Freemasonry in The Ottoman Empire A History of The Fraternity and Its Influence in Syria and The Levant 9780755607938 9781780763132 - Compress

Dedicated to my parents
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Sommer_Prelims.indd vi 11/15/2014 6:25:51 PM
LIST OF ILLUSTR ATIONS
p. 3 Figure 1: El Mina in the Late Ottoman Empire (courtesy

of the Municipality of El Mina: 2008)
p. 13 Figure 2: Map showing Missionary Activities in Beirut
and Tripoli (produced in 1873 by the missionary Henry H.
Jessup, from the American Presbyterian Church)
p. 21 Figure 3: Wooden Sign on the Door of the El Mizhab
Lodge Library (photographed in 2008)
p. 58 Figure 4: Masonic Passport from the 1930s (an example
of an Arabic masonic passport photographed in 2008 at the
Centre de Recherche et de Documentation Maconnique,
Charles Kesrouani, Ghazir/Lebanon)
p. 82 Figure 5: Photograph of the Entrance to Alexander
Howard’s House in Jaffa (photographed in 2008)
p. 102 Figure 6: Map made by Julius Løjtved in 1876 (University
of Birmingham, Special Collections, CMS m012-29E)
p. 118 Figure 7: The Abcarius House in Jerusalem (photographed
in 2008)
p. 119 Figure 8: Photographs of Abraham Sarrafian (courtesy of
his grandson Walid Buheiry, Beirut: 2008)
p. 120 Figure 9: A postcard of the Venus Temple, early twen-
tieth century (made by the Sarrafian Bros., Archive of the
University of Birmingham, Special Collections)
p. 127 Figure 10: Ahmed Ashi, early twentieth century (courtesy
of Nassiba Saati, El Mina: 2008)
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x FREEMASONRY IN THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE
p. 129 Figure 11: Masonic Certificate from 1905 (courtesy of

Nassiba Saati, El Mina: 2008)
p. 130 Figure 12: Masonic Certificate from 1910 (courtesy of
Nassiba Saati, El Mina: 2008)
p. 132 Figure 13: George Bandali (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
p. 146 Figure 14: Partial Map of Greater Syria produced by H.
Jessup in 1873
p. 165 Figure 15: View of Tripoli/El Mina (by Giovanni Zuallardo,
Il Devotissimo Viaggio di Gierusalemme, Rome: 1595, p. 285)
p. 166 Figure 16: Tripoli and El Mina (Karl Baedeker, Palestine et
Syrie, Leipzig: 1906)
p. 169 Figure 17: Different Views of the Kennedy Memorial
Hospital in the early twentieth century (‘Al-Askale in
White and Black’ (Al-Askilah fil-abyaÃ wal-aswad), p. 37)
p. 175 Figure 18: Modern Tripoli (courtesy of the Municipality of
El Mina: 2008)
p. 176 Figure 19: The Old Lodge of Homs at the end of the
nineteenth century (photograph seen at El Mizhab Lodge
Building: 2008)
p. 177 Figure 20: Charter of Mina al-Amin Lodge from 1918 (El
Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
p. 183 Figure 21: Bahij Shukri Fakhouri (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
p. 191 Figure 22: Shukri Fakhouri, Khaireddeen Abdulwahab,
Jerry Harris (courtesy of Khaireddeen’s grandson: Summer
2008)
p. 195 Figure 23: Shukri Fakhouri (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
p. 196 Figure 24: Rituals (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
p. 198 Figure 25: Assad Bort (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
p. 200 Figure 26: Ottoman Belt (Ghoraib/Tripoli: 2008)
p. 201 Figure 27: Alexandre Ghoraib in front of the AUB
(courtesy of Toufik Klat: 2008)
p. 202 Figure 28: Eastern Anatolia and Lake Van (Akhlat lies
to the North West of Lake Van), (Map of the Ottoman
Empire: 1845)
p. 204 Figure 29: Jean Hakim (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
p. 205 Figure 30: Salim Antakly (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
p. 207 Figure 31: Antonius Bassily (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008, D.S.)
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ACK NOWLEDGEMENTS
I would be more than happy to be the only person responsible for

what is written in this book, but unfortunately this is not the case.
However, I have been fortunate to receive help and support that has
facilitated my research and enabled me to complete it.
It is to the credit of my parents that I was able to write this; they
have supported me mentally and financially more than any human
deserves. I was not able or fast enough to show my father any worthy
results, but I still hope that my mother’s sustaining love and belief in
me will pay off one day. My whole family have shown me how im-
portant it is not to be left alone and what family really means.
I want to thank my sister Barbara, Raúl Perusquıía, Friederike
Schuler and Esther Möller, who have helped me to carry on, have given
me advice and believed in what I have been doing. Plus, it was Esther
who very generously carried out research on my behalf in Nantes and
lent me some of her findings: thanks for that! I also want to thank
Andreas Önnerfors and David Katz for scholarly advice, as well as my
unofficial supervisor Kamal Salibi, who sadly will not see the publi-
cation of this thesis. I owe a great deal to Stefan Weber and Nadim
Shehadi, who sustained my interest in freemasonry, as well as to Isaac
Lubelsky. What is more, I am grateful to Habib Badr, who gave up
time and material for my research, as well as to Bassam Dagher who
never seems to think that he knows enough and always poses one
last question. I would have been lost in Tripoli and El Mina without
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xii FREEMASONRY IN THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE
the help of the Hakim family, William Korbatly and Wahib Tatar.
Bilal not only introduced me into the masonic world in Tripoli and
El Mina, but he also showed me beautiful sites of El Mina. Moreover,
all the contacts I made would not have been materialised without the
daily evening meetings at Café Ghanem with Jean Bort, Saaed Dib
and Mohamad Karroomm. These three men know more about Tripoli
and its port than anyone else I met. Thanks to Mohamad, I did not
have to rely solely on my basic knowledge of Arabic. On the subject
of language, I also want to thank Sigrid Topak, who helped me with
Armenian and John Booth and Peter Tracey who accepted homework
for over half a year and proofread everything I wrote. Furthermore,
I profited from being able to access the private archives of Badr
al-Hagg, Wolf-Dieter Lemke and Christoph de Boutemard. I also want
to mention and praise Robert Collis who did a great job with his final
language polishing as a colleague and positive support as a friend.
The trust, friendship and care of Julie Banham in Sheffield have
been much appreciated as she helped me to not get too confused in
time, space and person. I have also gained much thanks to the moti-
vation and close friendship of Jöy Holden, Yonatan Karni, Haim
Dubosarsky and Ori Schwarz. The professional advice of Fruma Zachs,
Stefan-Ludwig Hoffmann, Thierry Zarcone, Jens Hanssen, Johannes
Ebert and Souad Slim has been extremely useful during the course
of my research. I am also indebted to the persons I interviewed for
their cooperation. I want to thank Walid Buheiry and Cyril Na’aman,
who showed interest in what I was doing and provided insights into
Beirut’s history, as well as being the two persons with whom I estab-
lished a warm and sustaining relationship. Finally I want to express
my gratitude towards my supervisor Professor Zürcher, without whom
I would have given up on my studies. All mistakes and errors are solely
the responsibility of the author.
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TR ANSLITER ATION
SYSTEM
I had to choose between the International Journal for Middle Eastern

Studies (IJMES) rules regarding the transliteration of Arabic names
and expressions, or an approach that completely omitted diacritics.
On the one hand, academic research should follow rules as strictly as
possible. On the other hand, all the individuals studied in the present
work signed the registration books of their lodges or other documents
using Latin script. Hence, I decided to adopt the second method, fol-
lowing the men’s own choices rather than systems of spelling names
that only developed after the period in question. In order to be con-
sistent, I adhered to this strategy throughout my research, with the
exception of the names of newspapers and magazines, which are mainly
to be found in the appendices.
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ABBR EVIATIONS
GLoS: Grand Lodge of Scotland

UGLoE: United Grand Lodge of England
GOdF: Grand Orient de France
GOdI: Grand Orient d’Italy
OGO: Ottoman Grand Orient (renamed Grand Lodge of Turkey
in 1923)
SPC: Syrian Protestant College
AUB: American University Beirut
(Further explanations regarding masonic terminology will be given in
the body of the text.)
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INTRODUCTION
This research examines the socio-cultural structures of masonic lodges

and their manifold interconnections in parts of Ottoman Syria at a
pivotal period: the end of the nineteenth and start of the twentieth
centuries. The existence of the Empire seemed threatened, as it faced
increasing threats to its territorial integrity from Western powers and
as a consequence of nationalist movements, alongside a challenging
economic situation. Internal disturbances on Mount Lebanon and in
Damascus, with Maronites fighting Druzes and Christians fighting
Muslims, soon infected the whole area. This left Syria’s population
longing for a new way to create a sense of common identity and soli-
darity. For many men, freemasonry, in the form of a widespread
network of various lodges throughout the area, was perceived as a
means of facilitating this bond. Thus, the phrase ‘Unity is strength’
perfectly describes the efforts of Syrian freemasons.1
Although Ottoman Syria, or Bilad al-Sham as it was previously
known, de facto included a wider territory than contemporary Syria
and Lebanon, I decided to concentrate on the case study of lodges in
Tripoli and its surrounding area. This corresponds to the approach
of Syrian freemasons themselves, as they predominantly cooperated
within what is now Syrian and Lebanese territory. Only one further
lodge was established in Palestine in 1911, by the same network of
men. A coherent pattern regarding the locations of newly established
lodges existed in contemporary Syria and Lebanon with only a few
links stretching out to other places in the same area. Jacob Landau
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2 FREEMASONRY IN THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE
found records of early lodges in Palestine, but was not able to find
any links to the ones in other parts of Greater Syria.2 In his dictionary
on freemasonry, Daniel Ligou mentions that a certain freemason
from Connecticut named Maurice Robert allegedly opened the Lodge
Réclamation in Palestine in 1868, while another lodge, Le Port du Temple
de Salomon, was established by French construction workers in 1891
(renamed L’Aurore in 1906 and Barkai in 1911).3 Except for one free-
mason, who was member of a lodge in Beirut before moving to Jaffa
and joining a lodge there, I could not find any connections between
lodges in Palestine and those in other parts of Greater Syria before the
Young Turk Revolution.4
Lodges made up solely of Armenians, which were mainly connected
to the Italian grand lodge, will be mentioned in Chapter 4 but here the
same scenario is valid: they were not linked to other Syrian lodges and
had no overlapping members. All the lodges were probably closed in the
last period of the Empire due to the genocide of the Armenian people.5
The aim of this book is therefore mainly restricted to case stud-
ies of Tripoli and its surrounding area, as well as Beirut and Mount
Lebanon, in order to demonstrate the significance of the local frater-
nity in terms of the development of new aspects of socio-cultural life.
It shows the function of the fraternity as a social institution, born out
of the need to find a common bond and a shared perspective for the
future; with freemasonry, Ottomans wanted to spread ‘the ideas of tol-
erance, solidarity and fraternity.’6
Identities and social structures were formed as a result of an on-
going development in a process which cannot be understood as sudden
shifts. Rather they have to be characterised as perpetual assumptions
of more defined and refined forms. This dynamic evolution is also
displayed with regard to the establishment of the various lodges in
Greater Syria. However, whilst foreigners did participate in the foun-
dation of early lodges in Beirut, most lodges were almost exclusively
composed of inhabitants of Ottoman Syria.
The Ottomans had to change their lifestyles in a way that was com-
patible with the growing influence of Europe, while at the same time
preserving traditional rules and values. To do so, they adapted free-
masonry from its original Western and Christian context and set it
amidst a multi-religious and multi-ethnic Middle Eastern melting pot.

INTRODUCTION 3
Ottoman society was traditionally based on affiliations determined

by kinship and religious affiliation. However, freemasons managed to
use the brotherhood to bridge the gap between the various disparate
groupings. Their declared aim – the ‘welfare of mankind’ – could only
be achieved by the strength gained from unity.7
‘But why Tripoli? Or even more, why El Mina?’ Not only Beirutis
asked these questions, but non-Lebanese also wondered. Most perplexed
of all were probably the Tripolitans and Minawis themselves. During
my field research I realised that they felt that the local port of El Mina
(Figure 1) was not worthy of inclusion in any research.
Indeed, my research on freemasonry in Ottoman-era Tripoli and El
Mina constitutes a new approach in the field, as it is a topic that has
hitherto not been examined. Moreover, no prior study has focussed
on individuals in order to understand the functions of freemasonry
in parts of the Ottoman Empire. The choice of lodges in El Mina and
Tripoli as the focus of research does not of course explain the com-
plexity and internal struggles of freemasonry in Europe. Instead, this
study argues that Ottoman freemasons possessed agency and showed
self-reliance at a critical period in the region’s history. Despite a lack of
scholarly attention, the subject matter of freemasonry in the Ottoman
Empire during the period in question has implications beyond the
fraternity.
Figure 1 El Mina in the Late Ottoman Period (courtesy of the Municipality of

El Mina: 2008)

Consequently, it is argued here that historians of the Middle East

should broaden their approach towards the late Ottoman period. I
argue that an analysis of Ottoman society and culture can profit from
the inclusion of research into social networks such as freemasonry.
This is merely one more step in the same direction as historians who
began to rethink methods of research and to look at local actors and
individuals instead of the well-known intelligentsia, powerbrokers or
regime elites.
It corresponds with a trend in the last ten years in which a great
deal of research has been undertaken looking from the bottom up.8
Among recent studies one can note the work of Ryan Gingeras, who
has focussed on four distinct groups in the Ottoman Empire between
1912 and 1923. He deals with Muslim Albanians and North
Caucasians, as well as Christian Armenians and Greeks living on
the southern coastal corridor of the Marmara Sea. Gingeras explicitly
states that his research demonstrates ‘the way in which a series of pro-
vincial communities were both the objects and the engines of radical
social and political change.’ He does elucidate the state’s position or
the elite’s mobilising power, but rather traces ‘the provincial origins
and violent results of the alliances formed by both collaborationist and
resistance elements that struggled over the South Marmara during the
war years.’9
Similarly, Cem Emrence has studied the late Ottoman Empire using
trajectory analysis. According to him ‘it was local politics, economy
and contention that shaped the Ottoman Middle East during the nine-
teenth century [. . .] they were key sites to accumulate power, wealth
and status in late Ottoman Society’, which possessed an ‘interactive
character [. . .] shaped local hierarchies, defined the specific bargains
between “peripheries” and the Ottoman state, and determined the
nature of interactions between imperial agents and global society.’ In
his own words, his studies are supposed ‘to revise the Western impact
and give more authorship to the Ottoman state and the local actors in
the making of the region.’ He strongly emphasises that ‘the Ottoman
paths were also the making of regional actors that utilized global cap-
italism, state transformation, and geopolitical competition to build
competing imperial experiences.’10

INTRODUCTION 5
In Thomas Philipp’s words, ‘[t]he role of the Freemasons in the

global exchange of ideas’11 requires further investigation, especially
when it comes to an analysis of shared masonic backgrounds or col-
lective biographies of members. More research must also be carried out
on the propagation of ideas and on examining migration patterns in
regard to links with overseas masonic bodies, which can thereby enrich
transcultural studies. Research into colonial history, the impact of the
Enlightenment and the notion of the West meeting the East should
also include freemasonry as a phenomenon that affected all sides alike.
A broader examination may contribute to a better understanding of
unexplained links and networks, which will attenuate even further
the traditional dichotomy seen between Western and ‘Oriental’ cul-
ture. Excluding an analysis of freemasonry and its members entails
omitting a valuable source that can add to a deeper understanding and
provide further insights for historians.
In her recent work, Builders of Empire, Jessica Harland-Jacobs con-
vincingly makes the case that some English, Irish and Scottish lodges
functioned as extensions of the British Empire.12 Within these lodges
Harland-Jacobs portrays the brothers as foremen for the Empire. Even
though Harland-Jacobs mentions that a lodge could serve as a bulwark
against colonial endeavours, she does not delve further into this inter-
pretation. Instead, she perceives lodges as structures predominantly
developed by foreign powers, and hence artificial features detached
from the local environment. My study reveals the opposite phenom-
enon. In accord with James W. Daniel, who claims that Harland-Jacobs
‘overestimated the role and importance of Freemasonry’ when empha-
sising its significance in consolidating and perpetuating the British
Empire, I argue that the fraternity helped to forge an awareness of a
new identity that was independent of religious affiliation or proximity
to the colonial power. Rather, this identity was based on a common
mind-set that incorporated the masonic principles of fraternity and
philanthropy, as well as the belief in individual responsibility and
religious tolerance.13 A dominant characteristic of the lodges there-
fore was the attempt to create a stronger local sense of community
by adapting the ideological framework of freemasonry to the imme-
diate surroundings. This incorporation of a Western idea was a typical

feature of the nahda, a cultural reform movement led by Arab intel-

lectuals during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, which
derived its main impetus from a concern to render the Empire com-
patible with the goals of modernisation. While Muslims preferred to
concentrate on reform related to Islam, Christian intellectuals tended
to follow secular ideologies.
It also corresponds to a statement by Philipp, according to which
changes in terms of identity during the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries ‘implied not only changes in a territorial identity, but [. . .]
also a shift in cultural identity.’14 While the lodges spread throughout
Greater Syria, with spheres of influence focussed first and foremost on
their own vicinities, masons were fully aware of their status as part
of an international organisation that propagated human knowledge,
masonic values and shared behavioural patterns.15
Even if Harland-Jacobs may be right in regarding the original
intentions of British freemasons who created lodges in the Empire as
builders of colonial-like power structures, the institution itself did not
function in a top-down manner. Instead, masonic lodges acted through
a broad and flat hierarchy in a multiple dynamic with local variation.
Europeans were not able to control masonic lodges in a centralised
way. In fact, unlike lodges in Egypt working under the United Grand
Lodge of England, foreigners (with the exception of members of the
first lodges in Beirut) were almost completely unrepresented in lodges
within the Ottoman area studied in this work. Masons continued to
establish their lodges under the jurisdiction of European masonic grand
bodies mainly in order to be recognised by other freemasons throughout
the world. It remains common for non-European lodges to seek
masonic recognition from these Western institutions. For Ottoman
freemasons this status was additionally useful in the event of migra-
tion or travel outside the Empire. One could interpret the continued
dependence on Western masonic bodies as a sign of on-going Western
hegemony. Yet, a more persuasive argument would be that it was (and
still is) easy to adopt the general framework of freemasonry, thereby
benefitting from already formulated rules, regulations and traditions.
Another aspect especially valid for the Ottoman Empire is the devel-
opment of concessions, in the form of capitulations towards Western

INTRODUCTION 7
powers. A Western institution automatically had more rights and

international backing when confronting Ottoman law.16 Remaining
under Western masonic patronage left Syrian freemasons with the
choice of appealing to the appropriate grand bodies for help when
needed. Moreover, freemasonry was indeed introduced by Westerners
and they naturally brought with them a system they were familiar
with. Hence, the first kind of fraternal society known to Syrians was
Western-made and was rendered compatible with their own values and
traditions.
As Benjamin Fortna notes, there remains a lack of scholarly atten-
tion regarding the study of individual lives in the Ottoman Empire.17
By concentrating on a number of individual masons as local actors it is
possible to show how the structures and functioning of lodges varied
according to membership, location and the period of time. It is also
possible to refer to the various overlapping network of lodges, charit-
able societies and educational institutions. An analysis of masons in
Tripoli and its port, in terms of their varying social circumstances and
environments, enables us to reconstruct the differences between the
lodges vis-à-vis their social composition. It also enables us to identify
the similarities they shared. My research will demonstrate that free-
masonry, as a social network in a part of Ottoman Syria, tended towards
one main goal: to produce interreligious sociability and stability in
order to generate ‘social and moral evolution.’18 This aim seems to
have been far more significant than simply fostering an active involve-
ment in politics or non-political associations. At this point, loyalty still
lay with the Ottoman Sultan and the question revolved around the
reform from within: ‘A national movement [. . .] began when a number
of people belonging to an ethnic group mainly from the educated
elite, decided to diffuse a sense of national consciousness.’19 This was
not yet the case. The fact that those active in freemasonry, and other
social groups at a later stage, were also to be found amongst those who
promoted the Syrian nation is not surprising, as freemasons generally
belonged to the middle and upper classes. Hence, they formed the
vanguard in political movements. However, the focus here is on the
period preceding the Young Turks Revolution in 1908. Nationalist
freemasonry certainly deserves its own study.

In his study on three distinct Ottoman regions (the coast, the

interior and the frontier), Cem Emrence writes about a new type of
middle class that started to evolve in the port cities of the Empire from
the 1860s:
The port-city intellectual possessed a distinct social habitus in

late Ottoman society. He was cosmopolitan but local, and pro-
reform but neither anti-state nor against community. Ottoman
middle classes viewed modernization from a locally-embedded
perspective and searched for the ‘right balance’ between the local
and the global.20
The middle class individual that Emrence describes is exactly the

same type of man who can be found among the early freemasons in
Beirut, and a few years later in the increasingly widespread network
of lodges all over Ottoman Syria: ‘The middle classes of the coast refer
to domestic merchants and professional groups who were connected to
global flows and operated as vanguards of modernization in the eastern
Mediterranean world.’21 Even more significantly, they were at the same
time the vanguard for freemasonry and the very first members that
helped to establish lodges throughout the Empire.
John George Gibson, who was a past master of a lodge in
Northumberland and an honorary member of a research lodge in
Bombay, wrongly claimed that ‘where the dominant Masonic authority
is of another type from that of the dominant nationality or political
constitution, the government of the home Grand Lodge is regarded
as, in effect, a kind of Masonic ultramontanism.’22 Borrowing from
religious vocabulary, he claimed that grand bodies were honoured as
secular versions of the papacy, with the appropriate level of respect
and humbleness. This opinion expressed his own wishful thinking,
rather than a proven fact. The Ottomans studied in this work joined
the fraternity and enlarged its membership in order to pursue their
own interests: to unite their countrymen in a way otherwise not pos-
sible. As Emrence shows with regard to the middle class and its own
utilisation of the globalising market, the same can be said about free-
masonry: the Ottomans were actors in their own right.

INTRODUCTION 9
It is no coincidence that freemasonry in this area of Greater Syria

spread after 1860. In France, freemasonry was flourishing during the
Third Republic partly because of a decrease in state oppression, but
also due to a de-radicalisation within freemasonry. The number of
lodges affiliated with the Grand Orient of France shot up from 244 in
1857 to 392 in 1870.23
With strengthening commercial ties between the Levant and France,
‘most notably with the implantation of Lyonese silk manufacturers
and traders in Lebanon’, the latter also tried to catch up with Great
Britain as it saw its political fortunes declining. Additionally, private
French organisations came to regard the Levant as fertile ground for
proselytising.24 Similarly, British freemasonry was constantly expand-
ing, as it set up daughter lodges in its colonies in order to consolidate
British interests. Another factor worthy of attention is the Crimean
War. ‘British and French soldiers that came to fight in the East seem
to have largely contributed to the introduction of masonic lodges in
this part of the world.’25 With growing financial and political involve-
ment, the Ottoman Empire seems to have been an ideal target for the
enlargement of their masonic patronage.
On the other hand, proliferation of freemasonry was not only the
result of the weakness of the Empire, vis-à-vis the European powers, as
it was more accurately caused by tremors within Syrian society. After
struggles between communities with different religious affiliations,
the Ottomans were in need of a basis upon which they could rebuild
trust within their population.26 The freemasons’ interreligious efforts
were supposed to result in ‘peace, progress and welfare.’27 It was the
Ottomans themselves who actively sought to promote and expand
the network of lodges without much assistance from Europe. Rather,
an analysis of the early lodges set up in the Syrian lands will show
that the fraternity developed in an unforeseen manner that perturbed
Western masons.
European masons started serious activities in Greater Syria in the
1860s, after lodges had already been established in Alexandria, Cairo
and Constantinople.28 It has been alleged that masonic lodges were
also founded in Homs, Aleppo and Smyrna approximately a hun-
dred years earlier, but it was only in the nineteenth century that the

brotherhood gained a firm foothold in Syria.29 In his general history

of freemasonry, Jurji Zaidan, who was a Syrian freemason in the late
nineteenth century, describes some of the early lodges in the region
that were founded in the middle of the eighteenth century. According
to him, the first lodges were established in Aleppo and in northern
Syria and it was only afterwards that freemasonry spread to Egypt
and Palestine. Zaidan stated that in 1751 Alexander Drummond, who
was a former head of a masonic lodge in Scotland and then living
in Alexandretta, founded a lodge under the patronage of the Grand
Lodge of Scotland. Apparently all the members were foreigners with
some of them working for the British Government.30
Apart from this account, the first officially documented masonic
lodges in Ottoman Syria were situated in Beirut, a city that at the
end of the nineteenth century boasted a mix of high-level politicians,
religious officials, artists, scholars and Europeans.31 At this time, the
Empire’s subjects discovered what it was to live in a globalising, ever-
changing world, whilst Western foreigners increasingly regarded the
Middle East region as strategically important. Thus, freemasonry also
served as a means of increasing Western influence. Yet, if the lodges
were indeed supposed to serve as a colonial vanguard, then the follow-
ing analysis of the fraternities in this region will show that this aim
was not realised.
The first lodges in Beirut, such as the Palestine Lodge that was
founded in 1861 under the patronage of the Grand Lodge of Scotland,
serve as good examples of a European concept realised in a non-
European environment. Palestine’s founding members were constantly
in the position of being observers who were examining their own
society. Apart from their meetings, they organised and participated in
other organisations focussed on charity, philosophical questions, pol-
itical ideas and academic debates on the state of society, history and
science.32
If this kind of detachment is a trait of intellectuals as often described
throughout history, then only the city of Beirut in Greater Syria had a
predominance of such individuals.33 Since the term intellectual can be
very imprecise and ambiguous, I prefer to distinguish different types

INTRODUCTION 11
of so-called intellectuals according to the popularity of their creative

output then and now.
Although most of the individuals involved in Ottoman freemasonry
at some point received the attribute of having been an intellectual
during their lifetimes, their activities as ‘men of letters’ varied.34 In
Greater Syria, ‘full-time’ intellectuals – men who made their living by
publishing their ideas or being active in academies – gathered almost
exclusively in Beirut. Consequently, many freemasons were connected
to academia and involved in socio-cultural activities. This, of course,
says less about the character of freemasonry than it reflects the com-
position of society in Beirut. Freemasonry was certainly not a purely
intellectual movement, as the formation of lodges outside Beirut
clearly shows.
At this time individuals had to constantly adapt to their living
conditions. It was easier for men in Beirut to make a living as a pro-
fessor, a translator or as a journalist simply because of the greater
number of jobs available in these sectors. This fact is mirrored in the
socio-cultural composition of masonic lodges, where one can find many
more academics and journalists in Beirut’s lodges than in other cities.
Beirut’s cultural scene, academic life and forms of scientific sociability
were emphasised more than anywhere else in Greater Syria.
Naturally rural settings required more human power; hence more
men were employed in agricultural jobs. At the same time, some also
translated books, learned European languages and were involved in
literary disputes, although these activities were not their priorities.
Thus, in the first place, I would argue that one has to be care-
ful when using terms like ‘thinker’, ‘man of letters’ and ‘intellectual’.
Hence, in the context of Ottoman-era Syria, it is debatable if all the
men characterised as ‘intellectuals’ conform to the meaning of the
term as it is commonly understood today.35 Second, I would suggest
that one should not automatically link the term ‘intellectual’ with
freemasonry. Instead, I study the many freemasons who lived outside
Beirut and its academic elite, in order to fully grasp the attraction
of the fraternity. Freemasonry was not predominantly an intellectual
society, but a socio-cultural movement.

Kadisha Lodge was founded in 1906, either in El Mina (Askale), or

in Tripoli itself.36 Until 1911, the lodge had about 90 members, who
mainly belonged to the Greek Orthodox community, but also included
a significant number of Muslims, some Maronites and a number of
Greek Catholics. In contrast to the cosmopolitan mix of Beirut’s first
lodge, Palestine, Kadisha was only composed of men from inside the
Ottoman Empire. European missionary efforts were mainly concen-
trated in Beirut, with educational institutions established in the city,
such as the Syrian Protestant College (SPC) and St. Joseph’s University.
These institutions produced most of the city’s famous representatives
of different schools of thoughts – a trend that continues to this day.37
Although there were also European missionary schools and colleges
in Tripoli, they never achieved the same level of acclaim as those in
Beirut, nor did the missionaries generally deem their efforts as being
successful outside Beirut.
In 1861, an American missionary in Tripoli made the following
remark: ‘Would that we could report such progress of gospel truth
among the people of Tripoli as would be commensurate with the
greatness of God’s mercies to them. But alas! They seem to be wedded
to their idols, dead in trespasses and sins.’ He goes on to state that the
Christians ‘are as tenacious as ever in clinging to their profitless cere-
monies and empty forms of worship, and as indifferent as ever to all
that is vital and spiritual in true Christianity.’38
What is more, in Tripoli locals acted as representatives for European
ambassadors and consuls, taking on the roles of vice-consuls or work-
ing as translators and negotiators, whilst the actual consuls resided in
Beirut. This can be seen in Figure 2, which also shows the mission-
ary and educational efforts that concentrated on Beirut. Thanks to its
strategic geographical importance – in political as well as economic
terms – the provincial capital increasingly functioned as a magnet for
Ottoman and European businesses and political institutions, which
consequently had a huge impact on the composition of lodges.
In contrast to the first lodges in Beirut, Kadisha developed as the
embodiment of a foreign concept without the involvement of foreigners.
Indeed, it appears that the lodge’s initial reason for coming into exist-
ence was to find some stability in a period when social and cultural
foundations in the Ottoman Empire were being rocked and the future

INTRODUCTION 13
Figure 2 Map showing Missionary Activities in Beirut and Tripoli (produced in

1873 by the missionary Henry H. Jessup, from the American Presbyterian Church)39
of the individual seemed to change from day to day. This will become
evident in the following chapters when analysing the individual
members and the motives behind their participation. The general feel-
ing of losing the traditional community safety net became dominant.
Questions of belonging and affiliation steadily grew in importance.

These insecurities stemmed mainly from the increasing loss of Ottoman

territory in the nineteenth century. This was coupled with the grow-
ing influence of foreign powers in the economic, socio-political and
cultural spheres of the Ottoman Empire, but also stemmed from the
rise of nationalism and other ideologies confronting the socio-political
structure of the Porte. The establishment of lodges with an emphasis
on the participation of local Ottomans seems to have been a reaction to
this atmosphere of incertitude. The intention to unite Ottomans also
becomes clear in regard to the freemasons’ activities. One major concern
from the early days of the lodges centred on their efforts to establish
a united form of freemasonry, irrespective of religious affiliation and
instead of having to respect all the varying recognitions of lodges; an
idea that was also suggested to the Grand Orient of France.40
The first charitable organisations in Tripoli were founded along
sectarian lines in the second half of the nineteenth century by the
Greek Orthodox community and the Maronites. The traditional
Awqaf religious endowments used by Muslims had already long been
in existence, but were mainly ‘related to the material base of family
life, in general and the transmission of property to [family members]
in particular.’41
However, Kadisha was the only association in which all members
were able to assemble in a non-sectarian setting, and, what is more,
business was not the principal motive for the gatherings. The compos-
ition of the lodge members was too diverse to serve purely professional
or political concerns. According to the Masonic Charges outlined by
James Anderson in 1723, no quarrels about religion or politics were
to be tolerated in lodges: ‘we are also of all Nations, Tongues, Kindreds,
and Languages, and are resolv’d against all Politicks, as what never yet
conduc’d to the Welfare of the Lodge, nor ever will.’42 However, suffi-
cient examples exist of masonic lodges that were involved in political
affairs and that clearly acted against Anderson’s code of behaviour.43
Lodges in the Ottoman Empire were not an exception (as will be
discussed in the general historiography and in Chapter 3) but Kadisha
in its early composition does not appear to have been particularly
political.

INTRODUCTION 15
In his work on freemasonry in the Middle East, the French scholar

Eric Anduze has attempted to show the connections between colonial
endeavours and the spread of freemasonry in the Maghreb and the
Mashriq. I would argue, however, that he overlooks the clear cooper-
ation of lodges that belonged to different grand bodies without any
connection to colonial policies.44 His source material is restricted to
lodges belonging to the Grand Orient of France. Hence, he is unable to
present a rounded picture of freemasonry as a dynamic phenomenon.
It can be proven that lodges were systematically set up in Ottoman
Syria in order to foster a masonic environment that was as diversi-
fied as possible. In this regard, local masons wished to attract suitable
potential candidates and to spread the ideas of liberty, equality and
fraternity in many different languages and social surroundings.
The same critique is valid with regard to Paul Dumont’s research
on freemasonry in the Ottoman Empire. While he excels when using
sources that are available on Turkish/Ottoman and French lodges, he
overlooks further connections to other European grand bodies. In his
article on freemasonry in Turkey as a by-product of Western pene-
tration, for example, Dumont mentions Hyde Clarke, ‘a prominent
representative of the masonic high ranks, who in the 1860s was the
Worshipful Master of the Great Provincial Lodge of Turkey.’45 Yet,
he fails to mention the fact that a lodge established in Alexandria
in 1865 was named after Clarke, with the man himself a found-
ing member. Moreover, Clarke, who was also a prolific author and
member of the British Association for the Advancement of Science,46
signed the petition for the Bulwer Lodge in Constantinople in 1861,
as well as the Virtue Lodge in the same city in 1864. In 1869 Clarke
again was a petitioner for the St. John & St. Paul Lodge in Alexandria,
after the closure in 1867 of the lodge named in his honour.47 All of
these lodges had been established under the patronage of the United
Grand Lodge of England, which Dumont ignored in his research.
In other words, Clarke was far from the only mason who joined different
lodges. Members tended to move freely from one lodge to another –
also exploiting masonic privileges according to their own requirements
– in order to increase the number of existing lodges. Masons in
Alexandria, Cairo and Constantinople often switched affiliations – a

practice later adopted by Syrian freemasons.48 Hence, while Europeans

indeed proved successful in establishing a high number of lodges in
Egypt and Constantinople, it was the Syrians themselves in Greater
Syria who spread masonic ideas. They established lodges under various
patronage systems and did not shy away from ‘lodge-hopping’ in order
to support other local lodges working under different grand bodies.
Dumont not only omits part of the European side of the story, but
completely disregards the fact that Ottomans also practised this kind
of ‘flexible multiple-choice’.
Research on freemasonry, which has mainly concentrated on
Europe and America, has previously shown that there has never been
a single form of freemasonry. Instead, the fraternity’s permanent
and outstanding characteristics in history have been its flexibility
and adaptability. In addition, one must be cautious not to create too
harsh a dichotomy between European masonic culture and the cul-
tural sphere in the Middle East. Brotherhoods with similar rituals
and values existed before, but it was nevertheless freemasonry that
was used by Syrians to establish a non-religious community of men
throughout the area.49
According to the self-perception of freemasons, the fraternity adheres
to three main principles: brotherly love, philanthropy and truth. While
freemasons are expected to excel in respect and tolerance towards other
human beings, they at the same time have the unconditional duty to
continuingly work towards the enhancement of their own moral stand-
ards in order to achieve a better way of living. By displaying this kind
of attitude towards the profane world – a term used by freemasons for
all non-masons – they aim to include the wider community in a shared
journey towards a fulfilled, peaceful life. This goal is supposed to be
furthered by fostering a masonic group identity, as well as promoting a
self-confident masonic individual identity, which is built upon symbols,
rituals and elaborate foundation myths. As Timothy Baycroft notes, the
fraternity’s ‘regalia and the rituals associated with meetings [. . .] have
all the symbolic relevance which can generate a sense of fellow-feeling
and identity among those who observe or participate’.50 For some it may
have merely served as ‘a good way to meet other men, to socialize and
dine (“knife-and-fork” masons) and for others its existence and form

INTRODUCTION 17
are derived more from an abstract set of values or norms, based upon
universal reason, and it resembles a religion in this aspect more closely
than it does a nation’.51 Its claim not to be a religion does not rule out
its religious character. As Alexander Piatigorsky argues, every master
mason is like ‘a priest’ and taken together they are ‘a kind of priestly
caste’.52 Other scholars would not go as far as Piatigorsky, and indeed
neither would most freemasons, but he is right in that freemasonry did
indeed adapt religious principles in order to formulate a way of wor-
shipping that suited the fraternity’s own purposes. But whatever form
freemasonry takes, its members regard it as something separate from
society as a whole. As Piatigorsky notes, for a freemason the fraternity
is ‘apart from not only their work or family life, but also from their
social or political position, hobby, and even religion’.53 As to religion,
men try to adapt freemasonry in a way ‘which would accommodate
one’s own personal philosophy without too much conflict of interest’.54
Approach and Content

I will analyse the varying contexts and compositions of masonic lodges
as social arenas. Comparisons between them enable a wider under-
standing of the masonic network established in the Syrian Land. My
approach will include the interaction of masons belonging to different
lodges, followed by a closer look at individual masons in the Kadisha
Lodge. With the portrayal of the members, the function of the lodge
can be reconstructed and its position, dependent on its socio-cultural
surrounding, will become evident.
For studying masonic lodges in Tripoli and El Mina it was neces-
sary to rely heavily on oral sources, in the form of interviews with the
relatives of the freemasons who were active during the period under
scrutiny in this study. When visiting the relatives I soon found out
that taking notes was the best method of documentation, as tape
recording was not well received. My questions focussed on three areas:
1) the relative’s memories of the masonic family member; 2) the extent
to which this member was known as a mason; and 3) the degree to
which the men involved in freemasonry had known each other before
joining the fraternity.

This modus operandi was required due to the lack of written sources.
Unlike freemasons in Beirut, the members of the fraternity in Tripoli
and El Mina were not so well known and have left little that is writ-
ten down. However, thanks to my contacts to family members, I was
given some glimpses of the relationships between different family
clans; their intricate and convoluted alliances and their hostilities.
Thus, I profited from the chance to acquire a better knowledge of
the situation they found themselves in a century ago, via oral sources,
which depended on social, cultural, political and economic circum-
stances and conditions.
The first three chapters of this thesis concentrate on the historic
setting in the Ottoman Empire, the necessary base of knowledge of
freemasonry and the different masonic grand bodies involved, while
the following chapters are geographically structured in order to ana-
lyse the branches of freemasonry in situ.
For a thorough understanding of freemasonry in Greater Syria it is
necessary to have a sound knowledge of the history of the Ottoman
Empire, as well as a clear picture of the principles and functions of free-
masonry. Therefore I will illustrate life in the Ottoman Empire at the
end of the nineteenth century in the first chapter. This will examine
the conditions in which people lived under the rule of Abdulhamid
II, the political ideas that were dispersed and the impact of historical
events.
I will clarify some definitions, basic concepts and explain the
development of masonic principles in the second chapter, as well as
comparing the differences and similarities between Europe and the
Middle East regarding the initial situation of freemasonry and its suit-
ability to unite the Syrian members.
This will be followed by a brief chapter that will elucidate the
foundations of masonic grand bodies that played a role in the activ-
ities of the lodges in Tripoli and the surrounding area. The fourth
chapter will examine late Ottoman Beirut, with a particular focus on
its masonic lodges. Discussion of Beirut in comparison to Tripoli will
serve to emphasise the varying forms and composition of lodges and
the dependence on location. The cosmopolitan ideal enabled lodges to
think of the brotherhood as being genuinely universal. Freemasons,

INTRODUCTION 19
nevertheless, had to compromise in order to remove the tension that

existed between the ideal and the formation of a particular identity.
It is necessary therefore to examine how lodges differed from each
other according to their socio-cultural structures. This chapter is the
most comprehensive in my thesis as it includes a study of the origins of
freemasonry in Greater Syria and the neighbouring area.
The fifth chapter analyses lodges on Mount Lebanon, the members
of which tended to be associated with the theatre and arts in general.
Additionally, unlike in Beirut where masons were deeply involved in
educational and/or academic endeavours and seemed able to separate
their masonic lives from politics, the lodges in the mountainous area
risked mixing masonic associations with local political issues. Also the
links that existed between masons on the Mount and those in other
cities, with membership of different lodges being in a constant state of
flux, will be discussed.
Finally, the sixth chapter deals with lodges in Tripoli and El Mina.
The socio-cultural backgrounds of individual masons and the way
freemasonry served as a medium between the different religious com-
munities, is brought into focus at this point. I will examine some
founding members of Kadisha Lodge more thoroughly in order to
highlight their personal, social and economic connections.
My system of geographical categorisation does not correspond to
the administrative borders of the time, but in my opinion it is useful
to separate these three regions according to the different social and
religious communities and their locations, as this had an impact on
the lodges and their structures.
Primary Sources
One reason why scholars have not previously looked more closely at
most of the early lodges in Greater Syria may be because only a few
primary sources remain extant. To the best of my knowledge and
according to my information the bulk of primary source material was
destroyed or stolen during the many wars Lebanon has endured. In order
to compensate for this lack of information, one has to rely on sources
at the archives of those European grand bodies that were connected

to lodges in the Ottoman Empire. Nevertheless, I will argue that it

is possible – in view of the lack of written evidence – to reconstruct
significant aspects of the ‘founding spirit’ of freemasonry in the region
and thus re-write an important part of its history. Moreover, compari-
sons between lodges in Beirut, Mount Lebanon and in Tripoli, which
either followed or preceded Kadisha, help to understand its importance
as a single unit for Tripoli and El Mina and as part of a wider network
in Greater Syria during the period in question.
The primary sources used in the present study partly consist of the
register books of different grand bodies throughout Europe. In the
case of the Grand Orient of France, correspondence between the grand
body and its affiliated lodges was available while events of other lodges
in Ottoman Syria were included in the annual proceedings preserved
at the Grand Lodge of Scotland. The main archives I visited were the
archive of the Grand Orient of France in the National Library of France
in Paris, the archive of the Grand Lodge of Scotland in Edinburgh and
the library of the United Grand Lodge of England in London.
Furthermore, I consulted the library of the University of
Birmingham and Lambeth Palace Library in London in order to
examine records left by early missionaries from England, where I also
found the maps used in this thesis.
In Lebanon itself I undertook research in Ghazir, where the Centre
de Recherche et de Documentation Maçonnique of Charles Kesrouani is
located. Here I found letters written by members of lodges belong-
ing to the Grand Orient of France and I had the chance to interview
Kesrouani, who is a former archivist of the Grand Orient.
Although no minutes exist from the meetings during the early
years of the working of El Mizhab Lodge in El Mina, which was the
successor to Kadisha, the lodge did preserve its own book of attendance
in which the many visits from members of Kadisha are noted.
Only a short investigation was necessary to locate some freema-
sons in Beirut. However in regard to Tripoli, it was a huge stroke of
luck on my part to discover that an active lodge was situated within
a stone’s throw of where I was staying. The lodge building is situated
in the city’s port district and from the outside it is unremarkable: it is
incomplete and bare looking with almost no windows on the ground

INTRODUCTION 21
floor. Inside, the lodge’s dining room was furnished with plastic desks,
which were arranged to create a more informal space for interactions
after the lodge meetings.
A number of wooden shelves are inscribed with the masonic sign
and a writing stating that they belong to the library of the lodge El
Mizhab, No. 1130 (Figure 3). In addition, the lodge had a small library
that contained various books of interest to freemasons. The walls of
the lodge were adorned with photographs that illustrated its long his-
tory. These pictures included portraits of former lodge masters during
the last years of the Ottoman Empire and whose biographies will be
taken into consideration in this thesis.
Essentially, I endeavoured to seek out relatives of Kadisha’s found-
ing fathers and early members. In most cases I was able to capture a
clearer picture of Kadisha’s initial members. My efforts were helped by
the fact that all the members came from the middle class, and most
Figure 3 Wooden Sign on the Door of the El Mizhab Lodge Library (photo-
graphed in 2008)

relatives were aware and proud of their masonic ancestors. Indeed they
were happy to share photos, anecdotes and stories with me. In its early
stages, oral history was often described as a tool to enable historians to
write history from below or to provide ‘a voice for those who otherwise
[would] be hidden from history’.55 And indeed, oral sources played this
vital role in my research.
The interviews were not recorded because of personal concerns on
the part of the interviewees. However, everyone interviewed gave per-
mission to use the material. Furthermore, the statements used are
corroborated, since their contents were repeated by different family
members of varying families and apparent contradictions were illumi-
nated from different angles.56 The collected memories of ancestors of
freemasons in the city enable new perspectives for understanding the
past. Moreover, together with the preserved photographs, maps and
postcards, they made it possible for me to obtain a sense of the zeitgeist
in Tripoli and El Mina during the period covered in my research.
Additionally, I happened to meet Nassiba Saati, the librarian of El
Mina’s town library, whose great-grandfather was a member of Peace
lodge. She had collected certificates and parts of masonic correspond-
ence in a folder, which I was permitted to use. My perception of the
social life in Tripoli and El Mina at the end of the nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries was enriched by reference to booklets writ-
ten by the first charitable Greek Orthodox organisations, which are
kept in the Greek Orthodox archive in Beirut. In these booklets, one
finds lists of the principal donors and charitable deeds, as well as the
amount of money given for various purposes.
Due to the secretive nature of freemasonry and its problematic
standing in the region, many documents related to the activities of the
fraternity in the Middle East have been stolen, hidden or destroyed.
But rarely, one is fortunate – as I consider myself to have been – to find
small traces of evidence in unexpected places.
General Historiography
During the last twenty years research into freemasonry and related fra-
ternal organisations has developed into a large area of academic study.

