanation than “apply discipline.”
What kind? In response to what problem? With whose assistance?
A useful beginning is to choose one recurring action and examine it honestly:
Identify what happens, rather than settling for a general label.
Notice the circumstances in which it happens.
Decide what a better response would look like.
Try a specific change.
Review the result without rewriting it to protect your pride.
This is a suggested practice, not a quotation from ritual.
Suppose the difficulty is speaking sharply when contradicted. The first task may be recognizing the moment before the response. The next may be allowing the other person to finish and asking a question before delivering a verdict.
There will probably be occasions when the old habit returns.
That is information about the work. It is not proof that the work is impossible.
Instruction and assistance have a place here too. Masonic explanations of the ashlars have connected improvement with education, personal effort, and religious dependence—not simply with an isolated individual manufacturing himself.[1]
The self doing the examining is also capable of overlooking things. Another person may notice what our private review has omitted.
Correction Is Not Permission for Cruelty
The vocabulary of shaping can become severe very quickly.
People speak of breaking someone down, knocking off corners, or teaching a necessary lesson. Sometimes the person explaining the necessity appears to be enjoying the job rather too much.
That should make us pause.
Criticism may be accurate and still be delivered badly. Difficulty does not prove that a method is beneficial. A person’s distress does not establish that important progress is taking place.
The purpose of correction is to address the fault, not demonstrate the corrector’s power.
We can ask for evidence, explanation, and proportion. We can also reject treatment that confuses instruction with humiliation.
Taking responsibility for our own conduct does not require accepting every judgment made about it.
A workable standard must be open to examination, including by the person expected to meet it.
A Stone Belongs to a Building
The social implication of the ashlar is among its most useful features.
The stone is prepared for a relationship with other parts of a structure. Its suitability is not simply a matter of how handsome it looks on its own.
Applied cautiously to conduct, this directs attention toward the people who depend on us.
Can they trust our word? Do we complete our share of the work? Can we disagree without making cooperation impossible? Do we leave others to repair the consequences of our carelessness?
These are questions about contribution, not self-display.
But belonging must not mean unquestioning compliance. A sound institution needs people capable of identifying a faulty arrangement. Sometimes the problem lies in the plan, not the person who refuses to accept it.
Becoming “fit” for fellowship should therefore include judgment and the courage to raise a concern.
A structure that requires everyone to conceal its cracks has a maintenance problem, whatever it says about loyalty.
The Temptation to Declare the Work Finished
The longer someone studies moral language, the more fluent he may become in describing improvement.
That fluency can be useful. It can also provide excellent cover.
We learn what patience sounds like. We acquire a convincing account of humility. Eventually, it becomes possible to explain both without having much practice in either.
The perfect ashlar is most useful when it interrupts this satisfaction rather than rewards it.
Have I become more dependable, or simply more skilled at explaining why a failure was understandable? Have I accepted correction, or found a courteous way to dismiss it?
These are not questions that another title can answer.
Nor should we assume that growing older automatically makes the answers better. Experience supplies material for reflection. It does not perform the reflection.
There is no need to turn this into permanent self-accusation. A completed responsibility deserves acknowledgment. A changed habit can be recognized.
But a successful piece of work is not evidence that there will never be another.
What the Ashlars Ask of Us
The pair offers a comparison between a condition and a possibility.
It can remind us that faults deserve attention without making them the whole account of a person. It can direct improvement toward service rather than display. It can also expose the difference between a standard we admire and conduct we are willing to change.
The symbol does not supply a complete theory of human development. It cannot tell us, without further judgment, which part of ourselves needs work or how to undertake it.
That is where thinking begins.
Look at the rough stone and ask what remains unfinished. Look at the worked stone and ask what standard is being proposed.
Then choose something less general than “become better.”
Keep the promise. Hear the objection. Correct the mistake. Return to the task.
A block of stone cannot do these things.
Its usefulness is that it may remind us to.
Continue the Series
Next: The Working Tools: How Masonic Symbols Teach Moral Labor →
Sources and Further Reading
The paired ashlars have received different explanations across Masonic traditions and periods. The practical discussion of habits, correction, individuality, and responsibility in this essay is the author’s interpretation, not a universal ritual explanation or a claim about the psychological effects of initiation.
- Grand Lodge of Ohio, [“Behind the Symbol: The Rough & Perfect Ashlars”](The Rough and Perfect Ashlars: Meaning and Symbolism in Freemasonry
The Rough and Perfect Ashlars: Meaning and Symbolism in Freemasonry Discover the meaning behind one of Freemasonrys oldest symbols. Learn what the Rough Ashlar represents, its history in the lodge, and how it connects to the Perfect Ashlar. Discover the meaning behind one of Freemasonrys oldest symbols. Learn what
Lake Harriet Lodge No. 277, “Ashlars”. These provide examples of contemporary Masonic explanations and discussion of the symbol’s terminology.
- Albert G. Mackey, The Symbolism of Freemasonry; W. Kirk MacNulty, Freemasonry: Symbols, Secrets, Significance (Thames & Hudson, 2006). Consult the specific editions and passages used. These works represent interpretations within the fraternity rather than a single explanation binding on every jurisdiction.
For historical background on the relationship between stonemasonry and the development of Freemasonry, see David Stevenson, The Origins of Freemasonry: Scotland’s Century, 1590–1710 (Cambridge University Press, 1988), and Douglas Knoop and G. P. Jones, The Genesis of Freemasonry (Manchester University Press, 1947).
For the relationship between Masonic ideals, fraternity, and social life, see Steven C. Bullock, Revolutionary Brotherhood: Freemasonry and the Transformation of the American Social Order, 1730–1840 (University of North Carolina Press, 1996).
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Continue the Masonic Symbols Series
This essay belongs to Masonic Symbols: Stones, Tools, and the Work of Character. The ashlars offer a starting point for considering what remains unfinished in ourselves and how personal formation relates to a larger undertaking. Continue with the pillars, moving from the stone being shaped to the threshold of the symbolic building.
Previous: Why Masons Talk in Stones, Tools, and Symbols: From Working Tools to Inner Work
Next: The Two Pillars: Strength, Established, and the Architecture of Meaning
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