All Things are Full of Signs

The Masonic Working Tools as Sunthēmata

The Awakening Slave - Michelangelo

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Disclaimer: The following essay is an esoteric and philosophical exploration. In accordance with my obligations, I will not reveal any of the private mysteries of Freemasonry. All information regarding Masonic ritual and symbolism is drawn exclusively from the public domain text, "Duncan's Masonic Ritual and Monitor" (1866). This historical wording has been cross-referenced against my jurisdiction’s Standard Work to ensure that no information considered private or secret by the contemporary Craft is disclosed.

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Within the repetition of Masonic ritual, a craftsman finds ample opportunity for reflection. The familiar words and choreographed movements, initially learned by rote, begin to settle and acquire new weight over time. For me, this contemplative process has repeatedly led back to the working tools of our Craft. Presented as emblems of moral virtue, their simple, practical forms seem to hold a significance that seemingly transcends the allegories assigned to them. This essay is an attempt to explore that deeper potential, to ask what these tools are not just as symbols, but as instruments within a living, philosophical tradition with their own metaphysical depth. To undertake such an exploration requires a specific methodology. The allegorical approach, while valuable, is insufficient for grasping the operative potential of these instruments. Therefore, this inquiry will employ an interpretive lens drawn from the world of late antique Platonism, re-examining the working tools through the theurgic philosophy of thinkers like Iamblichus and Proclus. This angle posits that the tools are not static symbols but are sunthēmata: active, divine tokens whose true function is only revealed within the sacred and ritually constructed cosmos of the Lodge. By viewing the tools in this light, we can begin to understand their role in a practical, spiritual discipline aimed at aligning the craftsman with the order of the universe.

“For it is not the case, as the objectors think, that the one who invokes is efficaciously conjoined with the gods through what he understands. For if this were so, what would prevent the one who is conjoined with the gods from being a philosopher in a theoretical sense? But the reality is not so: for the efficacy of the unspeakable acts, which is divine, and the power of the symbols, which are beyond understanding, bestow the theurgic union.”

Iamblichus of Chalcis, De Mysteriis Aegyptiorum, ca. 300 C.E.

Iamblichus's distinction suggests that true ritual efficacy arises not from what we think, but from what we do within a properly ordered reality. To approach the Masonic working tools solely as moral allegories is to remain a "philosopher in a theoretical sense." To explore the "theurgic union" he describes requires us to see them as operative instruments. This operative potential, however, is only unlocked if the ground upon which the tools are used is itself sacred. From the theurgic perspective, the profane world is a realm of disorder, a chaos of competing material forces where the subtle ontological links that constitute reality are obscured. A sunthēma cannot function in such an environment any more than a finely tuned string can sing true in a gale. For the divine token to become active, it must be placed within a temenos, a consecrated precinct where a sympathetic order has been intentionally established. Only within such a ritually prepared container can the connection between the material sign and its immaterial, divine source be made manifest. Our inquiry must therefore begin not with the tools themselves, but with the Lodge: a working microcosm, a reflection of a world where the divine is not remote but is woven into the very fabric of being. The tools of the Craft, I contend, can only be fully understood as sunthēmata when we first apprehend the space in which they operate.

The philosophical worldview for such a space lies in Plato's attempt to solve the problem of participation. How do the transient, imperfect things of this sensible world relate to the eternal, perfect Forms they imitate? In the Timaeus, he posits a divine Craftsman, the Demiurge, who does not create the world from nothing but brings order to a preexisting chaos by looking to the eternal Forms as his blueprint. This Demiurge, Plato tells us, "resolved to make a moving image of eternity, and when he set in order the heaven, he made this image eternal but moving according to number, while eternity itself rests in unity." The cosmos is thus a work of art, fashioned with the tools of geometry and number. This is a universe where every part is rationally ordered and causally linked to its intelligible source. It is this concept of a world intentionally crafted, rather than accidentally occurring, that provides the initial entry point for a deeper understanding of Masonic symbolism. The Great Architect of the Universe, in this light, ceases to be a remote theological principle and is apprehended instead as the Divine Craftsman of the Timaeus, whose act of creation provides the model for all Masonic labor.