INTRODUCTION 23
Historiography has moved away from internal perspectives or sweep-

ing attacks and steadily more works are being devoted to the task of
contextualising the social, cultural and political history of freemasonry
pertinent to academic standards. French scholarship over the last four
decades has led this development, but significant contributions have
also been made by the Spanish scholar José Ferrer Benimeli. More than
twenty volumes have been produced as an outcome of research into
freemasonry in the Hispanic world.57 Margaret C. Jacob in her pivotal
work Living the Enlightenment has changed the understanding of free-
masonry as a significant part of Enlightenment culture. Her work was
carried on by many others and scholars of the eighteenth century are
particularly strongly represented in this area of research. During the
last decade research has been revitalised by a series of innovative PhD
dissertations and studies by Stefan-Ludwig Hoffmann on freemasonry
and German civil society, Kristiane Hasselmann on the rituals of free-
masons and Jessica Harland-Jacobs on imperial freemasonry, to name
just a few.
Freemasonry in most Arab countries is still a contentious issue. One
has to search for primary sources in order to get closer to freemasonry
and it remains much more difficult to find reliable information on the
fraternity in Arab countries. To quote Jacob Landau, one of the few
researchers on this subject: ‘a comprehensive history of freemasonry
in Muslim lands has still to be written’.58 Indeed, one will encounter
a lot of obstacles in the area due to censorship in non-democratic and
authoritarian regimes. Moreover, freemasonry is also condemned by
extremist movements, such as Hamas, who even mention the frater-
nity in its charter. Part of its seventeenth article – on the role of the
Muslim woman – reveals their enemies to be those who have realised
that they can ‘guide and educate’ women ‘in a way that would distance
them from Islam’. The article in the charter goes on to state that ‘you
can see them making consistent efforts by way of publicity and movies,
curricula of education and culture, using as their intermediaries their
craftsmen who are part of various Zionist organisations which take on
all sort of names and shapes such as: Freemasons, the Rotary Clubs,
gangs of spies and the like. All of them are nests of saboteurs and
sabotage’.59 According to Hamas, these secret organisations caused the

French Revolution and are spreading around the world in order to des-
troy societies and further Zionist interests.60
These accusations are a direct continuation of those made in much
older texts, like the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, in which Jews were
said to be secretly planning to usurp world power. The fictional text,
first published around the beginning of the twentieth century, still
enjoys great popularity among extremist groups and it only takes a
small step to add other groups, such as freemasons or Rotary Clubs, to
render it useful for contemporary conspiracy theorists.61
When freemasonry emerged in the Ottoman Empire, the first texts
on its work, influence and historical meaning were either written by
masons themselves or anti-masons. The narratives produced from the
end of the nineteenth century until World War One merely offered a
blurred and biased image of freemasonry. One of the earliest preserved
documents locating freemasonry in the Middle East is a travel report
written by the American freemason Robert Morris in 1838 after an
expedition to what is today Israel, Syria and Lebanon. His descriptions
of the land and people can be categorised as out-dated impressions of
orientalism. Between 1909 and 1912, the Jesuit Louis Shaykhu, who
taught Arabic literature at St. Joseph’s University in Beirut, published
various articles in the newspaper Al Mashriq (the Levant) and wrote
a book in which he expressed his complete contempt towards free-
masonry. In his eyes, the fraternity was nothing else but a destructive
sect that tried to govern the world in order to attack religious morality
and to implement anarchy.62 Shaykhu’s views were not uncommon in
the region at the time. Shaykhu’s writings are useful as they express
a part of the public’s perception of masonry from a conservative and
religious perspective. However, for a deeper understanding of the phe-
nomenon it is preferable to consult other sources. We do not have
unbiased descriptions or interpretations of masonry. From its origins
masons considered themselves part of a discreet society, and conse-
quently no official debate on its historical design and development
occurred in the Middle East. Only in the twentieth century do we
find secondary sources in which freemasonry is treated in its social
and historical context. Research has come to identify the phenom-
enon of freemasonry as a political and/or socio-cultural movement,

INTRODUCTION 25
defining its meaning according to its influence on the general

public.
In 1979, Eva H. Balázs wrote about the impossibility of discussing
freemasonry when taken out of its historical and political context. She
emphasised the profound political differences between freemasons in
Hungary during the late eighteenth century, who were torn between
admiration for the policy of Joseph II and enthusiasm for the French
Revolution and following radical liberation movements.63 With the
opening of the European masonic archives in the last century, access
to new material has been made possible and has facilitated fresh
initiatives towards a more balanced understanding of the movement’s
different actors.
This progress is still absent in Arab countries, where both affilia-
tions to lodges and academic research remain problematic. In an article
published in 1971, Elie Kedourie ridiculed the political significance of
freemasons, describing the exaggerated fear and even hysteria of some
British politicians in Constantinople who perceived the Young Turk
movement as a Jewish-Masonic conspiracy.64 But while Kedourie con-
vincingly rebutted the charges from the British side, he did not attempt
to analyse the social and cultural role of freemasonry in the last days
of the Ottoman Empire. On the one hand it is somewhat anachron-
istic that Najdat Fathi Safwat could write an article on freemasonry in
the Arab world in 1980 without using archival sources that are now
available.65 On the other hand, his mixture of information and polem-
ical discourse emulates the tradition expressed by Shaykhu.
Detailed research on French lodges in Istanbul and Salonica during
the tanzimat (period of reforms), beginning around 1839, has been
carried out since the 1980s by Paul Dumont.66 He used the masonic
archives of the National Library in Paris to write on the political
connections between masons and the reform movement.67 Dumont
argues that political aims served as the main driving force for joining
the fraternity. He neither addresses the function of lodges as charit-
able institutions nor as social associations. However, he does mention
their particular attractiveness for marginalised groups during the last
decades of the Ottoman Empire. In this, he differs from another study
undertaken in 1989 by Karim Wissa, who studied lodges in Egypt

between 1798 and 1921 from a political and social perspective.68 It

shows that besides their role as political institutions, lodges could also
act as a form of guild system or a social club for the elite.69 He also
undertook research at the National Library in Paris in order to acquire
a more profound knowledge of the operations of the Grand Lodges of
England and France and later on of the Grand Orient Lodge of Egypt,
which was formed in 1901. A shift in historical research on freemasonry,
which is prepared to examine the fraternity as a microcosm with mul-
tiple manifestations, is clearly visible. This trend can be observed in
diverse publications on European freemasonry, where one can note a
focus on the connections of the fraternity to the Enlightenment and
the emergence of civil society.70
One can also study the phenomenon of freemasonry in the Ottoman
Empire from the perspective of colonialism studies. Wissa mentioned
it briefly, but was more interested in the Egyptian Grand Lodge, while
Dumont did not focus on research into freemasonry in Arab cities.
Eric Anduze’s PhD thesis on freemasonry in the Maghreb and in the
Middle East, dating from 1996, does attempt such a study, although
it is a very poor and fragmentary work.71 Anduze does not compare
Arab freemasons belonging to the Scottish and French systems, which
could have helped him to define the French mission civilisatrice. Nor is
he able to illuminate the social or intellectual reasons underpinning
why locals joined different foreign systems. Thus, while illumin-
ating French freemasonry, Anduze does not pay attention to Syrian
and Lebanese freemasonry and thereby eliminates exactly what he was
aiming to illustrate: the specific historical context. Having taken into
account Anduze’s deficits, I relied on my own research, parts of which
have been published between 2004 and 2009.72
Probably the best insights are provided by Jacob Landau, who wrote
an article on freemasonry for Brill’s encyclopaedia of Islam, articles on
secret societies in Egypt and Muslim opposition to freemasonry, in
which he lists valuable sources on Arabic freemasonry.73

CHAPTER 1
THE OTTOM AN EMPIR E

IN THE L ATE NINETEENTH
CENTURY
On the one hand, the Ottoman elite certainly admired and respected
Western inventions, economic and political power and scientific pro-
gress. On the other hand, it feared modernity and modernisation.
Additionally, the Western codex of behaviour was not always compat-
ible with the Ottoman system of values.1
The term nahda comprises and describes various efforts of Arab
intellectuals to return to, or to revitalise, Arabic language and cul-
ture. Unlike the European Renaissance, which was ‘associated with a
reflection of values and virtues from the ancient Greek-Roman world’,
the nahda partly consisted of ‘a westernisation; hence it stood for a
revival by means of a modern, but culturally foreign reference system’.
Though, as Glaß noted, one has to keep in mind the need not to con-
struct a too strict a dichotomy between a modern and a traditional
society, as both concepts are not fully able to express the mixed and
dynamic conditions that prevailed in reality.2
Confronted with European conceptions of modernity and modern-
isation, ideas for reform developed in line with a new understanding of
identity. Arab intellectuals rethought their rich historical heritage, also
predating Islam, which was expressed in language, culture and science.
I would disagree with the translation of nahda as ‘Arabic
Enlightenment’, as this artificially equates it with the European

Enlightenment.3 According to Norman Hampson, the European

Enlightenment was a consequence of the scientific revolution relating to
the individual and his/her capability of ‘indefinite expansion of know-
ledge’, while at the same time propagating ‘religious toleration and
the assumption that whatever was conducive to human happiness was
also in accordance with the will of god’.4 In contrast, the nahda did not
define one unified way of thinking; rather it referred to the search for
identity during a time of insecurity when former relations and centres
of reference had lost their meaning. Relying on a common culture and
language, ideologies and trends of thinking began to spread in the
Ottoman Empire, which included some groups, meanings, and prac-
tices, but as Fatma Müge Göçek argues, excluded others in an on-going
process of reinvention.5 Therefore, the nahda was not only an aim in
itself, but also described a tool to promote different ideas already rooted
or noticeable in the historical heritage of the region by rendering them
compatible with Western ideas of modernity. It stood for a cultural
reform movement that influenced and produced various forms of intel-
lectual output.6 The nahdists tried to base their own sense of belonging
on a new identity, which was characterised by the Arab language and
culture and expressed in the new tools of communication.7
Lichtenstein defined identity as the capacity to remain the same in
the midst of constant change. This partly explains the struggle of the
population living within the Ottoman Empire. When people create
their identities in a cultural and social context, in which language is
central to the process of identification, then this process must be ques-
tioned as soon as other cultures and languages start to threaten and
undermine these traditional values. Such a process was taking place
in the Ottoman Empire in the nineteenth century. This was partly
caused by the progressive globalisation of the economic market and
Western penetration into Ottoman territory and also the loss of parts
of the Empire. This again led to continuous waves of migration – one
of the main factors that contributed to the breakdown and collapse
of traditional, social, economic and ethnic structures fundamental for
the stability of the Ottoman Empire.8 With the migration of Eastern
Europeans and the loss of Christian provinces, the composition of the
Ottoman Empire had changed drastically.

THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE 29
[A]fter 1862 millions of Muslim refugees from Crimea, the

Balkans, and the Caucasus began pouring into Ottoman territories
[. . .]. The influx of huge numbers of refugees transformed the
remnant of the Ottoman Empire into a predominantly Muslim
state. [. . .] a drastic transformation of both the religious-cultural
structure and the economic conditions in the Ottoman state was
taking place and profoundly affecting many of its people.9
This is not to say that the number of inhabitants changed dramatic-

ally, but migrations serve as an indicator for individual movements
and the loss of a sense of social community. The jigsaw-like diver-
sity in Greater Syria remained evident until 1914, with more than
80 per cent of Syria’s population being Muslim and over 40 per cent
in present day Lebanon.
Until the beginning of the nineteenth century there had only been
‘three large millets in the entire Ottoman Empire for all non-Muslims
(the Armenian, the Greek and the Jewish)’. During the nineteenth cen-
tury though, following ‘the creation of Uniate churches, the emergence
of particularism followed by the eruption of nationalist movements’
and as a result of pressure from the European powers, the Porte recog-
nised a number of millets and patriarchates. Among them were the
‘Armenian Catholics (1830) and the Armenian Protestants (1850), the
Greek Catholic patriarchate (1837), followed by the Greek Catholic
millet (1848), the Chaldean patriarchate (1843, confirmed in 1861),
and the Syrian-Catholic patriarchate (1843, confirmed in 1866)’.10
Workers in old professions were faced with dwindling job oppor-
tunities as technological inventions required new skills. At the same
time, these improvements and innovations were labour-saving, which
meant that fewer men were needed. The destruction of traditions
and habits left vacuums to be filled by religious sects and ideological
movements.11 While some lost out due to the opening up towards the
West, others benefitted at the same time from growing Western trade
influence.12
In addition, new laws and an administrative rearrangement of the
territorial units, alongside actions taken by the Ottoman authorities
in order to overcome the crisis and to fabricate a new form of identity

for their imperial subjects against the rise of nationalisms, aggravated

the atmosphere of uncertainty and insecurity. A concerted effort by
the authorities concentrated on the levelling of distinct cultural and
religious affiliations. This was subsequently marked by an emphasis
on the importance of the Turkish language, which was codified as the
language of the state in the constitution of 1876.13
While this step was not well received by Arab Ottomans, they still
tried to find a common denominator. The same was valid for the Syrian
intellectuals: ‘On the one hand, they highlighted Arab superiority over
the Turks in administration and culture [. . .] On the other, they often
expressed their preference for continued Ottoman rule because, as one
writer put it, “Arabs would not be secure in their welfare and future if
Istanbul” were not in the hands of the Turks’.14
They were not seeking complete separation or independence from
the Ottoman Empire, but rather decentralisation and more autonomy.
To this, Choueiri adds: ‘the rediscovery of Arabic civilisation as a
glorious golden age, coupled with an earnest desire to acquire know-
ledge of the modern European world, were the hallmarks of this
cultural movement’.15 Its advocates produced a collective narrative in
order to construct and reconstruct shared experiences by using the
cultural sphere, since it embodied, in some ways, a final sanctuary,
which still escaped ‘the material domination of the West in science
and technology’.16
Later the call for more autonomy was replaced by a demand for com-
plete independence based on a shared ethnicity, language or territorial
contiguity. The spread of literacy and the rise of an educated public
were preconditions to this development. However, during the second
half of the nineteenth century, men were still thinking of ways to save
the Empire: ‘there were many who still believed that the Empire, faced
with the inexorable rise of nationalism, could be saved by building a
new society under the banner of unity and equality of the people’.17
The Ottoman Empire was characterised by its multinational com-
position and the majority of scholars agree upon the fact that it was
only at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth
centuries, that different Arab nationalisms started to emerge.18 This
was partly a consequence of the territorial and political concessions the

Ottoman Empire had to make. Before, questions of national belonging

were neither asked nor had they been decisive.
However, in the second half of the nineteenth century, with
Ottoman rulers unable to provide protection, security and stable
social environments for their subjects, people started to forge new loy-
alties. Hence, the origin of patriotism and later onwards nationalism
in the Arab world has various roots to be found outside and inside
the Ottoman Empire. Thus, one reason for its growth was as a con-
sequence of perceived insecurity or a threat by ‘the others’ – whether
this was from Western colonialists or the Turkish-speaking part of the
Ottoman population. This may well have been a realistic fear, but at
the same time it was also an imagined menace created through the
formulation and dissemination of nationalist ideology.19 The dominant
social and socio-cultural insecurity underlying patriotism and nation-
alism also enforced the search for social cohesion, which was found in
freemasonry. Patriotism, defined as loyalty to one’s own country related
to religion, ethnic group, socio-cultural belonging and/or govern-
ment can be seen as one main factor helping freemasonry’s expansion.
Freemasonry was supposed to be the tool to weld society together.
Different social, political and economic factors determined the
emergence of various ideologies, which did not constitute a momen-
tous change but must be seen as a process in which boundaries were
constantly renegotiated. As Göçek highlights, the past and the pre-
sent ‘are told and retold to include the historical memories of certain
social groups, to privilege certain symbols and myths, and to overlook
others’.20
The Noble Edict of Gülhane, or Rose Chamber Edict, enacted in
1839 was supposed to stop the growth of separatist movements contra-
dicting the Ottoman idea of forging loyalty to the Ottoman Sultan.21
It ‘promised new laws guaranteeing life and property rights, prohibit-
ing bribery, and regulating the levying of taxes and the conscription
and tenure of soldiers. [. . .] In addition, it heralded the abolition of
the odious system of tax farming and the establishment of an equit-
able draft system.’ But most important, these laws were to apply to
all Ottoman subjects – irrespective of their religious affiliation.22
The edict was certainly thought to be a way to deal with growing

European pressure for domestic reforms, but it was not ‘appease-

ment of European powers’ alone which led Ottoman bureaucrats to
draft this document: ‘they sincerely believed in the modernisation of
the Ottoman conception of government based in parts on concepts
borrowed from abroad’.23 Mustafa Rashid Pasha, Mehmed Emin Ali
Pasha and Mehmed Fu’ad Pasha acted as leaders of the Sublime Porte,
who tried in a top-down way to push through their reform proposals,
overseeing ‘the entire administration of the state, ruling the empire
until 1871 with only trivial interference from the imperial palace or
the ulema’.24 Though religion was thought to lose its dominant role,
the non-denominational ideological basis of the state ‘remained the
most delicate and challenging issue for the administration until the
end of the Ottoman era’ and Islam was never removed as ‘a pillar
of the empire-caliphate’.25 Religion continued to serve ‘as the prin-
cipal organisational and ideological focus of the millets, and was so
treated by the authorities’.26 Yet territorial possessions did gain more
importance and the Rose Chamber Edict certainly represented a piv-
otal moment in Ottoman history, as its ‘codification of new thinking
created a body of law that could no longer be ignored’.27 With growing
Western influence it became necessary for the Ottomans to reposition
themselves under these new conditions.
While they tried to maintain connections to the indigenous com-
munity using, as Fruma Zachs notes, ‘the West as a tool to advance
aspects of their society’,28 Muslim Turks ‘became increasingly suspi-
cious of what they considered overt and covert designs of revolt and
secession’ by Christians and non-Turkish Muslim groups.29 One way
to overcome the crisis seemed to be offered by Ottomanism which
emerged in the second half of the nineteenth century. Its aim was to
strengthen the attachment of the individual to the Empire and to inte-
grate minorities ‘within the socio-political framework of the Ottoman
state’.30 Ottomanism was propagated through the enactment of three
laws: the Land Law of 1858, the Vilayet Law of 1864 (a vilayet is an
administrative unit or province) and the Law of Ottoman Nationality
of 1869. All three laws were supposed to restore Ottoman control over
its subjects and territories by means of modernising reforms, but were
also intended to prevent further Western intervention by showing

the ability of self-correction and the adoption of Western standards

with regard to minority rights and freedom of religion. Furthermore,
as Kemal Karpat notes, the measure was ‘to prevent non-Mus-
lim subjects from acquiring foreign citizenship through consular
favour’.31
The Land Law introduced formal documentation of ownership,
while the Vilayet Law created new administrative units that brought
about a greater involvement of subjects in local government. The region
was divided into the three provinces of Syria, Aleppo and Beirut, with
a district of Jerusalem and a separate government of Mount Lebanon.
Hence, Tripoli was downgraded from being the chief town of a vilayet
with its own name, to a mere sub-district of the Beirut vilayet. But
coastal cities also gained in importance because they were incorpo-
rated into world-trade networks.32 ‘The world economy transformed
the Ottoman coastal space in substantial ways. It upgraded coastal
enclaves into major port-cities and connected them with commercial
hinterlands directed towards global markets.’33
The third law bestowed Ottoman citizenship upon all the inhabit-
ants of the Empire. As Zachs describes, ‘individual identity was now
legally determined according to the territory in which one lived and
not by one’s religious affiliation’.34 The laws were introduced to pro-
mote Ottomanism, but to some extent they had the opposite effect and
actually furthered nationalistic tendencies as they allowed members of
the intellectual middle class to take part in the decision-making proc-
esses and thereby opened the doors for ideas of enlightenment and
freedom. Additionally, they provoked unrest among some Muslims
who perceived them ‘as a capitulation to European dictates that con-
ferred benefits upon non-Muslims at their expense’. The following
internal struggle for power, between Sultan Abdulaziz and reform-
ing statesmen who tried to preserve the Porte’s political domination,
took place during renewed Russian expansionism linked with Balkan
nationalism. Following ‘the deteriorating situation in the Balkans and
the mounting disorder in the capital’, pro-reform bureaucrats led a
coup d’état and deposed Sultan Abdulaziz. After the brief interven-
tion of Abdulaziz’s older brother, Murad V, who seemed to suffer from
mental instability when promising a constitution, Abdulhamid II came

to power. 35 This innovation was backed by various parties throughout

the Empire. Reformists wanted to see their ideas written down, while
bureaucrats who feared the further centralising of power considered
the constitution as a way to limit Abdulhamid’s might. Additionally,
the constitution was supposed to weaken European influence on
behalf of Christian Ottomans. It should show the Western powers that
Ottomans were politically mature enough to act responsibly towards
all Ottomans alike. The first Ottoman parliament convened in 1877,
but a year later Abdulhamid used his ‘constitutional rights’ and tem-
porarily adjourned it.36 ‘The parliamentary Ottoman experiment was
abruptly suspended in the wake of the outbreak of hostilities between
the Sultan and the Russian Czar.’37
‘The Russo-Ottoman war of 1877–78 was a disaster for the
Ottomans’ with the San Stefano Treaty of 3 March 1878 marking
‘the high point of Russian expansion at the expense of the Ottoman
Empire’. The subsequent Berlin Congress in June 1878 led to the
granting of further autonomous regions at the expense of the Ottoman
Empire.38 The tremendous losses, together with the financial crisis
and internal dissatisfaction with the Empire’s functionality and fear of
even further corrosion made Abdulhamid overcautious. This gave his
subjects yet another reason to look for a refuge, something that made
them stronger individually but also as a people. The constitution had
been the culmination of all former upheavals attracting reformists as
well as traditionalists. Abdulhamid’s prorogation of the parliament
though was a disappointing betrayal and left a bitter taste.
Historians still differ regarding the performance of Abdulhamid II
(1876–1909) and the legacy of his reign, which followed the tanzi-
mat era. Landau argues that ‘Pan-Islam became the state policy in
its attempt to safeguard the Empire from internal and external
dangers’ and was at the same time a nationalist, as well as a religious
ideology.39 The Ottoman term for Islamic unity or Islamic union
(Ittihad-i Islam) was first used in a magazine published by Jamal
al-Din al-Afghani and Mohammad Abduh, two religious scholars and
reformers, in 1884. Religion was the ‘main social and cultural fact
of life’ and served ‘to articulate political and economic attitudes’.40
The propagation of Islam was supposed to undermine the growing

influence of non-Muslim groups while uniting the Empire’s Muslims.

Religion gained in importance during the reign of Abdulhamid II,
but according to Landau, general expectations were soon disappoint-
ed.41 Abdulhamid tried to reposition himself as the Caliph for all
Muslim subjects in the Empire; he wanted to show that his ‘spiritual
leadership’ added significantly to his temporal power.42 Yet allegedly
he convinced neither his Muslim subjects, nor the non-Muslim ones,
who were cautious regarding his ideology and worried about their own
religious affiliations and civic rights. Moreover, relations were compli-
cated by Abdulhamid’s distrust of associations and societies, which
would have enabled him to communicate with his subjects. While
Muslims indeed felt part of an Islamic community, Pan-Islamic senti-
ments further alienated non-Muslims and did not manage to rebut
different separatist or nationalistic endeavours.
On the other hand, Hanioğlu emphasises the ‘efficient adminis-
tration of the empire by a modern bureaucracy headed by a cadre of
technocrats’. Not only was the system of bureaucratic schools expanded,
it was also during the reign of Abdulhamid that the telegraph was
introduced linking the provinces to the centre.43 Railway construction
was ‘greatly extended’ and a ‘few hundred miles of track were increased
to several thousand’; these lines were not simply ‘connections between
a productive area and the nearest port; they were powerful instru-
ments for integration and central control’.44 Arguably, Abdulhamid
tried to modernise the Empire without westernising it; taking over
forms of the bureaucracy and administration while leaving aside ideo-
logical issues. Loyalty to the state was transformed to allegiance to the
sovereign, ‘an indispensable qualification for employment in the civil
service’. Though, the bureaucratic apparatus ‘obeyed a strict hierarchy
little different from that found in parallel European institutions’.45 The
modern press was used to foster further loyalty and quench dissent;
censorship developed to ‘one of the strictest in modern times’.46 Seen
from another perspective, however, ‘no state was so severely criticised
as the Ottoman Empire for suppressing views that were subversive to
its existence’.47
It would be to easy to dismiss Abdulhamid’s regime as arbitrary
and authoritarian – he perceived himself as an ‘enlightened reformer’

and was indeed ‘no simple-minded reactionary’ – but a ‘shrewd tac-

tician’ whose fortune depended ‘on his ability to parry the external
threats to the empire’: his diplomatic skills ‘remained the only way
to buy time’.48 Hence, taking into account loss of territory, the mili-
tary, financial and political failures and internal disturbances due
to emerging degrees of nationalism among different communities,
Zürcher concludes that ‘to judge the character and achievements of the
Hamidian era, it is first of all necessary to realize that it was for a long
time a period of recovery from a crisis that had come close to putting
an end to the Ottoman Empire’.49
Pan-Turkism was another late effort to reshape loyalties in order to
bring about a union of ‘all people of Turkish/Turkic descent’.50 The
imperial class only used the term ‘Turk’ in the twentieth century;
prior to this, as D. A. Rustow states, the term was reserved to express
‘condescension for the illiterate peasantry of Anatolia’.51 According
to Karpat, members of the Ottoman bureaucracy started to ‘identify
Ottomanism with Turkishness’ and to assess ‘its history in the light
of the Turkish contribution to it’, consequently, displaying the first
commitment to Turkish nationalism.52 When the Ottoman Empire
had already lost its function as a caretaker and common protector,
advocates of Turkish nationalism, unlike Pan-Turkists who relied
almost entirely on a common language and culture, played with the
idea of creating a Turkish political entity within the boundaries of the
remaining Ottoman areas.
According to Göçek, empires lack the tools to contain competing
ideologies as ‘they were founded on principles of social power that
privileged lineage and proximity to the centre and built on carefully
defined and segmented social groups whose boundaries were care-
fully guarded.’ Ottoman rulers lost track of their network of control
as a result of growing Western influence and the affiliated principle
of political citizenship, in addition to increased political conflict over
territories.53
As Göçek notes, ‘nationalism proved infectious’.54 Still, one should
not forget that different ideologies were pronounced and dispersed
in the hope of founding a new basis on which a common identity
could be built. Yet, the impact of this ideological experimentation

was, at least until the twentieth century, limited to ‘elitist circles’ in

the cultural and intellectual spheres, which were confined to large
cities.55 As Gingeras emphasises in his studies on provinces in the
South Marmara, ‘in looking beyond the elite rhetoric of the conflicting
indigenous forces in the South Marmara, one is struck by the relative
absence of nationalism at the popular level’. Revealed instead is ‘the
pre-eminence of religion, ethnicity, and class as defining components
of identity’.56
Hence nationalism may have seemed even less threatening to free-
masons’ minds than other factions inside the Empire. As Paul Dumont
writes, it was already enough ‘to fight for the destruction of ethnic
and religious barriers between different components of the Ottoman
population’.57
Already prior to the onset of the Enlightenment, European masons
were debating potential conflicts between emerging nationalisms and
supported a cosmopolitan universalism – principles not necessarily
compatible. Thus, the following section will explain the various the-
ories concerning the purported threat of masonry vis-à-vis the nation
and its people in the light of the never-ending charges against the
fraternity. This will help to illuminate the condition of European free-
masonry before and during the time it arrived in the Middle East.
However, I will first tackle a major area of contention in regard to
Ottoman historiography.
Modernisation and Westernisation

Most scholars doing research on the so-called decline of the Ottoman
Empire from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries characterise this
period as one of modernisation and/or westernisation.58 These two
concepts are not the same but both describe the process the Empire
was undergoing. In the sphere of social sciences the term modernisa-
tion describes a process in which society goes through industrialisation,
urbanisation and other social changes, completely transforming the
lives of the affected individuals.
The appropriation of another society’s technological innovations
does not necessitate the adoption of its culture or code of ethics.

Here lies the difference between the terms modernisation and west-
ernisation. Traditions were not automatically discarded, but lost their
quasi-natural status.59 As Anthony Giddens states, modernity should
be understood as a project of production and control, containing
industrialism, capitalism, and the industrialisation of war and state
surveillance.60 Hroch adds ‘soft’ factors, meaning that modern society
was different in regard to lifestyle, culture and the way of thinking.
Material goods were produced and distributed differently. People also
shared a different quality of life as the social structure and the pol-
itical systems had changed.61 Taking these elements in account, the
Ottoman Empire was in a modernising stage, although it was being
left far behind the European powers.
In the Western world the educated classes, entrepreneurs and the
state acted as the principal agents fostering modernity. However,
Itzchak Weismann has argued that on the eve of modernisation Muslim
countries had ‘no secular intelligentsia, no entrepreneurial bourgeois
class, and no state officialdom in the European sense of these words’.62
These sectors were still to evolve, hence Hanioğlu consequently writes
about ‘Europeanisation’ before modernisation.63 Additionally, he
emphasises the constantly changing roles of modernisers and anti-
reformers: while the periphery deemed some reforms necessary when
confronted with the technological and economic superiority of the
West, it opposed others out of fear of losing privileges to the imperial
centre. The Sublime Porte also seemed ambiguous. Although it recog-
nised the danger of dependency when relying on European skills, it
had to make use of them when centralising forces in order not to com-
pletely lose control over the periphery’s individualistic endeavours.64
Nevertheless, it would be wrong to think that all the reforms intro-
duced by the Ottoman leaders were merely imitations of Western
initiatives. In fact, until the end of the Ottoman Empire, there always
existed a dualism within the vast realm between secular and Islamic
institutions. According to Selçuk Akşin Somel, ‘Islam as a culture and
institution was not viewed by the early tanzimat reformers as a hin-
drance or burden to be overcome’.65 Initial reforms in law, politics and
education were steps to overcome the so-called ‘backwardness’ of the
Empire, without encroaching upon matters related to Islam. Although

new subjects, including scientific courses and language classes, were

introduced in schools, the traditional Islamic curricula remained more
or less intact.66 It was during the Hamidian period (1876–1908) that
the dualism between these parallel weltanschauungen began to collide
before finally imploding during the Young Turk Revolution.
While modernisation in an age of globalisation might secure a
society’s survival by keeping pace with others, westernisation also
means taking over the foreign, Western culture in matters such as
industry, technology, law, politics, economics, education, language,
religion and moral values.67 This is the stage at which freemasonry
comes in and indirectly aggravated the conflict between the coexistent
weltanschauungen. The French Revolution was a European product of
the Enlightenment and it attracted followers enlightened enough to
support its principles.
Ottomans did not have similar experiences of this process. They had
not gone through extensive discussions regarding equal rights, shared
citizenship and duties, nor had they profited from industrialisation.
However, they did observe the outcomes and it was in the nineteenth
century that Ottoman intellectuals were increasingly impressed by the
French and all the other movements. Positivism seemed to be a key for
the Empire’s weaknesses; when the fundament of life was shaken and
nothing seemed granted any more, positivism with its emphasis on
authentic knowlegde showed a way out. This also explains the Ottoman
freemasons’ attraction to the principles of the French Revolution: fra-
ternity, liberty and equality – they were striving for these principles,
thinking this could cure the weaknesses of their own country.
Modernisation and westernisation were further stimulated by
on-going military defeats. Starting with the defeat in Vienna and the
Treaty of Karlowitz in 1699, and culminating in the Crimean War in
the 1850s and the second Russo-Turkish War in 1877–8, the Empire
was forced to retreat and cede territory.68 The European powers were
victorious in almost every case and hence their military machine, as
Roderic H. Davison notes, ‘became the example for Ottoman sultans
and vezirs, and the desire for military reform opened channels of com-
munication with Europe’.69 With European help, military, naval and
engineering schools were established producing graduates who more

often than not supported political change. At the same time, dip-
lomatic and military support from European powers led in turn to
increased rights for foreigners who lived and traded in the Empire. In
addition, as Davison goes on to state, ‘European loans to the Ottoman
Empire that had piled up since 1854 and the default on bond interest
that ensued in 1875–1876 were an immediate source of pressure’.70
As constructive as modernisation was for some areas, wars were as
correspondingly destructive with regard to the population’s complicated
ethnic mixture. The territorial losses provoked internal rebellions and
intensified ethnic estrangement. In the nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries the Ottoman Empire lost control of Bessarabia, Serbia, Abaza,
and Mingrelia; it made concessions to Moldavia, Walachia, Bosnia,
Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Kars and Ardahan. Cyprus was occupied by
Britain in 1878, while four years later Egypt came under British pro-
tection. France took on colonial rule over Algeria and declared Tunisia
to be a French protectorate. Crete had to be given up in 1908, Cyrenaica
and Libyan Tripoli in 1912, Macedonia and Albania in 1913.71 With
Russian troops close to Istanbul, Abdulhamid was surrounded and
had every reason to be suspicious of Western interference.
In 1830 the Ottoman Greeks forged a small, independent kingdom,
while the Armenians attempted ‘to mobilize European political support
for additional communal reforms’. These efforts were supported by
Russia’s foreign policy, which encouraged the settlement of Christians
on its own territory. At the same time it helped to propagate Greek
and Armenian nationalism.72 These separatist movements were accom-
panied and partly caused by territorial losses for the Ottoman Empire
and had a noticeable impact on the Empire’s demographics. For the
first time in centuries, the Turks became the ethnic majority, thereby
changing the fragile social composition. Coevally, every minority group
was suspected by the Ottoman government of working secretly or in
public towards further autonomy and independence, which became
even more visible after the Young Turk Revolution.73
From the nineteenth century onwards, Ottoman state loans increased
inexorably. British and French banks, alongside the European-owned
Ottoman Bank, financed the costs of maintaining the large modern
army.74 The British and the French also endeavoured to annihilate the
influence of Russia and from the 1880s the threat of Germany was

another reason for concern. Yet, their own economic expansion neces-
sitated an increased supply of raw materials. The dependence of the
Sublime Porte on help from outside weakened its potential defence
against foreign economic penetration. Moreover, the state system was
not able to reform all sectors at the same time. As Roger Owen has
noted, ‘the construction of systems of transport and irrigation and the
investment in increased agricultural output throughout the Ottoman
Empire seemed to require almost limitless sums of money’.75 The trad-
itional tax-farm system, with its many intermediaries, was ineffective
and capitulations towards Europeans rendered a unified taxation
system impossible. The Ottoman administration was not up to the
challenge, exemplified by the fact that the Minister of Finance had no
control over the Sultan’s expenditure. Furthermore, as Owen remarks,
‘the suspicion must remain that even the reformers themselves were
not always completely serious, that their projects were often designed
primarily to impress potential European donors’. Easy access to con-
tinuously new credits also softened the urgency of putting more real
effort into new projects and systems.
In 1875 the Ottoman Empire ‘defaulted on its debt and the war
against Russia had brought with it enormous expenses, so the empire
was essentially bankrupt and its credit and credibility in the European
financial markets, which were anyway much more tight-fisted in the
current depression, were completely gone’.76 By then its financial situ-
ation had lowered its global status immensely and financial decisions
were made only after approval by the foreign powers. Its railways were
used for further European economic penetration and the Ottoman
population looked steadily more like the result of a poor patchwork,
composed of small, politicised entities fearing for their very existence.
The Public Debt Administration, governed by European holders of
Ottoman government bonds, was a more efficient tax collector than
the government. This was another humiliation for Abdulhamid who
completely lost direct control over the Empire’s finances, with taxes
going directly to the Western powers. After the rescinding of half of
the outstanding debt of the empire and the deduction of costs for a
newly built bureaucracy, ‘direct intervention of European capital in
the Ottoman economy [. . .] and the slowly growing efficiency’ of the
Ottoman administration seemed to give Abdulhamid space to pay off

old debt yet again at the beginning of the twentieth century, ‘the pace
of new borrowing accelerated’.77
The disturbances and riots in 1860 had partly been a reaction to the
growing influence of the European powers in Greater Syria. Changes
to the traditional social balance between the different groups provided
another reason for numerous clashes.78 Traders and landowners in
inner Syria resented ‘Ottoman attempts to re-impose a tighter system
of administrative control’. The prestigious and highly respected ulama
(scholars of Islamic law) did not think of any disadvantages because
of the regulation changes, as they felt secure and included in the state
apparatus. However, the majority actually did fear losing their remain-
ing influence due to the administrative reforms.
On Mount Lebanon, entrepreneurs were able to use local advan-
tages for silk production and exports, which were the major forms
of economic activity until the end of the nineteenth century. But, as
Owen notes, ‘the industry as a whole remained firmly subservient
to French capital and French commercial interest’.79 Already at the
beginning of the century it had become clear that not only connec-
tions to foreign traders, but also to certain religious or communal
identities were necessary for survival, in order to secure a place within
the local power base. The inhabitants of Mount Lebanon, who mostly
belonged to minority groups like the Druzes and the Maronites, inten-
sified their struggle over ownership of land and payment of taxes.
Traditional roots of superiority and authority were challenged by
the growing independence of peasants and merchants. Here the riots
had an overtly sectarian character, manifested in a struggle between
Maronites and Druzes. When the tumult spread to Damascus, in the
form of another attack on the local Christian community, the French
judged it to be a fitting time to intervene. This active military step
undermined the internal politics of the Ottoman Empire, but was only
the most visible sign of European intrusion. The influence of the intel-
lectual vanguard and foreign missions was already being felt and had
shaped the mindsets of the younger generation even before the inter-
vention of foreign soldiers. And even the interference itself was in a
way business as usual with the pattern of crises basically being always
the same:

The discontent of (mostly Christian) communities in the empire

erupted into regional insurrections, caused partly by bad gov-
ernment and partly by the different nationalisms that were
spreading at the time. One of the powers then intervened diplo-
matically, or even militarily, to defend the position of the local
Christians. In the prevailing conditions of inter-power rivalry
this caused the other major power to intervene to re-establish
‘the balance of power’. Usually, the end result was a loss of con-
trol on the part of the central Ottoman government.80
Western penetration touched upon all aspects of Ottoman society.

At the very minimum the process transferred Western institutional
regulations and schools of thought. European states and the Ottoman
Empire developed an interdependent relationship: while the Ottoman
government needed financial means, military technology and educa-
tion, Western powers required delivery and experience. European states
imported raw materials and products, such as silk, from the Ottoman
Empire. In turn, the Ottoman government profited from the involve-
ment of Western bank loans and grants. What is more, Europeans
used the reform of land ownership law to accumulate power over local
production. The position of the Ottoman government in confrontation
with other countries became precarious and its complex social struc-
ture made it difficult to deal with the increasing abuse of laws by its
subjects. Syrians looked for European protection in order to be less
vulnerable vis-à-vis Ottoman law, as they were then considered to be
European subjects. The disturbances that took place in Damascus and
on Mount Lebanon in the 1860s can be partly treated as a response
to the growth of European influence and the consequent imbalance
between social groups. Although religious differences were not the
main reason for the riots, confessionalism overlapped with the way
privileges were given to certain citizens. Christians certainly did enjoy
advantages thanks to their European connections. After the French
intervention, for example, as Owen writes, Mount Lebanon ‘became
the only place within the Empire where tax-farming was completely
abolished’.81 During these turbulent times, freemasonry entered the
Empire.

CHAPTER 2
M ASONIC PR INCIPLES
CHALLENGED
In the second half of the nineteenth century, with growing European

economic and educational penetration, masonic lodges were set up
in Ottoman Syrian cities and towns mostly affected by this develop-
ment. As occurred during the European Enlightenment, masons soon
found themselves attacked by diverse parties.1 According to
Thierry Zarcone, early criticism of freemasonry had been threefold:
from the Roman Catholic Church, the Free and Armenian Orthodox
Churches and from the Ottoman and Muslim authorities. Thus,
freemasons were ‘either seen as sorcerers, or Catholic crusaders, or
conspirators against the Sultan. As sorcerers they are the enemies of
all; as Catholic crusaders they are enemies of the non-Catholics, i.e.
Greeks, Armenians and Muslims and – though astonishing – the allies
of the Pope; then, as conspirators they are political adversaries of the
Sultan.’2 Jacob Landau cites the following about an Islamic opponent
to freemasonry at the turn of the twentieth century: ‘The freema-
sons are faithless enemies of the nation, motherland, religion, family
and army.’3
Not only were the lodges perceived as European imports, but, as
Landau emphasises, they were also seen to be societies that attracted
Christians and Jews ‘as one of the few organisational frameworks in
which these minorities could associate and socialise effectively with
their counterparts within the Muslim majority’.4 Consequently, this

M ASONIC PRINCIPLES CHALLENGED 45
raised suspicion among the rest of the population, as the following

letter from 1827 illustrates:
They think the farmason is bad; that is, one who don’t worship
the saints, and who eat meat in the fast. When I entered, I did
not worship the saints, nor put one candle before the saints.
Another said, ‘This is not worthy to enter in the church; this is
heretic’. I asked him, ‘Why?’ He said, ‘You eat meat in the fast,
and in Wednesday and in Friday’. I told him, ‘This is not sin, you
talk lie’. Then they said, ‘Let him go from our church’. One from
my friends said, ‘Why? He is Christian’. They said, ‘No, if he is
Christian, let him bow now before the saints’. I said ‘This is not
the sign of a Christian’. One said, ‘Let no one talk with him, he
is foolish a little’; and he who said so was priest.5
On the one hand, the modern attitude adopted by freemasons towards

individual rights, political freedoms and internationalism aroused the
distrust of nationalist leaders loyal to the regime. On the other hand,
the idea of lodges where men of various religions associated in an exclu-
sive bond and swore upon a sacred book was seen as purely idealistic
and as a form of religious toleration. It was one of the main masonic
virtues criticised by Muslim religious figures; and even more so when
Muslims started to enter lodges during the nineteenth century.6 This
tolerance towards other confessions was interpreted as neglect and lack
of respect for one’s own religion.
According to Landau, ‘the libertarian – democratic – egalitarian
views of freemasonry [which were] sometimes influenced by a revolu-
tionary spirit’ caused qualms among conservative circles. The expressed
cosmopolitanism of the fraternity was supposedly contrary to emer-
ging nationalisms and its secular attitude. Again, as Landau notes, it
‘was perceived by some orthodox Muslim circles as unacceptable, even
dangerous – paralleling the aversion of certain Catholic spokesmen
to freemasonry’.7 Masonic symbols that drew on a Judaeo-Christian
heritage alienated some Muslims, while its religious-like ideology
antagonised secular intellectuals.8 In addition, the fact that lodges
were engaged in charitable acts and gave financial support to members

and non-members alike, was, as Landau states, ‘based on standards

other than those of the state or Islamic law’. This did not sit well
with some Muslims. Finally, their secrecy and what Landau calls their
‘elitist makeup’ made the lodges an ideal target for all the excluded
individuals who felt disadvantaged and deprived.9 The disputes among
masons in European countries regarding how and to what extent
masonic principles and ideologies contradicted nationalism, religiosity
and open-mindedness never took place with the same intensity or also
academic interest in Arab countries, where discussions on freemasonry
are still taboo.
It is therefore worthwhile to look at the varying debates and responses
in the European context during the eighteenth and nineteenth cen-
turies, in order to explain theoretical approaches and to illustrate how
the implementation of masonic principles depended on social and pol-
itical circumstances. Knowing the actual state of European lodges, in
the period when their members first established freemasonry in the
Middle East, is a significant component in understanding the reasons
why Syrians participated in the fraternity. It also helps to understand
the reciprocal relationship between them and the development of the
original European concept in a new and foreign context.10
Religion and Reform

During the Enlightenment the power of the church as an institution,
with influence on worldly affairs, was questioned by the elite and it lost
positions of governmental power in most European countries. A split
occurred between the religious and the secular domain: the church’s
authority was not taken for granted by everyone any more. While free-
masons used lodges as vehicles for enlightened ideologies and ethical
secular principles, there existed relatively few freemasons without reli-
gious affiliations.11 As early as 1723 Anderson had outlined that a
mason should ‘never be a stupid atheist, nor an irreligious libertine’,
but that the subject of religion should be excluded from lodges, with
freemasons ‘leaving their particular Opinions to themselves’.12
Instead, Anderson argued that freemasonry should support and
extend education, in order to recognise the pure humanity of all

men.13 Religion was set as a precondition for humanity in general.14

Anderson had written his charges with Christianity in mind, as it was
‘that religion in which all Men agree’.15 The same held true for the wel-
coming of new masons in regard to geographical borders. Masons in
the eighteenth century mainly limited their horizons to Europe. Their
project for achieving ideal harmony was first and foremost tailored
to fellow Christians inside European borders.16 Freemasons in France,
for example, restricted entrance to their lodges as ‘[t]he order only
admits Christians; outside the Christian Church it cannot, and must
not accept any freemason. Therefore Jews, Muslims and Pagans are
excluded like infidels.’17
On the other hand, masons did distance themselves from the dog-
matism of the Christian Church and insisted on their own regulations,
which supposedly did not contradict Christianity, as long as they
followed the path revealed in the Bible.18 Against much anti-scientific
engagement of the church, masons – sneering at the conservative atti-
tude of the Catholic Church – supported, questioned and challenged
conventions and authorities that were commonly taken for granted:
‘Sciences as far as they don’t bow to the Church must be named athe-
istic in order to keep the Catholic sheep away so they won’t be informed
about the interior hollowness of the Roman system.’19
Freemasons walked a tightrope between their feeling of belonging
to a superior religion, Christianity, and adherence to the masonic ideal
of respect and tolerance towards all religions. They were never able to
fulfil their utopian expectations and welcome candidates irrespective
of their religious affiliation in the whole of Europe.20
Admission terms for people of a non-Christian orientation differed
from time to time and from lodge to lodge. In general terms one can
note a more inclusive attitude during the eighteenth century, which
later developed into a more nationalistic and restrictive approach.
Regarding the position of Muslims in France, Beaurepaire stated
that they were ‘in general equally pushed back from the Christian
shores, whereas they regularly visited ateliers in Paris, in northern
France or in the Austrian Netherlands’. On the other hand, the partici-
pation of a Muslim in a lodge meeting could also be used to ‘represent
the advantage of exotism and hence qualify the lodge that welcomes

him’.21 Additionally, the presence of Muslim masons was sometimes

seen as proof of the lodge’s beneficent influence on otherwise ‘bar-
barian’ people. Masons often gloated about the fact that ‘masonic
solidarity was stronger than barbarism’.22 More contradictions arose
concerning Jewish or non-white aspirants. Jewish lodge members
could provoke silence or a breaking of ties between lodges, and non-
white masons were treated according to their general social standing
in society, which during these years was considerably lower than that
of the majority white population.23
Margaret Jacob stated that lodges served as ‘schools for government’,
in which the ‘impulse of lodges everywhere was to identify with gov-
ernment while in the same breath defining freemasons as enlightened’,
striving for a secular order.24 During the Enlightenment their secular
aspirations were firmly embedded in the general mood dominant in
Europe, where voluntary associations loosened former strong religious
relations. According to Jacob, ‘they could set men to thinking about
their capabilities’.25 Secularisation and the domestication of religion
was said to be one of the significant attributes of modern Europe.
Consequently, the state of development of non-European cultures was
judged according to the degree of their secularisation.26 Having said
that, these new unions could initiate and exercise governance quite
effectively on the whole, thereby encouraging loyalty to the central
authority. Yet in doing so they could also foster independence and self-
reliance among the beneficiaries of the state’s expanded role.
One has to keep in mind that the lodges were indeed exclusive and
elitist spaces with their own structural constraints. Yet, the partici-
pants themselves also had to deal and comply with general political
regulations, unwritten social codes of conduct and conventions of
appropriate behaviour. Masonry’s predicament was centred on the fact
that the functioning of masonic principles could only be guaranteed
in selected circles, which at the same time limited the outcome and
potential impact on a wider circle.
According to Jacob, masons tried to overcome the antagonism
between reformism and loyalty without abandoning their ‘masonic
sense of uniqueness’, which crystallised during the eighteenth
century.27 As she states, British lodges for example were ‘remarkably

supportive of established institutions of church and state. Yet they

could also house divisive, or oppositional, political perspectives.’28
With regard to intervention or active participation in politics, lodges
differed in their attitudes in both time and place. For instance, masons
in Vienna and Paris were proponents of state reforms, but in most of the
cases they were not politically involved. Lodges were ‘also places where
deep social tensions were expressed and adjudicated. More than the
English, Dutch, or Belgian lodges, the French lodges were places where
violent quarrels erupted.’29 Masons in London were mainly linked to the
Whig party and used the meetings for party politics and lobbying.30
According to Jacob, the lodges were an important vehicle for incul-
cating loyalism to king and government. As she writes, ‘subordination
to “legitimate” authority was vigorously pursued by the Grand Lodge
of London and was demanded of all lodges affiliated with it’. Though,
irrespective of affiliation, Jacob argued that ‘once overtly political in
their purpose, the lodges might turn in all sorts of directions’.31
The situation in the Ottoman Empire was different in regard to the
fact that its population was made up of various religions and the gen-
eral standing of its followers in the eyes of the law. They did not have
the same rights. When it entered the Ottoman Empire, freemasonry
was a complete product of an enlightened Europe, which seemed to
profit from civil rights, secular education and modern ways of social
communication. Religion still played a role but in urban and academic
circles it had been relegated to the fringes in questions regarding cul-
ture and ethical codes. At the same time other groups gained grounds.
Guilds, professional associations and various function-based societies
managed to increase their influence and decision-making powers.
Freemasonry fitted into the European zeitgeist. In the Ottoman Empire,
in contrast, it was a novelty and acted as a vanguard for organised
interest groups that sought to bridge religious gaps. Beirut developed
into a large port-city, while becoming at the same time a multi-ethnic
and multi-religious environment ‘characterized by an expanded public
sphere and a variety of global connections’. A new middle class evolved
and ‘consolidated the distinct character of the Ottoman coast’. And it
was these ‘influential domestic actors who successfully transformed a
region in their own vision’.32

