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History

In spite of the fraternity's good works, tradition of dark doings constant to haunt Freemasonry. In the late 1880s, a naughty French writer and previous Mason, known by his pen name Leo Taxil, set out to play on Catholic worries of the order.

He claimed to picture the order's greatest secret, known only to the highest-degree Masons: that the secret religion of Masonry was the worship of Lucifer. Even after Taxil confessed to the fraud in 1897, the fairy tale served as a staple of anti-Masonic lore, peddled in books like evangelist Pat Robertson's New World Order.

But Masonry's furthermost challenge was not its defenselessness to use in plot fantasies. For all Masons did to connect with the larger society, and in spite of having a membership roll in the millions, Masonry seemed less central to America of the Roaring Twenties and its Babbitt-like "joiners" than did groups like Kiwanis and Rotary, which were more openly glad-handing and had far fewer ritual demands. Yet the old fraternal order saw one more report. Once the war ended, "the Masonic fraternity realized the profits of its hard labor between the Great Depression and World War II," writes Tabbert. "The craft was more accepted and appreciated than . . . prior to 1929." Between 1945 and 1960, membership soared from 2.8 million to a peak of 4 million. From that peak, the order has slowly lost more than half its members. To more and more Americans who use their spare time in private pursuits--including heavy TV viewing--the monthly meetings and volunteer commitments of fraternal life seem too much. Nevertheless in recent years, says Morris, the rate of decline has stabilized. Historian Moore suggests a reason: "A lot of men are joining at retreat age." With the rapid graying of the U.S. population, the lodges may begin to fill with people who have more spare time than most working Americans do. And who knows? Those aging boomers might even figure out how to bring younger Americans back into the craft. Sociologists are locked in a contentious debate with mental health personnel over the reality of intergenerational satanic abuse. Prominent sociologists insist that the satanic accounts are part of a moral panic fuelled by the media, conservative churches, and professionals who use directive, suggestive, or leading questions in their counseling and interviewing sessions. Many therapists, in contrast, are convinced that the intensity of their clients' horrific memories along with the basic similarities of many clients' accounts strongly suggest that the ritual abuse accounts is true. Drawing from the discipline of religious studies, this study argues that readily accessible religions texts that often are central to our culture may provide inspiration to people who either want to sanctify their deviance or venerate the reputed god of this world. Using interviews and diaries from several alleged survivors, this study compares excerpts from their accounts with doctrinal precedents for satanic ritual abuse in deviant interpretations of the Judeo-Christian tradition. While the article stops short of stating that intergenerational satanic accounts are true, it insists that at least some of them are plausible. Having shown in a previous paper the possible Judeo-Christian influences that may exist in ritual satanic abuse, this study compares portions of people's accounts (using interviews and diaries from several alleged survivors), with doctrinal precedents for satanic ritual abuse in deviant interpretations of Masonic, Mormon, Magick, and Pagan traditions.

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