The later Platonists, particularly Iamblichus and Proclus, took this concept of a crafted world and developed it into a dynamic system of spiritual practice. For them, the world was not merely a static copy of the Forms but a continuous emanation from a divine source, a great chain of being cascading from the ineffable One down to the level of brute matter. In such a world, the act of return, or epistrophē, is possible because the divine source has left its signatures throughout creation. These are the sunthēmata. A sunthēma is not an arbitrary symbol; it is an ontological link, a sympathetic key that resonates with its cause. Proclus explains this interconnectedness, stating that "in the intellect there is a gnostic copy of what is in the sensible world, and in the sensible world there is a generative principle of what is in the intellect." This is the metaphysical law that underpins all ritual work. It means that a physical object, a spoken word, or a geometric form can act as a "generative principle," awakening a corresponding reality in the soul of the practitioner and drawing it upward toward its own intellectual source. The practice of using these tokens to achieve such an ascent is theurgy, a sacred art that presupposes a sacred cosmos.

It is precisely such a sacred cosmos that is ritually constructed every time a Masonic lodge is opened. The act of tiling the Lodge is a cosmological act. It establishes a temenos, a sacred precinct cut off from the profane and disordered world outside. Within this boundary, a unique set of laws applies. The space is oriented East to West in alignment with the path of the sun, the great luminary that makes all earthly work possible. The Lodge is governed by three lights: the Sun, the Moon, and the Master of the Lodge. The first two bind the microcosm of the Lodge to the macrocosmic cycles of the universe, while the third represents the active, ordering intelligence, the Demiurge, within this specific world. At the center of this world lies the Altar, the omphalos or navel of the Lodge, the point of connection between the terrestrial floor and the celestial canopy overhead. It is upon this altar that the primary sunthēmata of our Craft are displayed, the Square and Compasses. Here, they are not yet tools for individual work but are the cosmic principles that define this new reality. The Square, representing the four cardinal directions and the stability of the created world, is united with the Compasses, whose circle represents the eternal, undivided motion of the heavens and the World Soul. Their union on the Volume of Sacred Law is a declaration that the divine plan (the Word or Law) is made manifest through geometry: the spirit, represented by the Compasses, impresses its design upon matter, represented by the Square; perfectly and inextricably joined.

Into this ritually prepared cosmos, the candidate enters. His first lesson is not intellectual, but experiential. He is initiated into the work of creation through the first tools presented to him, the Twenty-four-inch Gauge and the Common Gavel. The Gauge, an instrument for measurement, becomes a sunthēma for the ordering of time itself, that "moving image of eternity." The instruction to divide the day into balanced portions for devotion, labor, and rest is a demiurgic act. It imposes a rational, tripartite structure onto the otherwise undifferentiated flow of becoming. This is the first and most essential act of theurgic practice because the uninitiated life is lived in chaotic time, where actions are reactive and driven by external impulse. By consciously applying this measure, the apprentice creates a personal temenos within his own life, a sacred ordering of time that mirrors the rational order of the cosmos. Only after time itself is given a sacred measure can action within time be properly directed. Any attempt at self-purification would be meaningless if performed on a chaotic foundation; one must first build the temple of the day before one can sanctify the soul within it.

The Common Gavel, used to divest the heart of vice, is therefore the second step. It is the sunthēma that connects the Mason's will to the divine act of creation. Its work is not a random chipping away, but a disciplined application of force within the consecrated hours. This is the very art of the theurgic sculptor, who does not impose a form upon the stone, but reveals the form already latent within it. The "vices and superfluities" are the excess material, the concealing dross that obscures the soul's true, divine image. The Gavel's purpose is to remove this excess, an act perfectly described by Plotinus in his treatise On Beauty when he instructs the aspirant to: "Cut away all that is excessive, straighten all that is crooked, bring light to all that is overcast, labour to make all one glow of beauty and never cease chiselling your statue, until there shall shine out on you from it the godlike splendour of virtue, until you shall see the perfect goodness surely established in the stainless shrine."