While Christians in Greater Syria generally had fewer problems

in adapting to Western ideas, learning Western languages or trav-
elling through Europe, they were not alone in propagating reforms
– as illustrated by the examples of Al-Afghani and Abduh. Among
the Muslim advocates for profound change was Hussein Al-Jisr from
Tripoli. Al-Jisr was a religious and erudite man who taught at various
institutions and was responsible for Tripoli’s first published news-
paper, the Jaridat Tarabulus al-Sham, which was first printed in 1893.33
Belonging to a non-conservative circle of Muslim academics, Al-Jisr is
considered as the author of one of the first serious Islamic responses
to Darwinism.34 He was not averse to new and foreign ideas. In his
works, for example, he attempts to define what should be the correct
content of an Islamic book on natural sciences.35 Al-Jisr used religious
and scientific arguments against materialistic Darwinism. Without
contradicting the existence of God, he accepted parts of Darwin’s
theory of evolution as long as they were consistent with his own faith
and rationality. However, he refuted all scientific findings that seemed
to him to be pure speculation or incompatible with the Koran.36
Darwinian ideas probably first entered Greater Syria by way of
the seminar rooms of the Syrian Protestant College in Beirut, where
Edwin Lewis, one of the senior lecturers, was a keen champion of his
countryman’s ideas. At the end of the nineteenth century, Darwinism
was debated in an article by Louis Büchner, entitled Bestätigung der
Unsterblichkeit der Materie durch die Darwinsche Theorie,37 which was
translated into Arabic.38 Contrary to Darwin, Büchner considered
Darwinism to be applicable to animals, including human beings.
Thus, he concluded that there was no difference between body and
soul. The majority of religiously-minded Muslims and Christians
reacted strongly against Darwinism. Again another group of think-
ers tried to harmonise religion and science, while a third defended
Büchner’s perspective. The biggest obstacle for constructive debates
consisted in the mindsets of those involved in the topic. After all, the
theory had been developed by empirical natural scientists, but was
discussed and attacked by men without a background in science and
academia. Critics included theologians, linguists and literary studies
experts, who all displayed different traditions of thinking.39

The level of discussion was comparable in Greater Syria and in

Europe. Early Syrian newspapers showed great interest in this issue
and Al Muqtataf gave its readers the opportunity to join in the debate
in the form of published letters to the editors. Indeed, Al-Jisr used this
forum to learn more about Darwinism.40 Those who wrote letters were
more often than not involved in freemasonry and/or other societies and
therefore familiar with the possibility of the coexistence of faith and
science, an idea propagated throughout the lodges.41
Mohammad Abduh translated Spencer’s Education: Intellectual, Moral
and Physical, whilst another freemason and co-founder of Al Muqtataf,
Yacub Sarruf, was responsible for the Arabic version of Samuel Smiles’s
Self-Help in 1879.42 According to Reid, ‘the heyday of unrestrained
private enterprise was already beginning to draw to a close in Britain
and America by the time the Syrian Christians discovered its attrac-
tion as an ideology’.43 As Peter W. Sinnema writes, Self-Help was after
all ‘one of the most popular works of nonfiction published in England
in the second half of the nineteenth century’. The book ‘celebrates
individuality, autonomy, and civility, virtues central to the projects of
other nineteenth-century institutions that actively encouraged culti-
vation of the intellectual and moral working-class self: the mechanics’
institutes, public libraries, people’s colleges, and lyceums’.44 For us, it
may seem like a loose collection and list of successful men, but for
Yacub Sarruf and Jurji Zaidan the book exactly expressed their
thoughts. As Reid writes, ‘they were eager to point out to others the
road they had taken to fame and fortune’.45 Both freemasons were
successful journalists, and together with Faris Nimr among those who
went to Cairo at the end of the century because of ‘the lack of intellec-
tual freedom at the Syrian Protestant College’ as well as to avoid the
strict censorship in place in Beirut.46 In Cairo the freemasons Nimr
and Sarruf soon became acquainted with Lord Cromer, the British
controller-general and a freemason who later became consul-general
of Egypt.47
Significant parallels existed between their professional lives and their
participation in lodges. As Reid notes, Sarruf was primarily interested
‘in popularizing Western science in the Middle East’, while Zaidan’s
focus was on society, history and literature. Sarruf and Nimr agitated

against socialism – fearing this would provide the government with

an opportunity to subordinate Christians to the Islamic majority and
strongly advocated individual empowerment via self-help. However,
Zaidan’s newspaper, Al Hilal, did not object to socialism in gener-
al.48 Zaidan’s history of freemasonry makes it abundantly clear that
he considered the brotherhood to be a noble society, with its activities
and principles worthy of glory. He perceived its secrecy as a poten-
tial image problem that would disappear as soon as people became
sufficiently educated and qualified to appreciate an open masonic
fraternity. At this time he believed that one day the veil of masonic
secrecy would be removed.49
When joining Egyptian lodges, Sarruf and Nimr selected a more
political approach to daily challenges. In Cairo, as in Constantinople,
lodges were more radical and politicised. They did not always adhere
to the masonic stipulation that prohibited discussion of politics and
religion. Consequently many freemasons were involved in political
movements.50
Zaidan’s first contact with freemasonry came in his home country,
but he did not continue to go to lodge meetings when in Egypt. This
could be considered another indicator of the differences between lodges
in Lebanon and Egypt. He did not belong to the pro-revolutionary
wing of freemasonry in Egypt, which included Abduh and Al-Afghani.
What is more, the first lodges in Beirut were less prone to mix char-
itable efforts with actual political engagement. This attitude was
mirrored in Zaidan’s choice of topics for his newspaper, as opposed to
Al-Afghani’s political writings. In general, though, many freemasons
in Greater Syria went through a process of radicalisation. As Khuri
notes, ‘they concluded that reform by dialogue and peaceful settlement
may be unattainable, and therefore a revolution was an absolute neces-
sity in certain cases’.51 Taking a stand against socialism, Sarruf and
Nimr used Smiles as a guide, stating that only if the individual were
allowed to gain liberty would he enjoy the fruits of his own work. In
their view, prosperity was the result of an individual’s efforts, economic
actions, frugality and restraint. In contrast, they argued, poverty was
a result of laziness and thoughtlessness. What they abhorred most was
the negation of the individual through collectivism.52

They shared a new emphasis on individual empowerment. In Syria,

as in Europe some decades before, this newly discovered individualism
was a natural outcome of the changing social situation. The growing
involvement of the Ottoman Empire in global business and capitalism
weakened other traditional networks and shifted the balance from the
community to the individual. Smiles’s book, first read in Victorian
England, showed how men could succeed if only they possessed suffi-
cient will, perseverance and energy. In Self-Help one not only finds the
British as examples, as it uses successful biographical stories from all
over Western Europe. The descriptions range from ancestors of Smiles
to contemporaries. Hence, at the time the work was inspiring and
attractive to a lot of men. It is doubtful whether Smiles ever thought
of writing a bestseller that would be translated into non-European
languages. If so, he probably would have included more exotic examples
and concealed or excluded his belief in the superiority of Europeans.
Describing missionary labour and achievements in colonial India,
Smiles stressed that thanks to them ‘a magnificent college was erected
at Serampore; sixteen flourishing stations were established; the Bible
was translated into sixteen languages, and the seeds were sown of a
beneficent moral revolution in British India’.53 Furthermore, thanks
to India, Britain had found ‘a great field for the display of British
energy’.54 For non-Europeans the book provided perfect proof of the
fact that each individual was responsible for his own life. Although the
situation of the Ottoman Empire looked bleak at the time, the book
suggested that there was no need for despair, since the cure against
this sickness was to be found in freemasonry – the brotherhood that
fostered individual improvement and reliability.
For Middle Eastern intellectuals, Self-Help illustrated clearly the
reasons for Europe’s superiority. Smiles admitted that no individual
could be strong if isolated, but clearly limited the power of govern-
ments to provide passive help. A citizen’s duty was to be active, while
the government served merely to protect ‘life, liberty, and property’.
Reforms could only be successful ‘by means of individual action,
economy, and self-denial’,55 since ‘national progress is the sum of
individual industry, energy, and brightness, as national decay is of
individual idleness, selfishness, and vice’.56 This individual duty was

not restricted to a certain field, specific occupation or class. Self-

improvement was possible throughout society: ‘in the school of labour
is taught the best practical wisdom; nor is a life of manual employ-
ment [. . .] incompatible with high mental culture’.57 According to him,
this stress on personal responsibility was the basis from which future
developments would spring forth. Likewise freemasonry stresses the
individual responsibility for self-improvement. Only then with this
continuing process of self-scrutiny is it possible to have an impact on
the outside world at all.
Some Ottomans, such as Ussama Makdisi, tended to think in terms
of what can be called ‘Ottoman Orientalism’.58 Makdisi claims that
‘from the outset of the nineteenth-century, Ottomans recognised and
responded to the power of Western orientalism by embracing the latter’s
underlying logic of time and progress, while resisting its political and
colonialist implications’.59 Ottoman orientalism responded to Western
military and economic might. To some extent it was an adverse-effects
reflex to European penetration. Hence, Ottoman reformers compared
Western modernity with their own slow pace of development.
Modernisation was sought to lead to a ‘free and progressive America
of the East’.60 This would lift the Empire into the modern age. Like
Christians in Greater Syria, who pointed to a flourishing period of
culture and science in the pre-Islamic period, Muslims stressed the con-
temporary era in order to prove, as Fuad Pasha states, that the Empire
‘had always been tolerant, and therefore like any other European state,
in fact more than any other European state, could rightfully claim to
be a modern and civilized power’.61 As Makdisi writes, ‘like Japan,
which was an important example for Ottoman officials especially after
its defeat of Russia in 1905, the late Ottoman state perceived itself as
part of the East, but superior to the rest of the Eastern peoples’.62
Makdisi analysed Butrus al-Bustani and Fuad Pasha as two repre-
sentatives of Ottoman orientalism and further examples to support
his theory. According to him, both men agreed upon the fact that the
Middle East’s backwardness was clearly displayed during the struggles
of the 1860s. However, while Fuad Pasha advocated reforms in order
to strengthen Ottoman authority and its government, Bustani spoke
out in strong terms against corrupt, unqualified and hypocritical
politicians. He despised ignorance and supported a better educational

system. According to him, civil and religious matters should be sepa-

rated into public space and the private sphere. At the same time,
for Bustani, modernisation of Ottoman society entailed the redis-
covery of old traditions based on mutual tolerance and coexistence.63
In contradistinction to this view, Fuad Pasha considered that reforms
had to emanate from the top, due to the archaic power structures of
the Syrian elites. He also supported modernisation, when necessary,
in the form of enforced obedience, which sought to reconsolidate the
principle of a separation between rulers and the ruled.64 Likewise
Bustani asked for a strong and enlightened government in order to
guide the flock on the evolutionary path, but he realised that only citi-
zens, not subjects, would be able to lead the Empire through a process
of modernisation.65 In his eyes, modernity included values of brother-
hood, tolerance, equality, rights and liberty.66 Bustani defined the aim
of learning and education in order ‘to strengthen the ties of love and
concord among all sections of society, and to ward off the causes of
fanaticism and discord. The experience of one’s own ancestors should
be made the basis of knowledge.’67
Unlike freemasonry in Western states, the fraternity in the Ottoman
Empire did not focus its energies on one main religious persuasion (as
will be demonstrated in the following chapters). While Christianity
was the religion of the European majority, with only small insig-
nificant minorities alongside, Ottoman Syria was made up of many
more religious communities. Here, the fraternity proved to be more
geared towards inclusion than exclusion, which also had an impact
on its main characteristics. Freemasonry developed in an atmosphere
permeated by the European zeitgeist and the cultural developments
in Europe. There was no such counterpart in the Ottoman Empire.
Without doubt, individual improvement was the main reason to join
freemasonry in Syria, but it seems lodges were built mainly to realise
the hopes of members to reach out to the ‘profane’ world. The debates
in Europe were different, insofar as the topics concerned the citizens as
a whole and topics of a philosophical nature could be easily discussed.
However, in the Ottoman Empire the main topic engaging most of
the men’s minds concerned what the next day would bring and how
they would be able to survive in a society in which rifts were becoming
continuously more pronounced.

When analysing lodges established between the 1860s and the

Young Turk Revolution in 1908, one can note that a dominant
impetus behind masonic expansion centred on the feeling of the
need to strengthen society as a whole, including all its various sects.
Unity was supposed to produce strength and no difference was made
regarding religious belonging, as men of various persuasions were
invited. The Bible was as welcome as was the Qur’an. Ottomans who
decided to join freemasonry clearly wanted to see change. For now,
they had secured their place in an institution that brought together
many of the important men of the city or village. This could be an
advantage in terms of their own socio-cultural standing, as well
as when conducting business. The expansion of lodges meant that
they were able to join other lodges, in other places, thereby building
up masonic and business networks. If lodges were able to progres-
sively increase their membership, then soon everyone would recognise
that it was not worth fighting each other over questions of religious
affiliation. Rather, they could only survive if they practised what
Bustani preached and freemasonry taught: mutual tolerance and
coexistence.
Inclusion or Exclusion
The Old Charges envisaged that ‘preferment among Masons is
grounded upon real Worth and personal Merit only’, but this prin-
ciple was at the same time invalidated by other determining factors
concerning membership in general. The Charges state that a mason
had to be of ‘a perfect Youth, having no Maim or Defect in his Body,
that may render him incapable to learning the Art’. In addition, he
‘should be descended of honest Parents’. Moreover, the last and highest
masonic degree could only be reached by a man who was ‘nobly born,
or a Gentleman of the best Fashion, or some eminent Scholar, or some
curious Architect, or other Artist, descended of honest Parents, and
who is of singular great Merit in the Opinion of the Lodges’.68 Thus,
Anderson’s Charges had already paved the way for the later emergence
of the inconsistencies between a concept of equality before masonic
law and elitism in practice.

As Jacob noted, lodges required literacy and ‘perhaps most

important, relative affluence which was necessary to pay the dues’.69
However, it would be wrong to view the lodges in a purely nega-
tive light, which revolved around an elitist lifestyle. A mason’s
individual wealth served at the same time as a precondition for a
wide philanthropic system. Once again, Jacob states ‘the associations
also provided a refuge, an escape from censorship’ for masons, ‘or
in case of the lodges, a place for assistance and charity where the
state or the churches could not, or would not, provide’.70 Honest and
concerted efforts to improve general education were characteristic of
masonic lodges. Masons typically rallied against Catholic theology
and advocated the inherent moral quality of human nature, which
should be strengthened and advanced by education and the exercise
of reason.71 Beneficence towards non-masons was not only perceived
as a means of providing immediate relief for the needy, but also as a
masonic duty to work for the improvement of a mason’s surround-
ings as a step towards the goal of universal human prosperity. This
masonic philanthropic attitude unintentionally highlighted the
differences between masons and non-masons, as well as between the
affluent elite and the poor, by exposing those who gave and those
who received.
The lodges created a new social sphere that formed a microcosm of
society, where one needed a masonic passport to enter.72 This necessary
accessory was not restricted to European institutions, but was valid for
lodges worldwide. The document stated the name of the mason, the
affiliated lodge and the lawfulness and recognition of the concerned
member. The certificate was authenticated by the signatures of the
lodge’s head and its secretary. The added ID picture enabled others
to check the validity of the document, while varying symbols were
supposed to emphasise the masonic significance. The masonic passport
shown (see Figure 4) belonged to an Arab freemason from Le Liban
lodge and was supposed to enable him to enter lodges that recognised
daughter lodges of the Grand Orient of France.
While a potential member had to prove his virtue nobleness, a trav-
elling mason had to provide this document from his own lodge in
order to be recognised.

Figure 4 Masonic Passport from the 1930s (an example of an Arabic masonic
passport photographed in 2008 at the Centre de Recherche et de Documentation
Maconnique, Charles Kesrouani, Ghazir/Lebanon)
As Hoffmann argues, ‘associations represented the most important

medium for developing and strengthening new identities in the nine-
teenth century’. But the proliferation of associations did not necessarily
entail the strengthening of civil society’s values; ‘those new identities
in turn set their own, occasionally anti-liberal, agendas’.73 The system
of black balling, which entailed noting one’s objection to a candidate’s
admission by means of a black ball during the voting process, had
the potential to foster social discrimination. In various cases, an elitist
corps filtered out non-conformist masons.
In addition, the secrecy of masonic rituals enhanced the need to pay
attention to new members. One reason for keeping the public in the
dark about ceremonies within the lodge was in order to strengthen
the members’ feeling of being part of something special. Masons
learned to be cautious in their choice of words and their deportment.
As Anderson stated in 1723, ‘the most penetrating Stranger shall not
be able to discover or find out what is not proper to be intimated’ and

sometimes, when necessary, a mason had to ‘divert a Discourse’.74

A masonic lodge had to constantly endeavour to reconcile its inherent
paradoxes: ‘[l]eft in the night of secret societies while being united as
sons of the light’.75 It is true of all secret societies, as Simmel claims,
that ‘the strongly accentuated exclusion of all not within the circle
of secrecy results in a correspondingly accentuated feeling of personal
possession’. Its existence alone has a value and, as Simmel stated, it
gives ‘the person enshrouded by it an exceptional position’, in which
‘everything secret is something essential and significant’.76 The more
essential and important the secret seems to be, the stronger the bond
among the inaugurated. To quote Simmel once again, while secrecy
‘works toward isolation and individualisation, socialisation is a coun-
teractive factor’.77
According to Hoffmann, the masonic fraternity’s ‘secrecy and
the emotional cult of brotherhood’ created a space separated from
everyday life. It was ‘a male world of love and ritual’ and a ‘flight from
domesticity’.78 This was illustrated by means of the dramatic admission
ceremony, as described by Noel Gist, who stated that it involved ‘lead-
ing the novice from the “profane” world into the realm of mystery’.79
The quasi-religious ceremonial oath underlined this significant step
away from the profane world and towards enlightenment.80
Nationalism and Cosmopolitanism

Between 1776 and 1778 Gotthold Ephraim Lessing wrote a fic-
tional discussion about freemasonry. His protagonists – Ernst and
Falk – attempt to reveal its deeper truths by entering into a Socratic
dialogue. Falk adopts the role of Socrates, thereby steering Ernst with
suggestive questions in the desired direction. In their second conver-
sation, they deal directly with the on-going and seemingly insoluble
paradox inherent in freemasonry. How is it possible to be a cosmo-
politan striving for one universal brotherhood without becoming an
anti-nationalist, an atheist or an anarchist?81
Falk: Hence, we imagine the best kind of state; we imagine that

all human beings live in this state: would therefore all men of
the world constitute a single state?

Ernst: Hardly so. Such a monstrous state could not be

administrated.
Falk: That means: all men would still be German and French,
Dutch and Spain, Russian and Swedish; or whatever they
would be anyway.
Ernst: Sure enough.
Falk: Hence, we received already something. Is it not true that all
of these little states would have their own interests? And every
member of them would act for the interest of his state.82
Lessing, who was initiated into the fraternity at a lodge in Hamburg

in 1771, categorised the masonic raison d’étre as a serious attempt to
improve and stabilise mankind and human relations, in order to over-
come inevitable evils. The state was a tool and an intermediate stage in
this process towards enlightenment. Unlike Gottfried Leibniz, Lessing
did not believe that humans lived in the best possible world. However,
the state provided for and protected the well-being of its citizens by
way of its social order and legal administration. Accordingly, uni-
versal equality was possible if the world was divided into states. His
two protagonists do not claim that the existence of states had to be
overcome, but rather that there must be something else as well: a con-
cept that could obliterate the existing distinctions between different
religions, ethnicities, and civil societies, without affecting political
systems. Hence, freemasonry’s most challenging duty, in Lessing’s
opinion, was to function as this ideal concept.83
In contrast to this rather utopian idea, freemasonry’s fate was always
connected to its social and political surroundings; it worked within
existing societies and was therefore to a certain extent restricted. At
the same time, masons also belonged to other networks and had to con-
form to additional structural frameworks. In the eighteenth century,
as Anthony J. La Vopa writes, ‘the “public” first assumed a recognis-
ably modern shape and became a powerful ideological construct’.84
Freemasonry, like academic or literary societies, was a concomitant
phenomenon of the European Enlightenment. As part of a van-
guard for an evolving civil society and harbinger for political parties,
freemasons wanted to affect their communities, by aiming to

advance the commonwealth according to agreed upon tenets.85

One of the main characteristics was freemasonry’s claim to espouse
cosmopolitanism.
The literal meaning of the Greek word kosmopolis derives from
kosmos (world order, universe) and polis (city, community of citizens).
The word was conceived during the Enlightenment and evolved into
various forms and deviations. However, the perception of a Weltbürger
or citoyen de l’univers, whilst popular among intellectuals, never became
established in broader circles or among the lower classes.
According to Sami Zubaida, a person ‘who is multilingual, multi-
cultural, at home in different milieus and who has wide interests across
cultural and national boundaries’ can be defined as cosmopolitan, but
can still advocate nationalism.86 Particularism and universalism, as
Zubaida argues, are not necessarily perceived ‘as in succession’ or ‘as
mutually exclusive’.87 Moreover, as Stefan-Ludwig Hoffmann notes,
the concept of ‘nation’ indeed ‘promises universal human equality’
and grants the individual some privileges, but these rights can only
become manifest in an existing, structured and statutory framework,
which constitutes ‘universality in the particular, distinguishing itself
from other particularities’.88 The weakening of traditional boundaries
and the development of new institutions were precursors for individu-
alisation and liberty, which as Zubaida notes ‘allow and may facilitate
the de-racinisation from caste, community and religion’.89 Whereas
this is also a condition for cosmopolitanism, the emergence of capit-
alism and modern states generated other criteria for identification and
classification. Hence, cosmopolitanism was not an automatic outcome
of globalisation.90 Moreover, when confronted with extreme realities,
periods of war, starvation and poverty, ideals tend to collapse – as
happened to the concept of cosmopolitanism in Europe during the
nineteenth century.
Rebecka Lettevall defines cosmopolitanism, regardless of its mul-
tiple facets, more as an ideal than a doctrine.91 According to her, its
advocates strive for a better world in the future and most of them
know quite well how this ideal world should be brought closer, but are
never able to reach this cosmopolitan utopia in the real world. Pauline
Kleingeld distinguishes between at least six forms of cosmopolitanism,

which all have different implications and are themselves influenced by

surroundings.92 However, what all of these forms share is an emphasis
on one common humanity and respect for other cultures, human rights
and moral equality. Without challenging specifically Western criteria,
norms were applied for all existing communities, showing an inher-
ently prejudiced elitist character.93 The aspect of Europe’s superiority
regarding other cultures is not something claimed solely by cosmo-
politans. Arguably, the plural term ‘cultures’ came into use in the
nineteenth century, when Europe was still considered as the paradigm
for evolution.94
Freemasonry did not develop in a vacuum. In the early days of
speculative freemasonry, lodge members mainly belonged to the elite
of society who helped the fraternity to spread around the globe. It
encapsulated enlightened ideas of brotherhood, such as universal soli-
darity. According to Andreas Önnerfors, ‘cosmopolitan ideas were
formulated and practiced very early on, but these ideas were a part of
joint European sociability that remained closed for those who were not
initiated into it’.95As Pierre-Yves Beaurepaire makes clear, ‘for freema-
sons, two worlds existed: the masonic Cosmopolitanism permitted the
brothers to open up and discover themselves in two fitting universes,
the one in which they were born and where they asserted themselves,
and the one they had chosen, constructed, in which they wanted to be
exemplary citizens – though without “sovereignty” to use the expres-
sion by Daniel Gordon’.96 Moreover, the question arose as to how far
members of a secret society could possibly claim to be cosmopolitans
when they included some but excluded others.
The first European lodges were used as a kind of formative play-
ground for the emerging concept of civil society. It was in this semiotic
arena, as Margaret Jacob stated, that ‘men also became legislators and
constitution makers’, in addition to the already existing debating
clubs and literary societies.97 Within the lodge masons proclaimed a
universalistic ethic, while at the same time insisting on the strict sep-
aration between their fellow brethren and the so-called profane. But
it was exactly in these restricted circles that the general love of man-
kind as a whole was preached. Citing the Scottish freemason Andrew
Michael Ramsay (1686–1743), Önnerfors argues that freemasons

indeed considered themselves to be part of a universal collective. The

fraternity purported a commitment to a vision of mankind in which
‘all nations can borrow sound knowledge’ and can ‘live without dis-
cord and cherish one another without renouncing one’s homeland’.98
Lodges were perceived as the antithesis of the Babylonian confusion
of tongues. Masonic homes should bridge and harmonise all distinc-
tions, iron out misconceptions and strengthen ecumenism.99 On the
strength of the uniformity of lodges, universalism was thought to
be possible. Freemasons, although initially concentrating in Europe,
created lodges as similarly structured associations, following the
same rules and respecting the same principles throughout the world.
During the second half of the eighteenth century masonry was so
successful in Europe that it was identified as a dominant European
institution besides the church.100 Lodge members used the improved
and expanding infrastructure of international masonry in order to bol-
ster an increase in the frequency of communication and travel. These
strengthening links served as a channel for information, the affirm-
ation of mutual sympathy or simply as a better means of control,
thanks to the possibility of closer observation.101
Unfortunately, laudable principles and resolutions did not fare well
in the nineteenth century when tested in martial reality. The opinion
that civilised nations must absorb and reform the uncivilised in the
name of humanity as separate ‘national projects’ became widespread,
for example, in German masonic circles.102 The moral language of
freemasonry seemed increasingly contradictory, in terms of social and
cultural visions and realities.103 Not only did secrecy create boundaries
between insiders and the so-called profane, but as has been mentioned
already, the common requirements for participation in the lodges also
only included educated, wealthy men. Moreover, as Hoffmann notes,
‘national societies moved closer together’, as the antagonism between
masonic ideal principles and the actual ceremonies and rituals inside
lodges became even more pronounced.104 Hence, while masons
remained trapped in their cages of politically correct language, other
organisations, such as the labour and peace movements, started to
build international networks. According to Zubaida, Europe opened
ways ‘for social mobility which assimilated individuals into different

social and cultural milieus’. The new means of the mobility of people
and ideas, facilitated through printing, created a ‘new intellectual’
model and ended the system of a ‘unitary Weltanschauung’.105
In the meantime, each masonic national grand lodge displayed reser-
vations against its foreign brothers. Indeed national masonic bodies
championed their own superiority and the role of their own countries
‘to develop the idea of human progress’ and ‘to love, to serve, and to
die for humanity’.106 Allegedly, every lodge possessed the ultimate key
to universalism and cosmopolitanism. Although ‘German Romantic
nationalism was explicitly anti-cosmopolitan’, as Zubaida stated, this
nationalism was understood by some freemasons as ‘part of a univer-
salist commitment’.107
In the case of the Grand Orient of France, it had already begun to
behave by the end of the eighteenth century, as Pierre-Yves Beaurepaire
argues, ‘as a national obedience and refused every foreign intrusion –
especially a British one – on French grounds, claiming the monopoly
over foreign correspondence’. Harsher rejections were still to come as
‘the emergence of nationalism radicalised positions at the end of the
century’.108
The masonic lodges formed in British colonies once again highlight
the discrepancy between masonic cosmopolitan ideology and reality.
Freemasonry did facilitate and advance intra-cultural exchanges, but
interactions took place, as Harland-Jacobs observes, in ‘the context of
unequal power relations’. She goes on to argue that they played a ‘crit-
ical role in building, consolidating, and perpetuating the empire’.109
Empires functioned like global players, while at the same time they
were keen to preserve their national characteristics. British freemasonry
spread in parallel to the presence of the British army, missionaries
and travellers. Hence, the British model of the fraternity became
global without becoming universal or cosmopolitan. As Margaret
Jacob notes, ‘for international travellers or military men, the national
character of the lodges permitted an appeal that could compensate
for the failure of states to reward or care for their citizens or serv-
ants’.110 Only to a ‘very limited extent’, according to Harland-Jacobs,
did the supposed principle of tolerance and cosmopolitan ideology
form masonic networks ‘that included men from various cultures’.111

Its primary purpose in foreign countries was to connect British

people and thereby establish an imperialistic social and economic
network.
In this way freemasonry played a counterproductive role, that is, it
impeded the development of a cosmopolitan culture in the colonies. As
Harland-Jacobs argues, it encouraged ‘an imperialist identity among
its members’, serving as a ‘discrete institutional force that consolidated
British imperialism’.112 On the other hand, one could also claim that
masons of the British Empire still perfectly embodied the principles of
the masonic charges expounded by James Anderson in 1723.113 Herein
Anderson states that ‘a Mason is a peaceable Subject to the Civil
Powers, wherever he resides or works, and is never to be concern’d in
Plots an Conspiracies against the Peace and Welfare of the Nation’.114
The lodges belonging to the Grand Orient of Italy that were estab-
lished in foreign countries offered their members first of all ‘a place
to meet and sociability, thus, different forms of help and protection’
and were characterised as an ‘instrument to preserve the tie to their
homeland and to cultivate the feeling to belong to a distant national
community’.115 In contrast to the British, French or German branches
of freemasonry, Italian lodges opened up much more to locals and
were used as a means to build and cement economic, social and pol-
itical relations between their members, irrespective of nationality.
‘Cette ouverture vers l’extérieur’ was typical mainly of Italian lodges
in the Mediterranean area, where they also played an important role
for Sephardic Jews, who joined the craft in large numbers.116 Their
emphasis on laïcité, which often bordered on anti-clericalism, enabled
all men regardless of religion to participate. Being monotheistic in
belief was a precondition, but this was compatible with an aversion
to religious dogmatism, as well as to the power and influence of the
church and to political conservatism. Modernisation and democratisa-
tion were channelled, propagated and advanced in significant measure
by the members of these lodges.117
One has to keep in mind that masonic rhetoric and its theoretical
framework of rules did not have to be consistent with what was actu-
ally implemented. It is appropriate to state that the particular emphasis
on masonic maxims shifted and was responsive to the dynamism of

socio-cultural surroundings and the lodges’ status in their homelands,

as well as in colonial settings. Whereas the French and German lodges
worked in a European context, where masonry already existed and
identities were created partly by means of national distinctions, the
British and Italian lodges were established when colonialism was on
the rise. They entered countries with no prior experience of masonry,
where power relations were unequal and where the need to preserve the
existing status quo, in order to ease trade, was probably more pressing
than the desire to spread national wisdom.
After World War One, German masons shifted their attention to
the preservation of lodges and to the support of individual members.
Additionally, they warned against the mixing of cultures and the
loss of purity of German spiritual might.118 Lodges were seen as spir-
itual homesteads, in which it was possible to meet and express one’s
personal troubles.119 This perception of masonic challenges after the
devastating war resembled the experiences made by British freemasons
when entering the ‘virgin soil’ of their colonies.
It should be stressed that not all freemasons displayed national-
istic or patriotic feelings towards their Heimat. However, the general
mood of the fraternity, as Hoffmann describes, made sure that ‘the
pacifist, internationally orientated wing of European Freemasonry had
little influence on political decision-making in France or Germany
or, indeed, inside the lodges of both countries’.120 The tension and
ambivalence between cosmopolitanism and nationalism outlived the
nineteenth century: ‘we are far away from a fraternity based on virtue,
sciences and humanity. A community welded together against the one
it rejects and, positively, for the cultivation of common values.’121 With
the outbreak of World War One, the reciprocal influence of ideologies
had become even more pronounced.
Did Ottoman freemasons advocate a certain ideology that was
either compatible with or hostile to masonic principles, as it has been
experienced in Europe? Preserved written material from Western
lodges convincingly shows that on-going discussions took place inside
the lodges, but no such sources exist concerning lodges in the Middle
East in the nineteenth century. It may be true that lodges in Egypt
and contemporary Turkey turned towards nationalism and displayed a

more radical antipathy against Western meddling. However, although

nationalising efforts for a certain period in some areas succeeded,
lodges in Greater Syria never strictly cut their relations to Western
lodges.122
Comparisons of masonic tenets in general with the output of Syrian
intellectuals, who were also freemasons, may be one way to get closer
to the role the fraternity played in their daily lives. Yet, researchers
can only refer to documents of individual masons and their ideas
or perception of the situation and it seems to be wrong to classify
these sources as strictly masonic in spirit. In most cases these Arab
thinkers had revealed their thoughts prior to initiation in a lodge.
For them, freemasonry provided an institutional framework, or a tool,
as an anonymous letter to masonic magazine emphasised: ‘Liberty,
Equality, and Fraternity. We do sincerely believe, and have spoken of
it already to others, that the final unification of the divergent interests
and conflicting ambitions and rivalry among nations, communities,
and individuals will be accomplished by the efforts of true religion
coupled with the praiseworthy efforts of Freemasonry.’123 The author
of the letter expressed his hope and confidence that the time would
come ‘when the West and the East shall clasp each other’s hands, when
the Orient and the Occident shall embrace each other and go forward’.
However, motives for writing this letter are unknown and since it was
published in 1908, when the Young Turks took power, the writer may
well have been driven by fear of the revolution’s implications for his
future. This thought is substantiated when he reminds the Western
brothers that ‘every civilised government knows that it cannot commit
any glaring wrongs against her weak neighbours for there are many of
its subjects who will not countenance such a cruel, unjust policy’.124
When European freemasons during the nineteenth century displayed
growing pride in their nationality and their fatherland, brothers from
the Middle East perceived their own homelands as becoming increas-
ingly chaotic and nationalism was an idea yet to come to full force.
Ideas from the Enlightenment were borrowed and different approaches
supported in order to improve the Empire’s condition, which was
perceived as sickly. Many reformers pictured the Empire as a body that
had caught a disease and was now in need of a doctor to find the right

cure. Jamal al-Din al-Afghani and Mohammad Abduh, who were both
freemasons, were two of the best known advocates of reform in order
to strengthen Islam and thereby society itself. Both used Darwinian
terminology, as Aziz al-Azmeh states, to proclaim that a society was
healthy if it had various ‘functionally interdependent components and
that it would only be “consummate” when it had proven to be capable
of subjugating others’.125
In Afghani’s eyes, the Ottoman Empire was hindered by west-
ernisation, new sects and by military defeats. His cure served also
as the battle cry for many other reformers championing a campaign
that stressed the need to return to the Empire’s authentic roots.126
Herder’s thoughts were recognisable in the reform proposals of these
men. His notion of vital romanticism and his emphasis on pedagogy
found its equivalent in Afghani’s support of moral Islamic education.
As Al-Azmeh notes, Herder’s ideas effectively represented a simple
‘paradigm for Romantic nationalism throughout the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries’.127
Hussein Al-Jisr (1845–1909) again provides an example of a man,
though not a mason, who was antithetical to the West; for him
Europeans were racists who deliberately destabilised the Ottoman
Empire for their own ends. He considered the British occupation of
Egypt as just another example of Western hypocrisy: on the one hand,
Europeans talked about reforms and modernisation, whilst on the
other hand, they used force against Egyptian students at the Al-Azhar
University who had sought to express their freedom of opinion.128
In the public press, ideologies were discussed relating to displays
of nationalist attitudes connected with language issues and religion.
As in Europe, only elite circles were involved in debates concerning
various different ideologies. The number of people reading newspapers
and journals was even smaller and mainly consisted of graduates from
schools in Greater Syria and Egypt. These students were predomin-
antly male, relatively young and lived in an urban environment.129
Examining the role of newspapers and journals as a tool for commu-
nication and dialogue shows that between 1876 and 1926 Al Muqtataf
published 3,500 letters from readers. Most of the disputes, though,
took place after the editors had left Beirut for Cairo in 1876.130

Before the Young Turk Revolution, loyalty to the Ottoman Empire

was discussed only rarely in the press – partly due to censorship but
mainly because anything else was out of the question.131 Up until the
end of the nineteenth century, articles in the press concentrated on
questions related to the standard of Arabic. Al Muqtataf effectively
began this trend in 1881, with an article defending the use of foreign
words in order to keep pace with modern inventions. Yacub Sarruf
and Faris Nimr, both freemasons, were amongst the advocates for a
controlled Arabication of foreign words. Their main argument was
also supposed to please conservative antagonists. They highlighted the
fact that Arabic was such a rich and well structured language, that it
easily could adapt and integrate foreign vocabulary.132 As both Sarruf
and Nimr were journalists, language was an everyday tool for them
and was supposed to be as practical as possible. Ultimately they were
victorious in their linguistic battle, as it was seemingly unavoidable
to include Western expressions in Arabic.133 There were even propos-
als to Latinise Arabic in order to make it more accessible, but these
were rebuffed by more conservative scholars with the hint that such an
initiative would be damaging to traditional Arabic literature and its
cultural heritage.134
Events in Europe during the nineteenth century served as models,
which were sometimes deemed worthwhile to imitate or to adapt.
However, cosmopolitanism was not among the concepts widely
discussed in the Middle East in this period. Values regarding mankind
in general were laid out, but attention was first and foremost directed
at domestic grievances.135 Freemasons were suspected of being behind
the French Revolution, although they were not held responsible for its
negative processes. Admiration for this seemingly successful revolu-
tion was among the reasons for the famous scholar Al-Afghani to join
the brotherhood in the first place, though he soon became frustrated
with his lodge when it refused to address political issues.136
Most Syrian freemasons were probably romantic cosmopolitans to
an extent, who believed in a commonly agreed understanding of mor-
ality and the potential unity of all human beings. At the same time,
the majority of freemasons considered themselves – at least in Beirut
– to be cultural nationalists. According to Yasir Suleiman, ‘cultural

nationalism is a reactive movement, or defensive response, on the part

of the educated elites, against externally generated challenges to the
existing order of the community and its traditional belief systems’.137
This also explains the fact why so many freemasons in Beirut in their
positions as journalists, scholars, educators and artists read ‘modernity
into tradition at the same time as treating tradition as an expression
of modernity’.138
A focus on the regional environment can clearly be seen in Mikha’il
Mishaqa’s history of Syria. Mishaqa belonged to a family that was
deeply involved in freemasonry and wrote his history of Greater Syria
in the 1870s, when he actively promoted the idea of brotherhood.139
As Zachs notes, ‘he calls for unity among the minorities, and urges
the people not to emphasise their religious differences but to judge the
different millets according to their behaviour’.140 Ilyas Matar, who was
a member of Sunneen Lodge on Mount Lebanon at the end of the nine-
teenth century, also wrote a history of Syria.141 His al-˓Uqūd al-durriyya
fi ta˒rı̄kh al-mamlaka al-Sūriyya142 was published in Beirut in 1874 and,
according to Youssef M. Choueiri, indicated ‘both a growing Syrian
consciousness of a distinct national history, and an Ottoman proclivity
to encourage a limited cultural non-political autonomy’, which until
then was subject to strict censorship. Choueiri notes that it lacks pat-
riotic overtones, but that ‘it makes up [for this] in its concentration on
a well-defined territorial unit, endowed with all the essential charac-
teristics of a nation’.143 Syrian writers had to walk ‘a tightrope, trying
to perform a balancing act between [. . .] loyalty to the Ottoman state
and a [. . .] burgeoning Syrian consciousness’.144
Another writer, confronted with this problem, was Jurji Yanni, who
was a member of Le Liban Lodge in Beirut and later Kadisha Lodge
in Tripoli. In his book Ta˒rı̄kh Sūriya,145 Yanni not only defined the
different stages pre-Ottoman and Ottoman territory went through,
but also exposed what he saw as the reasons for the backward status of
Syria when compared to modern Europe. Characteristic for most of the
Christian writers was their emphasis on pre-Islamic periods, through
which they claimed back their rightful Syrian identity, irrespective
of religious affiliation. At this stage, however, they did not ask for
autonomy.

The patriotism displayed by Yanni and others at the same time served
as a fundament for nationalism. Taking Hroch’s analysis into account,
the Ottoman freemasons were in phase A on the way to nationalism. This
stage features an enlightened academic elite, which is led by emotional
engagement in its object of research.146 Jurji Yanni and Butrus al-Bus-
tanti spring to mind in this regard, as they displayed this emotional
diligence regarding the history of the Ottoman people. Accordingly,
these patriots were interested in findings about their own past and their
language.147 Yacoub Sarruf and Faris Nimr, both freemasons, published
debates about the purification of the Arab language in their newspaper
Al Muqtataf. Consequently, the following questions arose: Who are we?
What defines us? What defines the others?148 Freemasonry helped to
fill the space of no belonging. Though the response to these questions
did not automatically lead to nationalism, as Hroch convincingly shows.
Nationalism is only one of the potential outcomes. Freemasonry, simi-
larly, had always been an adaptable concept, something that developed
according to the interpretations of its members.
The published documents regarding freemasonry in the Ottoman
Empire indicate the general direction of contemporary Syrian dis-
course: it was not explicitly against cosmopolitan thought in general,
although it was first deemed necessary to foster respect for one’s own
country, equal to other civilised nations. National tendencies that
had long been present in European lodges seem to have found their
counterpart in the Ottoman Empire at the beginning of the twen-
tieth century. Were Syrian freemasons nationalists? Some of them
certainly were. Was Syrian freemasonry nationalistic? No evidence has
been found. They did show a common concern for the state of Greater
Syria, a fear of religious fanaticism and consequently another period
of civil unrest. Lodges did not act as nationalist entities, nor has any
proof been found for endeavours to do so. If anything, as has been
explained, freemasons were patriots (although even this statement has
to be restricted to Beirut and its academic clientele). Also patriotism
is based on defined principles and a certain mindset, which was not
present among the majority of Ottoman freemasons.
When freemasons spoke about emancipation, they did not consider a
political separation from the Ottoman Empire; rather an emancipation

of thought and liberation from religious confinement that had made it

impossible to create a feeling of belonging among Syrians. They were
looking for a way to stabilise the weakened Ottoman Empire. They
thought of unity, not of further separatism. Consequently there was no
talk about an uprising against the government. Instead, some freema-
sons even considered the fight against the clergy as a way to support
the survival of the political apparatus.149

CHAPTER 3
M ASONIC GR AND BODIES
European Grand Lodges

European lodges developed in different social, political and economic
surroundings. Consequently, they varied regarding the structural
constraints of the prevailing culture, as well as in regard to traditions
and the state system. Hence, something that was valid for French lodges
may not have been applicable for those in England. As the individual
grand lodges started to consider expansion into the Middle East, they
carried with them their cultural imprint and their distinctive political
and social features. The first lodges in Greater Syria in the second half of
the nineteenth century were formed by masons belonging to the Grand
Lodge of Scotland. Others from the Grand Orient of France followed.
It should be stated that although there had been some lodges under the
patronage of the Grand Orient of Italy in Greater Syria as well, they
were all short-lived. This was mainly due to the war in Libya in 1911,
which badly affected the reputation of Italy and Italian freemasonry.1
On the other hand, Italian lodges did thrive in Egypt and Turkey, where
they were more often than not accused of interfering in politics and
undermining the regime; an allegation not completely unwarranted.2
The Grand Lodge of Scotland

The Grand Lodge of Ancient, Free and Accepted Masons of Scotland was
founded in Edinburgh in 1736. With the establishment of the Grand

Lodge, as Lisa Kahler notes, for the first time ‘a union of Scottish lodges
was created’ and masonry was increasingly perceived as a ‘nation-wide
masonic community’.3
Since so many lodges pre-dated the Grand Lodge, they managed
to preserve their sovereignty and a considerable degree of control over
their own affairs.4 Unlike English lodges, which were much more
strictly supervised and centralised, Scottish lodges perpetuated their
own traditions. This relative degree of autonomy regarding the elab-
oration of rituals and practices may well account for foreign lodges
preferring to be legitimated by the Grand Lodge of Scotland, rather
than by the London based Grand Lodge of England.
The Grand Orient of France

The Grand Orient de France was established in 1773 and is the second
oldest of its kind in Europe. Lodges belonging to the Grand Orient
started to call themselves liberal lodges after a decision was made to
abandon the notion of the Grand Architect at a meeting in 1877. This
decree was agreed upon in order to emphasise the notion of freedom
of conscience and religion. As a result other grand lodges, including
the Grand Lodge of England, broke all ties with the Grand Orient.
Additionally, the recognition of mixed gender lodges by the Grand
Orient was not favourably received by many grand lodges.
Before the French Revolution, as Margaret Jacob notes, masonic
lodges ‘mirrored the social tensions and antagonisms of the old
regime, while at the same time offering the alternative inherent in
the new political culture of the Enlightenment’.5 Meetings served as
a forum for the whole spectrum of socio-political ideas. The lodges
worked towards a new political culture, in which they sought to define
civil society as an arena for individuals to focus on shared interests,
purposes and values. While some masons participated in revolutionary
acts, the majority used their position inside the lodge to define their
own civic identity.
French society during the revolutionary period was characterised
by wide schisms between the different social strata. As Jacob notes,
‘the lodges had come to mirror the breakdown of social relations’.6

M ASONIC GR AND BODIES 75
But, while initially trying to cope with the conflicting classes and
to bridge the gaps between them, most lodges instead inadvertently
widened the discrepancies, as Jacob again notes, ‘between the elite
and the popular and also between the military and the civilian’. The
French lodges insisted on a suitable social composition that was only
comprised of honourable men. Thus, lodges were shaped by a dis-
tinctive social hierarchy.7
During the Enlightenment in France, clear differences between the
upper strata of society were confused. The literary and cultural intelli-
gentsia was seen as equal to aristocratic noblemen. French freemasons
spoke out for scientific education and gender equality, but retained
the social distance to the society’s lower strata. As Janet Burke and
Margaret Jacob note, ‘by the 1760s both concepts, liberty and equality,
appeared on the intellectual agenda of enlightened and reforming
circles’. However, these topics were only discussed by the literate and
financially comfortable. At the same time, charitable and benevolent
acts were used to enhance the public prestige of masons and to con-
front their government.
According to Philip Nord, French masonry ‘experienced an explo-
sion of recruitment under the Empire’. The number of lodges rose from
244 in 1857 to 392 in 1870. In the 1850s, freemasonry became more
radical, partly as a consequence of state oppression; partly reasoned
by the function of lodges as refuges for all sorts of radicals.8 With the
election of Prince Lucien Murat, a member of the Bonaparte family,
as grand master, French masons tried to receive protection from the
top. However, Murat closed down 100 lodges on the basis of the
new Imperial constitution.9 Over time his autocratic and quasi-royal
approach fermented considerable opposition.10 A new social class came
to power, visible some time later in the election of the new grand
master, the journalist Leonidé Babaud-Laribière. Elite lodge represent-
atives were no longer present and the changed zeitgeist required reforms
of the old status quo. One of the principles that the new generation
of masons changed was the oath in the old constitution regarding the
existence of the Grand Architect. Now such an oath was considered
to be an obstacle against freedom of conscience. As Nord remarks,
‘the Grand Orient’s embrace of secularism marked a turning point

not only in its internal history but also in its relations with masonic
movements abroad,’ since most of the grand lodges suspended contact
with the French.11
Masons of the Grand Orient were thus anti-clerical and espoused
rationalist ethics in the cause of a ‘visionary humanitarianism’ and
universal brotherhood.12 They demanded more rights for women and
education for everyone. However, equal education was not understood
as complete liberation for women, but rather as an adequate tool to
provide future generations with fitting intellectual homes in which
to be raised. In this sense, freemasons acted as a civil vanguard, with
their pacifist agenda, calls for class reconciliation and anti-racist rheto-
ric.13 While society certainly did not experience a masonic-induced
revolution, their ideologies were transferred to other movements and
organisations. This resulted in the gradual change of French civil and
political life, which nourished the myth of the masonic battle cry for
liberté, egalité et fraternité.
Masonic Grand Bodies in the Ottoman Empire

As this book focuses on Ottoman Syria, only masonic grand bodies
related to freemasonry relevant for the concerned area can be taken
into account. The first lodges established in the Ottoman Empire
worked under the patronage of European masonic bodies. Originally
freemasonry was introduced into the Empire during the eighteenth
century.14 The Grand Lodge of Scotland established one of the first
lodges in Aleppo and Smyrna, with Alexander Drummond, British
Consul in Aleppo, being named Provincial Grand Master of Pour
l’Orient Grand Lodge. Provincial or district grand masters were
provided with full power ‘to constitute lodges in any part of Europe or
Asia bordering on the Mediterranean Sea, and superintend the same,
or any others already erected in those parts of the world’.15 Additional
lodges in Constantinople allegedly worked under the Grand Orient of
Geneva, the Grand Lodge of Poland and others.16
But it was only one hundred years later that freemasonry indeed
started to expand, though even then Constantinople and Cairo
remained the main focus.17 In his articles, Paul Dumont referred to

the proclamation of the 1839 Reform Edict, which guaranteed more

rights to Ottomans and foreigners alike when establishing philan-
thropic societies ‘without fear of legal proceedings and punishment’.
According to Dumont, the increasing number of lodges came as a
result of a new trend towards European influences: ‘receptiveness to
economic penetration and political influence, receptiveness to ideas
prevailing in Europe, and also receptiveness to individuals coming
from the West’.18 When so-called irregular freemasonry – lodges not
recognised and controlled by Western masonic bodies – seemed to get
out of hand, it was Sir Henry Bulwer, ambassador in Constantinople
from 1858, who became the first District Grand Master for Turkey
in 1862. At this time the lodge Pour l’Orient was working under the
Grand Lodge of England.19
Naturally Constantinople, the Ottoman capital and centre of polit-
ical and economic power, was attractive for freemasons as it had ‘close
links with Europe not only in the commercial domain but also on
the cultural level’.20 Freemasonry spread in a certain pattern, whereas
lodges were built in important commercial centres like Smyrna or
Alexandria and Cairo in Egypt, centres of Western occupation like
Cyprus or places marked by political instability, such as Salonica.21
The character of the lodges depended on their ethnic and social
structures, and more often than not displayed imperialist or nationalist
attitudes. However, Dumont also clarifies that masonic meetings also
revolved around other subjects. Some masons simply enjoyed ‘lavish
banquets, with a lot of drinking, convened in the trail of masonic cere-
monies’ while others ‘preferred to devote their sittings to activities of
spiritual character, and more specifically to ceremonies of initiation’.
Again others used masonic links for philanthropy and the exchange
of ideas.
In cases where lodges took on a certain political position, they were
either inclined to support French or British interests, depending on
the affiliation of their grand bodies, or they promoted the national
goals of their own community. This was the case with some of the
purely Armenian or Greek lodges founded in Constantinople.22 While
the Armenians strove for more autonomy, some Greek lodges worked
towards ‘the establishment of a new Byzantine state’, which was

supposed ‘to unite Turks and Greeks under the shadow of an enlight-
ened Ottoman Sultan’.23
Unlike Dumont, who claims that it was only after the Young Turk
Revolution in 1908 that ‘Ottoman freemasons started to feel self-con-
fident enough to display publicly their political opinions’,24 Hanioğlu
convincingly shows the connections between early national activists and
the beginnings of the Young Turk movement. According to him, the
various nationalist groups – some masonic lodges included – displayed
strong support for the Young Turks before the actual revolution took
place. Not only did they publish articles in which they justified any
attempts to antagonise Abdulhamid II, they also supplied ‘Young
Turks with safe houses where they could take cover from government
agents’.25 At the end of the day, however, with the overthrow of the
regime, this symbiosis between the numerous groups came to an end.
It was commonly understood that an ‘alliance with the Young Turks
had been based on mutual interest’, but that now, with the beginning
of a new era and a big part of the population ‘fired by the emergence
of Turkish nationalism’, the movements’ future goals diverged or were
even mutually exclusive.26
As has been observed in relation to European lodges and their
evolution during the nineteenth century, attempts to nationalise free-
masonry took place everywhere, with the Ottoman Empire being no
exception. When in power, the Young Turks were keen to have their
own lodges under their own obedience, which would oppose the foreign
influence that they perceived as ‘masonic colonization’. This endeavour
naturally triggered alarm among the Western masonic bodies, which
consequently decided not to accept and recognise the Ottoman Grand
Orient as a regular masonic body.27 The Grand Lodge of England, for
example, kept a low profile during this period, when British foreign
policy had to deal with a moral dilemma and was more indecisive
than ever before. Its non-recognition of two grand lodges – the Grand
Lodge of Egypt, founded in 1908, and the Ottoman Grand Orient,
established in 1909 – while having created the Provincial Grand
Lodge of Turkey (1862) and having recognised some forty years earlier
the Grand National Lodge of Egypt (1870) is proof of its cautious
attitude.28 The British government considered the reforms carried out

by the Young Turks to be promising. However, by no means did it

want to encourage its subjects in neighbouring Egypt to follow the
same path, thereby claiming their rights for a constitution and self-
determination. Hence, by ignoring the two new grand bodies for the
time being, it tried to avoid any indirect encouragement for separatist
and nationalist movements.
With the end of World War One, the Ottoman ventures in free-
masonry, which had only been successful in the areas in and around
Constantinople, cease, along with the task to establish one national
freemasonry for the Empire as a single entity.
In Egypt many of the lodges, though created by Europeans,
‘included Egyptian intellectuals, professionals and notables’. Among
this group was Prince Halim Pasha, Muhammad Ali’s youngest son.
Apparently he became grand master and a leading figure of free-
masonry until exiled in 1868.29 ‘Generally speaking, Freemasonry in
Egypt worked toward the promotion of brotherhood, philanthropy and
charitable institutions, although sometimes it was used for undesirable
purposes.’ What is here meant are political interferences, such as the
unsuccessful attempts of Prince Halim Pasha and his followers to agi-
tate against the rule of Ismail, the khedive of Egypt, using masonic
connections in Egypt and in exile. Prince Halim Pasha who was the
youngest son of Muhammad Ali felt betrayed when left without any
powerful position.30 Lodges seemed suited for these kinds of activity
thanks to their secrecy and the steady initiations of the ‘educated and
public-spirited classes’.31
‘On May 8, 1876, a reorganisation resulted in three separate Grand
Masonic Bodies, the National Grand Lodge of Egypt, the Supreme
Council of the Scottish Rite, and the Sovereign Grand Council of
the Memphis Rite with the National Grand Lodge in 1879 being
proclaimed as “free, sovereign and independent” of any other body.’32
In the same year, Al-Afghani gave an interview to the London Times,
calling for an ‘Egypt for the Egyptians’.33 While it may be true that
Al-Afghani had no notable influence on Egyptian nationalists, as he had
already been away for three years, ‘he left behind an elite of intellectuals
and revolutionaries whose activities matured and strengthened in the
ensuing years until they culminated in the ‘Urabi revolt of 1881–82’.34

And again, freemasonry proved to be a convenient vehicle to trans-

port and spread nationalist ideas while ignoring contradictory
interests at least for the time being. Though, even less successful than
Constantinople, Egypt under British occupation never freed itself
from Western masonic obedience. In 1899 the District Grand Lodge
of Egypt-Sudan was founded, with Lord Kitchener as grand master.
This date corresponds with the start of Anglo-Egyptian protectorate
over the Sudan.35
Most of the lodges, district grand lodges and supreme councils in
Ottoman Turkey and Egypt fit perfectly into the system described
by Jessica Harland-Jacobs. Thus, with the gradual disintegration of
the Ottoman Empire and the advance of single proto-state entities
under Western hegemony, European freemasonry also expanded
in the region. In doing so the fraternity conformed to newly occu-
pied areas and their redefined borders. However, it is significant that
freemasonry was also adaptable in terms of innate nationalist causes
outside Western reach. This was the case when cooperating with the
Young Turks: ‘Young Turks used freemasonry to circumvent free-
masonry, at least this specific type of freemasonry which expressed,
within the Ottoman Empire, the certitudes of the conquering West.’36
This understanding of freemasonry as a tool for their own purposes
will be further analysed in the following chapters, when dealing with
lodges founded in Ottoman Syria. Any nationalist purposes of early
Syrian lodges were far less pronounced and not yet politicised, but
what they had in common with the freemasons in Constantinople and
Egypt was a shared attitude towards the institution of freemasonry
itself: it may have arrived as a colonial souvenir from the West, but
Syrians soon managed to form it into something of their own.
Backed by French and Scottish masonic institutions, freemasonry
in Ottoman Syria nevertheless developed in its own realm. From the
point of view of the Western powers, the Ottoman Empire counted as
one entity with grand masonic bodies to be placed in Constantinople
or in Egypt, which was governed independently and, after 1882, func-
tioned as a British protectorate. Contrarily, lodges in Syria willingly
used to choose different affiliations, which will be further analysed
in the following chapters. Lodges affiliated with the Scottish, French

or Italian masonic bodies – unlike the early lodges described in

Constantinople – did not express strong pro-Western views. Rather,
they proclaimed a commitment to peaceful cooperation among
the inhabitants of Syria in order to secure their own individual
interests.37 Only the Young Turk Revolution changed this apparent
lack of national interest, with the foundation of two lodges under the
obedience of the Ottoman Grand Orient and the Grand National
Lodge of Egypt (Appendix II).
Before that, only loose links to Egyptian lodges or other lodges
outside Syria were established by migrating freemasons. Many of these
masons joined the Star in the East Lodge in Cairo, which worked under
the patronage of the United Grand Lodge of England and was estab-
lished as a result of a petition signed by Mohammed Abduh. Abduh
himself had been a member of La Concordia Lodge.38 A thorough
examination of the list of members of the various lodges indicates that
lodge-hopping was not confined to Syrian masons.39 The English lodges
in Egypt and Constantinople were mainly composed of Europeans who
undertook lodge-hopping.40 In general, the Syrians in Egypt were less
prone to join foreign societies, whether they were political or social.
A study of secret societies in Egypt in 1911 shows that almost no Syrians
were involved in any of these endeavours.41 Lists of names, neverthe-
less, have to be treated carefully as they were compiled by the British
Secret Service Bureau in June 1911 without further re-examination.
Other Syrian freemasons went to Palestine, which was still consid-
ered as part of the Syrian Lands, but which nevertheless was unaffected
by the masonic network span in the area during the years before the
Young Turk Revolution. One of the masons was Alexander Howard,
whose original name was Iskandar Awad and who had joined Le Liban
Lodge in 1871.42 He moved from Beirut to Jaffa, serving as the local
representative of the British travel agent Thomas Cook. He ran the
first bus between Jaffa and Jerusalem and owned several hotels and
houses in the latter city.43 His splendid house in Jaffa was adorned
with a marble frieze over the entrance, with an inscription that read
Shalom al Israel (Peace over Israel, see Figure 5), which is still extant and
has, according to Leon Zeldis, functioned as a masonic hall.44 Howard
later on joined Barkai Lodge in Jaffa.

Figure 5 Photograph of the Entrance to Alexander Howard’s House in Jaffa

(photographed in 2008)
Already in 1868 the travelling American freemason Robert Morris

had named ‘J. G. Eldridge now Deputy Grand master for the District
Syria’, when he visited Beirut. Whilst the post was already occupied,
Morris supported the idea of a provincial grand lodge established in
Jaffa under the supervision of the Grand Orient of France; a proposal
which was declined as, according to Morris, the petitioners except for
‘Excellency Noureddin Effendi’ were not French masons.45

According to other sources, it was only in 1921 that the Grand

Lodge of Scotland considered the establishment of a District Grand
Lodge for Syria, which may have arisen as a consequence of British
and French control of the area before France was assigned the man-
date in 1923. However, no further steps in this direction were taken.46
It was as late as 1955–6 that the Grand Lodge of New York finally
established a District Grand Lodge for Syria and Lebanon, without
consent from the Grand Lodge of Scotland.47 By this time, however,
other national masonic grand bodies had already been founded and in
Lebanon alone there were at least three different allegiances at work:
the Grand Orient of Lebanon, the Grand Lodge of Lebanon and the
Syrian-Lebanese Grand Lodge.48

CHAPTER 4
FR EEM ASONRY IN BEIRUT
Beirut in the second half of the nineteenth century served as a melting

pot for Syrians and a broad spectrum of Europeans, who ranged from
missionaries, businessmen and politicians to pioneers and adventurers.
Describing Ottoman port cities in general, Emrence mentioned that
they attracted ‘with their dynamism and diversity [. . .] Europeans with
an opportunistic agenda and appealed to immigrants with social ties
in the city. Merchants from Europe, missionaries from the West, social
relatives from hinterlands, and seasonal labourers from less prosperous
regions’ then ‘constituted the multi-ethnic and multi-religious char-
acter’ of the city.1
Consequently, difficulties arose from such a diverse population,
especially when trying to find a common denominator for a shared
social space. People from Mount Lebanon had come here largely out of
fear of further disturbances or with hopes for better businesses in the
city. In 1860 civil unrest, in the form of a war between Christians and
Druzes on Mount Lebanon, led to French intervention which will be
further explained in Chapter 5.
In Beirut, tensions were mounting. Europeans claimed the gov-
ernment was behind religious aggression and the Ottoman regime
accused Europeans of provocation. Indeed, foreign consuls in the city
had assumed de facto power over the city: through philanthropic activ-
ities, commercial businesses and by exploiting capitulations, while
enjoying ‘the same exterritorial privileges as ambassadors’.2 Fawaz

FREEMASONRY IN BEIRUT 85
explains capitulations as ‘treaties arranged by capita or headings that

recognised and codified their special status in the East’.3 Capitulations
were ‘based on the idea that each state possessed its own laws to
exalted for others too enjoy’. Hence, they actually thought Ottomans
benefitted from this principle, as they ‘meant that all subjects of a for-
eign monarch and citizens of republics [. . .] remained under the laws
of their own king or republic once the capitulatory favour had been
granted’. Moreover, ‘[p]ersons with capitulatory status also enjoyed
full exemption from Ottoman taxes and customs duties’. As such and
with growing popularity ‘they [capitulations] came to dangerously
undermine’ the sovereignty of the Empire. Naturally Ottomans used
this opportunity when working with Europeans. It was only during
World War One that the capitulations were unilaterally abolished by
the Ottomans, after years of twisting them ‘into something they had
never been intended to be’.4
According to Ralph Bodenstein, ‘until the 1830s, Beirut had
only been a minor harbour, ranking behind Tripoli, Saida and Acre’,
but Ibrahim Pasha made it the administrative centre of the region
during his governorship.5 In the 1830s he introduced social policies
that emphasised the rights of non-Muslims. Additionally, as Zachs
writes, ‘the period of Ottoman restoration and the implementation of
the tanzimat that followed also saw the growing economic penetration
of the region by the West’.6 Under Ottoman rule, Beirut first became
capital of the vilayet of Saida and then in 1888 it became the capital
of its own vilayet, with jurisdiction over Tripoli and Lattakia in the
north and Acre, Haifa and Nablus in the south. The sub-provinces
were separated from Beirut by the coastal strip of Mount Lebanon.7
Its port evolved to become the main centre for imports and exports
from Mount Lebanon and its Syrian hinterland. The city’s growing
importance was reflected in the size of its population: in the 1840s
Beirut only numbered 10,000 inhabitants, but by 1900 it had grown
to 120,000.8 As a whole the province numbered 533,000 individuals
in 1895.9
Beirut’s merchants profited from the territorial division, but other
communities, such as the inhabitants of Nablus, felt aggrieved by the
new administrative structure. Instead of having to visit Damascus in

order to settle legal matters, they now had to venture further to Beirut.10
Beirut managed to defend its dominant position against Tripoli and
Haifa, the two other port cities, due to what Hanssen describes as ‘the
acute sense of political geography of its intermediary bourgeoisie and
foreign residents and their intimate contacts in Istanbul’.11
After European interference during the events of 1860, it became
clear that there was actually no way for the government to regain dom-
inance, let alone hegemony as European forces grew steadily stronger
and the Empire seemed definitely inferior: either it played according to
the rules of the foreigners, or it supported its Muslim population – both
options were inherently problematic. As Leila Fawaz notes, ‘the for-
eign presence and particularly the growing role of entrepreneurs in the
economy and society had already made it impossible for the Ottomans
to take control of the city without European interference’.12 Moreover,
as Hanssen writes, European financial injections ‘raised the economic
stakes of European imperialism’. Notwithstanding the actual condi-
tion of Syria or the Ottoman Empire as a whole, Europeans pressed
for adoption of a legal system suitable to a form of capitalism that was
trying ‘to monopolise a share of the colonial market through mili-
tary conquest, trade tariffs, and economic dependency’.13 Consequently
the Christian subjects of the Ottoman Empire suspected of collabor-
ation felt increasingly isolated and antagonised. Muslims, on the other
hand, felt betrayed when Fuad Pasha, who had been sent to enforce
Ottoman law, reacted to the unrests in 1860 by prescribing severe
punishment against Muslims. Whilst Fuad contributed in positive
terms by overseeing the construction of the Beirut municipality, the
‘deterrence executions’ he sanctioned in Damascus left a bitter taste
for some Muslims and, as Hanssen notes, ‘the restoration of Ottoman
order [. . .] had come at a huge fiscal price in form of special taxes from
the province of Damascus and the port of Beirut’.14
According to Fawaz, the authorities in Damascus represented ‘an
old and prestigious Muslim and Ottoman centre’. In contrast, after the
flow of immigrants from the Mount, the Muslims in Beirut became
a minority compared with the Christian majority.15 The city changed
into a port used for the employees of administrative services and the
imperial bureaucracy, with bureaucrats forming ‘a conspicuous social

group in Beirut distinguishable by their Ottoman civil service uni-

form’. They dressed differently, were addressed as effendis16 and became
associated with modernity and authority. Some Ottoman officials
intermingled with the rich and traditional Beiruti families through
marriage, thereby securing a place in local networks. At the same time,
the fathers of the brides used links to the Ottoman government.17
The upper echelons of Beirut’s society, so Hanssen argues, ‘managed
to twist capitalist penetration to enhance [its] own vision for the city’.18
Self-interest led merchants to cooperate regardless of religious differ-
ences. Such actions were not only undertaken to save the city from
European exploitation, but also in order to use European consumerism
for their own individual profit. Hence, on the one hand influential
families tried to limit European penetration, whilst on the other hand
they did not hesitate to sell concessions to European bidders, thereby
earning high profit margins.
A positive consequence for all Beirutis was the continuous improve-
ment of the city’s infrastructure, alongside the establishment of a
number of foreign and Ottoman educational institutions and the wide
proliferation of newspapers. A significant contribution came from
Beirut’s citizens themselves. In competition with Tripoli, Damascus
and Haifa, they were eager to provide the best conditions for modern
industry and trade. A fitting infrastructure was a significant factor
and therefore actively supported by the elite. In short, competition
between the Ottoman government and Europeans and among the
Ottoman citizens themselves was in some way the most important
factor contributing to the growth of a liberal atmosphere in the
regional capital.19
Parallel to this, the European powers were contending with each
other for influence, with both the British and the French striv-
ing for political and economic dominance.20 However, the Public
Debt Administration, which was set up to monitor Ottoman fiscal
policy and to directly dispose of tax revenues, was composed of seven
European nations, rendering it impossible for a single power to dom-
inate. Furthermore, as a result of European initiatives to integrate
Beirut into the global field of financial capitalism, other cities were
subsequently degraded to peripheral locations.21

Influence fluctuated and prejudices were amplified due to the

varying rivalries and loyalties. As Fawaz writes, ‘European biases
about the Ottomans were passed on to local clients and partners and
local prejudices about Ottomans were passed on to the Europeans’.22
Ottoman Christians profited most from this unstable situation by
developing relations to European consulates and traders as well as
informal networks. A newly-built harbour opened at the end of the
nineteenth century, financed almost entirely by the French. This facili-
tated a steady increase in imports and exports until World War One.
With advancements in the region’s infrastructure, perception of time
and space had radically altered.
While the population as a whole benefitted from the economic and
commercial flow of traffic, it was nevertheless the European merchants
who were able to use the expansion to the greatest advantage. European
investment in Beirut was one of the developments, as Fawaz notes,
accompanying ‘a world economy under Western hegemony in the
age of imperialism and industrial revolution’. The concessions of the
Sublime Porte, in the form of capitulations, were the most signifi-
cant factor for the European powers. First granted to French subjects,
they soon applied to many more Europeans and equipped them with
commercial and judicial privileges. In form of berats – documents that
granted the holder protection and exemption from taxes and from the
jurisdiction from local courts – they were handed to Ottomans who
served as intermediaries for European traders and diplomats.23
Over the years, the interpretation of these privileges experienced
dramatic change, as the Ottoman government increasingly lost out
against growing European influence.24 Having been the first to sign
capitulations, the French were able to dominate trade, much to the
detriment of local traders and merchants. Moreover, in cases when
economic advantages were not forthcoming they bought concessions,
which under Abdulhamid II were preferably sold to Ottoman subjects
and resold for higher prices. Hence both parties gained from the deal.
Another agreement the Empire committed itself to was the 1838
Anglo-Turkish Commercial Convention. ‘The Original treaty was
signed in Balta Liman in August 1838 and came into effect in March
1839.’ Though scholars are still arguing about its impact, the treaty

certainly ‘severely reduced the ability of the Ottoman government

to raise tariffs later in the century, making it impossible to protect
domestic industry from the full force of foreign competition when the
free trade damage became clearer’. The treaty eliminated local monop-
olies and exempted foreign merchants from internal customs.25
Additionally, foreigners could also ask their consuls to act on their
behalf. French influence was felt in economic areas and in the socio-
cultural sphere. The country’s commitment in Beirut served Christian
groups well in general, with Maronites benefitting most. Both Britain
and France established educational and missionary activities in the
Beirut area. The French focussed on Maronites and Greek Catholics,
who made up a larger number than the local Greek Orthodox popu-
lation. The latter group constituted potential clients for British
missionary efforts. At the end of the nineteenth century Beirut was
home to two prestigious foreign universities: Saint Joseph’s University,
established by the French, and the Syrian Protestant College (SPC),
built by American Presbyterians. As Fawaz notes, ‘by 1861 the British
colony in Beirut, though not numerous, included employees in the
consulate-general, other diplomats on mission, army staff, doctors, engi-
neers, clerks, scribes, teachers and governesses, as well as merchants’.
Merchants were also involved in educational matters, including the
board of the college. Moreover, they often served as representatives
of British interests.26 But the French retained a majority in terms of
Europeans resident in Beirut, although the total number was low
and increased only slightly over the course of the nineteenth century.
Accurate statistics are scarce, but it is recorded that in 1863 Beirut was
home to approximately a hundred Greeks, whilst in 1891 it is recorded
that 132 Britons and merchants were resident in the city. According
to Fawaz, ‘in Beirut, foreign entrepreneurs played a smaller role than
they did in Alexandria or in North Africa. Instead, local entrepreneurs
were many times the ‘agents of change’, though in an age of Western
domination they often ‘filled that role by first of all securing Western
consular protection’.27
Greek Orthodox merchants benefitted from Greek, Russian, British
and French protection, while Maronites pinned their hopes on the
latter. Greek Catholics turned to either France or the Austro-Hungarian

Empire. For European business, the mediatory services of the Christian

community in the Beirut area were crucial in successfully acquiring
land and in establishing efficient management. In turn, the Muslim
community was in most cases excluded from such dealings. This led to
resentment and the Christians’ visible power and networking resulted
in growing antagonism between the different communities. Thus,
established Muslim families relied on other means to preserve their
economic position and control over internal trade, particularly looking
for influence among officials of the Ottoman government.28
However, as Fawaz writes, only ‘Muslim merchants who managed
to involve themselves with Western trade were in a position to become
really rich; they alone could cheaply acquire the Western manufactured
goods that the hinterland craved’.29 In general, it was more important
for Beirutis involved in trade and entrepreneurship to know how to
deal with all kinds of people and to create stable and reliable networks,
than conducting business according to communal affiliations. ‘Among
the wealthy the gulf was narrower, since they were less apt to let
communal affiliation stand in the way of economic cooperation and
social and political action.’ If tensions arose, they first became visible
among the poorer part of the population, while, according to Fawaz,
‘merchants still had more in common with one another than they had
with their European counterparts’.30
The provincial council served notable Beirutis as the most powerful
linchpin for their administrative hinterland. As Hanssen writes, ‘the
Ottoman Provincial Law had turned provincial capitals into powerful
political centres where decision-making and lobbying converged’.
Member records of the provincial council show that the body was largely
composed of Beirut’s prominent families and that ‘their administrative
positions allowed them to be inside the provincial decision-making
apparatus and wield extensive powers in the process of Beirut’s “finan-
cial capitalization”’.31 One of their main tasks consisted in maintaining
Beirut’s reputation as a global economic city. With the expansion of
the railways and better transport possibilities, Beirut had to compete
against other ports and against its hinterland. The members of Beirut’s
middle class bought concessions for all kinds of businesses and were
lobbying to receive financial help for different development projects.

Simultaneously they increased the status of their own positions, became

world players on global markets and showed solidarity with members
of Beirut’s lower class, who were fighting against exploitation by the
colonial powers. Although physical resistance was only carried out by
the labourers themselves, local cooperation between them and the
merchants was also silently supported by Abdulhamid II.32 Emrence
defines the late nineteenth century as a period when one can observe
the beginning of ‘new forms of collective actions’ with ‘collective
claim-making’ being ‘a novel democratic tradition in the port-cities of
the eastern Mediterranean’.33
Beirut’s administrative system did not simply imitate the West,
as it was modelled on Istanbul’s civil structures. A strict system had
already become necessary during the period following the struggles of
the 1860s, when refugees had flooded into the area and Europe’s criti-
cism of the lack of discipline and order must be seen in relation to the
Western fear of losing former privileges and the curtailment of con-
sular influence. Foreigners were less able to intervene when faced with
the fact that the local council and political organisation were making
improvements.34
However, for urban planning and social reforms, the efficient
functioning of a local and central administration was a necessity. In
a period when cholera raged, it was especially important to adopt
modern and powerful methods of minimising or halting its effects
without depending too much on foreign aid.35 While the first steps to
establish suitable institutions were of a private nature, the Ottoman
government soon recognised that the only way to keep foreign pene-
tration at bay was to secure the backing of the local population.
Education proved to be the most effective tool in this endeavour,
as it helped to guide young minds towards a sense of loyalty, mor-
ality and pride in their motherland, which, it was anticipated, would
bolster support behind the Ottoman regime. At first, private institu-
tions were simply taken over, but at the end of the nineteenth century
secondary state schools were built and in 1895 an Ottoman college
opened its doors to Beirut’s intelligentsia.36 As Hanssen states, ‘entitle-
ment, masculinity, pride and independence of mind were the attributes
which the school administration aspired to impart to its students.

[. . .] But Beirut’s Ottoman school also planted the seeds of Arab

nationalist sentiment for an entire generation of Muslim youths.’37
While secular-minded Beirutis tried to overcome religious differ-
ences, foreign institutions like, St. Joseph’s University and the SPC,
aimed, in a sense, at the exact opposite: they were missionary institu-
tions seeking to prove the superiority of their religion. They sought to
emphasise the dissimilarities between confessional communities. This
conservative and dogmatic mind-set was the main reason for students
and professors turning their backs on the SPC and embracing more
liberal institutions.38 From the perspective of the missionaries, those
trying to avoid the blessing words from the West simply displayed
their ignorance.
I verily believe a form of religion without the power is worse

than no religion at all. And this, it seems to me, is the diffi-
culty we have to contend with all over Palestine. There is no
lack of outward profession of religion, but each man thinks that
the religion of his father is good enough for him, and that if he
performs the ceremonial part correctly and regularly he is quite
safe. Of personal spiritual religion there is very little.
Yet, the same man described Jerusalem as ‘a city of the dead’, which
was ‘surrounded by cemeteries, which contain the dust of ages’ and
was ‘full of dead churches and dying creeds. “The Holy” is its common
name, but it is full of unholiness’, an opinion he certainly shared with
some of his missionary brethren lodged in Beirut.39
At the same time, identification with the city itself led to an
increased desire on the part of the newly-growing elite to influence
its fate through their own abilities and actions. The new middle class
cared for Beirut as its own survival depended on the city’s performance
and reputation.
During the reign of Abdulhamid II, the provincial council func-
tioned like a collective pool of men, who perceived themselves to be
the new vanguard fighting for Beirut’s modernisation. These men
came from different backgrounds: economics, journalism, the educa-
tional sector and from the local merchant class. Together they were

eager to prepare Beirut for a new and modern world, full of unknown
possibilities and risks. Their goal was to equip the city with the neces-
sary tools in order to compete with the Europeans and their own
neighbouring states.
Unsurprisingly, the traditional Sunni Ulama, Muslim religious
scholars and Christian dignitaries, took no active part in this endeavour;
neither in the form of participation in the council, nor as members of
any of the newly founded benevolent and scientific societies.40 Only
wealthy men were able to enter most of the societies and the provincial
council itself. Candidates for the council had to be older than thirty
and had to have lived in Beirut for at least ten years, while at the
same time also being wealthy enough to pay for their councillorships.
Moreover, they were barred from working for foreign institutions.
These rules resulted in only a small percentage of Beirut’s inhabitants
being eligible for the council. Hence, individuals joined the council
and affiliated societies not for financial profit, but rather to improve,
or consolidate, their socio-cultural standing and reputation.41 Besides
enhancing their own civic standing, some of these individuals also
wanted to revive the fortunes of Beirut as a city with modern and
open-minded inhabitants. In the light of the events of 1860, Beirut’s
leading personalities were optimistic of brightening the city’s future
by means of knowledge transfer and educational support. The polit-
ical, social and cultural efforts stemmed from a desire to build a new
foundation and to reconstruct the city’s urban social space, alongside a
burgeoning sense of national consciousness.42
At the same time, Beirut’s elite was keen to prove how far Beirutis
had progressed since the supposedly backward and ignorant times of
the 1860s. As Hanssen writes, ‘the police system was under intense
scrutiny by the foreign community, which regarded occurrences of
criminal activity, whether assault, theft, or smuggling as irrefutable
signs of state weakness and moral laxness, in particular when they
led to sectarian violence’. Natives themselves, still remembering the
events of the 1860s, perceived the urban order as fragile and under
threat. The individual was seen as naturally dangerous and in need
of social and legal controls.43 Immigrants from the mountain region
appeared even more suspicious. A long period of mutual distrust was

predominant, especially among the common people who were alien-

ated from provincial politics. While the denizens of the city attempted
to pass Beirut off as a civilised and developed urban space, its rural
surroundings were considered to be inhabited by savage, ignorant and
undisciplined people who insisted on preserving unsustainable and
out of date traditions.
When Beirut was included in the arena of global politics and capit-
alism, its traditional social relationships were undermined or destroyed.
In response, people tried to adapt the fabric of their lives to these new
realities, to establish new alliances and to strengthen relations to other
groups. Thus at various times, depending on the situation, the city’s
denizens chose to stand firm behind the Ottoman government, but
then sided with the Europeans against laws introduced by the regime.
This shows again the pragmatic thinking mentioned by Emrence, in
regard to the newly developing middle class ‘under the influence of
global flows on one side and domestic realities on the other’.44 On
other occasions they defended religious groups and confronted their
own ‘heretical’ neighbours. This complex layering of loyalties enabled
them to shift in a flexible manner according to each case. However,
everyday dynamics added to the uncertainty of their status in an
increasingly complicated era.
Masonic Lodges in Beirut

Medieval, Renaissance and Enlightenment influences had blended
together to create an institution that seemed to reflect the pro-
gressive spirit of the age, with ideals of brotherhood, equality,
toleration and reason. Yet even as freemasonry emerged and spread
as a world-wide movement, it diversified in the most bewildering
way. [. . .] It is as if the lodge system, combined with secrecy, ideals
of loyalty and secret modes of recognition, had created an ideal
organisational framework, into which members could put their
own values and which they could adapt for their own uses.45
Members of Beirut’s middle and upper classes started to show interest

in the establishment of masonic lodges – affiliated with the Grand

Orient de France in Paris – from 1860, but they had to wait another
eight years until they received a warrant from France.46 It is likely
that the civil disturbances after the incidents in Damascus and Mount
Lebanon delayed the response from Paris. In the meantime the Palestine
Lodge, No. 415, was founded in 1861. Though working in French, it
was under the jurisdiction of the Grand Lodge of Scotland. One can
speculate about the reasons for choosing French and ask if the offi-
cial working language corresponded with the actual language spoken
during lodge meetings, but it seems that some Syrian masons were
proud of their identification with France. However, this did not auto-
matically go hand in hand with approval of France’s foreign policy.
Lebanese lodges founded as late as August 2010 preferred French to
Arabic for their meetings, conceding the use of English or Arabic if
necessary. Though, Christians did not automatically demonstrate a
full commitment to their French education as the lodges were and
are composed of Muslims as well.47 Rather, the choice of language
corresponds to the main assumption made in this thesis that Syrians
embraced European freemasonry and made it their own. They adopted
it as they also adopted European languages when suitable. The deci-
sions were not directed and controlled by Western powers; the Syrians
themselves were the ones who were in charge, using the fraternity’s
universal principles and languages that were historically linked to it
for their own needs. This behavioural pattern perfectly corresponds
with Stevenson’s quote above, whereby freemasonry provided the ‘ideal
organisational framework into which members could put their own
values and which they could adapt for their own uses’.48
Additionally, in the early years of freemasonry, rules, titles and ritu-
als were not yet translated into Arabic. It is likely that the usage of
European languages was supposed to demonstrate respect for and loy-
alty to the original virtues and traditions by lodges founded outside
the familiar masonic spheres (i.e. the West).
The Palestine Lodge received its charter in an unusually prompt
manner and the Grand Committee of the Grand Lodge in Edinburgh
mentioned ‘that this should form no precedent for the future’.
Disappointingly, it is not known who these ‘most anxious’ founders in spe
were, but they had handed their application form to Lieutenant-Colonel

Burnaby, the ‘Commissioner of the British Government to the French

Army of Occupation’, who subsequently travelled to Scotland for a
short period of time.49
Blue was chosen as the colour of Palestine Lodge’s regalia, which
also became the preferred colour of subsequent lodges in the region.50
The choice of this colour seems to have been partly the result of a
misunderstanding. The first Grand Lodge established in England had
taken blue as its colour, as did the Grand Orient of France. However,
in Scotland the colour of the apron changed according to the grade,
and lodges generally were free to choose their own particular colour.
It seems likely that Lebanese lodges associated the colour blue with
regular lodges. Hence, it was only in the twentieth century that lodges
in Ottoman Syria came to understand that different colours were per-
missible under the jurisdiction of the Scottish Grand Lodge. The
Sunneen Lodge, No. 969, which was established in Shweir in 1904, ini-
tially adopted the colour blue and then changed to black. Furthermore,
the Zahle Lodge, No. 1047, which was founded in 1908, adopted green,
whereas Emessa Lodge, No. 1125, in Homs, changed from blue to green
in 1923, some ten years after its establishment.51 Possibly, this change
of colour reflected displeasure at the commencement of the French
Mandate in the same year and a strengthened affiliation with Islam as
green generally is seen as the colour of Islam.
Names given to lodges were accompanied by associations and tended
to express a certain political position. While Palestine was a proper
name for a lodge situated in Beirut, whose vilayet included the north
part of Palestine, Le Liban already displays a patriotic connotation.
What may be true as well is that Peace Lodge was named according to
the main concern of its members.
Names like Sunneen and Kadisha, which identify a mountain and a
river respectively, illustrate the masons’ desire to create links to their
natural surroundings. The same is true for Carmel Lodge, No. 1085,
which was founded in Haifa in 1911 or El Mizhab Lodge, No. 1130,
which was founded in Tripoli in 1914. Both were named after moun-
tainous areas.52 One can also find a name like Noor al-Dimashq Lodge,
No. 1058, which was founded under the Grand Lodge of Scotland in
1909, meaning Light of Damascus. In the Qu’ran, noor is sometimes also

translated as guidance for believers. While masonry was not seen as a

religion, it certainly did have a para-religious meaning for its followers.
Moreover, lodges in Damascus were set amidst traditional surround-
ings. Thus, people were less likely to forgo religion, but rather tried to
enrich their ritual and charitable lives – something freemasonry was
supposed to do.53 The practice of the fraternity regarding humanism
and philanthropy, although originating in Christianity, was not for-
eign to religious Muslims. What is more, freemasons cited exactly
this principle in order to demonstrate the compatibility of freemasonry
with Islam, as the Provincial Grand Master of Turkey stated in 1866:
‘Nothing can be worse founded, and nothing more unjust than the
prejudices of ignorant Mussulmans, because as the more learned and
more pious knew there is a very intimate association in principle, and
a close resemblance in practice between Masons and the more spiritu-
alistic and devout Mussulmans.’54
Before Noor al-Dimashq, Damascus was the main playground
for Siria Lodge, which was established under the jurisdiction of the
Italian Grand Orient in 1880. The lodge survived for eleven years
and attracted only a few members of the influential Damascene fam-
ilies during this period. According to Quilty, the Azm family, who
were former rulers of Damascus under the Ottoman government, for
example, were able ‘to engineer a political recovery at the end of the
century with the aid of their commercial enterprise’.55 The family’s fate
was tied to the future of the city: it accumulated its wealth through
commercial activities and intermarriages with other significant and
powerful families. Sari Nusseibeh aptly depicts these trends in ref-
erence to his grandfather, who apparently had various useful ways of
securing the family’s future, which included ‘investing his inheritance
in new business ventures, or spreading it freely as acts of charity, or
social climbing, which, judging by his nuptial preferences, was a skill
he certainly mastered’.56 Having found some members of the Azm
family in different lodges clearly indicates the function of lodges as
social networks that could attract men for various reasons, including
business.
As Quilty notes, Ahmed, the founder of one branch of the Azm
family, ‘married ten women from notable families in Damascus, Hama,

Aleppo, Egypt, and Beirut; the seventeen ensuing children were born
into an imposing network of socio-economic and political relations’.57
One of Abd al-Qadir’s sons was a lodge member, together with some
members of the Christian Qudsi family. Two of the Qudsis – Abduh
and Khalil – worked as dragomans for European consulates, but at
the same time the family also had strong connections to the Ottoman
administration. Working already for European institutions may have
also inclined them to join a European fraternity.
Salim Mishaqa was another dragoman, and the head of the prot-
estant community, who joined the lodge.58 One can only speculate
about his motives for joining, but it becomes clear that over time reli-
giously active men lost their constraints and joined freemasonry in
order to intermingle with men belonging to other congregations.
However, in general, Siria Lodge does not seem to have met the
expectations of its members. Indeed, many members soon joined other
lodges. Again, this was probably due to Italy’s steadily deteriorating
image in the region, accompanied by the growing importance of
Britain and France.
In Noor al-Dimashq Lodge only the founders had prior masonic
experience. By 1912 the lodge numbered around 110 members.59 One
can also mention Al Ittihad Lodge, meaning unity or union – a term
also adopted by L’Unione Lodge. The name Hilal (crescent) was chosen
for two lodges – one under the jurisdiction of the National Grand
Lodge of Egypt, and the other under the jurisdiction of the Ottoman
Grand Orient. The crescent was a favourite Ottoman symbol, which
already in the Byzantium period gained popularity when it was
connected to Artemis, the goddess of hunting.
At the same time it was used by the Al Qahtaniyya Society, founded
in Istanbul in 1909. The name Al Qahtaniyya means ‘named after
Qahtan, a legendary ancestor of the Arabs, and the society was organ-
ised after The Society of the Young Arab Nation ( Jam˓iyyat al-umma
al-˓arabiyya al-Fatat), which was a secret organisation established in
Paris during the Young Turk period. In contrast, Al Qahtaniyya Society
was composed of politicians and army officers, who, as Eliezer Tauber
notes ‘sought to raise the cultural, social, and economic level of the
Arabs, and to demand equal rights for them within the framework

of the Ottoman Empire’. The society adopted Hilal as a code word

among members.60 Since only a few scarce sources of the different
secret societies are available, no thorough study comparing overlapping
membership – taking into account even freemasonry – has to date
been carried out. However, as with the various scientific and benevo-
lent associations, these societies naturally attracted like-minded men,
who were mainly from a middle class who were looking for reform and
crucial changes.61
Although Palestine Lodge was only short lived, it attracted approxi-
mately 150 members before it closed in 1889. All members belonged
to the elite, with at least a third being foreigners – Europeans as well
as non-Syrian Arabs – initiated during the early years.62 The lodge was
of strategic significance, as is made clear by an article that appeared in
Freemasons’ Magazine and Masonic Mirror in August 1865: ‘[The lodge
is] situated, as it were, at the gate through which European institu-
tions and European civilisation find an ingress into Asia.’ It apparently
acquired ‘considerable importance for the diffusion of the light of
Masonry amongst the Mahometan inhabitants of the West of Asia.
[. . .] Freemasonry should be, and means to be, a truly humane con-
federation, and a link of fraternity between men of all creeds and of
all countries.’63 Inherent in this statement is the clear proposition that
Western, i.e. Christian, civilisation is superior to anything else and
therefore worthy of expansion. It seems not too far-fetched to take
this statement as being characteristic of the dominant mindset of
European freemasons at that time. As biased as it sounds, this opinion
was nevertheless probably shared by many Syrians. Among the initial
motivations in joining freemasonry was a desire to form an entity that
was able to overcome their assumed backwardness.64 There certainly
was something to be learned from the West and joining a Western
institution was a start.
In Palestine Lodge tradesmen constituted the largest group, followed
by intellectuals (professors, teachers, students and doctors), with
employees of the Ottoman government constituting the third group.
However, it is important to stress that these categories are problem-
atic and almost artificial since they do not encompass the diversity
of jobs held by the masons at this time. While a large part of the

higher middle class was composed of businessmen, these same men

also worked as dragomans or held different representative positions
for the European powers. Moreover, they were also authors, poets,
journalists and amateur translators. What can be noted, at least ini-
tially, is the distinctive European flavour of the lodge and the small
number of landowners it attracted – a typical feature of lodges in a
capital city. Among the members of the lodge were Muhyiuddin, the
second son of Abd al-Qadir al-Jaza’iri, Nassif Mishaqa and Dimitri
Sursock. According to Zachs, the Mishaqa family, from which I already
mentioned Mikha’il and Salim, who were Greek Catholics, ‘became
rich from the commerce brought by the region’s growing ties with the
West’ and ‘lost most of their earlier gains as a result of the oppression
of Ahmad Pasha al-Jazzar, [. . .] and then recovered their initial success
– if not becoming even more affluent – under the patronage of Amir
Bashir’. The family was originally from Corfu, where their surname
was Batraki. However, after moving to Greater Syria the head of the
family decided to change their name to Mishaqa, as a consequence of
their hemp and flax trade in shipyards, as the word ‘derived from the
process of filtering fibres of silk, linen, hemp and cotton. [. . .] the word
mushaqa refers to the waste that remains after the process of filtering’
which is the floss.65 Early family members were mainly merchants,
who established international contacts through business ties with the
American consulate, American missionaries and other Western repre-
sentatives. At least one member of the family, Mikha’il, converted to
Protestantism.66 Others, like Khalil, who was chief dragoman at the
American consulate-general in Beirut, and Nasif, who was dragoman
for the Americans in Damascus,67 both joined the Palestine Lodge. A
pattern can be established whereby men who were in daily contact
with Europeans were also attracted to Western organisations.
The Sursock family were members of the Greek Orthodox Church
and by the second half of the nineteenth century they had become the
wealthiest family in the Ashrafiyyeh neighbourhood in Beirut. The
family traded in all manner of goods, such as silk and grain, whilst at
the same time also serving the needs of Europeans. Dimitri Sursock,
according to masonic registration books beginning in 1818, joined the
lodge between 1866 and 1867. He was an independent merchant who

had become, like many other intellectuals, a dragoman for the American
consulate.68 Another member of the Palestine Lodge was Cesar Catafago
who worked for the Prussian Consulate and who also joined the Syrian
Society of Arts and Sciences, which was established in 1847.69
This early Syrian society, which according to Edward Salisbury was
dedicated to ‘the acquisition of the sciences and arts [. . .] the collecting
of books, and papers’ and ‘the awakening of a general desire for the
acquisition of the sciences and arts’, was composed mainly of European
representatives who belonged to the SPC. The likes of Eli Smith,
Cornelius van Dyck and Yuhanna Wortabet were all members. As
another member of the society, Colonel Henry Churchill showed the
same kind of open mindedness and interest in science and educational
associations.70 Additionally, he was among the foreigners initiated
into the Palestine Lodge. Other members of the society derived from
Beirut’s Christian upper middle class and included Selim Naufal,
Butrus al-Bustani, Mikha’il Mishaqa and Nasif al-Yaziji.71
‘[M]odelled on European academic organisations bearing the
modern name of the country’, the society was established in 1847.72
While it attracted exclusively Christian members, ‘its successor the
Syrian Scientific Society, founded in 1857 [. . .] had no less than 50
Muslim members’.73
Members of this kind of institution, which were dedicated to science
and education, who at the same time belonged to masonic lodges were
not only to be found among Christians. Hassan Bayhum was one of the
Muslims among the masons of the Palestine Lodge with other Bayhums
active in the Syrian Scientific Society. Additionally, Hassan was listed
as a member of Beirut’s municipality council in 1898. As Zachs notes,
the Bayhum family in general was one of the Muslim families ‘that
succeeded in penetrating the export business in the Syrian region’. They
were the co-founders of the Muslim Benevolent Society (al-Maqās.id
al-khayriyya) and served in various positions for the Ottoman govern-
ment. With the exception of only nine years, the family was represented
in the municipality council between 1868 and 1908.74
Another lodge member connected to the SPC was Elias Habelin,
a Maronite. Originally from Mount Lebanon, Habelin was editor-
in-chief of the Lubnan journal and held a post at the French consulate

in Beirut. At the college and other ‘well known schools’ he taught

French and Arabic.75 Socio-cultural developments, such as the Lewis
Affair in 1882, concerned foreigners and Syrians alike. After defend-
ing Darwinism, Professor Edwin Lewis and some of his students were
suspended from the SPC, whilst some students voluntarily resigned
and consequently strikes were held. Among those who left in protest
and went to Egypt were masons and authors like Faris Nimr, Yacub
Sarruf and Jurji Zaidan.76
Ensuring a place in the lodge for the leading Druze family of
Mount Lebanon was Hasib Bey, one of the few landowners who joined
Palestine. Julius Løjtved was another extraordinary mason of the same
lodge. In a travel guide published in 1904 he is mentioned as one of
the recommended German doctors – although he was from Denmark77
– together with Dr Brigstock, who was also initiated into the lodge.78
Not only did he produce an extraordinarily precise map of Beirut
and its foreign institutions for Abdulhamid II in 1876 (see Figure 6),
Figure 6 Map made by Julius Løjtved in 1876 (University of Birmingham, Special