This act of self-sculpture is given its object and its goal in the Rough and Perfect Ashlars. These two stones are parallels to the foundational concept of the prima materia in Western alchemy. The Rough Ashlar, "taken from the quarry in its rude and natural state," is the soul in its fallen, chaotic, uninitiated condition, a perfect emblem of the alchemist's base material, be it lead or some other unrefined substance. The Perfect Ashlar, by contrast, is the Lapis Philosophorum, the Philosopher's Stone. It is not merely a perfected object but a state of being, the soul made into a "living stone" fit for the builders use by having all of its chaotic, accidental qualities chipped away to reveal its essential, geometric perfection. The transformation of the Rough into the Perfect Ashlar is therefore an allegory for the Magnum Opus, the Great Work of the alchemist, which was never simply about transmuting metals but about the transmutation of the alchemist's own soul. The process mirrors the Hermetic axiom, "As above, so below," suggesting that by perfecting the microcosm of the self (the stone), the craftsman partakes in the perfection of the macrocosm. The working tools are the instruments of this internal alchemy, used to shape the very substance of the soul and transform it from a state of potentiality into a state of actualized, intelligible beauty fit for the celestial temple.

The principles of a divinely crafted cosmos, knowable through the sunthēmata it contains, are given form in the ritual construction of the Lodge. Within this sacred space, the Entered Apprentice learns that he must first create order in his own life by the Gauge before he can begin the purifying work of the Gavel. He is shown that the goal of this work, represented by the Ashlars, is not simply moral improvement but an ontological transformation of the self. He learns that he is both the craftsman and the material. This initial work of ordering time and purifying the soul is the necessary prerequisite for any further building. We can now turn our attention to the ascent, examining the tools of the Fellow Craft and Master Mason, the instruments used not just to shape the stones, but to raise the walls, test their integrity, and ultimately bind the entire structure into a unified and living temple.

Now the craftsman ascends to the next stage of labor and mastery. This is the work of the Fellow Craft, whose tools (the Plumb, the Square, and the Level) shift the focus from the perfection of the single stone to the proper orientation of all stones within the larger structure of the temple.

The Plumb, used by operative masons to raise perpendiculars, becomes the sunthēma of vertical alignment. This is more than a simple call to moral rectitude; within a Platonic cosmos, the admonition to "walk uprightly" is an instruction for ontological orientation. It means aligning one's own axis of being with the great vertical chain of emanation that connects the terrestrial with the celestial, the world of becoming with the world of Being. The Plumb is the instrument that constantly tests the soul's posture, ensuring it resists the downward pull of material concerns and remains true to its divine source, the intelligible realm from which it descended. It is the dedicated tool of epistrophē, the soul's active turning back toward the Good. Just as a builder cannot raise a true wall without first establishing a perfect vertical line from which all measurements are taken, the spiritual craftsman cannot build his inner temple without first orienting his consciousness toward the divine.

The Level, used to lay horizontals, is the sunthēma of our shared journey in the material world. It reminds us that we are all "traveling upon the Level of Time," establishing a principle of equity and right relation with our fellows. If the Plumb orients us toward the divine, the Level orients us toward the human community, governing the horizontal plane of earthly existence. In the construction of Plato's ideal state, justice is achieved when every citizen performs their function in harmony with every other. The Level is the tool that ensures this harmony among the living stones of the temple. It demands that each stone be set flush with its neighbors, creating a stable, even foundation of social and ethical duty. Without this horizontal integrity, the vertical aspirations established by the Plumb would rest on a chaotic and uneven base, and the entire structure would be compromised. A spiritual structure can only be safely erected upon a foundation of communal balance.