Collections, CMS m012-29E)

he was also Honorary Vice Consul in Beirut and served later as Consul
between 1886 and 1898.79
According to information from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs
in Denmark, Løjtved was made a Knight of the Danish Order of
Dannebrog in 1884. He was also an Officier d’Académie in France, a
Knight of the Swedish Order of the Polar Star and was decorated with
the third class of the Turkish Order of Medschidie. The Palestine Lodge
seems to have lured him with yet another title. Meetings of the Palestine
Lodge must have resembled the Babylonian confusion of tongues
at times, as is illustrated by the Freemasons’ Magazine and Masonic
Mirror of 1865: ‘[The] W.M. being a Greek (Bro. Aleais), the S.W. an
Englishman (Bro. Eldrige), and the J.W. a Frenchman (Bro. du Chene),
the German Nationalities being represented by three Germans and
Swiss (one of whom, Bro. Eduard Koller, of Zurich, acts as Treasurer),
while the Secretary of the lodge is an Italian, Bro. Vergi.’80
Though initially formed to fulfil European expectations and a
desire to ‘enlighten’ the East, Palestine developed into a multi-religious
body that soon took on a form specifically aimed at Syrian society. Far
from the European masons’ one-sided mission, the lodge helped to
bridge internal gaps and was at the same time sufficiently attractive to
draw in Beirut’s higher middle class.
As Hanssen states, a ‘high degree of genealogical continuity [. . .] on
the municipal council is matched with an equally high degree of coun-
cillors’ membership in the highly influential political lobby groups and
literary organisations’.81 Taking into account the prestige of its members,
it is very likely that the Palestine Lodge also served similar purposes. One
can say without doubt that freemasonry had entered Ottoman society at
a high level, taking in first men from prestigious families belonging to
the new middle class, which ‘operated in modern institutional settings
to make their case for political reform, social peace and renewal’.
The council and the lodges likewise would allow them ‘to experi-
ment with reformist projects and test the practical limits of their social
ideas’ though ‘local politics was also about power’.82 In an informal
way, the lodge presumably functioned as a meeting point for a circle
interested in international affairs and enabled the creation of polit-
ical and business networks while affirming the local socio-cultural

position of the individuals. Hence participation was as much directed

to internal affairs as it was useful for Syrians concerned about external
matters. Characteristic of these diverse memberships was the numerous
overlapping of masonic lodges, the municipality and new cultural
associations.83 All these societies and institutions, established during
the second half of the nineteenth century, promoted scientific and edu-
cational issues, or served as charities and benevolent societies. A ‘keen
interest in science and technology, the idea of an Ottoman public,
and catching up with the civilized world were the major aspects of
middle-class thought’.84 Additionally, the men involved in these activ-
ities ‘were genuine reformists on the political front’ and ‘campaigned
for representative political institutions and formulated the idea of an
imperial fatherland’. They were not against the Sublime Porte as all of
their ideas ‘were compatible with the ideals of the Tanzimat and did
not promote political nationalism’.85
Categorising these features as part of the Empire’s public sphere,
historians during the past decade have started to pay attention ‘to new
themes to be considered as public-sphere activities, such as festivals,
parades, rituals, and other forms of public performance’.86 Masons
were among the men who founded the Hamidie Society in Beirut in
January 1893; one year after the Ottoman Company in Istanbul was
established. Initiated by Suleiman Bustani, the Ottoman Company
‘had the sole rights in organising the Ottoman pavilion at the World
exposition’ in Chicago. Suleiman’s cousin Nassib was appointed the
company’s representative in Beirut.87 Nassib Bustani was one of the
early members of Kadisha Lodge in Tripoli, later joining Le Liban
Lodge. The general manager of the Hamidie Society, which was
responsible for representing the Ottoman Empire at the World Fair
exposition in Chicago in 1893, was Khalil Sarkis. He was assisted by
Raji Saikali and Najib Sursock, together with Nakhle Bustros as treas-
urer. All the families were well connected to various lodges during
this time. The Society even received a financial guarantee from Allan
Ramsay, a co-founder of La Turquie Lodge in Constantinople in 1908,
who worked for the Ottoman Bank.88
Abdulhamid participated in the exhibition mainly in order to
improve the Ottoman Empire’s image beyond the Arab world.89

Attractions of the Empire’s contribution included belly dancers, show

fighting and Arab horses. Although some doubted that all the horses
were thoroughbreds, the import and sale of Arab mares to the USA
during the World Fair marked the beginning of prosperous business
ventures. The Farrah family, who were Christian traders from Baalbeck,
and who went on to have close links to Sunneen Lodge, were the original
owners of Nejme (star), a prized thoroughbred. As Joe Achcar notes:
‘In March 23/03/1893 in front of the diplomatic corps, the Turkish
officials and thousands of Beirut’s inhabitants, the Hamidie’s 247 offi-
cials, riders, and lads together with 40 horses, 12 camels, 7 donkeys, 3
sheep, 6 Sloughi dogs, embarked on the Cynthiana’, a large steamer that
transported them to the New World.90
Although the show itself was a financial disaster – the Sursocks,
the Bustanis and other rich Syrian family businesses involved lost sub-
stantial sums of money – it nevertheless had a long-lasting impact
on visitors to the World Fair and the press were impressed by ‘the
romance and color of the Orient’. The public were also attracted to
the music, dances, the mosque on display at the exhibition (which
was converted to a synagogue during Yom Kippur), its show and the
animals.91 Moreover, Syrian and Egyptian masons were among the
luckier ones who travelled to the exhibition, as at least they could rely
on help from their American masonic brothers.92
Freemasonry was an internationally valid password; a tool that
facilitated fraternisation, irrespective of national origins. This was one
of the reasons why lodges affiliated with the Grand Lodge of Scotland
prospered, as they were able to avoid the potential obstacles for masons
belonging to the Grand Orient of France.93 Naturally, the same was
true the other way around: foreign masons entering Ottoman territory
could count on masonic hospitality.
Between 1894 and 1895, General John Corson Smith, a freema-
son from Chicago, travelled around the world with his daughter Ruth
Augusta.94 In Egypt and Greater Syria, they were warmly received by
fellow masons. As Smith notes, ‘W. Bro. Y. Sarrouf, Ph.D., followed
and delivered a few but choice words with reference to the great amount
of good Freemasonry has ever done in the world, and alluded to the
warm hospitality and fraternal assistance received through the hands of

M.W. Bro. General J.C. Smith toward the brethren that called in
Chicago during the world’s great fair.’95 It is more than likely that
Smith had some contact with Syrian emigrants and visitors at the
World Fair. During his visit, Smith was showered with all kind of
gifts from fellow masons, such as Shahin Makarius, Colonel Mousally
Bey, Dr D.M. Altaf and Ragab Nousrat Bey. They were Syrians who
had settled in Egypt because of what they considered the Christian
fanaticism of their former colleagues from the SPC or after censorship
in Greater Syria had hindered them from publishing.96 Smith received
flowers, embroideries and items made of glass, bronze articles inlaid
with gold and a cup for his eldest son, who, according to Makarius,
‘was so kind to our Egyptian brothers where as W.M. he welcomed
them to Garden City Lodge, No. 41, when in Chicago at the Great
Fair’.97
In Beirut, Smith met masons whom he knew from the World Fair,
including Kalil Rayess, Joseph R. Kanawati and J.F. Aftimus, who
was ‘the architect of the Turkish, Egyptian, and Syrian buildings’ and
it proved extremely beneficial to take advantage of his masonic links
in what must have seemed a strange and exotic realm to him and his
daughter.98
In his descriptions Smith mentions a certain R.E. Erny, referring to
him as ‘Worshipful Master of the Palestine Lodge’.99 However, accord-
ing to Scottish records the lodge had ceased functioning five years
prior to Smith’s visit to Beirut. It is likely that former lodge members
either ignored the ruling of their former Grand Lodge or considered
themselves to be lifelong masons – irrespective of whether the lodge
actually convened. Scottish records indicate that the Palestine Lodge
was marked as ‘dormant’ from 1881. Yet, it continued to exist until
at least 1889, as up to this year it paid for newly initiated members.
However, it appears to have subsequently vanished into thin air. The
political situation may have played a role. As the Proceedings of the
Grand Lodge of Scotland indicate, ‘a letter was read from the Lodge
Palestine, No. 415, asking counsel in the circumstances of difficulty in
which Freemasons have been placed through recent political changes
in Syria. Remitted to Grand Secretary.’100 What had happened in this
period?

In 1876 Abdulhamid II came to power, and quickly dissolved par-

liament, overruled the constitution and began advocating oppressive
and pervasive methods to eliminate lodges throughout the Empire;
this was partly reasoned by ‘the suspicions of the Hamidian regime
which kept a careful eye on all Masonic activities and took harsh
measures to curb them’.101 According to reports sent by freemasons,
all lodges were forced to close down on more than one occasion.
A short time into Abdulhamid’s reign, Romania, Serbia and Montenegro
became independent and Bulgaria became autonomous following the
Congress of Berlin in 1878. Furthermore, in 1881 France took control
of Tunisia and the following year Britain occupied Egypt.
In addition, the Ottoman government, which was deeply in debt,
had to accept European control over its finances. Consequently,
Abdulhamid’s already excessive paranoia increased. He must have
perceived masonic lodges as secret vehicles of the West that promoted
separatist goals among his people, which – as has been illustrated
– was not completely unjustified. ‘The freemasons became a special
target of repression when Abdulhamid II got wind of their efforts in
Europe on behalf of Murad V’, his older brother who briefly reigned
as sultan before being declared mentally ill.102 Additionally, conserva-
tive Muslim and Christian circles disliked and distrusted this growing
European intervention and penetration. We can only speculate as to
the reasons for the problems faced by the Palestine Lodge. No fur-
ther documents are extant, except for the registered members and
an application for the erection of the District Grand Lodge for Syria,
which were sent to Edinburgh in the lodge’s last active years, appar-
ently without answer.103 However, the Palestine Lodge turned out to be
at the vanguard of further masonic proliferation. Why else would its
members have risked being branded ‘as “a habitual source of sedition,”’
being repressed and spied on?104
In general Abdulhamid had no problem with voluntary initia-
tives of all sorts, which he even supported in order to be seen as the
main motivating power behind charitable and other worthy causes.
Yet, freemasonry developed outside his area of control over imperial
philanthropy. Consequently, while being part of the civic sphere, the
fraternity played no role as a key element of ‘the Hamidian regime’s

legitimation strategies’.105 Rather, freemasonry was considered as a

risk factor, constituting a gateway for Western culture, which in turn
would be able to exploit the regime’s socio-political weakness. Hence,
Abdulhamid was not only wary of the fraternity as an unchecked insti-
tution possibly holding separatist movements in disguise but also of
the consequences of growing Western influence in general to be able to
break ‘the paternal bond between the sultan and his subjects’.106
Lodges, notwithstanding, constantly reformed, reopened and
resumed their activities. Not only did former Palestine Lodge masons
find new homes in other existing lodges, but they also succeeded in
setting up new lodges that were only suspended as a result of World
War One. Migration from one lodge to another was partly a sign of
the socially unstable situation and the result of changing economic
conditions.107 Yet, it was also the result of purely utilitarian thoughts:
a high profile among as many freemasons as possible secured – as
emphasised already before – a better socio-political standing. For trad-
ers, it enabled them to make contact with other traders, improve their
common situations on the market, to be in contact with potential
clients and to widen their business network in general.
Palestine seemed finally to have surrendered to the persecution
inflicted on its members by the Ottoman government and the clergy.
But, according to the masons themselves, although the authorities
tried to silence what is referred to as ‘universal masonry and phil-
anthropy’, the masons withstood this pressure and ‘their zeal, so far
from diminishing under such adverse circumstances, has, on the con-
trary, developed, and some of the brothers have united to form a lodge
under the name of the Lebanon Lodge which was opened in 1868 in
Beyrouth under the constitution of the Grand Orient de France’.108
This lodge, called Le Liban, proved to be more successful in many
ways. Working under the patronage of the Grand Orient of France, it
was the child of skilled freemasons. A formal request to establish a lodge
whereby all the petitioners have to prove their masonic background is
necessary by masonic law and the founders of Le Liban Lodge displayed
their partly shared, prior experiences. Alphonse Lambert, a French
engineer, had been initiated into a lodge in Lyon; Loutfallah Haggi’s
previous lodge was in Constantinople and Louis Gaston Ferriere had

been a member of an African lodge. Constantin Dombrowosky was

a former member of a lodge called Réunion Bienfaisante, while Emile
Gallais left a Scottish lodge in Alexandria. The other members, with
the exception of the Persian consul A. Corseiri, were former Palestine
Lodge members: Anton Nahhas, Jules Kulph, Joseph Fayad, Joseph
Gedai, Dimitri Sursock, Assad Fayad, Michel Fiani, Joseph Gelegh,
Habib Gelegh and Selim Achou.109
With the recruitment of some of Palestine Lodge’s most presti-
gious members, Le Liban Lodge grew rapidly and by 1869 some of its
members were already complaining about its size. Consequently, this
dissenting faction established La Chaine d’Orient Lodge, and included
Kulph, Dombrowosky, Louis Monasterski, Jean and Alexandre
Sursock, Loutfallah Rizcalla and Moyssiades Telemagen. The reasons
for the establishment of this lodge were outlined to the Grand Orient
of France by Monasterski, the chief of the dragomans. He cited the
size of Le Liban Lodge, which had accepted nearly all membership
applications, together with the inordinate amount of time required
to produce French-Arabic translations of the procedures. According to
him, Le Liban Lodge had become a sedate and cumbersome institu-
tion. Additionally, Monasterski described how they wanted to support
the government against the clergy and that the more lodges that
were established and that were actively working towards unification
and tolerance, the better.110 One has to take into consideration that
mentioning the government in a positive way was no obligation when
corresponding with the French. Rather, it seems that Monasterski
noted it down because this was his original thought. Freemasons, at
least until the Young Turk Revolution, did not try to overthrow the
Empire. On the contrary, they sought ways to strengthen it.
La Chaine d’Orient Lodge did not survive for long. It is possible
that one of the reasons it closed in 1896 was because it only attracted
a limited number of foreigners. Indeed, only a year after its inception
the lodge adopted Arabic as its principal working language. It is also
possible that persecution by the Ottoman authorities curtailed oppor-
tunities to meet, as was allegedly the case with the Palestine Lodge.
Additionally, lodges like Le Liban were affected by an outbreak of
cholera in October 1875. A year later it closed temporarily, according

to its own statement, because of tyranny, despotism and due to intimi-

dation from Muslim fanatics.111 Letters of Le Liban Lodge mention
aggression from Jesuits, which also forced another unnamed lodge to
close in 1889, although this claim is questionable as Thierry Zarcone
notes in his research. It is more likely that lodges tended to exaggerate
the difficult working conditions in order to secure attention and good
will from European masonic grand bodies.112
By 1913, the prestigious Le Liban Lodge had initiated over 560
members. Among them were 219 tradesmen, 138 employees of the
Ottoman government, 60 physicians, 13 pharmacists, 44 landowners
and 42 ‘men who performed remarkable services for their country like
Mohammed Abdou, Mufti d’Egypt, Ibrahim Yaziji, the grand man of
letters for Arabic, Dr. Sarruf, Dr. Nimr, Makarius, Dr. Zalzal Hourani
etc.’, eighteen lawyers, sixteen engineers and eighteen members of the
Ottoman army.113 Apart from these members, the lodge also included
Bishara Zalzal and Ibrahim al-Yaziji the co-editors of the Al Tabib
periodical, which was owned by the American Dr. George Post, a pro-
fessor of surgery and botany at the SPC.114
In his letter to the Grand Orient of France, after providing a proud
and appreciative summary of the number of masons initiated at the
lodge, George Dimitri Sursock mentions its charitable activities.
Hence it is described how the lodge lent support to the building of a
national hospital, two charitable organisations, an educational insti-
tution and a sanatorium. It cooperated with other lodges in order to
help both freemasons and needy persons in general. Thus, Le Liban
Lodge’s success in its endeavours to improve living conditions for the
population of Beirut was real. According to an anonymous article,
published in an edition of The Freemason in 1914, it was ‘always in
[the] forefront of all humanitarian movements’ and helped to establish
new ones, such as the International First Aid Society of Cairo, which
‘owed its initiation to Bro. Vittorio Buccianti and its promotion to
the Ramses II Lodge, no 63’.115 This is acknowledged by W.S. Nelson,
non-mason and former missionary to Syria, who described masonry
as having ‘supplied to Syria a unifying principle, an organisation in
which all creeds and sects, Christian and Mohammedan alike, can find
common ground and meet together as men and brothers whatever their

religious differences’.116 And again, this dense web of local masonic

meeting points, which just started with Le Liban and Palestine, was
only initially woven by European masons, but it was the freemasons of
Greater Syria who utilised freemasonry. They established something
completely new, something that Europeans could not govern.
Remarkably, all the men named as members of Le Liban were also
connected to other lodges, thereby creating a masonic network. These
men knew what to expect and wanted to expand their masonic hori-
zons and networks. Many of the members of Le Liban Lodge, including
Abdu, Yaziji, Sarruf and Nimr, had lived and worked in Egypt.
Regarding Shahin Makarius, it seems that he was a collector of titles
and memberships, travelling from one lodge to the other and taking
in all his impressions. Subsequently, he published numerous masonic
articles, a journal and books.117 Emin Arslan, a former governor of
Dhour-el-Shweir, a village on Mount Lebanon, even wrote a letter to
the Comité Turco-Syrien des Reformes in Paris, in order to express
his support for Makarius’s publishing ambitions.118 Arslan himself
once had led this committee before it merged with the Committee for
Union and Progress (CUP).119 Makarius was probably the most know-
ledgeable man in his field in regard to the foundation of lodges in the
Ottoman Empire. Nevertheless, his statements are sometimes sketchy,
as when he described various cities and their masonic activities. He
simplified the matter, for example, when he wrote that the Palestine
Lodge simply changed its name to Le Liban.120 It not only changed its
name, but also swapped affiliations. Indeed, though Palestine members
were the initiators of Le Liban, there must have been a point when
both lodges coexisted. This is suggested by a letter written in 1876
from Nicolas Haggi, grandmaster of Le Liban, to the Grand Orient of
France, in which he mentions cooperation between members of both
lodges.121
Sursock’s letter names two masonic publications: the twice-weekly
Taqaddum journal, which was edited by Assad Isak, and the scientif-
ically-oriented Muqtataf periodical that was edited by Yacoub Sarruf,
Faris Nimr and Shahin Makarius.122 Having said this, though the
publications may have expressed masonic ideas with some of the art-
icles displaying corresponding mindsets, it was only Sursock who refers

to Taqaddum and Muqtataf as masonic. This was probably reasoned by

the fact that most of the journalists and writers were indeed members
of masonic lodges.123
Sarruf and Nimr were also the co-owners and worked for Makarius’s
newspaper, entitled Muqattam. Indeed, they were responsible for the
publication of an article on the visit of the American mason Smith
in March 1895.124 These writers are well known for their intellec-
tual output, dealing with the future of Syria and of the Arab nation
during the nahda, with their writings being partly regarded by fellow
masons as a defence against the accusations made by the Jesuits in
their journal Le Bashir.125 Herein, the Jesuits accused freemasons of
working under French protection against the Ottoman government
and also being responsible for the spread of revolutionary placards
in Beirut and Damascus – an accusation Le Liban Lodge vehemently
denied in more than one letter.126
It is not surprising to note that Le Liban Lodge, which belonged to a
French grand body, also appealed to students and graduates of the SPC.
This rather strengthens the thesis that affiliations to European grand
bodies did not predetermine the characteristics of lodges. Medical
students were particularly attracted to becoming initiates of Le Liban
Lodge, which again correlates with the Lewis Affair and the mainly
pro-Darwinian outlook of freemasonry.127 Darwinism was prominent
among freemasons who supported scientific research in general and
theories answering questions about human existence and evolution in
particular. Hence, some of the students who had to leave the College at
the same time because of their pro-Darwinian attitudes also belonged
to different masonic lodges.
Many young men from Damascus studied medicine in Beirut and
became members of Le Liban Lodge, such as Ibrahim and Joseph
Arbili, who were born in 1872 and 1876 respectively, as well as Joseph
Elias Qudsi.128 The short biographies of the former students/masons
provided in the directory of the American University of Beirut, the
AUB – Directory of Alumni 1870–1952, indicates their various honorary
titles and distinguished occupations. Najib Barbour, for example,
worked as an intern in Brooklyn before returning to Beirut to become
a physician at St George Hospital. He was awarded various honours,

including being made an honorary member of the Société Académique

de Paris and a Chevalier de la Légion d’Honneur. He also contrib-
uted to local Arabic medical publications, as well as being a past
master of the Damascus Lodge in New York, the President of the
alumni association in the city and a member of the American Medical
Association.129 Another member of Le Liban Lodge was Bishara Zalzal,
who, together with Ibrahim Yaziji, published the bi-weekly literary
journal Al Bayyan.130 Zalzal was born in Bikfayya, but lived in Beirut,
Cairo, Tanta and Alexandria.131
One can also mention Shukri Boutagi, who was an absolvent of the
SPC and a physician. At one point, as mentioned in the Directory, he left
for Jaffa, where he worked in an English hospital.132 What is more, Najib
Dibs, from Zahle, worked as a medical officer in different Syrian cities
before finally returning to Zahle. The list of persons linking Le Liban
Lodge with the SPC also includes Bakhus Hakim and Ibrahim Kafrouni.
The latter had a position working for the Ottoman government, while his
final jobs were as a translator for the Department of Public Instruction
and Ordinance in Cairo and as an instructor of mathematics.133
What these young men have in common, besides constant mobility,
is their membership in masonic lodges combined with a scientific
mindset. One is probably not mistaken when characterising free-
masonry in these cases as a tool to adapt more easily to unfamiliar
surroundings by finding like-minded men in lodge meetings.
Wadi Shibli was also initiated into Le Liban Lodge. He hailed from
a completely different background, but is also an example of a member
of a middle class family. His family was among the first custodians
of al-Manara’s lighthouse at Beirut’s port.134 The Shibli family were
originally from Bikfayya on Mount Lebanon, but had taken over ser-
vicing the lighthouse from the Rajji family at the end of the nineteenth
century and ‘have done so from Ottoman times until the present day,
Lighthouse keeping is in their blood. At one time the family looked
after lighthouses in Haifa and further up the Syrian coast, as well as
the one in Al-Manara.’135 Wadi Shibli was probably the first member
of his family to go to university, where he studied medicine.136
As a final example, the Trad family should be mentioned here. Six
of its members joined Le Liban Lodge between the late 1860s and

1900, with Michel Trad also being initiated into the Peace Lodge in the
early twentieth century. The Trad family came to the Greater Syrian
region during the tenth century from Yemen. Some members of the
family settled in Egypt or Morocco, where they converted to Islam,
while those who settled in Syria joined the Greek Orthodox Church.
One branch was mainly active in banking – even today there is the
Trad Bank – while another branch established the Trad Hospital.
Alexandre and Selim Trad were both members of Le Liban Lodge and
active in the diplomatic and consular sphere, where they worked as
translators attached to the Russian Embassy. It seems that only one
of the Trads did not pursue a career. This was Benjamin Trad, who
lived in Constantinople and was known as Don Juan. He was the only
Christian in the 1860s who was allowed to enter the harem of the
Sublime Porte. The veracity of these stories is uncertain, but he did
hold the post of chamberlain to the sultan. When he died, ‘all women
from Istanbul swarmed out to grieve for him’.137
In contrast, Elias Trad was ‘a grand intellectual and man of letters
who had published many literary and juridical books’ and who in add-
ition was employed at different tribunals.138 The Trad family was close
to the Sursock family and they frequently intermarried.139 They are
also known to have become disillusioned with European (and particu-
larly French) politics. As the general consul of France, Fouqes Duparc
wrote:
In the year 1907 Faris Mishriq and Nagib Trad criticised France’s
policy in Lebanon [. . .] as they explained, the French influence
decreased from day to day; the population’s continuous turning
away from us aggravated in an alarming way and the French
general consulate took side with the Maronite clergy against the
people and the freemasons who, because of that hostility, turned
to the Scottish lodges.140
Indeed, Duparc was right with his views on masonic mobility and also
with his suspicions against Najib Trad and Faris Mishriq. Although
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs decided not to take the two men too
seriously, it did carry out investigations on both of them. While Najib

Trad had been seemingly unknown throughout the country, ‘regarding

Faris Mishriq, [. . .] of narrow education, originally from America, he
is in his district of very small political importance, hence, the name is
only known thanks to his contribution into a foundation of a masonic
lodge for Shweir, a village, which is mainly orthodox’.141 This might
have been true in the eyes of the French diplomats, but for Lebanese
masons Mishriq played a significant role as head of a lodge in Shweir in
1910. He served also as a witness for petitions made to work under the
Grand Lodge of Scotland by the Salah ed-Din Lodge, No. 1071, in Acre
and the Carmel Lodge, No. 1085, in Haifa.142 Another member of the
Trad family, Petro, was a member of the reform movement in Beirut
and was accused of conspiring against the government. He featured in
newspaper headlines in 1913 when he was exiled to Paris.143
Not all members of Le Liban Lodge attended regularly. Indeed, by
1913 a total of 292 members had already died, whilst 160 were at
that time out of the country and 53 did not attend the meetings.
Nonetheless, Le Liban Lodge had a sizeable 56 active members. It is
significant that the lodge was founded under the jurisdiction of the
Grand Orient of France, and not the Grand Lodge of Scotland, as was
the case with Palestine Lodge. This may have been reasoned by the fact
that France was deeply involved in political events and had interests
at stake in Syria. Though not succumbing to Western colonial ambi-
tions, masons probably wanted to keep a door open in case they indeed
needed support from their masonic grand bodies. Le Liban thereby
put up with restrictions in its work due to the split that had occurred
in freemasonry in 1877, which rendered the Grand Orient irregular
in the eyes of the Grand Lodge of Scotland and the Grand Lodge of
England. Most of its members decided not to change obedience after
this split, maybe in the hope of forging a channel to the French gov-
ernment through the Grand Orient connection.144 With only about 20
Muslim masons among a total of approximately 300 up until 1903,
the lodge did not hesitate in sending petitions and complaints to its
French mother lodge and thereby playing the Christian card or even
a general anti-clerical card.145 It described Syria as being in a state of
‘physical decadence’,146 and also had no qualms in speaking out against
Muslims in general, mentioning ‘the Muslim community, which has

always been hostile to our philanthropic principles’.147 Paradoxically,

the same letter expresses an equal degree of happiness about new
Muslim members. On the one hand, this seems to be a bit like saying:
all Muslims are bad but our brothers are the exceptions. On the other
hand, more probably the writer of the letter only wanted to confirm
what he thought was the stereotype preferred by French masons in
order to establish a closer bond.
In contrast to Kadisha Lodge, No. 1002, Le Liban was quintessen-
tially urban in its composition: its upper middle class members were
not used to the daily life of the average person and the gap between
the affluent and the poor in Beirut during this period widened. The
correspondence of lodge members with the Grand Orient also reveals
the feeling of physical proximity in the city and the adoption of
European lifestyles. Indeed, Maronites were called Petits Français and
the masonic congress was planned on the same day as the anniver-
sary of the French Revolution – together with the World Fair – in
Paris.148 Le Liban Lodge did adopt French principles, such as laïcité,
liberté, égalité and fraternité, but tried at the same time not to be com-
pletely imitative of the French, avoiding subjection to French policies
on the one hand and harm to the relationship on the basis of audacious
and independent actions on the other hand.
As mentioned before, members of Le Liban, who were fully aware
of masonic privileges, experienced problems when travelling. This was
particularly evident after 1877, when they encountered problems of
recognition everywhere outside the Ottoman Empire and turned to
their Grand Orient for help. However, as with their political petitions,
the lodge members were left unsupported.
When the Peace Lodge, No. 908, first gained a charter on 1 May
1900, its founders asked the Grand Lodge of Scotland for recognition.
Their decision may have been financially motivated, as the fees of the
Grand Lodge of Scotland were lower than equivalent fees demanded
by the United Grand Lodge of England or the Grand Orient.149
Until 1908 the Peace Lodge had almost 200 members, with some
clergymen amongst them. As in Le Liban Lodge, tradesmen formed
the largest group, followed by professors, doctors and students.150 The
proliferation of educational institutions at the turn of the twentieth

century led to an increase in the number of scholars joining various

associations. However, by 1908 only about 50 masons (out of a total of
over 1,000) had attended the SPC.151 Nassib and Amin Abcarius were
two of the graduates from the SPC, who embodied the new growing
middle and upper classes in Greater Syria.152 The Abcarius family ori-
ginally came from Ak¢ehir, a town and district in Central Anatolia.
They moved to Jerusalem when Hagop Abcarian was appointed
Patriarch of Jerusalem in 1815. Afterwards he served as a bishop in
Armenia, before leaving the clergy and settling in Beirut in 1825. In
his lifetime he was not only English Consul of Saida, but also of Syria
and Constantinople. His son Iskandar was a poet and well connected to
the circle that convened around Butrus al-Bustani and Ibrahim Yaziji.
He received the honorary title of Poet Laureate of Egypt and one of his
works can still be found in the National Library of Paris.
Like his father, Iskandar worked in Beirut as a consul for America
and Portugal. Both of his two sons first studied pharmacy. Amin
moved to Egypt and became a merchant, whilst Nassib continued
with law studies at the SPC. Nassib finally received his diploma in
Paris and did not return to Syria. After working for the Egyptian
Ministry of Justice he moved to Jerusalem, where he acted as a lawyer
and advisor to the government during the British occupation. He also
worked as a legal officer in Khartoum. During his lifetime he amassed
badges of honour as well as money and received the honorary title of
Bey. Both Nassib and Amin joined Le Liban Lodge in 1893.153 Their
family home in Jerusalem still stands; though unfortunately today it
reveals nothing of its history (see Figure 7).
Another student from the SPC, who joined Peace Lodge in Beirut,
was Habib Khalil Malik, a physician born in the village of Btirram
in Koura. Malik went to Egypt, where he served as director of a med-
ical clinic, before returning to Greater Syria to be a captain in the
Ottoman army and a municipal doctor in Adana. He also worked as
chief physician of the military hospital for some time, while contrib-
uting articles to local Arabic publications.154
The presence of photographers as early members of masonic lodges
in Greater Syria can be observed from 1865, and three of the first
photographers in Beirut were freemasons. Antonio Beato (1825–1906),

Figure 7 The Abcarius House in Jerusalem (photographed in 2008)
who joined the Bulwer Lodge, No. 1068 in Cairo, being the first. Beato
was also the co-petitioner for the foundation of the Grecia Lodge, No.
1105, in the Egyptian capital. He worked together with his business
partners Felix and James Robertson.155 The photographer Theophil
Leeuw, originally from Manchester and who was initiated in Alexandria
Lodge, became a member of Le Liban in 1869. Some forty years later the
Sarrafian Brothers joined Peace Lodge. Abraham Sarrafian (Figure 8)
had studied at the American High School of Mardin. Alongside his
brother, Boghos, he worked as a photographer in his native city of
Dikranagerd, east of Diyarbakir.
The Sarrafian brothers went together to Mosul in order to take
photographs and to trade in antiquities. They left for Beirut shortly
after their return to Dikranagerd in 1895, as a result of massacres
against the Armenian population. In their newly adopted city they
established a photography shop. Soon, the two brothers had branches
all over the region. ‘Having become the grand editors of postcards,
the Sarrafian brothers opened shortly afterwards a second studio in
Jerusalem where they specialised in the sale of coloured postcards of
holy places.’156 In the space of thirty years their company published

Figure 8 Photographs of Abraham Sarrafian (courtesy of his grandson,

Walid Buheiry, Beirut: 2008)
more than a quarter of the postcards available in the Ottoman Empire,

spanning countries as far afield as Libya, Yemen and contemporary
Turkey.157 As Figure 8 suggests, the brothers were able to make good
money with their business. Abraham can be seen with a neat hairstyle
and wearing a fashionable shirt, jacket and tie. On the reverse side
of the photograph can be seen a depiction of a temple to Venus (see
Figure 9), which fits into the concept of non-Muslims stressing the
importance of the area in terms of its classical heritage.
Abraham was less known for his intellect than for his charitable
deeds during World War One. As Sisag Hagop Varjabedian notes:
‘Leaving aside all his work and family, [Abraham] started helping
these poor people day and night without stopping. He became of even
greater help to them when he was named chairman of the National
Union. With his useful advice he also greatly helped the Near East
Relief.’158 Apparently Abraham was so busy with philanthropic deeds
that as a result he overestimated his own physical strength and died

Figure 9 A postcard of the Venus Temple, early twentieth century (made by the
Sarrafian Bros., Archive of the University of Birmingham, Special Collections)
after a heart attack at the age of 53. As Varjabedian notes, ‘he used to
help the Armenians, Arabs, Christians and even non-Christians and
for that he was loved and honoured by all’.159 The same is said about
his brother Boghos, although his Armenian patriotism also comes to
the surface. Indeed, Boghos was mainly concerned with helping and
supporting local Armenians. Once again, as Varjabedian states, ‘maybe
few people know how much the Armenian Community of Beirut owes
its safe and secure life to [his] exceptional ability’.160 The Sarrafians
were highly respected and enjoyed an extraordinary reputation among
Armenians and others. Varjabedian emphasises that ‘the Sarrafians
were great patriotic personalities who were loved, honoured and highly
respected by the Armenians, Arabs and foreigners alike’.161 Patriotic
sentiment in this case can be best understood as a sense of loyalty and
care in regard to fellow men.
A similar picture emerges about lodge member Armenag Kehyayan,
who joined Peace Lodge around the same time. He was an Armenian,
whose family was from Caesarea, and who belonged to the second gen-
eration of photographers.162 His family are said to have been pillars of
social life for the Armenian poor. Armenag himself was educated at

the St Garabed Monastery in 1902 and afterwards at the SPC. He later

travelled to Manchester, where he married and had four children.163
Up to 1908 there were only about 50 Armenian masons in Ottoman
Syria out of a total of over 1,000 masons.164 With the rise of Armenian
nationalism and the feeling of belonging to one of the minorities in
the Ottoman Empire, they could have perceived masonic lodges as
providing a sanctuary from ethnic persecution.165 However, it is ques-
tionable whether those still living in Greater Syria at that time trusted
the social cohesion of the lodges, after having already experienced
massacres. The so-called ideals of freemasonry – liberty, equality
and fraternity – had been trampled underfoot in many areas of the
Ottoman Empire. On the other hand, in some areas in which many
Armenians had settled down, some lodges, like the one in Adana, did
emerge with a sizeable Armenian contingent.
Luce Lodge was established in 1887, working under the obedi-
ence of the Grand Lodge of Italy. In 1913 it became independent; a
decision taken in the wake of the Italian-Turkish War of 1911–12.166
Additionally, freemasonry in Italy had profited from association with
the spirit of Risorgimento but in the Ottoman Empire it encountered
growing difficulties due to the diminished reputation of the Italian
language. As the Baedeker travel guide from 1904 notes: ‘Italian
having been together with Arabic the main language has been pushed
away by French since many catholic Christians send their sons to the
felicitous institutions of the Lazarists and Jesuits.’167
The Treaty of Ouchy, signed in 1912, stipulated a continuation of
some of the former ties between Italy and the Ottoman Empire;168 the
latter declared itself ‘ready to reinstate [Italian subjects] in the posi-
tions which they had left’ and even emphasised that it was able ‘to
use its good offices with the institutions with which it is connected
(public debt, railroad companies, banks, etc.) to the end that they may
act in the same manner toward the Italian subjects who were in their
service and are in a similar situation’. Nevertheless Italy’s reputation in
the Ottoman Empire was damaged and in theory it even agreed to an
abrogation of the capitulations, ‘provided agreements be negotiated by
Turkey with the Powers enjoying the benefit of the capitulations’.169
This would not only have been unfortunate for Italians working in

the Empire but was also disadvantageous for Ottomans connected

with Italy and thereby enjoying certain privileges and protection. The
Ottoman government’s concession of territory, especially areas inhab-
ited by Arabs, once again illustrated its weak position.170
Up until 1925, the Luce Lodge was composed of about forty members,
of whom only ten had joined when it was still under Italian patronage.
However, this lodge lasted considerably longer than the Henderson
Lodge, which was founded in Aintab in 1887 and was under the jur-
isdiction of the Grand Orient of Italy. It only lasted three years in its
initial guise, with only five Armenian members: Krikor Borghossian,
Eghia Derghazarian, Iskandar Hikimian, Deervelt Poladian and
Philippe Sarkissian. In 1890, the same five founded Ehden Lodge,
No. 773, in Aintab, with five fellow Armenians, and chose to be affili-
ated with the Grand Lodge of Scotland. The last correspondence from
Ehden Lodge dates from 20 May 1896. At the end of the nineteenth
century, massacres and persecution against Armenians increased and
Aintab was not spared. According to the Proceedings of the Grand
Lodge of Scotland between 1896 and 1897, ‘hundreds have been killed
and thousands have been robbed. More than four thousand people,
reduced to utter destitution, have been saved from imminent death
by the timely help of British and American Christians. [. . .] Anything
that the Grand Lodge of Scotland will send will be taken charge of . . .’
A latter report noted: ‘It was resolved to recommend to Grand Lodge
to grant One Hundred Pounds towards the relief of the distressed
brethren in Aleppo and Aintab.’ In the same year, grants were given
to Ehden Lodge and Palestine Lodge.171 Notwithstanding this support,
Ehden Lodge apparently did not survive.
Zenop Bezjian Senior belonged to Ehden Lodge, but Moses Bezjian,
a pharmacist born in Aintab, was a member of Le Liban Lodge. He
was among the early graduates from the SPC and went on to work
as a pharmacist at the American Mission Hospital in Aintab. Bezjian
also received his degree at the SPC and carried on his medical career
as a doctor in the Ottoman army and in the government in Ottoman
Palestine. He was in charge of treating infectious diseases in a hos-
pital in Aleppo, and then worked in the American Hospital in Aintab,
followed by a position in Constantinople. He left this job in order

to work as a physician and the chief doctor for Near East Relief in
Lebanon during the 1920s, before becoming an orthopaedic surgeon
in London and France. He returned to the SPC surgery in Beirut, but
left again for Iraq and Palestine, where he worked for a further seven-
teen years before finally returning to Lebanon.172
Only scarce sources are extant vis-à-vis Armenians living in Arab
cities during this period if they were not involved in public activities
like cultural societies. One surviving reference is the directory of the
SPC, where some of the Armenian masons matriculated. One such
Armenian graduate from the SPC was Mihran Bedrossian, who was
originally from Adana and who was a municipal physician in Ajlun
between 1900 and 1901 in the sancak (administrative unit) of Hauran.
He later joined Luce Lodge in Adana. Another Armenian graduate of
the SPC was Boghos Effendi Takvorian, who was the chief engineer in
Adana and a member of La Syrie Lodge in Aleppo.173
Animosity against freemasonry was expressed by most of the clergy
in the region, although this apparently weakened at the turn of the
twentieth century. This is indicated by the initiation of Joseph Jarjar
Jidaun and Yacub Hagguri into Peace Lodge, who were both religious
scholars.174
One of the only Jewish masons in Peace Lodge was Moshe Bercoff,
who was the director of the Jewish college. He later moved to Haifa,
where in 1911 he co-founded the Carmel Lodge under the jurisdic-
tion of the Grand Lodge of Scotland, with Michail G. and Towfik
Majdalani, who were former colleagues from Peace Lodge. Other Syrian
masons can be found in Egyptian lodges after they left Greater Syria.
Salim Mishaqa and Antoine Diab, who were from Rishmayya in
Mount Lebanon and Beirut respectively, joined the Mansurah Lodge
between 1882 and 1885. Another Beiruti, Alexandre Tueni, was initi-
ated in the Egyptian La Régéneration de la Grèce Lodge at around the
same time.175
Besides the excursion into short descriptions of other lodges, the
freemasons mentioned above highlight the typical social structure
of lodges in Beirut. They belonged predominantly to politically and
commercially active families connected to educational institutions or
associated with the introduction of new technologies. On the one hand,

these early lodges in the provincial capital were oriented towards non-
Syrians in the area: masons could profit from the diversity of lodges
and affiliations because of the related privileges and the variety of
protection given through European connections. On the other hand,
lodge foundations expressed the serious concerns about Syria and a
longing for a lasting peace. With the spread of lodges, due to ‘the idea
to establish lodges under other obediences’, masons wanted to create
and strengthen the unity of all its inhabitants. In other words, they
wanted ‘one union and a real liberal government’.176 For the members
of Le Liban Lodge or Peace Lodge, freemasonry was the ideal instru-
ment to achieve that goal. It offered a non-sectarian and geographically
unlimited vision of fraternal association. Yet a filter was still inherent
in freemasonry, as membership fees and other costs ensured that only
members of the middle or upper class could afford to enlist. Hence,
while Syrian freemasons could speak about their desire to unite the
people of the Empire, they still paid tribute to the ideas of an elite
functioning as a vanguard.
Freemasonry experienced its peak in the region around the time of
the Young Turk Revolution. This trend was due to the behaviour of
masons, who set about opening many new lodges. It was also a result
of the social changes that transformed the Ottoman Empire. In Beirut,
a general economic revival took place, which was not automatically
accompanied by improved political conditions or social security. In
many ways lodges acted as outlets and sanctuaries offering some res-
pite from social ills.
Syrian freemasons wanted unity through diversity. However,
especially after 1908, some of them were a bit too zealous in their
desire to attract others to the fraternity. Consequently, they had to be
reminded by the Grand Lodge of Scotland that it was against masonic
constitutional law to take part ‘or be concerned with the working or
promulgation in any manner of way of any Degree, Rite or Order,
purporting to be Masonic, which is not authorised by Grand Lodge,
or by one of the other Masonic Grand Bodies with whom the Grand
Lodge is in amity’.177
Syrian lodges belonging to European masonic bodies either will-
ingly ignored or were not always aware of masonic rules regulating

ways to deal with other associations. Thus, they sent letters to Scotland
and France, for example, requesting clarification as to how they should
relate to members of the Rite of Memphis and the National Grand
Lodge of Egypt.178 The same holds true with regard to their general
attitudes towards European grand bodies. If they felt mistreated by
the European powers, the Ottoman government, the Jesuits or by
Maronite patriarchs, they sent complaints to the grand body that
seemed most willing and able to intervene.179
Joining a certain lodge never automatically entailed agreeing with
the politics of the grand body’s home country. Even the grand lodges
or orients did not always side with their own governments. Moreover, if
a mason was not satisfied with the manner of his own lodge, he could
easily move to another, as many Syrians did. Salame Ghureiggeh, a
teacher in Beirut, joined Le Liban Lodge in December 1905, but moved
only two months later to Peace Lodge. The same holds true for Georges
Salhab, a merchant who was not only initiated in Peace Lodge, but in
the same year entered Sunneen Lodge. Furthermore, one can cite the
example of Hikmet Cherrif, the director of a Tripoli school who joined
the Kadisha Lodge in 1914, but frequently visited the El Mizhab Lodge
in El Mina.180 Edouard Lair was also originally initiated in Sunneen
Lodge in Shweir, but ended up in Peace Lodge.181
Changing from a lodge belonging to the Grand Lodge of Scotland
to one affiliated with the Grand Orient of France was relatively easy.
The French body recognised the Grand Lodge of Scotland. However,
in theory, the Grand Lodge of Scotland did not recognise the Grand
Orient of France. Yet, in practice, the matter was not so clear-cut. As
George John Gibson notes, ‘[w]ith regard to the atheistic or agnostic
Latin Orders of excommunicated and quasi-Masonic origin, we can
never contemplate any federation, any recognition of an official char-
acter, since T.G.A.O.T.U. (The Great Architect of the Universe)
is openly regarded as a myth by the official spokesmen of these
Orders’.182
In reality, the situation vis-à-vis different masonic bodies was quite
different. Anton Nahhas, a customs officer in Beirut, who was origin-
ally from Jaffa, and Joseph Fayad, a member of the criminal court, for
example, switched from Le Liban Lodge to Palestine Lodge.183 One could

also simply remain within the sphere of one grand lodge and at the
same time be initiated into different lodges. This was very convenient
for men with commercial connections in various cities. In addition,
relocating sometimes made it necessary to enter a lodge away from a
mason’s original association. Kedivan Saloom and Selim S. Shweiry,
for example, were first initiated in a Brazilian lodge in April 1905, but
after their return to Syria they joined Sunneen Lodge.184
Another common feature of masons was to praise the European
country to which the lodge was affiliated or with which network-
ing seemed most profitable. Members of Sunneen Lodge, for example,
even managed to laud France, whilst belonging to the Grand Lodge of
Scotland: ‘thanks to France we found us illuminated through the sun
of truth’.185 What is more, Alexander Barroudi complimented Great
Britain, when consecrating a new lodge under the Grand Lodge of
Scotland: ‘Salah ed-Din the beloved name of the famous * great * just
king of the Mouslims in the time of the Crusaders who had much to
do with the English King Richard I (Coeur de Lion)’.186
In theory the split between the Grand Orient of France and other
masonic associations should have curtailed lodge-hopping, or at least
limited it to mutually recognised lodges. However, in practice, Syrian
masons changed their affiliations in what seems like an opportunistic
manner. Before the Young Turk Revolution and the Italian-Turkish
War in 1911, the only precondition apparently in place was that a mason
had to be affiliated with a European grand body. As Appendix III
shows, a steady movement between lodges ensured that masons knew
about the other lodges and the composition of members. In add-
ition, the phenomenon of lodge-hopping enlivened lodge meetings.
Pragmatic thoughts underpinned lodge changing, with flexibility and
assimilation being key factors in relation to the dynamic surrounding
environment.
Masons did not necessarily need to change lodges in order to ask
for support from other masonic organisations. As already noted, lodges
cooperated directly. Hence, Sunneen Lodge, which was founded in 1904
and was under the patronage of the Grand Lodge of Scotland, sent
letters to its colleagues in Le Liban Lodge, in which they requested help
from the Grand Orient of France.187 Sunneen Lodge did not contact the

Grand Orient directly, which could be a sign that the men were aware
of the fact that they belonged to a different obedience. Thus, extend-
ing one’s hand to help another brother was not restricted to one’s own
lodge, let alone to a particular masonic grand body.
The example of Ahmed Effendi Ashi (1867–1939) will illustrate this
fact. Ashi was born in Beirut, but lived and worked as a policeman in
El Mina, where he had settled with his whole family.188
Figure 10 Ahmed Ashi, early twentieth century (courtesy of Nassiba Saati, El

Mina: 2008)

Ashi was the son of Saad Edin Effendi Ashi and Kadisha Khanoum
and was married twice during his life. In a certificate issued by the
Ottoman Empire, he was described as literate, hardworking and was
able to converse in Ottoman Turkish. The photograph of Ashi (see
Figure 10) projects the impression of a proud Ottoman official who is
confidently wearing traditional headgear. Promotion to a higher rank
and an improved salary serve as further proofs of his valued perform-
ance. Ashi reduced his working hours in 1929 and retired ten years
later. Apparently, he was not only a competent public servant, but also
became a freemason of Peace Lodge in early 1904.
In 1905, he received the third degree (see Figure 11), designating him
a master mason. In 1910, he had reached the eighteenth degree of the
Knights of the Rose-Croix, testified by a certificate (see Figure 12) writ-
ten in Italian by the Supreme Council of Egypt in Cairo. While the first
document serves as a perfect example of the brotherhood’s claim for uni-
versalism – mixing languages in a way it saw fit – the second is completely
penned in Italian and Latin, which may symbolise the Egyptian masons’
own self-perception, detached from any British superior authority.
The speed of Ashi’s advancement in freemasonry is not as sur-
prising as the way he managed to harmonise his professional and
masonic careers when he was still a full-time employee of the Ottoman
government. Ample evidence of this symbiosis exists in the form of
letters of thanks sent from various lodges. In 1910, Ashi received a
letter in Arabic from Al Mohabba (Love) Lodge in Alexandria, which
worked under the jurisdiction of the National Grand Lodge of Egypt.
In the letter, the secretary of the lodge, Michel Shakhtuf, sent him
three masonic kisses and invited him to a conference organised by the
lodge, in order to show his appreciation for the charitable activities
of Ashi and his lodge. In the same year, Ashi received a letter from
the Grand Master of the same Egyptian grand lodge. Again, masons
thanked him for his good deeds. He must have excelled as an indi-
vidual and the Egyptian Niasi Lodge bestowed upon him a gold medal
with his name engraved, which was intended for use at special events
and masonic ceremonies.
In 1910 Ashi received a further letter of thanks from Faris Mishriq,
the Worshipful Master of Sunneen Lodge. In 1930 he also received a

Figure 11 Masonic Certificate from 1905 (courtesy of Nassiba Saati,

El Mina: 2008)
letter from Al-Hilal Lodge, again an Egyptian lodge, which used the
opportunity to invite him to its opening ceremony. In a note sent by
the Peace Lodge, Ashi and his work were extolled, but he was also
reminded of his duties as mason. Ashi must have had an argument

Figure 12 Masonic Certificate from 1910 (courtesy of Nassiba Saati,

El Mina: 2008)
with Sami Azar, a fellow mason. Consequently, George Abboud

el-Ashkar, the secretary of Peace Lodge, asked him ‘to cooperate. You
are a brother and we are all sons of the widow.’189 No explanation was
given in the letter as to the basis of the argument.
Another indicator of a masonic network and a spirit of mutual
recognition can be found in a letter from El Arz (the Cedars) Lodge,

working in Tripoli under the jurisdiction of the National Grand Lodge

of Egypt. Ashi was described as an honourable and wise man who
seemingly worked day and night. Members of El Arz Lodge wanted to
thank him for his help and the support he had given to Brother Abdul
Zataar Durneika – ‘blessed may he be for his charity and care for the
poor’.190 Confusingly, the letter was signed by the Worshipful Master
of the lodge, George Bandali in 1929. Eleven years earlier Bandali had
co-founded the Mina al-Amin Lodge, No. 245, under Egyptian jur-
isdiction in Tripoli and visited El Mizhab Lodge in 1919, which was
related to L’Unione Lodge in the city that worked under the Grand
Orient of Italy.191
Bandali appears to have been a member of different lodges at the
same time. This suspicion is strengthened when one looks at Figure 13,
which shows a self-confident man in a suit, flaunting all his masonic
medals.
The masonic life of Shukri Fakhouri, who wrote to Ashi in his
position as lodge secretary, is also problematic. In the letter he praises
Ashi for his work all over the world and for supporting Fakhouri’s
own lodge in particular. Fakhouri wrote the letter as the secretary
of Mina al-Amin Lodge, but he was also the co-founder of Kadisha
Lodge in 1906, as well as El Mizhab Lodge in 1914. On the one hand,
this collection of memberships demonstrates how useful it could be
to have more than one association with masonic lodges. On the other
hand, it proves how freemasonry had developed in the region: it had
transformed from a European-managed concept into an Ottoman
enterprise with protective attitudes. Freemasons themselves call
it patriotic love.192 In the early years of their existence, lodges were
frequented by Europeans. Throughout the nineteenth century the fra-
ternity continued to gain ground among the Syrian population. This
development can also be observed with regard to lodges in Beirut,
whose Syrian members grew in number towards the end of the cen-
tury, while the number of Westerners stagnated or dropped. However,
the focus on recruiting new freemasons originating from Syria was
not reflected in the choice of language officially used during lodge
meetings. Freemasonry was not considered by its adherents to be a
colonial institution, but rather as a tool that was universally useful.

Figure 13 George Bandali (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
Its traditional roots in European history were respected and honoured

and the use of European languages formed part of this attitude.
This behaviour was partly opportunistic, but was also pragmatic
concerning matters of faith. The National Evangelical Church of Beirut
was established in 1848 ‘as a result of the efforts of Congregational and
Presbyterian missionaries from the United States. In 1869, the first
evangelical church edifice was built to house the Arabic and English-
speaking congregations.’193 The archive of this church holds registration
books with the names of all converts to Protestantism between 1848
and 1915.194 Altogether 736 persons converted to Protestantism, with

the majority not originating from Beirut. Notwithstanding this, they

became affiliated with the Western institution in the city.
According to these books, in many cases a person joined the
Protestant Church in Beirut on their deathbed, which may have been
as a result of the Protestant cemetery being more desirable or that the
church took better care of dependants. Foreign educational institu-
tions were favoured by families that were not constrained by dogmatic
considerations. This could sometimes be helpful in order to receive a
desired education for a child who had the appropriate faith. Hence, by
examining all the converts’ names, it comes as no surprise that they
include many freemasons and their relatives. Thus, lodge-hopping
and religious conversions could both be based on pragmatic reason-
ing.195 Securing the future of one’s family was an imperative and more
vital than showing loyalty in questions of faith when lives were at
stake. Sovereignty, rather than religion, was the main issue. As Selim
Deringil notes, ‘the Greek claiming Austrian protection, the Georgians
being claimed by the Russians, the Greek woman being claimed by
the British consul at Preveze, the Jew converting to Protestantism and
claiming British protection, even the dead body of a convert, have
become grounds of contestation between rival claims of sovereignty’.
Conversion served the interests of both parties. Thus, Syrians were able
to get their desired protection, including privileges, while the Western
side could be satisfied in what Deringil terms an international prestige
war ‘in which the Great Powers sought to impose their will on the last
remaining non-Christian Great Power [in which conversion] seemed a
re-affirmation of their superiority’.196
After an impressive period of flourishing, the fraternity experienced
another shift with the onset of the Young Turk Revolution in 1908.
At this time, numerous lodges started to work under newly estab-
lished Arab, Turkish and Ottoman grand bodies that assumed control
from European domination; a trend that was only interrupted with
French occupation.
A question arising during my research was why the Grand Lodge of
England was not as active in Greater Syria as it was in Constantinople,
Cairo and Alexandria? While it provided some of the provincial or
district grand masters, it did not establish any lodges under English

patronage in this area. This lack of interest derives from many facts:
more Englishmen were located in Egypt and Constantinople, where
they established lodges as locations for social interactions with their
countrymen. This is illustrated by the membership lists preserved in
the library of the United Grand Lodge of England in London: almost
all lodge members were European.197 Moreover, in Constantinople
most of the European lodges were erased or dormant from the late
nineteenth century, testifying to the anti-masonic atmosphere under
Abdulhamid and the nationalisation of Turkish lodges. From 1887,
the lodges with Western affiliations that continued to exist in Cairo
and Alexandria, as well as in Constantinople, were regarded as colo-
nial outposts and were therefore probably less appealing to Syrian
masons.198
Another factor must have been the experiences of English politicians
with freemasonry both before and after the Young Turk Revolution.
Elie Kedourie is partly right when claiming that Ambassador Sir
Gerard Lowther (1858–1916) suffered from paranoia when suspect-
ing that a Masonic–Jewish conspiracy was behind the Young Turk
movement, which was represented by the Committee for Union and
Progress. This sense of paranoia later influenced British policy towards
the Young Turks.199 However, it would be too easy to entirely dismiss
Lowther’s fears. We know that freemasonry in the region around the
time of the Young Turk Revolution, and even before, became politi-
cised in Cairo as well as in Constantinople. Yet, it is extremely difficult
to ascertain the extent to which freemasons were successful in their
political aspirations. Claims made by freemasons themselves, who
called for recognition of their involvement in oppositional movements,
cannot be accepted without documents and sources. Praising voices
from freemasons themselves cannot be taken as being completely true,
as has already been proven with the French Revolution and its masonic
perception.
During the overthrow of the old Turkish system of despotism

and the forming of the new constitutional Government, the
greatest blessing Turkey has ever had, Masonry played the great-
est part. That Turkish Revolution, which has amazed the whole

world, the first revolution of its kind in the history of the world
which has been free from the stain of blood, was accomplished
through Masonry.200
However, what can be seen is the transformation from mixed lodges,

composed of men with different nationalities, to more homogeneous
lodges, consisting mainly of Egyptians or Turks under the jurisdic-
tion of national grand lodges. Without a doubt Lowther was right
in claiming that many of the leading members of the Committee for
Union and Progress were freemasons.201 While he speaks in respectful
terms of the United Grand Lodge of England and the Grand Lodge of
Scotland, he, as a representative of the British government, naturally
disapproves of all other competing national bodies.
Since most of the English lodges in Egypt and Constantinople had
already been closed at the time of his letter, Lowther lacked informed
insights into masonic life in the region, or concrete facts about lodge
membership. Thus, he had to rely solely on speculation and rumours,
though he did witness the campaigns to ‘get all masons home’ by
nationalising recently founded lodges.
The success of Yusuf Sakakini Bey, from the Belgian Supreme
Council of Freemasonry, who was raised to the 33rd degree, and
empowered to constitute the Grand Orient of Turkey, is questiona-
ble.202 However, his intention to nationalise lodges was real. In 1910,
Sakakini, who was also Honorary Grand Master ad Vitam and a
member of the Ottoman Supreme Council, wrote a letter that ori-
ginally appeared in the Egyptian Gazette, which was published in
Alexandria and reproduced in the English journal The Freemason.203
In his letter, Sakakini accused European masons of hypocrisy in
wrongly claiming ‘that Ottoman Freemasonry had for its support the
Grand Orient of Paris’. According to Sakakini, this was a falsehood,
[a falsehood produced in order] to spread the belief that

Freemasonry in Turkey was irreligious, which is not true.
[. . .] Ottoman Masons embrace every religion and race in the
Empire, and they base their system on the ancient Scottish
Rite. Masonry in Turkey has been recognised and has entered

into relations with the Masonic Bodies of North, South,

and Central America, Switzerland, Chile, Colon, Paraguay,
Uruguay, Venezuela, Brazil, Mexico, Canada, Spain, Portugal,
France, Italy, Rumania, Greece, Hungary, Egypt, etc. Ottoman
Masonry has sent its circulars to the Grand Lodges of Ireland,
Scotland, and London, and if these Lodges have not entered into
friendly relations that does not prevent Ottoman Freemasonry
from being regular and soundly authorised. In the name of the
Grand Ottoman Orient I declare that every Lodge created in the
Ottoman Empire after the 1st August, 1909, by Foreign Powers
is irregular and should be considered as clandestine [. . .].204
Lowther did not invent Syrian animosity to these Egyptian and Turkish
nationalist movements, which mixed masonry with individual polit-
ical aspirations. However, his fear of Jewish influence was completely
exaggerated and his supposed knowledge about Zionist conspiracies
remains unproven.
A further reason for the absence of English lodges in Greater Syria
was that the English, at least before their relations with Abdulhamid
worsened, wanted the Ottoman Empire to survive as a whole. They
knew how dangerous a nationalist-minded masonic fraternity could
be in nurturing separatist minds. When, during the Empire’s
last years, this attitude changed, Scottish lodges had already been
established.
Did the Grand Lodge of Scotland act as a proxy for British political
goals? It certainly would never have acted against British interests. Its
policy of not recognising many of the established Ottoman, Egyptian
or Syrian grand bodies supports this theory. The British grand lodges
did not want to prematurely recognise the Ottoman Orient, without
knowing what would happen in the wake of the Young Turks assum-
ing power, when the Grand Ottoman Orient itself was too weak and
too young to exert real influence on the lodges in the Ottoman Empire.
Moreover, after Britain’s colonisation of Egypt and the onset of the
Young Turk Revolution, its active interest in Greater Syria was some-
what diminished. On the other hand, it had no control whatsoever
over Syrian lodges under its jurisdiction, and while some Syrians may

have been pro-British, the Grand Lodge had no means of strengthen-

ing this loyalty.
At this point the complete nationalisation of lodges in the Ottoman
Empire, including Egypt and what is today Turkey did not occur.
Instead, in the aftermath of Abdulhamid’s fall from power, more
grand lodges sprang up, thereby strengthening the impression that
the Ottoman Orient was an obscure body without authority over
the Empire’s lodges. The Ottoman Orient struggled to improve its
image in 1913, when Dimitry Sursock, secretary of Le Liban Lodge,
sent a letter to the Grand Orient of France, in which he mentioned
a number of different new lodges that had been established under
the jurisdiction of various grand lodges without consultation with
the Ottoman Orient. Similar to the Europeans, most Syrians did not
yet know what to make of the Young Turks and their pro-Turkish
attitudes. Consequently, lodges were still mainly founded under the
jurisdiction of Egypt, Scotland and France.205 Members of Le Liban
Lodge tried to systematically address different individual preferences
and thereby enlarge the number of initiated masons. Salim Khalil
el-Rayess co-founded the Hermon Lodge under the jurisdiction of
the National Grand Lodge of Egypt and Jurji Yanni supported the
establishment of Kadisha Lodge. Alexander Barroudi, who originally
came from the Mount Lebanon area and had joined Le Liban Lodge
in the early 1880s, helped establish Peace Lodge, which like Kadisha
Lodge was under the jurisdiction of the Grand Lodge of Scotland.206
He also served as one of the early presidents of the lodge. Ahmed
Namy established Hilal Lodge under the jurisdiction of the Ottoman
Grand Orient. This Orient also controlled Ittihad Lodge, which had
been established by S. Sabbagh.207 In his letter, Sursock goes on to
list lodges that had also been founded in Beirut, Zahle, Moallaka,
Mughara, Merdjayoun, Damascus, Shweir, Haifa, Acco, Jaffa, Homs
and Aleppo.208
This extraordinary document shows the predominant spirit in Syrian
society after the Young Turk Revolution. People were aware of the unstable
social conditions they were living in and many men felt a need for free-
masonry as a substitute for a public and peaceful civic society. This was
something that was not orchestrated by Abdulhamid himself. Moreover,

they knew how to play their own game when faced with the interference
of world powers in their country. For example, Sursock sent his letter
in 1913, but already in 1900 Khalil el-Rayess had sent a letter to the
Grand Lodge of Scotland, in which he bemoaned the closure of Palestine
Lodge and pointed to ‘the young men having both a good character and
a good social standing who are eager to embrace the membership of our
holy order but are unfortunately unable to do so because they cannot
find a lodge following your honoured regulations’.209 Not only did he
praise the Grand Lodge over all others, but he also ran down the Grand
Orient of France: ‘This order, as you no doubt know, omits the principle
which is the foundation stone of the Masonic order’ – referring to the
omission of the oath to the Supreme Being.210 Indeed, most of the found-
ers of Peace Lodge had transferred from Le Liban Lodge: these include
El-Rayess himself, after having worked as one of the founders of Hermon
Lodge, Esper Shoukair, Michel Bitar, Salim Kassab, Amin Kassab and
Hamade Habale. Others had already been members of Palestine Lodge
or an Egyptian lodge. Nicolas Haggi, for example, was a former Palestine
Lodge mason, but was also among the founders of Le Liban Lodge.
The same holds true for Joseph Fayyad, Hamade Bey Hamade
and Selim G. Rayess, who were past worshipful masters of Le Liban
Lodge.211 Masons apparently tried to spur on the Grand Lodge of
Scotland in its support of new lodges in the Greater Syria region.
These efforts included references to the dangers of French masonry. At
the same time, they used the Grand Orient masons – if they were not
themselves still members of a French lodge – as witnesses in support
of their masonic virtues. To lure French masons into broader involve-
ment, they sought not to antagonise their Gallic brothers. Hence, they
informed the French of the increasing numbers of lodges working
under Scottish jurisdiction, but also stated that they were in principle
all brothers and deserved support from the French.
Apparently, the masonic split that arose in 1877, as a result of the
decision of the Grand Orient of France to forgo the oath to the Supreme
Architect, convinced some of the Syrian masons to turn to the Grand
Lodge of Scotland, which was widely respected. However, they never
completely cut off contact with the Grand Orient. One can conclude
that due to internal politics and trade, it was always useful to have
France on one’s side, while the British were suitable as well for foreign
affairs and contacts beyond Europe.

But the Syrians were not the only ones who played freemasonry
according to their own rules; the same is even true for the Scottish
Grand Lodge’s mode of dealing with its former sister grand body. As
late as five years after the schism with the French, the secretary of the
Grand Lodge of Scotland referred to ‘some misconception [that] existed
in the Scottish Craft as to Brethren hailing from lodges holding of the
Grand Orient of France, and that he had advised correspondents on
the point, that although fraternal relations between the Grand Lodge
of Scotland and the Grand Orient had been severed, it was competent
to Scotch Lodges in their discretion to receive as visitors or to affiliate
Brethren under the French Constitution, upon avowal of their belief in
God, the Great Architect of the Universe. Approved.’212 Hence, while
stopping short of officially allowing lodge-hopping, the Grand Lodge
interpreted its own laws in a pragmatic manner.
Positions changed at the outbreak of World War One, when the
then active European lodges suffered and lost some of their attrac-
tion. In 1914 Germany seemed to be the ascendant power, while the
former international players on Ottoman territory had had their privi-
leges cut. In late 1914, the Ottoman government started to censor
all telegraphic communications and abrogated the capitulations when
the Empire went to war against Britain and France on the side of
Germany. It closed all foreign postal services and in 1915 started to
deport Allied nationals, with some even imprisoned. Ottomans were
drafted into the army with Christians serving in the unarmed labour
battalions. Others, like the Armenians, were later expelled, imprisoned
or eliminated and their estates were confiscated by the government.213
Abdulhamid’s fears of a corroding Empire had found a counterpart in
the Young Turks’ radicalism.

CHAPTER 5
FR EEM ASONRY ON MOUNT

LEBANON
After the French intervention in 1860, Mount Lebanon’s administra-

tive and legal system was restructured into a single unit, excluding
Beirut, Tripoli and Saida. It may be true that France’s action was
intended to help Christians who were suffering at the hands of Druzes
and Muslims alike. However, another significant reason was that its
economic interests were at stake, mainly in regard to the effective pro-
duction of silk.
Between 1870 and 1914 France imported 40–50 per cent of the
worldwide production of silk from Lebanon. Hence, its investment in
the Lebanese silk industry was extremely high and seriously threat-
ened by the civic strife in the region.1
It is still commonplace to view the unrest that beset the Mount
Lebanon area in the 1860s as evidence that the various religious com-
munities were unable to live side by side. I would argue, however, that
the civil strife that erupted in the 1860s was not caused by religious
differences but rather by privileges given to certain groups. Affiliation
to a specific religious community only made you an enemy if you
received more profitable treatment compared to others.
Gingeras rightly states that the ‘perceived “communal” nature of
violence and mass mobilization is a product of state intervention (since
it is the state that gives significance to the geographical and social
characteristics of given territory). [. . .] When violence in the provinces

FREEMASONRY ON MOUNT LEBANON 141
did erupt, “primordial hatreds” were not to blame’; rather ‘the recon-
figuration of political, economic, and social networks that pre-date
state reform and globalization produce violent returns’.2
On Mount Lebanon, Christians were perceived as benefitting most
from European economic infiltration. Indeed, mainly Christians
received protection from European powers in terms of legal status and
commercial deals. They were more likely to be trusted by their French
co-religionists, and had always been more willing to adapt to new ways
of doing business, working-methods or ways of living. Hence, they
had fewer problems learning other languages and to adopt or imitate
a Western lifestyle.
First, the social gap between Druzes and Maronites widened. The
social balance had already been disturbed with newly rich people
quickly assuming dominant positions in society. Then, familiar trading
habits were uprooted. Old elites rightfully feared for their reputations
and for their very survival. This became even more obvious when
fights broke out in Damascus shortly after those on Mount Lebanon.
Another issue at stake on the Mount revolved around the vexed ques-
tion of land.
The area only achieved political stability ‘when the land ques-
tion was resolved in favour of economic actors. The setting up of a
Maronite-dominated autonomous area pacified Mount Lebanon and
strengthened the market-oriented agricultural units’.3 The mountain
rises from the coast, reaching “imposing heights within 15–20 miles”
before declining to the east.4 Due to regular heavy rainfall and melt-
ing snow, Mount Lebanon is well watered with streams dividing it into
separate regional enclaves. Only with industrialisation and the devel-
opment of the region’s infrastructure in the nineteenth century was it
possible to improve travel and transportation links for those regularly
using the ports located in Saida, Tripoli and Beirut. Consequently, as
Engin Deniz Akarli notes, ‘commercial relations acquired a greater
importance for the Mountain’s economy’. The major source of the
region’s financial income was the production of raw silk and silk
cocoons.5 The population on the mountain was mainly composed of
Maronites, Druzes and Shiites, with some belonging to the Greek
Catholic and Greek Orthodox churches.

Greek Catholics had separated from the Orthodox Church in the

seventeenth century. The union with Rome had led to a rising socio-
economic status for Arab Christians, followed by their rise to more
profitable crafts and the ‘opportunity to enter international trade in full
force’ in the eighteenth century. Though sticking to their communal
framework, it was an attempt ‘to assert local communal autonomy
from the Patriarch in Istanbul’.6
Greek Catholics comprised approximately 8 per cent of the moun-
tain’s population, while the majority of inhabitants (comprising Greek
Orthodox and Sunni Muslim communities) lived in urban areas. In
general, Greek Orthodox and Catholics from Mount Lebanon tended
to settle in the Empire’s cities, since their power radiated from these
urban areas.7
The new laws were introduced in 1861–62 with some revisions
enacted in 1864.8 Thenceforth the mountain area was administered as
a mutas.arrifiyya – a district relatively autonomous and governed by a
mutas.arrif, who was effectively a chief executive directly responsible to
the Sublime Porte. The elective administrative council was composed
of twelve members according to confessional majorities with five being
Christians.9 The area was subdivided into seven districts, which were
also ruled corresponding to the different confessions. Although the
new framework of rules promised to break with the power of sheikhs,
the clergy and the traditional influence of prominent families, the
fact that the districts were subdivided into even smaller units still left
these religious and traditional personalities with considerable power
over the other inhabitants. What is more, notables and members of
significant clans made sure that they were integrated into the new
political system in order to secure their positions, after part of the
land was confiscated and the administration had been restructured.
Without a pool of new landlords, peasants filled the resulting vacuum
and became independent landowners.10
In the nineteenth century the Maronite Church turned to France
for help in different cases, fearing that its old privileges were being
further corroded. These fears were not only based on the new laws,
which abolished its former rights, but also arose as a result of the
new challenges faced by the growth of capitalism and the changes

to the mountain’s economy, which shifted from a subsistence model

to a market economy. Other religious communities also tried to gain
favour with European powers, which in turn competed for influence.
The Druze population asked the British to protect their rights, while
the Austro-Hungarian and Russian consuls strengthened their links
to the Greek Catholic and Greek Orthodox communities respective-
ly.11 Europeans, and particularly the French, were deeply involved in
the commercial and economic life of Mount Lebanon, using Ottoman
concessions – in the form of capitulations – to widen their sphere of
influence. The civil unrest of the 1860s, a follow up of earlier clashes
which had already started in the 1840s, spread from Mount Lebanon
to Damascus with different opposing groups but similar features.12
On Mount Lebanon the conflict was, as Leila Fawaz notes, ‘a result
of decades of tension’ and included the struggle that took place in
1857 between ‘peasants and lords of the Maronite north and spread
to the mixed districts of the south as hostilities broke out between
Christians and Druzes’. It gripped Damascus ‘where Sunni Muslims
attacked the Christian (primarily Greek Orthodox) part of town’.
Although the initial triggers differed in both of these cases, the hostile
activities ‘reflected a displacement of traditionally privileged groups
by new centers of wealth and power’.13 ‘While local actors had the
upper hand in the age of free trade (1820–1870), the age of imperi-
alism put European companies into an influential position for the next
fifty years in regard to the Ottoman coastal economy’.14
While on the Mount the feudal economy and the economic balance
between the Druze and Maronite populations had changed in favour
of the latter; a seemingly submissive Ottoman government – vis-à-
vis European hegemony – was additionally weakened by the loss of
control of its peripheries. This alerted the Sunni Muslim popula-
tion in Damascus, who traditionally had been a privileged segment
of the community.15 The economic and social changes that occurred
at the time of European penetration were experienced by all sections of
the communities, either in the form of economic deals or as missionary
expeditions.
Beirut at this point was still spared from the full brunt of these
tensions, mainly due to its significance for Europeans and the Ottoman

Empire alike as an economic linchpin. Commercial interests were in

general still more important than internal discord. Nevertheless, ani-
mosity between various communities existed and increased, mainly as
a result of provocative actions carried out by a steadily growing mass
of immigrants from Mount Lebanon.16
Under the new laws Mount Lebanon was transformed from a feudal
area to a cash-crop system, with Beirut functioning as a trade and eco-
nomic centre. Peasants and landowners from Mount Lebanon became
dependent on services provided by Beirut’s intermediaries – mainly
Christian traders – while the old social stratum composed of old
traditional landlords never completely managed to adapt to this new
affluent class.17
During the unrest Beirut stood aside, playing the role of a detached
observer, although it was heavily involved in financial and judicial
matters. At this time, most of the Mount’s inhabitants, as well as
Ottoman and European employees and interest groups, preferred the
atmosphere of the urban governing circles as political issues seemed
easier to deal with in the city.18
According to Hitti, the Mount ‘maintained its own judiciary and
preserved order by a local militia’.19 Moreover no Ottoman troops were
stationed on its soil and its inhabitants were not compelled to serve in
the army. All revenues from taxes were dispensed locally. Indeed, none
of the Mount’s financial budget had to be transferred to the Porte.
The coming years saw different governors with varying talents, who
tried to enforce reforms and attempted to participate in the grow-
ing industrialisation of the Empire. As elsewhere traditional powers
fought against losing their grip over the region. Religious groups were
now counted as political communities in a confessional system – a fact
that heightened tensions.
On the one hand, Beirut’s influence was undermined after the
administrative restructuring of the Mount. Yet, on the other hand
the area maintained its importance for Christian communities. The
Orthodox clergy, who were mindful of the necessity to show their
presence on the Mount, maintained its administrative set up in the
area. Beirut’s dominance became ever more evident after the establish-
ment in 1888 of the vilayet.

This new demarcation of administrative territory included Mount

Lebanon as well as Tripoli, and as Fawaz notes, it was really ‘the heart
of the economic and cultural life of Mount Lebanon’.20 Nevertheless,
as will be shown when discussing masonic life on the Mount, it was in
places like Shweir and Zahle that forms of cultural engagement like
the theatre were able to thrive outside Beirut’s limelight.
Masonic Lodges on Mount Lebanon

Sunneen Lodge was established in Shweir in 1904 and within four
years it had almost 200 members. As Salim Mujais writes, ‘Shweir
was once mainly Greek Orthodox, now it is only PPS’ [Pro-Syrian
Lebanese party]. While this might be slightly exaggerated, Shweir and
its surroundings were indeed constantly involved in political and reli-
gious issues or activities. The village of Shweir lies in the mountains,
about 26 kilometres northeast of Beirut. It was in a way ‘invisible
from the coast’, as it lies in a valley. Thanks to several springs nearby,
Shweir benefitted from being surrounded by fertile, though limited,
land. Thus, the population ‘had to rely on other sources of income’.21
As mentioned, the inhabitants of Mount Lebanon were involved in
the silk trade, but at the end of the nineteenth century they add-
itionally began to benefit from the increasing prosperity of foreigners
and Beirutis, who visited the village during the oppressive summer
months. Describing Mount Sunneen, which rises nearby Shweir, the
Russian Orientalist Agatangel Kremsky wrote: ‘It wears winter on its
head, spring on its shoulders, autumn in its bosom and summer sleeps
at its feet.’22
As observed with the other lodges, almost half of the masons
belonging to Sunneen Lodge were traders, whereas about a quarter
held positions within the Ottoman government and a number were
landowners.23 It is not surprising, considering its rural setting, that
Sunneen Lodge admitted more landowners than other lodges in Beirut.
What is more, only one member – William B. Magelssen – worked
for European political bodies. Magelssen was registered as an employee
of the United States consulate. Missionaries, although less interested
in the hinterland, did build schools in such areas. In his map from

1873 (see Figure 14), Henry J. Jessup marks three missions in the
region: the American Presbyterian mission, schools of the Free Church
of Scotland and Greek and Catholic monasteries. In an account writ-
ten in 1899, Shweir is characterised as ‘the city of knowledge because
of the large number of schools in it’, which occurred as a ‘result of
Figure 14 Partial Map of Greater Syria produced by H. Jessup in 1873

competition among religious missionaries. The apostate Protestants

built a school [. . .] so how can the Jesuits not hasten to do the same?
Indeed, they built two schools. The Maronites were not far behind . . .’
In addition, between 1896 and 1897 three Orthodox boarding schools
opened.24
In its first years Sunneen Lodge was the only lodge in the area and
attracted many aspirants from a wide radius. Most of its members
belonged to influential Greek Orthodox and Maronite families, which
is quite surprising, since the respective ecclesiastical authorities of the
Maronite church spoke out strictly against freemasonry.25 This could
be interpreted as another sign for the loosening grip religious leaders
had over their followers. On the other hand, maybe they deemed it to
be wiser to allow some Maronites to join the fraternity, as they in turn
could provide valuable insights into the activities of the movement. Up
until 1912, only ten of the initiated members of Sunneen Lodge, apart
from its founders, had previously been masons. Hence, Sunneen appar-
ently succeeded in appealing to a new audience, but it also suggests
that masons from the area preferred to stay in their old lodges for the
time being.
The petition of the lodge had been supported by Saad Abu Shahla,
who was an early member of Palestine Lodge before joining Peace Lodge
and by Nicolas Haggi and Alexander Barroudi, who belonged to Le
Liban Lodge and Peace Lodge respectively. The petition shows the
letterhead of Peace Lodge, written in English and Arabic, which states:
‘To the Glory of the Grand Architect of the Universe’ together with
the rallying cry of the French Revolution: ‘Liberty (hurriyya), Equality
(musāwāt), and Fraternity (ikhā˒)’. The favourable image enjoyed by
French freemasonry among fellow masons in the region partly derived
from its association with the French Revolution.
Some of the founders of Sunneen Lodge came from Brazilian lodges,
as was the case with Faris and Elias Mishriq and Ibrahim Naufal.
Others emanated from either Peace Lodge or Le Liban Lodge.26 Faris
Mishriq was a well-known person in Shweir and the surrounding
area. It was he who was responsible for arranging a commercial fair
to be established in the village, which helped to increase the village’s
prosperity.27

The lodge attracted former members from Le Liban Lodge,

such as Nimr S. Hobaika and George Salhab. The latter was a mer-
chant, who was so fond of freemasonry that he also joined Peace Lodge
in Beirut between 1905 and 1906. Another mason, who was initiated
into Sunneen Lodge in 1908, was the landowner David Bashir, a former
member of Kadisha Lodge.28 The Bashir family were originally from
Douma, an Orthodox village in Syria and in 1905 Bashir had founded
The Doumani National Association of Douma (Hayat el Watan ed
Doumania Douma). The organisation was affiliated with Douma’s
Orthodox Church and ensured the funding of Orthodox schools in
the Ottoman Empire, thanks to its connections to emigrants from
Syria in the Americas.29 Initially known by the name Shalhoub, the
family had split into different branches, with some adopting the
name Bashir, whilst some kept their original name. One member
from the Shalhoub family joined the Helbon Lodge in Aleppo in 1887;
another, Antoine Shalhoub, worked for the Ottoman government
and was initiated into Le Liban Lodge in Beirut between 1889 and
1890.30
Disappointment with French policy and the Grand Orient’s com-
pliance with its government had set in in Ottoman Syria as early as
1906, when Sunneen Lodge turned to Le Liban Lodge and asked for help
against the Maronite clergy. According to Sunneen they were agitating
against freemasonry as ‘our existence in Lebanon will depend on it. It
is therefore important to demonstrate to the sectarian fanaticism and
egotism that freemasonry will triumph, because it has the right and
humanity, it is strong and the solidarity has provided an admirable
triumph in France and Europe in general.’31 When no response was
forthcoming Sunneen Lodge then sent a letter to the French consul: ‘Faris
Mishriq, an important freemason threatened that Greek Orthodox
members would turn away from French patronage and engage instead
in Scottish lodges should France decide to continue its support of the
Maronite community.’32 The circumstances involving this letter are
rather strange, as it appears that Mishriq, a member of a lodge under
the jurisdiction of the Grand Lodge of Scotland, was warning France
of the dire consequence of its inactivity, whereby all masons in Greater
Syria would join Scottish lodges if the country continued to neglect its

duty to protect the people of the region from Maronite religious lead-
ers living on Mount Lebanon.
On the other hand, this move is understandable in the light of
events: former members of Le Liban Lodge indeed aligned themselves
with Sunneen and other lodges under the jurisdiction of different grand
bodies. The likely reason for this trend was an attempt to carry out
the idea of spreading masonry undeterred by existing masonic rules
regarding affiliations to grand bodies of separate orders. However, since
Le Liban Lodge continuously stood up for the interests of masons, irre-
spective of their obedience, and always perceived itself as the mother
lodge in the Greater Syria region, it is only reasonable that it preserved
its prestige among the majority of masons irrespective of France’s
reputation. This was especially true since Le Liban could not count
on a French masonic grand body, but was dependent on a functioning
masonic network inside Ottoman Syria.
The constant commitment of Le Liban Lodge to other lodges added
to the on-going lodge-hopping tendencies of its own members and
testifies to the fact that most lodges before the Young Turk Revolution
were established by Le Liban’s own followers.33 This resulted in friendly
relationships and the establishment of a dynamic network of lodges
affiliated with various masonic grand bodies.
Canaan Bey-Dagher – together with Georges Bey Zouain – was
named as a member ‘from our lodge in Beirut’ by Le Liban Lodge.34 In
April 1905 he had been initiated into Sunneen Lodge and went on to
join Kadisha Lodge a year later.35 This means he was not strictly speak-
ing actually one of ‘ours’, that is, a mason who belonged to a French
lodge. Instead, he joined the Scottish lodges. The fact that Le Liban
Lodge crossed boundaries initially set by European masonic bodies, by
reaching out to all Syrian freemasons irrespective of their affiliations
underlines the main argument of this thesis that in real life in most
cases it did not matter which lodge individual freemasons belonged
to. What did matter was their general participation in the fraternity.
Their choice to join showed their willingness to start something com-
pletely new, something that would help to unite the Ottoman people
when confronted with internal religious contentions and external chal-
lenges. For Le Liban this active step alone counted.

Zouain, who indeed belonged to Le Liban Lodge, was a Maronite

from Ghazir, a village in the north of Beirut. He was a director of a
school and served in various positions for the Lebanese administra-
tion. Dagher worked as a prefect for the district of Batrun, a small
city on the coast further to the north. Sunneen Lodge wanted to gather
support for Dagher against ‘certain functionaries of the [provincial]
Lebanese government’, who supposedly acted against freemasons. The
French consul in Tripoli, who is not named,36 was accused of being
a particularly suspicious freemason.37 It remains unproven if France
indeed influenced the behaviour and treatment of freemasons in
Mount Lebanon. In this regard, the end of the affair gives no further
hint: Canaan Bey-Dagher was transferred to Matn in order to con-
tinue working in its district ‘which is more important than the one of
Batrun’.38
Irrespective of this affair and the question of whether the free-
masons in the region received help the campaign against them died
down. Indeed, the brotherhood grew stronger. ‘Regarding the attacks
against our brothers, they partly stopped but continue in a persistent
and ignominiously from the side of the Maronite Church. Now
without consequences as we are strong enough through our principles
to dispose them and the few documents we published in our mother
language brought us the sympathy of many, even from supporter of
the broken clergy’.39
Here it is significant and worthwhile to further analyse the issues
related to local politics in the region at the time. Sunneen Lodge was
founded in a tense period in the region’s history. From 1902 Mount
Lebanon was governed by Muzaffer Pasha, who was less experienced
than his predecessors and lacked European allies. Moreover, he was far
more dependent on cooperation and support from locals than other
governors before him.40 He found himself wedged between a Maronite
patriarchate desperate to maintain its strong position in local politics
and to retain the backing of France, and the so-called liberals, who
were allies of the former governor. As Akarli states, ‘bureaucrats and
politicians saw the Administrative Council as the keystone of a fully
autonomous Lebanon under their leadership.’ 41 Rivalries between
competing families, which involved the clergy and the governor, had

already forced Vasa Pasha to look for other sources of support. However,
unlike Muzaffer, Akarli notes that Vasa ‘was backed by a cross-
sectarian alliance of the Lebanese leadership who managed to keep the
affairs of the Mountain under control and the opposition literally at
bay in Beirut’ until his death in 1892.42 Naum Pasha was a follower of
Vasa and had to defend himself before the Ottoman government when
confronted with petitions emanating from his own subjects: he was
accused of smuggling and corruption, but seemingly his main mis-
demeanour was his closeness to the Kusa family, who were perceived
as being in cahoots with the Maronite Church. According to Akarli,
the petitioners denounced the fact that the Pasha was ‘behaving as
if he were a princely ruler and Mount Lebanon a principality of the
Kusa family and its local supporters’. Behind these allegations stood
secular-minded Maronites and Greek Orthodox believers, who for per-
haps the first time in such a movement called themselves Lebanese.43
Their enmity against the power of the clergy resulted in Muzaffer’s
election in 1902. As Hobsbawm states, regarding the socio-political
changes in early political entities, even if this kind of formation ‘as yet
faced no serious challenge to its legitimacy or cohesion, and no really
powerful forces of subversion, the mere decline of the older socio-polit-
ical bonds would have made it imperative to formulate and inculcate
new forms of civic loyalty’. Growing possibilities for political influence
and interference on the Mountain had turned subjects into citizens
with a ‘populist consciousness’ that displayed early efforts to organise
their Lebensraum independent of the Ottoman Government.44
Sunneen Lodge assembled a large percentage of the men respon-
sible for the petitions. They were Ottoman officials, court members
and military officials – an explosive mix. In lodges outside Beirut
whole families formed clusters, but the Maronite and also some Greek
Orthodox freemasons tended to enter Sunneen Lodge individually. Early
exceptions were the Daghers, the Lahouds and the Shehabs.45 Elias
Lahoud and his son Faris Gibrael belonged to one of the major local
silk exporters, which traded with Lyon. The Shehabs, who provided
land and mulberry trees for the silk industry, were also represented by
some family members in the lodges.46 As Kais Firro states, silk entre-
preneurs during the second half of the nineteenth century had risen ‘to

the top of the economic and social ladder, a position formerly occupied
by the landowners’.47 One branch of the Shehab family had converted
to Maronism, like some Druzes of the Abi-l-Lama family.48 Another
member of Sunneen Lodge, Habib Sa’ad, served as deputy chairman
of the Administrative Council. Moreover, Canaan Bey-Dagher was
Muzaffer’s most trusted district governor, which was also one of the
reasons for his relocation to Batrun. He was supposed to confront the
defiant clergy. According to Akarli, Muzaffer moved him to ‘the heart-
land of Maronite clerical power, because as he argued in a letter to
the Porte, Batrun’s district governor had been unequal to the pressure
of the bishops there’.49 George Zouain, of Le Liban Lodge, likewise
received an administrative position.50
Another member of Le Liban Lodge – Jerjes Hammam – was one
of the founders of Sunneen Lodge. Hammam was a teacher at one of
the first secondary schools in Shweir. Apparently he was not content
with the available books for teaching Arabic. Having spent some time
in England, he published an Arabic–English dictionary in collabor-
ation with Salim Kassab. Furthermore, in 1908 an Arabic–Arabic
dictionary for students was brought out and financed by Hammam,
Dagher Khairallah, Moussah Merhej and Nehmeh Jafet. Afterwards,
Hammam went on to teach, as Mujais notes, in ‘the most important
schools in Lebanon and Syria’.51
It would seem that the so-called liberals were often not liberal at all.
According to Akarli, they ‘usually responded negatively or reluctantly
to the various reform projects that Muzaffer himself advocated’.52 At
the same time, some of them were less anti-clerical and more anti-
dogmatic and preferred cooperation with the church. Also some
liberal-minded clerics advocated a change in the church’s relationship
to secular authorities. Muzaffer had to tread a fine line in order to
survive politically, whereby he had to make concessions to the church
as well as to the traditional, influential families.53 This was the fate
of most of the governors of Mount Lebanon, where, as Akarli notes,
‘fifty years of relatively autonomous and peaceful development had led
to the rise of institutions and traditions that helped its people launch
organised political action and also provided them with self-confidence
in their ability to run their own affairs’.54

Sunneen Lodge, and later Zahle Lodge, managed to unite rival fam-
ilies, like the Mujais and the Sawayas, although as Mujais notes, Shweir
was presumed to be ‘traditionally divided into two major clans centered
on the two larger families’.55 Consequently, at the beginning of the
twentieth century, that is during the early years of Sunneen Lodge, new
and aspiring members of the middle and upper classes gathered with
those who had lost out in the bear pit of global capitalism.56
Almost immediately after having been ‘erected and consecrated’ on
2 July 1904, by Alexander Barroudi and others, Sunneen Lodge
commenced a troubled relationship with the Grand Lodge of Scotland.57
The lodge welcomed a steady flow of about ten new initiates per year,
but nevertheless complained in 1908 about ‘the persecution’ its members
were allegedly subjected to, ‘owing to their connection with the craft’.58
Sunneen also sent a petition to Edinburgh against its own lodge master.
As the petition was not accompanied by the appropriate fee, the Grand
Lodge of Scotland took no action. The normal procedure in such
circumstances would have been to use the Grand Lodge as a mediator
between the dissatisfied members and their master. According to the
proceedings of the Grand Lodge of Scotland, a copy of the petition was
sent to the master ‘asking him to reply sending answers within eight
days of receipt’.59 Unfortunately, Sunneen or its leader did not dwell fur-
ther on the issue – it either did not want to spend the requested sum of
money or the matter was otherwise settled.
About a year later, the lodge appeared in a letter sent to Edinburgh
from Esper Shoucair, who wrote in his function as past master of the
Peace Lodge. He agreed therein ‘to act as commissioner for the Grand
Lodge in enquiring into the matters arising out of the Petitions, etc.,
from Lodge Sunneen, [. . .] and from certain members thereof’.60 Again
no further clues are given. The Grand Lodge of Scotland confirmed that
it had empowered Shoucair to enquire into all matters and ‘to take such
evidence, either documentary or oral, as may seem to him necessary and
for that purpose to have full power to cite witnesses and call for produc-
tion of all books and documents he may think fit’. Results were supposed
to be handed out in the form of a report to the Grand Lodge. If required
Shoucair was also asked ‘to conjoin with himself’ fellow masons, such
as George D. Sursock, Alexander Barroudi, Assad Ofaish and David

Nahoul. Costs incurred were to be covered by the Grand Lodge.61 The

most interesting and astonishing fact is the mention of George Dimitri
Sursock, who was Worshipful Master of Le Liban Lodge between
1891 until 1913. Thus, Sursock was affiliated with the Grand Orient
of France, a grand body formally not recognised by the British grand
lodges. It seems likely that the Grand Lodge of Scotland knew about
the circumstances in which the different lodges in Greater Syria were
founded, and hence was aware of their longing for unity and stability.
This supposition is strengthened by the inclusion of David Nahoul in
the list – another mason from Le Liban Lodge. Nahoul was a pharmacist
and originally came from Deir el-Qamar and joined the lodge in its early
years before 1880.62 Assad Ofaish and Alexander Barroudi, both physi-
cians, were respected members of Peace Lodge.63 Barroudi assisted many
lodges during their foundation and inaugurations. He was thanked for
his services with regard to Zahle Lodge, No. 1047, in 1908 and the Light
of Damascus Lodge, No. 1058, in 1909. Barroudi, a graduate of the SPC,
originally came from Saida. His career included being an instructor at
the Saida School for Girls, at the SPC and at the Zahrat al-Ih.sān (flower
of charity / social responsibility), a social charity. He was also a private prac-
titioner in Homs, Hama and Souk el-Gharb and a physician at Ba’aklin
Hospital and at Burj el-Barajni and Hadath clinics. During World
War One he was a Red Cross physician. Moreover, he was a member
of his local district court for 22 years. What is more, he founded and
edited a medical journal, wrote several books, contributed articles and
poems to other publications and served as president of the Alumni
Association of the SPC. Barroudi was one of the founders of the Medical
and Pharmaceutical Society and a member of the Syrian Education
Society.64 With this background, it is not surprising that masons and
grand lodges alike trusted this pillar of the community.
Esper Shoucair was born in 1843. He was a founding member and
past master of Peace Lodge, although he was first initiated into the
craft at Le Liban Lodge. At the age of nearly 70, Shoucair was still a
valuable intermediary for the Grand Lodge of Scotland and he contin-
ued to be a court representative for Great Britain.65
The Grand Lodge of Scotland did not reveal any further informa-
tion about the petitions or any subsequent investigations. But Sunneen