The Square, then, is the master tool of this degree, for it is the sunthēma that unites the vertical and the horizontal. As the instrument that proves the right angle, its function is to test the synthesis of divine aspiration and earthly conduct. To "square our actions by the Square of Virtue" is to achieve the central aim of the philosopher-king: to gaze upon the eternal Forms with the soul's eye (the Plumb) and yet act with perfect justice and integrity in the world of men (the Level). The Square is the symbol of practical wisdom, phronesis, which is the flawless application of divine principles to the contingent world. It guarantees that the two axes are flawlessly integrated, that our inner orientation is made manifest in our outer work. It is the tool that ensures each living stone is set true, creating not just a collection of perfected individuals, but a sound and unified structure where the divine order is made manifest in the world.

The final stage of the work is given to the Master Mason, whose working tools are described as "all the implements of Masonry, indiscriminately, but more especially the Trowel." From the perspective of this exegesis, the Master's symbolic role is to see all previous tools as a single, integrated system for the "making of good men better men". The Trowel is singled out because its function is the capstone of this entire process. After the stones have been shaped, tested, and set, the Trowel performs the ultimate act of unification. Its operative purpose is to "spread the cement which unites the building into one common mass." But this is no ordinary cement. In the theurgic context, the "cement of brotherly love and affection" is a symbol for the anima mundi or World Soul. This identification stems directly from the Platonic vision of the cosmos as a single, living being. For Plato, the Demiurge created the World Soul as a metaphysical substance woven through all of creation to give it life, intelligence, and sympathetic connection. This cosmic soul is the very principle of unity that prevents the universe from dissolving into a chaos of separate parts. Therefore, the "cement of brotherly love" is the ethical and spiritual manifestation of this cosmic soul within the microcosm of the Lodge. It is the human participation in the all-pervading, unifying life force that binds the cosmos together. The work of the Master is no longer merely shaping or testing, but actively participating in the final, demiurgic act of creation. The Trowel is the sunthēma that allows the craftsman to become a conduit for this divine, cohesive principle. This act of binding is the very essence of creation as Plato describes it in the Timaeus: "But it is not possible that two things alone should be conjoined without a third; for there must be some bond between them to bring them together... And the fairest of bonds is that which makes itself and the things it binds most utterly one." By spreading this spiritual mortar, the Master employs the "fairest of bonds" to transform a collection of individual stones into a collective, spiritual, oneness. This is the culmination of the Great Work: the individual soul, having been purified and perfected, now participates in the ultimate act of unifying the whole, ensuring "no contention should ever exist, but that noble contention, or rather emulation, of who best can work and best agree."

These reflections on the working tools are, of course, just that: one craftsman's attempt to trace a particular philosophical thread through our rich symbolic tradition. Viewed through this Platonic lens, the progression seems to present a complete system of spiritual labor. The Entered Apprentice begins the work of self-sculpture, using the Gauge and Gavel to bring order and purity to the raw material of his own body and soul. The Fellow Craft then learns to orient that soul within the world, using the Plumb, Square, and Level to harmonize his divine aspirations with his earthly duties. Finally, the Master Mason is entrusted with the Trowel, the instrument for binding the perfected parts into a living, unified whole, animated by the same cohesive spirit that holds the stars in their courses. This journey, from the quarry to the finished temple, mirrors the philosopher's ascent from the cave. The working tools, in this light, reveal a deeper potential beyond moral allegory, appearing as a set of sophisticated spiritual instruments. Plato himself, after describing the soul's difficult journey, concludes that there must be a practical method for guiding it:

“What our message now signifies is that the ability and means of learning is already present in the soul. As the eye could not turn from darkness to light unless the whole body moved, so it is that the mind can only turn around from the world of becoming to that of Being by a movement of the whole soul... Therefore, of this matter itself, there must be a craft of some kind, which would be a most efficient and effective means of transforming the soul.”

—Plato, The Republic, 518c-d

Freemasonry, with its emphasis on a ritually constructed cosmos and its series of operative tools, offers just such a 'craft.' It does not claim to implant wisdom where there is none, but provides the sunthēmata, the sacred instruments, by which the soul’s own innate vision can be turned from the shadows of the material world toward the steady and eternal light of Being. The work is not to be given a new eye, but to learn, through a lifetime of labor with the tools of the Craft, how to use the one we have always possessed.