Lodge was not the only lodge that attracted negative publicity in
Edinburgh, as only a year later Zahle Lodge reported the expulsion of
Nicholas Habarjeb, one of its members. In this instance, as before, it
did not elaborate on the reasons for the decision.66
In the following years the internal storms at Sunneen Lodge seem-
ingly abated. As Mujais notes, the Shweir district had become a
‘favourite summer resort for returning Lebanese immigrants and for
rich Egyptians and other foreigners’.67 Sunneen Lodge only turned to
the Grand Lodge on one other occasion, in order to ask for an allow-
ance to change facilities during the winter months. Such requests were
not uncommon. As the proceedings of the Grand Lodge note, ‘by old
custom, wealthy families from the middle zones of Mount Lebanon
wintered in Beirut, and many Beiruti summered in the neighbouring
hills in Mount Lebanon’. During the 1920s, the members of Sunneen
Lodge favoured meeting in Beirut, preferring the facilities available
via Peace Lodge to the icy mountains. They received permission on
a yearly basis to meet in Beirut until 1926.68 Afterwards, the agree-
ment was renewed for another year, when they met in rooms at the
American lodges in Beirut. However, the desire of members of Sunneen
Lodge ‘to confer degrees in cases of emergency at intervals of not less
than one week instead of two weeks’ was turned down.69
In regard to Ottoman Syria, no Provincial Grand Master of the
region supplied the customary annual report to the Grand Lodge of
Scotland in Edinburgh, which subsequently became suspicious of the
activities of Sunneen Lodge. When officials from Sunneen Lodge once
again asked to renew their right to meet in Beirut during winter, the
Grand Lodge of Scotland asked for details. As the proceedings from
1927–28 make clear, ‘the Master and Secretary having failed, after
repeated applications, to furnish this information, the Committee
recommend that permission to meet in Beirut be not granted’. At
this point Edinburgh had also received a report by Shoucair (which
alas is no longer extant): ‘The Committee had also before it a Report
from the Petitions, Complaints, and Appeals Committee regarding
irregularities in the working of this Lodge, and concur in the find-
ing’ that it has to ‘suspend the Lodge and recall its Charter’. It added
that the expulsion of one of the members – Wadih Berbari – from

Sunneen Lodge would not come into effect until the lodge was able ‘to
give information supporting its action’. In addition, the Grand Lodge
of Scotland recommended closing the lodge, suspending its working
and ordaining ‘that the Charter, books, papers, jewels, clothing, para-
phernalia, and funds (including the Benevolent Fund) of the Lodge, be
returned to Grand Lodge forthwith’.70
This marked the end of Sunneen Lodge. No one really knows what
happened during these years. Did the lodge become involved in local
politics, lodge competitions and religious struggles? It may well have
been that Sunneen ignored the stipulated refrain from politics during
lodge meetings and violated masonic principles. It would not be an
isolated case as in comparison with members of grand bodies. A con-
temporary English freemason, for example, had warned before that
‘it must be borne in upon the conscience of Grand Lodge members
that they exist for Masonry, and that Freemasonry is not just their
servant’.71
However, only rumours in local lodges that are still working
continue to tell of a connection between the lodge and a number of
politicians who allegedly tried to put their fellow masons in high gov-
ernment positions. It is said that in attempting such a course of action
they started a fight with the Maronite clergy. Yet, only a few years
after Sunneen came into being many other lodges around Shweir were
established and masons had no difficulties in finding a new home.
Zahle Lodge, No. 1047, was founded in 1908 and started to offi-
cially operate on 5 November.72 Until the eighteenth century, Zahle
was just a small village of a thousand inhabitants that bordered the
Beqaa Valley, halfway between Beirut and Damascus. The population
worked in the agricultural sector and engaged in local trade. By the
late nineteenth century the town had a population of between twelve
and fifteen thousand.
As early as 1711 the Abi-l-Lama family had become the most
important authority in the area. Two centuries later the family also
placed members in Sunneen Lodge. Zahle turned from being a rela-
tively small village, dependent on agrarian activities, into a small
town involved in commercial activities.73 Its trade was oriented more
towards Damascus than to Beirut, due to a better infrastructure in

the direction of the former. In political terms, the town stood between
the governor of Damascus and the Emir of Mount Lebanon. Since no
direct representative of the Ottoman government was present in the
town, power resided with the old and prestigious families until the
onset of political restructuring.
In the 1860s, Zahle experienced massacres against its Christian
inhabitants, although rivalry had already intensified in the mid-1840s,
when the Jesuits arrived in the town and built a school and church. As
Farrah notes, the Jesuits pushed ‘constantly south, into the Druze and
Muslim country, and establishing themselves also in Deir el-Qamar
and Saida, they unwittingly contributed to discord by arousing the
suspicions of non-Christian elements and the scenes of their religious
and educational activities became during the civil war also the scenes
of strife and massacres’.74
Fights erupted between Muslims and Christians, who according to
one observer of the Damascene Al-Hasibi family, ‘openly cursed the
Prophet and called their dogs by the names of his Companions’, while
‘Muslims arriving in Zahle on horseback were forced to dismount before
entering the town’. Finally, it was the Druze community that seized
control and marked ‘the climax of a Christian-Druze conflict which
had been raging in Mount Lebanon for several weeks’.75 Christians
lived in fear for some weeks afterwards and foreign Protestant mis-
sionaries were among the first to be ejected. Fuad Pasha’s punishment
of notable Damascene Muslims and the feeling among Christians that
they would be protected by European powers encouraged the latter
group to return or to stay in Zahle.
At the end of the nineteenth century three different missions were
active. The American Presbyterians had the largest presence, followed
by the British Anglicans and the Free Church of Scotland with its
school system.76
With steadily growing trade, a new trade bourgeoisie climbed the
social ladder, soon exerting more authority than leading religious
figures. Most of the prominent families had one or more members
with a foot in the door of masonic lodges: the Maronite Doumani
clan, originally from Deir el-Qamar, was represented by the teacher
Alex Doumani. Fatik Shehab, also a teacher, was a member of Sunneen

Lodge and Malik Shehab joined Peace Lodge in 1909. The Druze
Assad Abu-Nakad was among the many founders of Zahle Lodge. The
Shama’un family, which belonged to the new bourgeoisie, was also
represented: Assad Shama’un, a merchant, for example, had joined
Zahle in its first year in 1908.77
Unlike in Shweir, Zahle’s inhabitants were mainly Greek Catholics
and Druze, who traditionally belonged to the affluent sections of soci-
ety.78 Zahle Lodge was chartered under the jurisdiction of the Grand
Lodge of Scotland. Of the initial thirty-two members, some were
former members of Peace, Sunneen and Le Liban lodges. Interestingly,
four of the initiates had previously been freemasons in Brazil, among
them Faris Abu-Jamra, who was either the son or the nephew of Sa’id
Abu-Jamra.79 The latter was also an initiate and had been a member
of Le Liban Lodge. Faris Abu-Jamra was a journalist from Al-Kfayr,
who had gone to the SPC and received his doctorate in medicine
from St. Louis University in the United States. He was also the owner
and editor of the Al Afkar (the idea, opinion) newspaper. He probably
became a member of the press association of Brazil and Vice-President
of the Brazil Alumni Association before the whole family moved to Sao
Paolo. Additionally, he is remembered as an author and contributor to
newspapers and journals.80
These Syrians were introduced to freemasonry during the time
they spent in Brazil. In Brazil they succeeded in forming a Syrian-
Lebanese community at the beginning of the twentieth century. They
were members of this expatriate community who returned to Syria as
masons and continued their masonic membership in lodges at home.
Abu-Jamra and Ibrahim el-Abed were co-founders of Zahle Lodge and
had been members of the Brazilian Philantropia Lodge. One can also
cite Khalil Kadre, who was a member of the Union de Charité Lodge in
Brazil, prior to joining Zahle Lodge. What is more, the two Antakly
brothers, who were co-founders of the Kadisha Lodge, No. 1002, in
Tripoli in 1906, had been members of the Deus et Union Lodge in
Brazil.81 According to Jeffrey Lesser, Ottoman Syrians and Brazilians
had so much in common that ‘Brazil had assimilated to the older
Middle Eastern culture as much as the actual Middle Eastern immi-
grants assimilated to Brazil: in other words that acculturation, and

not assimilation, has taken place on both sides’.82 A stereotype was

dominant in Brazil, however, whereby the passivity of the Muslim
immigrants had led to Brazil’s backwardness. Hence the immigrants
from Syria saw in freemasonry not only the chance to connect to other
Syrians, but also a way to bind with Brazilians, while also striving to
be on a par with them.
Syrian emigration to Brazil started at the end of the nineteenth
century. Interestingly, in 1925 a Brazilian visitor to Beirut and Zahle
noticed Portuguese speakers everywhere and the singing of the
Brazilian national anthem in his honour: ‘in the mid-1930s some sev-
enty percent of the inhabitants of Zahle spoke Portuguese and the
main thoroughfare’s name, “Rua Brazil”, was painted in enormous
letters on the pavement itself’.83
The petition of Zahle Lodge was supported by three members of
Sunneen Lodge (Faris Mishriq, David Mujaes and George Nasser), as
well as four members of Peace Lodge (Alexander Barroudi, Habib
Shahlaoui, Kamil Abu Nasser, who worked for the Ottoman gov-
ernment, and Ahmed Ashi). Mishriq, by this time, had climbed the
ladder and served as Provincial Grand Master.84
During its formative years, Zahle Lodge prospered in a conductive
cultural environment and likely also benefitted from the experience
gained by former members of Sunneen Lodge. In addition, the lodge
gained much from radical ideas, enlightened concepts and reformist
plans that were circulating in the surrounding atmosphere. In short, it
thrived during the peak period of the nahda. Lodges on Mount Lebanon
were ideal meeting places for those living in the area and visitors.
As Ilham Makdisi notes, ‘professional actors, Syrians and non-Syrians
alike, maintained a strong connection with Syria; went on tours there,
and even spent entire summers in Beirut and pleasantly cool Mount
Lebanon, fleeing from the Egyptian heat’. On the other hand, these
short stays may have been one of the reasons why freemasons decided
not to join Sunneen or Zahle: if they only wanted to visit some of the
lodge meetings, they could do so without being a member.
It was probably no exaggeration when the playwright David
Mujais, who was a member of Sunneen Lodge, assured his fellow author
and playwright, Amin al-Rihani, in their correspondence ‘that if he

wished to have his play on the 1908 Unionist coup ˓Abdul H . amı̄d fı̄
Athı̄na performed in Zahle, all of Zahle’s inhabitants’ would be his
soldiers.85
In 1910, a certain I. E. al Khouri wrote a short report for The Freemason,
giving an overview of the state of freemasonry in the Empire. Born in
Zahle, Khouri had left the country in 1891 and headed to the United
States. However, he was curious to see how freemasonry had developed
in his homeland. As he observes: ‘masonry over there during the last
few years has been more than the regular meeting of the Brethren, more
than the friendliness and pleasantries toward each other. Masonry, of
necessity, in the Orient has entered into the affairs of the State, of the
Church, of the Home, and of every kindred institution.’86 For Khouri,
the masonic heyday in his homeland had only just started, as ‘during
the three-and-thirty years the light of Masonry in Turkey and Syria
was dim’, but with the ratification of the constitution under the Young
Turks, ‘all this suffering came to an end’.87
Although his impressive description seems distended, the end
of Abdulhamid’s reign did indeed produce momentum for the ger-
mination and expansion of masonry all over the region. Freemasons
interpreted the overthrow of Abdulhamid as a positive sign and gave
impetus for augmented and extended activities. As Khouri continues,
‘lodges were reopened, and new ones were formed, and in my own city
of Zahle[n] in the Mountains of Lebanon, of 30,000 inhabitants, we
have now three new Lodges with a total membership of over five hun-
dred, within two years. I shall never forget the beautiful dedication
ceremony of the reforming of the Lodge Noor, or Light in Damascus.
This lodge has been closed for thirty years.’88
Until World War One, Zahle Lodge had over 150 members, with
the majority having joined between 1908 and 1910. It was the first of
the early lodges in which artists were listed as members. Fahd Lyon
was the artist in question and was 34 years old when he was initiated
in 1910.89 Co-member, David Mujais, a Greek Orthodox Syrian, who
had studied at the Protestant school in Shweir, was the founder of
Al Noor magazine in Alexandria and the Al Hurriyat daily newspaper.
Mujais was imprisoned for six months and was excommunicated
from the Greek Orthodox Church after he had delivered a speech to

freemasons in Saida. This event marked the culmination of a long-

running dispute between him and the governor of Lebanon, Youssef
Pasha, who objected to Mujais’s anti-clerical and reformist views.90
Mujais then went to South America. Together with George Sawaya,
he published the Al Islah (Reform) periodical in Buenos Aires.91 His
friendship with Sawaya had probably already been established during
their days in Shweir. Sawaya came from the same city and was also a
member of Zahle Lodge; and like Mujais, he had also joined Sunneen
Lodge.92
Freemasonry functioned as the common denominator upon which
reform-minded men were able to meet in a secluded setting away
from the gaze of the public. However, the theatre stage, as Makdisi
notes, served to ‘disseminate these ideas to a larger audience, but it
also allowed the masses to learn their part in the [French] Revolution
and rehearse their role as the revolutionary crowd’.93 Mount Lebanon
and Beirut were hotbeds of anticlericalism. And, according to Makdisi,
‘the theatre was the main vehicle for the expression of anticlerical
ideas’.94 Unlike Damascus, Aleppo or Tripoli, the Mount and Beirut
did not carry the dominantly conservative heritage of the powerful
and religiously-minded traditional families. Thus, reformist voices
were strong enough to continue fighting the dogmatic supporters of
the church.
This tension between clerical and anti-clerical viewpoints was
already discernible at the end of the nineteenth century and is illus-
trated by many of the letters sent by Sunneen Lodge to Le Liban Lodge.
In the letter freemasonry is described as the focus of intellectual
and moral enlightenment, which was fighting ignorance, fanaticism
and atavistic egotism. The intention of the fraternity is described as
being to improve mankind in moral, intellectual and material ways.95
In another letter, Sursock wrote to the Grand Orient of France that
members of Le Liban Lodge had translated Le Juif Errant, a play based
on the novel of the same name by Eugène Sue. ‘We have to say that
the fulfilment of our duties towards our citizens while at the same
time challenged to defend ourselves against attacks leaves a lot to
be desired. It is out of our reach to bring about even more enlight-
enment – the only way to unmask our enemies – hence we deemed

it a good idea to translate Le Juif Errant.’96 Sursock regarded Le Juif

Errant as a call for social justice against the overwhelming influence
of Jesuit circles. But its performance in 1911 was interrupted by pro-
Jesuit students and their campaign ‘was so effective that it gathered
nearly four thousand signatures from Beirut and Mount Lebanon, as
well as remote villages, the great majority of whose residents would
never see the play’.97 Notwithstanding its title, the play was not so
much directed against Jews as it was against Jesuits. Its story is about
a Jewish boy and his sister, who both do not know that their fore-
fathers had been Protestants. Helped by the shrewdness of another
Jew, these forefathers had amassed a fortune. The Jesuits are cast in
a highly unflattering light as they try to get hold of the money, and
put all kinds of obstacles in the way of the true owners. However, they
are undone by their distrust of one another. The storyline concludes
with an open ending: the audience is informed that the Wandering Jew
and his sister finally found some peace, but no clue is given as to the
remains of the fortune.
Accusing the Jesuits of greed, while at the same time absolving the
Jews who usually were connected to financial matters, highlighted
how the dogmatic interpretation of religion and the bigotry displayed
by many members of the Jesuit order was jeopardising the develop-
ment of common social bonds.
The theatre, the press, different societies and freemasonry all
expressed similar signs of politicisation prior to the Young Turk
Revolution. Its actors and members belonged to the middle and upper
classes and formed elitist circles, which under Abdulhamid attracted
an increasing number of followers. All associations and activities
served as channels to promote change and reform throughout society.
The press dominated in Beirut, and later on in Cairo, but benefitted
from the rather liberal and open atmosphere of Mount Lebanon in
order to champion the campaign against authoritarian rule in general
and imperialism in Alexandria.
With the emergence of what Makdisi refers to as ‘radicalism within
the growth of mass politics’, the theatre was an ‘effective tool for the
education of the masses’ and ‘provided the necessary space for a rising
radical bourgeoisie to constitute itself by constructing a coherent

ideology that greatly relied on the promotion of an alliance between

the middle and working classes’.98 The press served as the perfect chan-
nel to deliver this message to the public. And though probably not all
men shared common political views, all of them were singing from the
same hymn sheet: nahda. Wake up and do something! Do something
against the omnipresent enervation!
The secular press, including journals and newspapers owned by
freemasons, supported all the plays that expressed enlightened ideals
in their articles in the form of announcements. Reports and reviews
had already started to appear from the early stages in Al Jinan (the
garden) owned by the Bustani family, Al Ahram (the pyramids) which
belonged to the Taqla family, and Jurji Zaidan’s Al Hilal (the crescent).99
And again, though these publications were not masonic outlets, their
outlooks more often than not coincided with dominant masonic
opinions reasoned by the fact that such a high number of journal-
ists had at the same time joined various lodges. Pioneers like actors,
photographers, printers and all the others asserting themselves on new
fields – all those constituted at the same time a clientele receptive for
the ideas of freemasonry, for an institution that would connect them
all, through which they would be able to cultivate local and regional
business contacts, would be linked with same-minded men and would
be striving for the realisation of universally valid principles. Members
of Sunneen were swearing by continuing work for the ‘emancipation of
the Syrian spirit from this state of moral atrophy’ due to ‘fanaticism
and aberration’. According to them freemasonry’s main concern was
‘tolerance in matters of religion’.100
A thorough examination of the connections between men related to
the theatre, the press and freemasonry is beyond the scope of the pre-
sent work. However, the networks which were established by means of
these overlapping activities certainly existed.101

CHAPTER 6
FR EEM ASONRY IN TR IPOLI

AND EL MINA
When Tripoli was founded around 900 bc, it merely consisted of a

port and a few houses. Today this area constitutes the port district of
El Mina, while the main part of the city is further inland. The name
Tripoli reputedly stands for the three original parts of the Phoenician
confederation, which comprised the city in antiquity.1
Over the course of many centuries Tripoli has seen various occupiers –
Fatimids, Crusaders, Mamluks and Ottomans – and through the ages
it has been given various names. Sometimes Tripoli is still called Al
Fayha’a, which derives from the Arabic verb faha and indicates ‘the
spread of a certain smell’, referring to the odour of Tripoli’s orange
trees.2
Tripoli’s history also attests to the influence of deep-rooted
religious affiliations. The Maronite community in the city, for example,
named the river that flows nearby the city as Qadisha or Kadisha,
which means ‘holy’ in Aramaic. According to John Gulick, the
river received this name in honour of the Maronites, who ‘first took
refuge high in the mountains near its source’. As the river reaches the
city it is more commonly called by its Arabic name – Abu or Abou ‘Ali,
meaning Ali’s father – which has a definite Muslim connotation.3
Like Damascus and Aleppo under the Ottomans, in 1834 Tripoli
became the provincial capital of the Tripoli vilayet, which included the
coastal area ‘from Jbeil to Tartus and the inland Syrian towns of Homs

FREEMASONRY IN TRIPOLI AND EL MINA 165
Figure 15 View of Tripoli/El Mina (by Giovanni Zuallardo, Il Devotissimo Viaggio

di Gierusalemme, Rome: 1595, p. 285)
and Hama’.4 At this time, El Mina had a population of about 5,000

inhabitants, who were predominantly Greek Orthodox.
Shahin Makarius had no favourable words for the Christians living
in Tripoli or El Mina, who, according to him, were not ‘proficient in
Arabic’ and among whom only ‘a few were gifted in writing and arith-
metic, and served in government offices’.5 Tensions between Muslims
and Christians had grown as a result of reforms that many consid-
ered to favour Christians during and after the Egyptian occupation
(1831–40).
The Egyptians had initially been welcomed, as it was thought that
they would bring stability after a long period of chaos. However, the
occupiers soon incurred the wrath of Tripoli’s Muslim inhabitants. The
newly introduced national army service curtailed the traditional influ-
ence of local families, whilst the rural population also lost important
manpower. But the change in the status of the Christians, which had
been encouraged by the Ottoman Government with the Rescript of
the Rose Chamber in 1839 (and further enforced in the second reform

Figure 16 Tripoli and El Mina (Karl Baedeker, Palestine et Syrie, Leipzig: 1906)
edict in 1856), arguably had the biggest impact. ‘The edict noted the
universal applicability of the new laws. This not only revealed the wish
to establish a single legal system for all subjects; it indicated a change
in the official ideology of the state.’ Mahmud II had already mentioned
his intentions: ‘From now on I do not wish to recognise Muslims out-
side the mosque, Christians outside the church, or Jews outside the
synagogue.’6
The population of the city contributed significantly to the uprising
against Egyptian rule in 1833, which was nevertheless quickly
suppressed. Indeed, twenty-five members of the ulama from Tripoli
were arrested and subsequently executed.7
A continuing growth of Muslim scepticism towards the Christian
population, along with Tripoli’s final relegation to the second rank of
regional ports (behind Beirut), contributed in significant measure to the
worsening situation in the aftermath of the Egyptian occupation.8
In the 1870s Tripoli had to elect a governor (qa’immaqam) for the
provincial council. The city chose the Christian Nicula Lutfallah
Naufal, whose preferred language was Turkish. The fact that a
Christian rather than a Muslim received the post – the first time this

had happened since the beginning of the tanzimat period in 1839 –

shows the dynamic and also pragmatic relations between the religious
communities.9 Naufal had already served for the Ottoman state and
was well connected through his work for various European consuls and
businessmen.
Even after the constitution had been suspended, loyalty to the
Ottoman government and the absence of free speech were character-
istic in Tripoli, where the majority of the population had strong ties to
the Empire at the end of the nineteenth century. In combination with
strict censorship, this loyalty silenced opposition voices.
Tripoli’s only newspaper, Jaridat Tarabulus al-Sham (Newspaper of
Tripoli) repeatedly asked its readers to support Ottoman products when
facing Western penetration of the domestic market and increasing
deficits in competition with foreign products.
Its chief-editor and publisher, the Islamic scholar Hussein Al-Jisr
al-Tarabulusi, urged Tripoli’s population (especially the affluent) to
buy local products.10 Indeed, the wealthy were called on to take the
initiative by fostering the construction of educational institutions and
social infrastructure in the city. Only then, according to Al-Jisr, would
Ottoman subjects be able to compete with Western technology and
knowledge.11 At the same time, Al-Jisr advocated religious unity as
he argued that the tolerance would strengthen everyone’s position
against foreigners. For Al-Jisr, the most significant issue was that
people believed in God irrespective of sectarian divisions. Atheism
was considered to be a dangerous threat to society and citizens were
told to fight egotism through the power of religion.12
The Baedeker travel guide emphasised Tripoli’s increased import-
ance in its French edition of 1912, mentioning the new lighthouse
‘s’élève un phare’, the convenience of its port and its international tele-
graph.13 However, in comparison to Beirut, Tripoli’s status gradually
declined while the provincial capital saw high population growth and
developed into a cultural attraction pole during the nineteenth century.
As Gulick states, Tripoli was ‘demoted in the Ottoman adminis-
trative structure’ and was downgraded to being the chief town of a
sub-district of the vilayet of Beirut.14 Foreign institutions established
in Tripoli during this period were less prestigious than those built in

Beirut. In effect, Tripoli, with its traditional communities, had simply

become part of Beirut’s hinterland. American missionaries opened a
school for girls, but it closed its doors three years later.15 When the
missionaries returned in 1865, Franciscan monks had already erected
another, smaller, school, where they taught French and Italian. The
next attempt of the American missionaries consisted in the establish-
ment of a school for boys. This second endeavour was more successful
and in the following years they opened other educational institutions
and a hospital.16 The Kennedy Memorial Hospital in El Mina was the
first modern-style hospital in Tripoli.17
Consequently, the native Greek Orthodox and Maronite popula-
tions in Tripoli instigated their own educational efforts. In short,
by the end of the nineteenth century there were foreign, Greek
Orthodox, Maronite, Lazarist, Roman Catholic and Ottoman state
schools in Tripoli, with El Mina having its own institutions run sep-
arately by the Greek Orthodox Church (one mixed school with one
teacher and about 40 pupils; one girls’ school with one teacher and
30 pupils), Muslim institutions (two teachers and 76 pupils) and
Roman Catholics (two schools: one with one teacher and 15 boys and
one for girls with one teacher and 20 girls).18
Makarius seems to have been very familiar with the educational
situation in Greater Syria and was disappointed by what he saw,
though it must be added that his examination of cities – with the
exception of Beirut – was very superficial. According to him, the areas
surrounding Tripoli lacked educational facilities overseen by members
of the local community: ‘were it not for some foreign schools in some
of their villages, the state of its population would have been very mis-
erable. The Americans have great merit [. . .], for they have scattered
their schools in their plains and mountains.’19
The two state schools in Tripoli, founded by Muslims, were built
in reaction to the proliferation of missionary schools in the area. Both
school establishments had been prompted by a visit from Midhat
Pasha, but their teaching standards were low. Hence their graduates
only played an insignificant role in the city’s development.20 Tripoli
did experience modernisation towards the end of the nineteenth
century, but it nevertheless remained more conservative and sceptical
of innovation and novelties than Beirut.

Figure 17 Different Views of the Kennedy Memorial Hospital in the early

twentieth century (‘Al-Askale in White and Black’ (Al-Askilah fil-abyad.
wal-aswad), p. 37)
The reform movement and the first signs of Arab nationalism did
not take hold in Tripoli, with the education of the Muslim popula-
tion continuously being provided by the traditional school system.
Consequently, the majority of Tripolitans defended the Ottoman
Empire and, not backing most of the reforms, called for the corrective
exertion of Islamic principles.21
Tripoli was composed of a mixture of Christians and Muslims,
which – if one includes El Mina – was more balanced than in most
other provincial cities in Greater Syria. According to Gulick, ‘the
Christian aristocrats were primarily merchants, while the wealth of

the Muslim ones was based primarily on income from estates in the
hinterland and from the orchards surrounding the city’.22 While the
consuls resided in Beirut, representatives were sent to Tripoli. As Henry
Harris Jessup writes, ‘France and England were represented by foreign-
ers, but Russia, Austria, Italy, the United States, Belgium, Denmark
and Switzerland [were represented] by Oriental Greeks and Catholics’.
He continues stating that in the mundane life of those old days ‘to be
vice-consul was greater than to be a king. [. . .] The ordinary Muslims
looked on with bitter disdain, but they were careful to keep silent lest
they draw the wrath of czar, emperor or king.’23 These representatives
and ancillary consuls were mostly members of minorities, who started
to form an influential intermediary social stratum between the local
population and the Europeans.24
Native translators also held almost the same level of prestige.
As dragomans they enjoyed a proximity to foreign delegates and com-
panies, who owed a great deal to their knowledge of European languages
and their familiarity with the way businesses worked. During the
course of the nineteenth century the consulships were mainly assumed
by local Christians, with the Catseflis family standing out as holding
something of a diplomatic dynasty. The Yanni family was also closely
connected with the diplomatic field and was related with the Catseflis
through various intermarriages.25 One should also stress the masonic
ties that bound the two families together, which will be illustrated
further below.
Almost all Muslims in Tripoli belonged to a Sufi Order: the
Shadhiliyya Order was mainly composed of the Kawuji and Al-Umari
families; the Halwatiyya sheikhs were predominantly composed
of members of the Rafi’i, Maykati and the Jisr families. These Sufi
Orders worshipped holy men who allegedly possessed magic powers
that they had obtained from God. The Umari family, above all, had an
outstanding reputation for working wonders.26 Members of the family
were found among the early members of Kadisha Lodge. Even today
some members of the family enjoy a reputation as important religious
leaders. Dervishes had their own quarters in Tripoli. Indeed, a travel
guide from 1910 mentions a monastery of Dervishes that was located
at the mouth of the Kadisha River.27

Between 1880 and 1914, Tripoli expanded and its population grew.
This demographic trend was not dependent upon direct foreign influ-
ence. ‘Tripoli is usually decried as unhygienic, although fevers only
appear in the autumn and are rarely dangerous.’28 Tripoli’s infrastruc-
ture improved considerably in 1909, when a new road was constructed
between the city and Beirut. Furthermore, in 1911 the railway connect-
ing Tripoli with Aleppo was completed.29 In the city itself one could
find a carriageway, cobbled streets and pavements.
A Turkish telegraph was built in Tripoli, whilst an international
telegraph had been constructed in El Mina at the end of the nine-
teenth century.30 Yet, Tripoli’s proximity to Mount Lebanon proved
to be a disadvantage to the city, as the Ottoman government doubted
the loyalty of its Christian subjects in the mountain. Consequently, it
blockaded the principal road, thereby depriving the mountain popu-
lation of its lifeline during the war. As Gulick notes, ‘the new railroad
was torn up, and until it was repaired after the war, the hoped-for
increase in trade with interior Syria did not occur’. What is more, the
city’s trade had started to suffer with the opening of the new railway
between Rayak and Aleppo, since business was increasingly trans-
ferred to Beirut.31
At the turn of the century Tripoli had begun to modernise, without
having fully internalised the principles of reform. Intellectuals and
Ottoman employees criticised the lack of preparation and the poor
educational standards in the city, which were deemed necessary for
restructuring and a sustained and stable future.32 It would seem that
the majority of Tripoli’s inhabitants were not yet prepared to freely
support and express reformist ideas or to articulate modern approaches
to municipal planning and government.
As in Beirut, communities started to fill the gaps left by the lack
of a proper social system and began to establish charitable organi-
sations. The first such organisations were introduced by the Greek
Orthodox community at the end of the nineteenth century. In 1892, it
founded a general charitable society, followed four years later by insti-
tutions that supported the families of deceased relatives and orphans.
The different associations were formed by religious followers in order
to serve ‘explicitly for the benefit of their own sect members’.33 Around

1906 Tripoli possessed fourteen mosques of varying size, plus four-

teen churches belonging to different Christian denominations. Unlike
in Beirut, the few literary and scientific societies in Tripoli were
short-lived affairs and never reached the same significance and out-
reach as the ones in the regional capital. While Beirut emerged as
the intellectual centre of Greater Syria, education and cultural activity
aroused only limited interest in Tripoli.34 The city was much more
conservative than its larger neighbour. Indeed, its population rarely
questioned the authority of the Sultan and traditional roles were
commonplace.35
In 1877 El Mina was granted its own municipal status. According
to Ahmed Mumtaz Kabbara, the port’s electricity problems preceded
the onset of this new municipal status. The establishment of the pol-
itical body was supposed to give the port a larger scope of action when
confronting similar problems in the future.36
Relations between Muslims and the Greek Orthodox community
on the whole stabilised, or became at least sufficiently balanced to keep
Tripoli calm in the midst of the wider religious conflicts in the area at
the close of the nineteenth century. As Baria Daher Kheir notes, ‘the
existent harmony is visible in the relations between the Muslim judge
and the religious Christian leaders, which is reflected in meetings and
direct or indirect contacts’.37 Commercial transactions were numerous
and Christians did not shy away from defending their cases in front
of Muslim courts, as was the case before 1856. As elsewhere in the
Empire at that time, Christians in the Tripoli area were officially still
classed as Dhimmis – non-Muslims.38
The reform edict changed the relations between Muslims and non-
Muslims and put both at least theoretically on an equal level in the
eyes of the law. In addition, Jessup wrote on his arrival in the city in
1856 that the Tripolitan population had a ‘reputation for the aristo-
cratic pride of its people, both Moslems and Greek Christians’.39 Jessup
was part of the American mission and the co-founder of the SPC in
Beirut. His impression differed somewhat from the one of Rashid
Rida, who visited the Tripoli area and criticised its inhabitants –
particularly the Muslims – and their perceived unwillingness to
embrace reform. In his opinion, among the manifold reasons for this

tendency was the general lack of motivation and ambition of the

inhabitants, as well as their ignorance of innovations or contact with
reformers. He argued that poor infrastructure also meant that the local
population was deprived of an adequate supply of daily newspapers.
Until the beginning of the twentieth century, Al-Jisr’s Jaridat
Tarabulus al-Sham newspaper remained the only regular publication
in the city. Only in 1908 was the press able to make some headway
in Tripoli. Consequently, eight new newspapers were established by
1913.40 However, unlike in Beirut where controversial points of view
received a platform in the form of letters to the editors, newspaper
contributions or articles in journals and magazines, Tripoli’s press
conformed to the regime’s strict position of censorship.41 Additionally,
in Rida’s eyes, the corruption of the police in Tripoli was endemic.42
Up until 1904 the American missionary station held school classes
for girls, whilst the French nuns ran an orphanage and an institution
for girls and the Frères des écoles chrétiennes ran a monastery and
a school.43 The foreign schools were mainly used by Tripoli’s Greek
Orthodox population and until World War One only one Muslim – Arif
al-Rifai – is known to have been educated at a Christian school.44
During World War One Tripoli suffered more than cities in the
south of the region. As mentioned, the Ottoman government destroyed
the recently completed railway, as it did not trust the Christian
minority in the mountains. Their loyalty in times of crisis seemed
doubtful and consequently the government wanted to avoid the possi-
bility of a revolt. Cutting off the supplies of the mountain inhabitants
was deemed to be the best way of achieving this objective. However,
this decision proved detrimental for the economic prosperity of Tripoli
and its population, who suffered starvation and epidemics during
the war.
The foundation dates of the city’s first three lodges clearly illustrate
that freemasonry was also affected: the Kadisha Lodge, No. 1002, was
established in 1906, El Mizhab Lodge, No. 1130, followed in 1914
and Mina al-Amin Lodge opened in 1918.45 During the four years of
war, the meetings of El Mizhab were suspended. Freemasonry in the
Empire generally suffered a setback during the war years and was not
able to continue to expand. In fact, during this period only lodges in

Egypt were established, such as St Andrew Lodge in Aboukir in 1917,

which was under the patronage of the Grand Lodge of England.46
Masonic Lodges in Tripoli and El Mina

Kadisha and El Mizhab lodges worked under the jurisdiction of the
Grand Lodge of Scotland, whereas Mina al-Amin Lodge belonged to
the Grand National Lodge of Egypt.47 The minutes of Kadisha’s meet-
ings have not been preserved, but it is likely that they were interrupted
during World War One and only resumed in 1918.48
Kadisha Lodge was the first of its kind in El Mina and Tripoli.
Although the exact location is not known, most of the first individu-
als initiated came from the port area. Since the later El Mizhab Lodge,
which was related to Kadisha Lodge through mutual members, was
established at the port, it is reasonable to argue that Kadisha members
also gathered in one of the houses near the sea, where a large part of
the Greek Orthodox community had settled. This would be consistent
with information provided by the Grand Lodge of Scotland. With so
many Kadisha Lodge members regularly visiting El Mizhab Lodge,
it is even likely that at one point both lodges used the same build-
ing and facilities. The building currently used by El Mizhab Lodge
was bought by the fraternity in 1947. The rooms on the second floor
were originally planned to function as a hospital or medical prac-
tice. From the port to the lodge building takes less than ten minutes
on foot.
On the other hand, the book of attendance from the El Mizhab
Lodge, in which masons attending as visitors had to write down their
names, lodge affiliation and the location of their meeting places, indi-
cates a different reality. In the period between 1914 and 1920, visitors
to Kadisha Lodge either left this space empty or wrote down baladi-
yyeh, which means of the city and not the harbour. That is, they hailed
from Tripoli and not El Mina.
However, according to the Grand Lodge of New York, a third
option is possible: in a letter received in 2004, Kadisha Lodge was
named and located together with Palestine and Peace lodges in the
Peace Building in Beirut – at least until the house was destroyed in

Figure 18 Modern Tripoli (courtesy of the Municipality of El Mina: 2008)
one of the many wars modern Lebanon has suffered. In addition, in

1913 George Dimitri Sursock, who was then Worshipful Master of
Le Liban Lodge under the Grand Orient of France, sent a letter to his
superiors in Paris, in which he mentioned that Kadisha Lodge was
located in Beirut. This would provide a different reason for explaining
why Kadisha Lodge masons visited El Mizhab Lodge so often after its
foundation in El Mina in 1914. The opportunity to meet closer to their
homes proved attractive.
Respect for masonic traditions is common among masons.
Additionally, it seems likely that the violent history of the Greater
Syrian region over the course of the past century and a half has engen-
dered a particularly high esteem among contemporary brethren
towards their masonic predecessors. Thus, the few masonic items that
survived the wars and that may attest to the lodges’ past are vener-
ated. The reception room of El Mizhab Lodge, which also functions as
a lounge, is decorated with pictures of past masters, typical masonic
regalia and a photograph of an old lodge in Homs. While wearing

Figure 19 The Old Lodge of Homs at the end of the nineteenth century
(photograph seen at El Mizhab Lodge Building: 2008)
quite modern dress, the men in the photograph are also wearing the
fez on their heads, with only three being adorned in turbans.49
This single picture somehow captures the condition of most of the
Ottomans, caught between two worlds, trying to re-position them-
selves in order to make some sense of their troubling and confusing
living conditions.
In the lodge room itself hangs a dark-brown wooden board inscribed
with the names of the lodge’s former masters as well as a framed
charter. Even the charter of Mina al-Amin Lodge is still in the posses-
sion of El Mizhab Lodge. The sense of pride evident in the attentive
care of these objects creates a solemn atmosphere that defies the cheap
furniture and shabby interior.
Kadisha received its charter from the Grand Lodge of Scotland on
1 February 1906. It chose sky blue as the lodge’s official colour, which
it kept until its official closure on 17 October 1930. For the first few
years the lodge’s sessions were conducted in French.50

Figure 20 Charter of Mina al-Amin Lodge from 1918 (El Mizhab Lodge:
2008)
The petition of Kadisha Lodge was supported, once again, by

Alexander Barroudi, who had already been very active in helping to
establish masonic lodges throughout Greater Syria (see Chapters 4
and 5). His name was associated with laudable principles and honest
endeavours.
Among the founders of Kadisha Lodge was George Dimitri Sursock,
who was also a member of Le Liban Lodge and who had earlier joined

Chapter Fidelido Lodge. Other founding members had previously been

initiated in Peace Lodge and included Salame Ghoraib, Rashid Yaziji,
Habib Zabliet, Moussa Nahhas, Michel Rahmé, Antonious Fadel,
Elias Zehiel,51 Habib Attieh and Habib Malek. One founding member
of Kadisha Lodge – Sami Nahhas – came from Phoenicia Lodge.
By 1913 Kadisha Lodge had attracted more than 120 members.52
Throughout its existence, most of the lodge’s members resided in
either Tripoli or El Mina. If that was not the case the family had at
least business or political connections with the region.
Until the outbreak of World War One the lodge was mainly composed
of merchants and traders, who accounted for almost half of its members.
The next biggest group was formed by government employees – clerks
as well as men serving in the Ottoman army. Landowners made up the
third largest group, with seventeen members. In addition, the lodge
also included teachers, physicians, pharmacists, two lawyers, two hotel-
iers, a tailor and a printing press manager. Completing this mosaic of
professions were two religious men: an imam by the name of al-Umari
and a priest. While most of Kadisha’s founders were Greek Orthodox
Christians, the lodge itself represented a mix of religions, with over
thirty Muslims and a few Greek Catholics and Maronites. Its early
members had varied backgrounds, but often shared the same masonic
past and Kadisha brought together former members of Le Liban, Sunneen
and Peace lodges and yet again a lodge in Brazil.53
Not much is known about the activities of Kadisha Lodge, in terms
of charitable deeds, inner-lodge quarrels, its interpretation of the ritu-
als or of its book of constitutions, the attendance of members, or the
regularity of its meetings. Preserved in Edinburgh, however, are the
names of members registered until Kadisha was forced to close by the
Grand Lodge of Scotland in October 1930. It is also known that the
majority of these members were involved in non-masonic charities.
Furthermore, we know that they regularly visited the neighbouring
lodge of El Mizhab. Membership of these two lodges overlapped and
they also collectively founded Mina al-Amin Lodge in 1918 under the
jurisdiction of the Grand National Lodge of Egypt. In addition, many
signatures in support of the foundation of other lodges in the Tripoli
area can be found in Scottish records.54

The first petition sent by Kadisha Lodge to Edinburgh in 1906 was

accompanied by a fee of ten pounds and ten shillings for a charter.55
Lodges working under the Grand Lodge of Scotland differed from
those belonging to the Grand Orient of France with regard to the
amount of money initiates or masons had to pay in order to climb
the ladder of degrees. While the Scottish lodges demanded a larger
entrance fee than their French counterparts, the lodges of the Grand
Orient demanded higher degree fees. One effect of this regulation has
been previously described: Le Liban Lodge had been admitting many
members within a short space of time during its first years, irrespective
of varying social affiliation with the exception of the poor. Although
all new initiates belonged exclusively to the middle and upper classes,
because of their interest in masonry in general they were consequently
not as elitist as the Scottish lodges. The high initial entrance fee for
lodges under the patronage of the Grand Lodge of Scotland, on the
other hand, acted as a kind of filter – though, as seen in regard to
Sunneen Lodge, it did not always work out as planned.
The oldest book of constitutions used by El Mizhab Lodge was
published in Scotland in 1904 and given to the lodge ten years later.
It is most likely that Kadisha Lodge also began by using this version.56
It was only in 1923 that the rituals were translated for the first time
into Arabic by Shukri Fakhouri and sent as a gift to the Grand Lodge
of Scotland. The Grand Lodge had no objections regarding the book
cover on which Fakhouri had added the name Mina al-Amin, which
apparently relied on and worked according to the same rituals.57 Mina
al-Amin Lodge, however, was not directly affiliated to Scotland, as it
was under the jurisdiction of Grand National Lodge of Egypt.
Kadisha Lodge initially worked in French, but eight years after its
foundation it changed to Arabic. Evidently this seemed more appro-
priate during a time when the Ottoman middle class found its own
sense of direction. This decision came in the wake of a period when
the local community refocussed on its own culture and strengths,
prompted by the influence of reformist ideas and an intellectual, cul-
tural reawakening. It can be assumed that Mina al-Amin Lodge in
1918 chose the same language, as its letters sent to other lodges were
written in Arabic.58 Unlike Beirut, Tripoli and El Mina did not offer

its inhabitants much entertainment or cultural activities. Besides an

old sports club, lodge meetings provided the only way for middle and
upper class men to socialise irrespective of religious borders.
The activities of Kadisha Lodge must have been comparable to
those of other lodges, in terms of its charitable deeds, scientific and
literary lectures and sociable meetings. Yet, naturally it was marked
by the inclusion of fewer scholars than the lodges in Beirut, as the
provincial capital generally attracted more savants. Thus, one can only
speculate with regard to the cultural entertainment that took place in
and around lodge meetings and draw a comparison to the records of El
Mizhab Lodge. The records of this lodge demonstrate the financial and
social support given to bereaved families. One can also point to the
similarities of Kadisha and El Mizhab lodges in terms of their almost
identical composition of recruits.
However, while no documents regarding the activities of Kadisha
Lodge are extant, the Annual Proceedings of the Grand Lodge of
Scotland record lodge foundations and extraordinary events, such as
when a lodge disobeyed masonic rules or when it was closed down. This
was the case when the Grand Lodge received a letter from Kadisha’s
worshipful master in the 1920s:
In regard of troubles in the lodge caused by the brethren who

apparently desire to bring Freemasonry into disrepute. This
Master has been re-elected and installed, and Office-bearers
whom he trusts have been chosen. The Committee suggest that
a letter be written to the Right Worshipful Master, warning the
brethren against introduction of alien matters into Freemasonry,
approving of his efforts to promote harmony, and trusting that
his re-election may ensure prosperity.59
Nothing further was mentioned, but as Syrian lodges were particu-

larly eager to attract new members and had often been reprimanded
by the Grand Lodge of Scotland for not adhering to the laws, it is
quite likely that Kadisha Lodge faced the same or similar conflicts.60
Additionally, ‘alien matters’ could refer to political or religious matters
dealt with during lodge meetings. The state of Greater Lebanon, under

the French Mandate, was proclaimed a year before and it is possible

that lodge members differed in their political views as most of the
Muslims were against the new state. Indeed, they boycotted its general
census in 1922 and the majority ‘continued to seek immediate annex-
ation to Syria’.61
During the same period, the lodge also struggled with masonic
regulations when the Grand Secretary of the Grand Lodge of Scotland
reported breaches of varying laws. Apparently Kadisha had disregarded
laws 152, 176, 179, 180 and 188.62 These laws refer to the prohibition
of meetings held on Sundays, voting procedures, the correct amount
for initiation, fees of initiation and their provision. Kadisha Lodge
apparently had been initiating new members free of charge without
limiting the number of candidates that could be initiated at one meet-
ing.63 These problems were common among daughter lodges.
Although one of its worshipful masters, Jurji Yanni, had an excel-
lent reputation in masonic circles, as well as among the middle and
upper classes of the city and beyond, Kadisha Lodge fell out of favour
with the Grand Lodge of Scotland. As had occurred some ten years
earlier in the 1920s, with Sunneen Lodge, Kadisha was charged with
‘irregularities which occurred [. . .] on 17th October 1930’. And again,
researchers are left in the dark about any reasons or details of these
disorders, except for a note that was subsequently approved in the
proceedings stating the following:
On consideration thereof, the Committee resolved to recom-

mend Grand Committee to move Grand Lodge to discontinue all
meetings of Lodge Kadisha, Tripoli, Syria, No 1002, for a period
of one year from 5th February 1931, and that the Charter, books,
papers, jewels, clothing, paraphernalia and funds (including
Benevolent Fund) of the Lodge be delivered to Brother John
Lawrence, Superintendent of Egypt, Palestine and Syria, forth-
with, for safe custody. Further, that Brother Yasser Adhamy, a
member of said Lodge, be suspended from all Masonic privileges
until such time as the Lodge resumes meetings and is able to cite
him to attend, to show cause why he should not be expelled from
all Masonic privileges.64

No further documents are apparently extant which would help

to explain the reasons for this ruling and that would provide more
information about Adhamy, let alone the composition of the afore-
mentioned committee. However, no misbehaviour or neglect of the
regulations mentioned above can have given sufficient reason to cause
the closure of the lodge. Hence, it is more likely that another reason
existed for closing down the lodge.
If one turns to other cases, one notes that some lodges were able
to survive underground after the withdrawal of their charter by their
respective grand bodies. Indeed, some even profited from the fact
that their profile had been lowered in times when the public equated
freemasonry with perfidiousness. This was not the case with Kadisha,
which seems to have been inactive for a long time. However, various
attempts were undertaken to restore the lodge at different times.
In late December 1966 we find the name Kadisha reappearing for
the first time in an unsigned letter to Dr G.L. Colenso-Jones, the
‘Superintendent of the District of the Eastern Mediterranean’. In the
letter, it is stated that there were plans to resuscitate dormant lodges
and to name them Mount Lebanon and Kadisha, as it was ‘absolutely
essential [. . .] to take the necessary and immediate steps and procedure
to strengthen Scottish Freemasonry in Lebanon, preserve it in its lead-
ing position, and protect the principles and ideals it upholds and stands
for’. The writer concludes that it would be a positive step to re-estab-
lish as many Scottish lodges as possible. Attached to the letter was a
petition for Mount Lebanon, No. 1312, lodge, which used to work in
Shweifat, but was then located in Beirut.65 None of the petitioners for
the re-establishment of Mount Lebanon Lodge had any direct connec-
tion with Kadisha Lodge during its first years of activity, with only
Bahij Fakhouri being a member of El Mizhab Lodge. Consequently,
the connection between these two lodges is unclear.66
However, three months later Kadisha was the subject of another
letter sent to the same superintendent and forwarded to Edinburgh.
A similar scenario was played out in this letter: individuals wished
to re-establish the former lodge. It stated that the originator and his
colleagues were ‘desirous of working for the prosperity of the order
and anxious to assist in expanding the right and true principles of

Figure 21 Bahij Shukri Fakhouri (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
our Science, and for other good reasons’. Their wish was to reopen the
lodge this time in Beirut and to work again under the Grand Lodge of
Scotland with meetings being held in French.67
All the petitioners were from Peace Lodge, except Victor Dichy, a
member of an American lodge, Noureddine Mikati, who was a former
master of Kadisha and Bahij Fakhouri from El Mizhab Lodge. The peti-
tion was supported by Boutros Khoury from Peace Lodge, Adib Andraos
from Zahle Lodge and Mahomoud Zouhair from El Mizhab Lodge.68
No new members of Kadisha Lodge were mentioned in the registration
books for that time and no official reconvention occurred. The existence
of these letters confirms that there was a long period of inactivity, or, at
least, that the prestige of Kadisha had diminished if it had been work-
ing without European recognition following its official closure.

During its existence, Kadisha Lodge played an eminent role when

inaugurating other lodges and its members actively supported new
lodge formations. In 1910 Kadisha’s Abdullatif Omari was awarded
the office of Junior Warden for the new Salah ed-Din Lodge in Acre.69
Furthermore, in 1911 El Hakikat Lodge, No. 1088, was founded, with
most of the initial members originally coming from Kadisha Lodge.
Among them were Samuel Yanni who was the younger brother of
Jurji Yanni, Rashid Yaziji, Hannah Hakim, Sami Nahhas and Rashid
Moussorany.70 Since the lodge meetings took place in Lattakia, the
members from Tripoli probably had some connection to the town as
both places were linked through trade. It is unclear what language was
principally used in this lodge or how often meetings took place. But a
potential reason for the involvement of Kadisha’s members could have
been that they simply founded the lodges and took over the essen-
tial posts on a temporary basis, before handing them over to newly
initiated masons after a period of apprenticeship, in order to spread
freemasonry. This behaviour would substantiate my overall thesis:
freemasonry was at its strongest when united and only in unity was it
powerful enough to fight the prevailing religious conflicts.
Samuel Yanni was again active in founding Emessa Lodge in Homs.
In the case of El Hakikat Lodge, even the petition is written on note-
paper belonging to Kadisha Lodge. On this occasion Yanni took on
the role of being a supporter for the petition. His co-supporter was
a relative, Constantin Yanni, who was nominated as lodge secretary.
Constantin Yanni worked in Homs for the Dalil Hims newspaper,
which was affiliated to the Decentralisation Party, which had been
established in 1912 in Cairo, with many branches throughout Syria.
As Eliezer Tauber notes, the party ‘strived for granting administra-
tive decentralisation to all the vilayets of the Ottoman Empire, but in
reality it concentrated its efforts in Syria alone’.71
According to a story found in an anti-masonic book written by
Hussein Hamade, Jurji Yanni had written a letter to George Sursock in
which he described the events leading to the foundation of El Mizhab
Lodge in 1914.72 He apparently encouraged some interested men to
found a new lodge in El Mina and they went on to establish Fam
el-Mizhab Lodge (later El Mizhab) with Antonios Bassili as its head.

Hamade goes on to narrate about events related to freemasonry in

Homs. First, Kadisha Lodge somehow helped a mason from Homs who
had been taken to court. Some members of the same lodge, among
whom was Constantin Yanni, then asked for advice from Tripoli
regarding their lodge’s affiliation. They turned to Kadisha Lodge, since
its fees were lower than those from lodges in Beirut, Damascus or
Zahle. Apparently the lodge members from Homs wanted to discard
their irregular status in order to receive accredited standing. According
to Hamade, Jurji Yanni recommended to Constantin Yanni that he be
initiated into Kadisha Lodge, which subsequently transpired.
The veracity of this story and whether freemasons had any influence
on court decisions is unclear. However, Constantin and his friends were
the individuals who petitioned to establish the Emessa Lodge in Homs.
At this stage, Constantin Yanni signed as secretary of Kadisha Lodge
and Samuel Yanni supported the lodge’s foundation in his function as
Deputy Master of Kadisha Lodge. Other members of Kadisha Lodge
were Michel Salloum, who acted as senior deacon, Rashid Moussorany,
who fulfilled the role of junior deacon, and Mahmud Monkara as
tyler.73 Hence, Emessa Lodge must have already been in existence. It
was in effect the petitioners’ old lodge and they were simply looking
for permission to change affiliation away from an unrecognised grand
lodge to the Grand Lodge of Scotland.
This un-dogmatic change from one grand body to another again
affirms the main thesis of this work about lodge foundations in
Greater Syria. It was not the grand bodies that controlled the lodges,
but rather the other way around. In other words, the Syrian masons
themselves were in charge of their own affairs and cooperation between
the lodges was widespread. Deciding on the patronage of a European
grand lodge eliminated potential conflicts when visiting the meetings
of other lodges.
However, the behaviour regarding lodge affiliations and their
recognitions varied. In 1913, for example, in the same year as Emessa
was recognised by the Grand Lodge of Scotland, two other lodges
in Beirut were recognised by the Ottoman Grand Orient.74 At this
point the Ottoman Grand Orient had been recognised by only a few
masonic bodies. Syrian freemasons, like the European grand lodges,

were uncertain as to how to deal with the newly erected Ottoman

grand body and decided matters on a case-by-case basis.
With regard to Emessa Lodge, it was not the actual Scottish affili-
ation that was significant, but what it made possible. In brief, the
creation of equal lodges, which worked according to the same rules
and regulations, enabled their members to move in a less restricted
manner between meetings and locations. The dynamics of the lodges
and the flexibility of their members – as seen when comparing over-
lapping membership – strengthened freemasonry throughout Greater
Syria. On the one hand, this certainly helped to produce more stability
in daily life. On the other hand, business relations could be cultivated
on a different level.
In November 1920 another petition reached the Grand Lodge of
Scotland for the establishment of Taurus Lodge, No. 1249, located in
Iskenderun, to the west of Aleppo. Two members of Kadisha Lodge
– Antonios Gellad and Mounir el-Malek – served as Deputy Master
and Substitute Master respectively. The cover letter had been penned
by the office bearers of Kadisha Lodge at that time: Gellad, who was
Senior Warden, El-Malek, who had been serving as Second Warden,
and Jurji Yanni, the Grand Master. As with Kadisha Lodge, Taurus
Lodge chose sky blue as its official colour.75
Involvement in these lodge foundations certainly shows an intention
to expand the network of freemasonry and unite otherwise conflicting
religious communities. However, one must also consider the fact that
members of Kadisha Lodge were not disinterested observers of their
surroundings. This was especially the case since most of them were
traders and seamen. Hence, in business terms they were well connected
to inland areas and consequently travelled and traded with other
traders – potential masons – in nearby cities. Thus, self-serving motives
helped the masons of Tripoli and El Mina to reach out to neighbour-
ing areas and to spread ideas of tolerance and peaceful coexistence.
Before Taurus Lodge came into existence, members of Kadisha
actively supported the erection of other lodges. In 1910, for example,
Abdullatif Omari and a fellow brother participated in the estab-
lishment of the Salah ed-Din Lodge in Acre. Though the economic
importance of some of the cities in which lodges had been established

had decreased by that time, the main reason behind the support of
these foundations can be found in freemasonry itself. It served as a
perfect network that was applicable to all areas, irrespective of reli-
gious affiliation. Trade relations may have been established over a long
period of time and families knew each other. Therefore, the extension
of lodge life to a city like Acre seems logical.
The second lodge established in Tripoli was El Mizhab, No. 1130, in
1914. The foundation of this lodge once again proved the spirited nature
of Kadisha’s members. Indeed, only one of the founding fathers came
from Sunneen Lodge, while all the other members knew each other from
Kadisha. However, Kadisha was not the first masonic lodge for some,
as a number of individuals had initially been initiated in Peace Lodge.
It is unclear how Kadisha Lodge was able to survive after El Mizhab
Lodge started to work, as the names of Kadisha members can be found
in the latter’s attendance book and the men involved must have been
quite busy visiting all the various lodge meetings. However, the fact
that these men not only supported the foundation of other lodges, but
also sent a letter of thanks to Ahmed Effendi al-Ashi, who belonged to
another lodge, illustrates that they succeeded in their efforts to estab-
lish a pan-regional network of lodges. Depending on location and the
composition of men, lodges probably also had varying priorities and
standards. Though one can indeed state that the Syrians were striving
for masonic unity, every single member had his own understanding of
freemasonry and had a range of choices with regard to which lodge he
chose to join. That is, the main principles of freemasonry were valid
for everyone and religious tolerance was certainly one of the dominant
tenets, but masons were not restricted in terms of location.
Who were these people? What made them join freemasonry and
seek to bring it to areas previously beyond the fraternity’s reach? Under
what conditions did these men live? Which communities did they
belong to? These were the questions I asked during my field trip to
Tripoli. Some of them were answered; others remain open. However,
to grasp the nature of freemasonry in Tripoli, one has to start some-
where. Thus, in the next section a sample of the builders of these
lodges will be examined. Unfortunately, some of the families involved
left Lebanon entirely and their ancestors’ lives are no longer traceable.

Builders of Lodges
Kadisha’s petition for a charter was written and signed by ‘Dr Alex.
N. Baroody; Editor of At-Tabeeb’ in January 1906, with an attach-
ment from the ‘W.M. [Worshipful Master] of Lodge Peace’. The Grand
Lodge of Scotland received the petition ten days later.76
In its first years Kadisha Lodge attracted local men from the middle
class, who lived and worked in El Mina and Tripoli.77 Tripoli lacked
prestigious educational institutions like those in Beirut or organisa-
tions, charities and social groups in general. Those already existing in
Tripoli were all structured along sectarian lines, in order to alleviate
the distress of their respective communities. What was missing was
an all-inclusive ideology, or in other words, something that men could
identify with in order to establish a bond between them and secure
their most basic need: to live in peace together.
The first masonic lodge was at the same time the first society for a
long time in Tripoli that transcended religious and class boundaries.
Its most important tenet was to provide a common forum for those
with a shared interest in the life of the local and regional people.
At the same time, its members continued to be active in other
organisations, thereby playing a significant role in the socio-cultural
life of Tripoli and El Mina. Most of Kadisha’s early members were
from the Greek Orthodox community, but Muslims and Maronites
also joined. However, in correspondence with the population’s com-
position, no members of the Druze community were found among the
initial members of the lodge. A noticeable feature of the original com-
position of the lodge is the fact that many of their ancestors actually
migrated to El Mina and Tripoli. This increases the chance that they
had experienced freemasonry in other areas. While the foundation of
the lodge was a way to weld together the citizens of Tripoli and El
Mina, at the same time it may have provided a means for outsiders to
feel included in the community.
Abdelkader Arnaout belonged to a family of migrants from
Albania, with most of the male members being employed as teach-
ers or merchants. Wadi Assmani’s family came from the Hasroun
region in the north of Lebanon, which is situated in the Valley of

Kadisha. Nassib Bisbany’s family had come to settle in Tripoli from

Deir el-Qamar. Nassib had first joined Le Liban Lodge before being
initiated into Kadisha. Having belonged to Hermon Lodge, which
worked under the Grand National Lodge of Egypt, Yasper Yaziji and
his son joined Kadisha when they moved from Safita to Tripoli. Safita
was among the cities in which Abdallah Ghoraib, another Kadisha
member, served as governor.
George Dimitri Sursock

The Sursock family enjoyed the reputation of being the wealthiest
Christian family in Beirut, and even today they still embody Lebanese
notions of noblesse and tradition. The only surviving member of this
family is a practising Catholic and chose not to support my research.
When I visited the lady in question in 2007 she lived in the Sursock
Quarter, next to the Sursock Museum in the Sursock Palace. Reference
to the discovery of some members of the Sursock family in the regis-
tration books at the archive of the Grand Lodge of Scotland did not
persuade her to talk about the family’s masonic past.78
Strictly speaking, the Sursock family was largely based in Beirut,
but George Dimitri was among the founders of Kadisha Lodge during
his time as Grandmaster of Le Liban Lodge.79
The Greek Orthodox family was closely connected with export-
ing silk and wheat to London and Cyprus, with some members also
being linked to the banking sector. Most members of the family were
working for different European consulates as vice consuls and drago-
mans.80 George Dimitri was employed as a dragoman at the German
Consulate. His masonic interest may have originated in his father’s
membership of the fraternity. Dimitri Sursock Senior was originally
initiated into Palestine Lodge, but then supported the foundation of Le
Liban Lodge, which his brother Ilya later joined. Dimitri Senior was
an independent merchant, but was also employed as a dragoman at the
American Consulate. Ilya was the acting consul for Persia. From the
eleven Sursock family members involved in freemasonry until about
1910, eight were members of Le Liban; George A. joined Peace Lodge
and Alexandre and Jean had been initiated into La Chaine d’Orient

Lodge. Over time, George Dimitri had different masonic positions,

which included being the grandmaster of Le Liban Lodge at one point,
as well as being a co-founder of Kadisha Lodge.
Khaireddeen Abdulwahab
The Abdulwahab family stands out in many ways: Khaireddeen
Abdulwahab was one of the few Muslims who joined freemasonry in
Greater Syria from its very inception in the region. Subsequently, some
other family members followed in his footsteps and became masons.
Khaireddeen’s brothers, Adel and Toufik, joined lodges.
When members of the American University in Beirut were asked
in 1962 to name the most prominent Muslim and Christian families
in the city, the Muslim Abdulwahabs were mentioned by all those
who were questioned. Christians in Greater Syria thought of them
as belonging to the elite of Muslim society, while Muslims catego-
rised the family as an eminently respectable Christian family.81 The
confusion or insecurity regarding the family’s affiliation and its high
standing among both Christians and Muslims attests to its pragmatic
approach towards religion.
One of Khaireddeen’s grandsons is also one of the few members of
the Abdulwahab family who remembers anecdotes and details about
his grandfather’s generation.82 In 2008 we met in his commodious flat
in El Mina. He was comfortable speaking English and German and
some younger family members then lived in Germany. For a period the
grandson had belonged to the Rotary Club, which was not uncommon
for members of his generation that had ancestral links to freemasonry.
Indeed, according to my observations, many men whose fathers had
joined masonic lodges turned towards service societies like the Rotary
Club, the Lions or Kiwanis. While the traditions, rituals and histories
of the Rotary Club and freemasonry differ, their guiding principles
bear similarities, in that both organisations seek social improvement
on a large scale unhampered by religious barriers.
Khaireddeen Abdulwahab was born in El Mina in 1877 and died in
the hospital of the American University in Beirut in January 1944. This
was the same year as his grandson had enrolled in a boarding school

run by Jesuits.83 The grandson I interviewed had studied in Germany

and in the USA, but always treasured his childhood in El Mina and
consequently returned there to start his own family. Even then, years
later, when he came back to his home, people would remember his
grandfather.84 This was also reasoned by the fact that Khairedeen had
served as mayor of El Mina for twenty years until his death.85 As the
oldest of five brothers, Khaireddeen was the first to be sent to school.
Hence, his carte d’identité issued during the French Mandate reads not
only that he was ‘commerçant’ but also ‘lettré’.
When Khaireddeen’s younger brothers enrolled in school, differ-
ent options regarding selection were already available. Some of the
boys were sent to the new American Missionary School, with one
Figure 22 Shukri Fakhouri, Khaireddeen Abdulwahab, Jerry Harris with a

further servant (from left) (courtesy of Khaireddeen’s grandson: Summer 2008)

going on to complete his medical studies at the American University

of Beirut. However, having been involved in the Lewis Affair he was
either expelled from university or left by choice. Khaireddeen survived
a following trip to Cairo but was consequently sent as a prisoner to the
Island of Arwad, as he illegally wanted to leave the Empire. At that
time, the French navy had occupied Arwad, and Khaireddeen formed
a friendship with Sarlout, who had trained to be a priest and later
became the head of the prestigious St Joseph’s School in Antoura.
His brother Adel, who had attended the American Missionary
School for Boys in Tripoli, at one time went to Argentina. On his
return to Greater Syria he became a partner in Khaireddeen’s business.
The two brothers continued their father’s transport enterprise. Italians
used El Mina to export citrus fruits from the Tripoli region. Due to
the dimensions of their boats they could not moor in the port and
thus depended on smaller boats for carrying the cargo to and from
the shore. Members of the Abdulwahab family invented tank boats
with a much higher speed than boats without motors and thereby
changed the whole transport system in the region. They were also the
first people to make transport boxes out of wood by means of a newly
invented machine.
Besides, Khaireddeen cultivated his relationship to Jerry Harris,
the American Consul, who came to El Mina in 1883 and who opened
the Kennedy American Hospital. Together with Shukri Fakhouri,
Khaireddeen served as his mediator. All three were also connected in
different ways – either as members or as visitors – to El Mizhab Lodge
after 1914. Judging from the photograph of the men above (see Figure
22), Khaireddeen acted as an agent between the Ottomans and the
West. He also chose to show his affiliation when dealing with foreigners
in the way he dressed. Unlike the other two Ottomans in the photo-
graph, he is not wearing any headgear and is sporting a simple frock
coat, which matches the appearance of Jerry Harris. This differs from
Shukri Fakhouri and the second servant, who are both dressed in the
style decreed appropriate in 1829 by Sultan Mahmud II for civil and
religious officials. This included the wearing of a fez and pantaloons.86
Khaireddeen received an open and liberal education, unlike his
son, Abdulghani, who was taught in a very strict manner by Lazarists

during the period of the French Mandate and who took over the
business after his father’s death. Khaireddeen was born into a Sunni
Muslim family, but he was not particularly religious. Nevertheless, he
continued the religious traditions of the family regarding marriage: an
Abdulwahab always married a woman from the religious Abduljalil
family. Sheikh Abduljalil brought up his clan in a religiously con-
servative way, hence the religiosity of Mariam, Khaireddeen’s wife.
They lived together in a primarily Greek Orthodox neighbourhood,
where Khaireddeen showed respect towards his wife’s religious faith
and even agreed to send her to Mecca in order to take part in the Hajj
pilgrimage. The Abdulwahab family sought to counterbalance their
reputation as adventurous smugglers and pirates by marrying with the
Abduljalils, who were held in high repute in both civil and religious
terms.87
My interviewee supposes that his grandfather also profited from
the positive attitudes of the Greek Orthodox community towards
European concepts and innovations. Western ideas and concepts,
including freemasonry, were embraced more willingly in such an
open environment in the region. Khaireddeen was one of the first
Muslims who supported the fraternity and helped it to expand in his
hometown. Having first been initiated into Sunneen Lodge,88 he then
became a member of Kadisha Lodge, and later co-founded El Mizhab
Lodge.89 When asked about education, the interviewed man smiled
and commented: ‘We’re illiterate, we don’t read and we don’t calcu-
late.’ Though this was certainly an exaggeration, it would seem that no
intellectual connection to Beirut’s early freemasons existed.
It was the flourishing business of the Abdulwahab family that
provided them with enough money to build the first villa outside the
port area. Together with Assad Bort and George Batashe, Khaireddeen
belonged to the most active section of the Minawi population in regard
to industry and commerce.
However, at least until World War One, Khaireddeen remained
very careful about embracing new ideas and concepts: he did not like
the theatre with its European plays and he found it problematic to take
on all Western manners and innovations without changing or adapting
to the different conditions prevalent in Greater Syria.90 On the other

hand, he did realise the benefits of a Western education when sending

his girls to school: his daughter Fatwa was the first girl at the AUB.
According to my interviewee, his grandfather never took free-
masonry seriously, nor did he really believe in its traditions and rituals:
‘Everything good in the West, coming to the East, goes to the dogs.’
One is tempted to disagree: Khaireddeen’s constant activity in favour
of freemasonry and his general support of new lodges reveals a differ-
ent mind-set. He was among the first men initiated into Sunneen Lodge
in Shweir, which was established in 1904. Moreover, between 1900
and 1902 Khaireddeen was a co-founder of Al Marfa al-Amin [Worthy
Port] Lodge and he also became a regular member of Kadisha Lodge in
1906.91 After World War One, Khaireddeen and Toufik Abdulwahab
regularly attended meetings of Mina al-Amin Lodge, which some of
his friends had helped to establish.
Khaireddeen’s participation in the fraternity and his close-
ness to various lodges once again illustrates the typical features of
Ottoman freemasonry. Abdulwahab’s grandson may have thought
that Khaireddeen did not take freemasonry too seriously, but his
grandfather’s actual behaviour and masonic agility prove him wrong.
He belonged to the circle of men that tried to reach out to others
when propagating and expanding freemasonry in order to unify all
masons – with the whole of Ottoman society in mind. Khairedeen’s
social and political efforts were concentrated first and foremost on El
Mina. However, the principles he stood for – religious tolerance and
moral emancipation – were universally valid.
Shukri Fakhouri
Khaireddeen Abdulwahab’s friend, Shukri Fakhouri, originally came
from Saida. He studied at the SPC and received a bachelor’s degree in
science. Figure 23 shows a man who is seemingly conforming to the
official standards of Ottoman fashion: the suit with the checked tie is
combined with the fez. Yet, Fakhouri’s eyes suggest a defensive, chal-
lenging attitude.
At one point in his life Fakhouri had intended to visit some family
members in Sudan, but after being approached by Harris he decided to

Figure 23 Shukri Fakhouri (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
take up a position as an assistant physician at the American Missionary

Hospital. In addition to his work at the hospital, Fakhouri was a priest
at the Protestant church in El Mina between 1890, when he arrived in
Tripoli, until his death in 1923. He was shot dead, together with his
son, by a stranger during a Sunday Mass in his church.
Having been among the early members of Kadisha Lodge, Fakhouri
was also one of the founders of El Mizhab Lodge in 1914 and of Mina
al-Amin Lodge four years later.92 Fakhouri served as grandmaster of El
Mizhab from 1919 until 1922. A year later his translation of the book
of rituals from English into Arabic was approved by the Grand Lodge
of Scotland.
The main connecting points with other freemasons were their
common work for Harris and the care for the people of El Mina. An
outstanding feature is the fact that Fakhouri was a priest and therefore
a representative of a minor faction in all the Ottoman lodges observed,

Figure 24 Rituals (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
although the Protestant church probably had the fewest problems

regarding masonic membership.93
Assad Bort
Assad Bort was another friend of Khaireddeen Abdulwahab. In El Mina
I met with one of Bort’s relatives, on whom I rely heavily for his bio-
graphical information.94 According to the relative, Assad was not able
to read or write. He described how Assad was ‘a self-made man’, whose
mother died when he was nine years old and whose father, a fisherman,
was not wealthy enough to pay tuition fees for his son’s education.

At an early age, Bort had to leave his parents’ house for financial
reasons. The interviewee proudly cited his grandfather’s achievements:
Assad founded Assad Bort & Son, which delivered all kinds of construc-
tion materials from central regions to the Ottoman periphery. Having
begun his working life as a street peddler, Bort soon became a represen-
tative for the Sachs Company, which traded in iron in the Middle East.
Bort was born in 1851 and lived in El Mina until his death at the
age of 96. He married a woman from the Kanawati family, and was a
representative of the Greek Orthodox Church, with diverse honorary
distinctions. Contrary to his prominence and activity in church and
social matters, he never wanted to be involved in politics, as he pre-
ferred to make deals by informal networking. The portrait shown in
Figure 25, which hangs together with the others on the walls of El
Mizhab Lodge, displays a rigorous and feisty man. He is seen wearing
a fez with a suit, like some of his fellow masons. Around his shoulders
he proudly wears a masonic sash and his facial expression suggests a
strong will without much tolerance for disagreement.
Bort regularly donated to charitable organisations and helped to
nationalise the water system. Thereafter the local population only had to
pay what they could afford for water. He was enlisted into the Ottoman
army at the outbreak of World War One, and subsequently many of his
assets were stolen. The interviewee described his grandfather, who died
when he was only six years old, as a man of short stature though hand-
some and elegant. According to him, Bort never drank or smoked but
loved honey. He was also a tough guy who used to work non-stop and
would beat his grandson when he stole his walking stick.
Assad Bort joined Kadisha Lodge in its early years and his name
can be found among the founders and the early presidents of El Mizhab
Lodge.95 Like his friend, Khaireedeen Abdulwahab, he distinguished
himself through his humanity and was one of the most generous
donors to Greek Orthodox charitable organisations, which accords
with his grandson’s statement: ‘Ours may not be a famous family but
it is a correct one.’ Another side comes across with regard to business
and the way Bort seemed to have preferred to deal with people. What
else was better suited for networking than freemasonry, with its wide-
spread lodges throughout Ottoman Syria?

Figure 25 Assad Bort (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)
One did not necessarily have to be a pure do-gooder to join the fra-
ternity. In the case of Bort, he benefitted from masonic membership
in the form of useful links for future trade. One family who did not
share the same respect for Bort as his grandson was the Oweida family.
Both the Bort and Oweida families traded in construction materials
and hence were natural competitors, but yet Assad Bort and Mustafa
Oweida were still brothers in the same lodge.
Mustafa Oweida
Mustafa Oweida was the first dentist in Tripoli. As was common for
doctors and dentists at the time, Mustafa had studied in Istanbul.

He sent his children to a French missionary school, defying his Muslim

religious affiliation in favour of providing his children with a good
education. According to the ancestor I interviewed, Mustafa was the
masonic chairman for the north of Lebanon. Subsequently this position
was assumed by his son, Hanni. Unfortunately all documents that
could corroborate these statements have been lost and no such position
has been mentioned in any of the grand lodges visited, though Mustafa
is registered in the books in Edinburgh as having been initiated in
Kadisha Lodge in 1906 at the age of fifty. Oweida, like Abdulwahab,
did cross religious borders and was interested in a coherent society in
El Mina and in the whole of Syria. Like Bort he probably joined free-
masonry because of a mixture of financial and civic aspirations.96
Abdallah and Alexandre Ghoraib

In the summer of 2008, I had the chance to meet A. Ghoraib in his
luxurious flat in Tripoli. Together with his wife, he tried to come
up with some memories of his grandfather and uncles. Incredibly,
the family preserved certificates, a sabre, a belt and even a uniform
from their ancestors that dated back to 1792.97 Figure 26 shows the
uniform’s belt, which is treasured by Ghoraib’s relatives.
However, the only masonic item in A. Ghoraib’s possession is a
tobacco box handed over to the family by the brotherhood.
The two Ghoraib brothers who were freemasons were both born
in Tripoli in the 1870s. Under the Ottoman government their father
was responsible for the financial affairs for the area between Tripoli
and Lattakia. One of the brothers, Abdallah, went to university in
Istanbul in order to study law. After graduating he was appointed by
the Ottoman government and then the French governor for different
districts, and worked throughout the Greater Syrian region. According
to his grandson, he was a very strict but honest person, who owned
seven houses and one garden. Abdallah believed in the principle of
learning: ‘to tell the truth and the truth will show you the beauty of
life’. The male members of the family predominantly worked for the
state and were politically active. According to other citizens from El
Mina, the Ghoraib family belongs to one of the oldest and best-known
family clans in the region. In 2008, the weekly Tamaddun journal

Figure 26 Ottoman Belt (Ghoraib/Tripoli: 2008)
wrote in its From the Past section that eighty years earlier Abdallah had
taken the place of Michel Muawwad as governor in Metn, when the
latter had left for Ehden.98
Alexandre was a colonel in the Ottoman army and afterwards
became a medical officer. Like his brother, he knew Turkish, but he
had studied at the American University in Beirut. This fact was of
importance to him as he chose a university building as the background
for a photograph of him (Figure 27). Sitting on a horse and wearing
an Ottoman uniform he looks comfortable and self-confident. His face
is adorned by a large moustache, bestowing seriousness and a sense of
will power to his appearance.
Both brothers were initiated into Kadisha Lodge. Alexandre joined
L’Unione Lodge at a later stage, which initially belonged to the Grand
Orient of Italy but then became independent. However, their cousin
Salame was the first member of the wider Ghoraib family to join free-
masonry. Indeed, Salame was one of the founders of Kadisha in 1906,
when he was already a member of Peace Lodge. No further details of

Figure 27 Alexandre Ghoraib in front of the AUB (courtesy of Toufik Klat: 2008)
him are known, except for the fact that he later became a member of El
Mizhab Lodge. The Ghoraibs became connected to the Klats through
intermarriage.
I met T., the first offspring of this relationship, in 2008 at his gift
boutique just outside Beirut.99 The Klats were originally from Armenia,
where Akhlat, their original name, was the financial centre of the area.
T. guessed that the family left Armenia during the invasion of the
Mongols in the thirteenth century, when Armenians fled to Mount
Lebanon. This experience may have contributed to their negative atti-
tude towards the Ottoman regime and its approach towards minorities.
In the time of the Empire the Klats abstained from political activities
and only one family member ran for a seat in parliament between the
1960s and 1970s.
Both of his grandfathers, Alexandre Ghoraib and Lutfallah Klat,
were heads of the Greek Orthodox community. However, before the

Figure 28 Eastern Anatolia and Lake Van (Akhlat lies to the North West of Lake
Van), (Map of the Ottoman Empire: 1845)100
families were united, their relationship was hostile and competitive.

According to T., Lutfallah was completely against freemasonry, which
he regarded as irreconcilable to religion. He became known in Tripoli
as an intellectual and poet, who published in different journals.
However, he was exiled in World War One because of his nationalist
writings. At one point he returned to his home country and continued
publishing, but all his journals were burned and none of his contri-
butions have been preserved. Lutfallah died in 1962.101 His brother,
Toufik, was a member of Kadisha Lodge and later El Mizhab Lodge.
Two other members of the Klats family were masons in Kadisha Lodge:
Zaki Klat, who first belonged to Sunneen Lodge and Constantin Klat.
Esaad and Antoine Klat were active in Le Liban Lodge, but all of them
settled in Tripoli.
T. also told me what he remembered about Alexandre Ghoraib.102
As a doctor, Alexandre had to examine Ottoman soldiers. When asked
to look after soldiers from Tripoli and El Mina, he provided them with
certificates to exempt them from what was an unpopular duty. Like
the Abdulwahabs, the Ghoraibs were also associated with wealth and
prominence. Unlike Khairedeen Abdulwahab they were not among
the supporters of the Ottoman government. In a similar manner to
Assad Bort, they were not interested in politics. At the same time they
did care for the people of Tripoli and El Mina in general.
This once again demonstrates that the activities of Kadisha and
other lodges were not about resistance to Abdulhamid’s reign. Rather,

they focussed on the idea of the possibility of a common denominator

for all Syrians.
Constantin Doumani
Another memorable meeting during my time in Lebanon in 2008 took
place with the Doumani brothers.103 Although they were only one and
three years old when their grandfather Constantin died in December
1924, at the age of forty-nine, they knew a few things about him. As a
banker, Constantin was a respected figure. He had three brothers and
two sisters. Some stayed in El Mina, whilst others moved to Egypt
and Turkey. Among his friends was Towfik Mabro, another member
of Kadisha Lodge,104 who worked as a wood merchant in Egypt and
whose sister married Constantin’s brother.105 Another was Alexandre
Habib, who also had joined Kadisha in the lodge’s first two years,
when he was twenty-four years old. Like other families, the Habibs
were less known for any political involvement than for their active
support of charitable societies.
Constantin probably went to school in Alexandria, where he had
lived occasionally. He travelled to the World Fair in Paris in 1889.106
Constantin began to work for the German-Palestine Bank before the
outbreak of World War One. After World War Two he became the
director of the Banco di Roma.
The Doumani family was not only connected to the Antakly and
Hakim families through intermarriage, but Constantin Doumani,
George and Salim Antakly and Jean Hakim all joined Kadisha
Lodge at the beginning of the twentieth century. For another time,
the aspect of travelling has to be recalled. As a freemason it was
much easier to find a ‘home’ in foreign countries and adequate support
when needed. It is not too farfetched to speculate that Doumani also
profited from this masonic perk when visiting Paris. This is especially
the case when one remembers that he travelled during the time of
the Fair, when ceremonies were held to celebrate the 100th anniver-
sary of the storming of the Bastille. It is also significant that this trip
also coincided with the first international masonic congress held in
Paris.107

Jean Hakim
The first striking feature of Jean Hakim was his flexibility with
regard to his name. He adjusted his forename depending on the type
of document he was to sign. For his regular visits to El Mizhab Lodge
he used his Arabic forename, Hannah. He is registered as member
of Kadisha Lodge as John, and, finally, under the French Mandate he
signed himself as Jean. Hakim (see Figure 29) appears to have com-
pletely absorbed Western influences. Unlike others, Hakim does not
seem too much interested in the camera as he avoids directly looking
into it. Indeed, he gazes to the side with a sceptical, almost dismissive
expression. His working life seems to have defined his lifestyle, that is,
being diplomatic without much patience for nostalgia.
I stayed in the orphanage in El Mina, which is headed by the wife of
Hakim’s relative.108 Her husband M. not only answered my questions,
but also showed me the building where the lodge had met in earlier
times. His uncle Jean and his father Theodore had both been masons.
Figure 29 Jean Hakim (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)

Jean had been a diplomat and the Ambassador of Syria in Bonn until
his death. At one point during his life he also served as the president of
the AUB, but it was probably during his time as a maritime agent that
he met and became friends with Khaireddeen Abdulwahab. With him
he shared a similar occupation as a mediator between European consu-
lates and Ottoman Syria. Moreover, his participation in a prestigious
educational institution shows a feature common with other freema-
sons, who supported improved conditions for learning and studying.
Jean’s relative, M., introduced me to one of his cousins, Julia Labban,
an offspring of the Antakly family.
George and Salim Antakly

George and Salim Antakly were members of Kadisha Lodge. Judging
by their name, the family probably originated from Antioch (Antakya).
Figure 30 Salim Antakly (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008)

While they were not founders of the lodge, Salim attained the position
of lodge master and was twice master of El Mizhab Lodge in 1924
and from 1933 until 1937. This double membership indicates once
again the proximity between Kadisha and El Mizhab Lodge. Moreover,
cooperation may have been further facilitated when Kadisha Lodge
switched to Arabic as its principal working language; a choice El
Mizhab made from its establishment.
The fact that Syrians had to travel to make ends meet at times is
also evident in the personal histories of George and Salim, who were
first initiated into a masonic lodge in Brazil.109 In the photograph of
Salim (see Figure 30 above), he appears as a sturdy man. Like Hakim,
he is not wearing any Ottoman or masonic vestures or emblems.
Salim and George were traders, who travelled between Greater
Syria and Egypt. The Antakly family belonged to the elite of society,
without being politically active, and were connected to the Catseflis
family through intermarriage.
Edouard and Rodolf Catseflis

The Christian Catseflis family originally came from the Greek island
of Corfu and its members settled in Tripoli and Alexandria. According
to Zachs, ‘they engaged in literature and culture alongside their other
occupations, particularly at the consulates’.110 Members of the family
are principally known as poets, although the family’s international
character and proficiency in languages is also stated by Middle Eastern
historians. It seems that it was the family’s interest in literature and cul-
ture that led some of them to join lodges in Beirut, where the cultural
life was much more pronounced. Among these individuals was Rodolf,
who became a member of Le Liban lodge. Edouard joined Kadisha and
more of the Catseflis family appear several times on the member lists
of the lodges, but only these two individuals can be clearly identified
on an individual basis.
Unfortunately, the only direct descendant still living in Tripoli
during my period of field research was not contactable. According
to information received from some interviewees, the family suffered
bankruptcy some time ago. In Alexandria they had been involved in

Figure 31 Antonius Bassily (El Mizhab Lodge: 2008, D.S.)
the timber trade, together with Antonius and Assad Bassily. The latter
was also a member of Kadisha lodge.111 Antonius Bassily’s photograph
(see Figure 31 above) is too shadowy to reveal much of the man’s face.
However, his suit and winter jacket give the impression of a resolute
and urbane man.
The Catseflis family had links to the Yanni family through inter-
marriage. Jurji Yanni’s sisters, Barbara and Tiyudura, were married to
Qaysar and Tiyudur Catseflis. Both families also shared interests in
literature and freemasonry.112
Jurji Yanni
The Yanni family has played a significant role in the history of Syria and
provides an excellent example of the overlapping networks of masons
and men interested in their cultural surroundings. Mikhail is the first
of the Yanni family about whom some biographical details are known.
With his family roots in Greece, he travelled by boat from Mykonos

to the Syrian coast to carry out some business, but his boat was ship-
wrecked near Tripoli and he was stranded at El Mina. According to
the Lebanese historian Omer Abdulsalam Tadmori, Mikhail lost all
his possessions at sea while he was saved by Jean Catseflis, a translator
for the British consul in Tripoli, who then acted as Yanni’s patron.113
Mikhail stayed in Tripoli, married and had children. One of his sons,
Jurji, was the father of Antonius and the grandfather of Jurji and
Samuel Yanni. Antonius served as consul for America and Belgium.
He also wrote for Al Jinan, the newspaper published by the Bustani
family. Mikhail worked as a foreign affairs journalist, and collaborated
with Joseph Diab and Abdullah Naufal in Tripoli. All of them were
members of the al-Jam˓iyya al-Sūriyya (the Syrian Society), an academic
association established in 1847.
Yanni’s house was a meeting place for intellectuals and generally
welcomed like-minded visitors from Europe and America. Among
Antonius’s assets was his reputation for tolerance and even-handedness
towards varying religious denominations. He was close to Christian
and Muslim religious leaders, which was put to the test during the
interreligious struggles during the 1860s. During this period the
Algerian Emir Abd al-Qadir al-Jazairi distinguished himself as a medi-
ator between the fighting groups.114 Yanni’s list of displaced people
and his descriptions of their misery were sent to America. In reply he
received a letter of thanks from President James Buchanan. So close
was he to evangelical Europeans that he converted to Protestantism.
A missionary from the American Board called Antonius a ‘liberal
and enlightened man’, who was ‘engrossed by business’ and ‘full of
vivacity’.115
Jurji was born in 1854, in the midst of an atmosphere laden with
political, literary and reformist discussions. He was educated in the
evangelical school in Tripoli and in Butrus al-Bustani’s national
school in Beirut, before returning to Tripoli. During these years
Y. Choueiri notes that he ‘acquired knowledge of foreign languages
such as Italian, French and English’ and wrote articles for Bustani’s Al
Jinan journal.116 At the age of nineteen, he was entrusted with all of
his father’s diplomatic and social functions. Jurji was less of a politician
than his father and preferred activities linked to literature and science.

As Zachs states, ‘in 1876, he helped establish a literary society headed

by Iskander [Catseflis], in which he served as secretary’.117 Five years
later he co-founded the Keftin School in the Khoura district close
to Tripoli with some Greek Orthodox scientists. In the same year he
published his history of Syria, in which he emphasised Greater Syria as
a historic entity that was much older than Islam and recognised by the
Phoenicians.118 In this opinion one can see reflected one of the major
subjects discussed by the Syrian Society.119
Jurji Yanni also wrote on the history of the Franco-Prussian War
and translated a book on maritime and commercial assets, which
paralleled his thoughts in his translation of the History of a New
Civilisation.120After his father died in 1882, he acted as consul for the
USA and as a vice consul for Belgium. Another step bringing him
closer to the people around him occurred when he gave up his Greek
nationality and became an Ottoman subject.
His personal networks were reinforced by his marriage into the pres-
tigious Jumblatt clan. Yanni also involved himself in diverse literary
circles and publishing projects. Together with his brother, Samuel, he
founded the Mabahith (Researches) journal, which was printed until
1927. He was a member of the Eastern Scientific Association of Beirut,
the Eastern Society of Leiden, the Arab Scientific Society in Damascus
and the Asian Scientific Association in Paris. Apart from that, he still
found time to write articles and he contributed to the Muqtataf and
Al Mashriq newspapers.121 Jurji Yanni died in 1941.
The masonic activities and overlapping membership of various
lodges evident in Jurji Yanni’s biography can serve as another example
of a man who belonged to early lodges in Ottoman Syria. Yanni was
exceptional in his close links to Beirut and its cultural reformers. No
other freemason from Tripoli is known to have immersed himself so
thoroughly in literature and the history of Syria. Hence, Yanni’s profile
more closely matches those commonly found in Beirut’s lodges and it
comes as no surprise to learn that the first lodge he was initiated into
was Le Liban in Beirut before becoming active in Kadisha. Samuel
Yanni also joined Kadisha Lodge. He first studied at the American
school in Tripoli before subsequently changing to the AUB. Both
brothers demonstrated a lively interest in the support of other lodges.

Notably, one foreigner became a member of Kadisha Lodge. The

person in question was Jerry Harris, who was a doctor from the USA
who came to El Mina in 1883. Although initiated into Kadisha Lodge,
Harris regularly visited El Mizhab Lodge until the outbreak of World
War One. He worked at the American hospital, as well as being the
president of a preaching association and gave his money to the poor
during the famine prior to his death in 1915.122 Besides his contact
with Shukri Fakhouri and Khairedeen Abdulwahab, Harris was also
a friend of Ibrahim Khouly, another member of Kadisha. Khouly was
a doctor himself and was respected as someone who would visit his
patients everywhere. He published articles in Al Muqtataf on the treat-
ment of various illnesses.123
Another man who was highly esteemed in Tripoli at the time was
Kadisha member Pious Douba. Born in Tripoli in 1858, Douba learned
French and Italian and worked as a pharmacist at the only pharmacy in
the city. When he came back from Constantinople, where he received
his diploma, he initially worked for Michael Lutfi at a pharmacy on
Mar Michael. At one point he also worked as a chemistry teacher; but
none of the documents he published on this subject are extant.124
For the last few examples of men involved in freemasonry, the fact
that the fraternity fostered science and education was probably a key
attraction. In addition, they all shared a general interest in the welfare
of people from Tripoli and El Mina and considered participation in
freemasonry as a useful way to work towards the better realisation of
this concern. There were many more men involved in freemasonry in
Greater Syria at the time, but I have restricted myself to these exam-
ples in order to show the variety of characters the lodge attracted.
When studying the book of attendance for El Mizhab Lodge the
question of dual membership came up: why did all of Kadisha’s early
members visit or become members of El Mizhab Lodge? At the time
El Mizhab was founded in 1914, as the archives in Edinburgh prove,
Kadisha was still active. As proceedings within different years show,
the lodge continued to accept new members and paid for documents
sanctioned by the Grand Lodge of Scotland. Most of the men were
members of both lodges at the same time, which was seemingly not a
troubling matter to them in terms of membership fees.

The merging and overlapping nature of the two lodges points to the
significance of freemasonry in Greater Syria at the time. Freemasonry
was ideally suited to fill the gap that existed in terms of a sense of a lack
of community spirit in Tripoli and El Mina. One major reason for this
deficit originated in the fact that, as Gulick states, ‘sentiments of social
responsibility [were] largely confined to sect and family’. Additionally,
Gulick argues that there were ‘various attitudes toward the municipal
government, none positive’.125 If the men could not rely on their gov-
ernment, they had even more reason to cooperate and look towards
protecting their own future. The perceived weakness of Abdulhamid
and his officials certainly contributed to the popularity of masonic
lodges, in which members learned sometimes for the first time in their
lives about how to organise themselves into a united community.
Having said this Gulick notes that, ‘Christian and Muslim families
in Tripoli who have high social prestige have a number of interests
and tastes in common and these may actually draw them together
even though they would never intermarry. Differences in social pres-
tige within a sect group, on the other hand, may considerably dilute
that group’s over-all solidarity.’126
Likewise, freemasons belonged to the same class. The brotherhood
was definitely not for the poor, who had to worry about food. Indeed,
it is interesting to note that a list of prominent Muslim and Christian
families dating from the 1960s in large parts complies with the names
linked to freemasonry in the region in the nineteenth century. Among
the Muslim families listed, with previous links to freemasonry in
Tripoli and El Mina, were the following: Karami, Oweida, Muqaddim,
Ghandour, Husayni, Monkara, Zreik, Mossarani, Kabbara, Al-Omari
and Abdulwahab. There are even more Christian families with links
to freemasonry, including Bort, Klat, Naufal, Nahhas Khoury, Dib,
Sawaya, Boulus, Ghoraib, Nini, Yanni and Batashe. The author’s
opinion is striking, stating that ‘while sectarian identities tend to keep
people of different sects apart, similar positions in the socio-economic
hierarchy give them something in common. Thus, there seems to be a
certain amount of Muslim-Christian fraternization among upper class
people, as evidenced in the Rotary and Lions clubs.’127 I suggest that he
would have come to the same conclusion had he included the masonic

lodges existing in a much earlier period. Furthermore, his assumption

directly corresponds with my argument regarding, among others, the
Abdulwahab family. There apparently exists a certain attraction for
service clubs, such as the Rotary Club, the Lions and Kiwanis, among
the sons and grandsons of freemasons. Like freemasonry, these organi-
sations were primarily intended to function on a local level and it was
then envisaged that they would expand on a regional, national or even
global scale. Unlike charities, which concentrated on the followers of
their own religious denominations, freemasonry aimed at the people in
general. Unlike educational institutions, lodges were not so narrowly
focussed. However, whilst freemasons were not disinclined towards
educational and literary groups, their targets were less specified. First
and foremost they wanted to change the reality of daily life. Therefore,
the fraternity was also different from cultural societies, which were
mainly attractive for academics and journalists. Finally, unlike with
political activity, freemasonry as an entity did not require and usu-
ally even refrained from direct interference or engagement in political
affairs. It was not supposed to bring together political strategists.
During my interviews in El Mina, almost everyone knew a story
about the Muqaddims. The Muqaddim family is generally believed
to be from Tripoli and demonstrated a constant commitment to pol-
itics, while at the same time also being associated with gun gangs.
They were allegedly pro-French, unlike the Karame family, who were
said to have supported the British. This resulted in a strained rela-
tionship between the two families, with the Muqaddims having been
considered as anti-Karame. However, both families were represented
in Kadisha Lodge. Hassan and Ismail Muqaddim on the one side, and
Mohammed Rashid Karame, who was president of the city’s adminis-
tration at the time, on the other. It is highly unlikely that they would
have met and socialised if the lodge had primarily been a political
institution or think tank. Coming together with no shared political
basis, they nevertheless tried to work for a common cause.
Gulick was probably right when he stated that a similar socio-
economic position made cooperation easier. Indeed, I would emphasise
that this status was even a precondition that enabled engagement in
an institution like freemasonry at all. Moreover, only with sufficient

power – socio-cultural and economic – was a movement able to produce

change on a large scale.
While Beirut profited most from developments towards a cosmopol-
itan centre, Tripoli and El Mina had to rely on their own forms of power.
On the one hand, there were Christians that benefitted from European
contacts and trade relationships in general. On the other hand, exactly
the same men had to rely on their Muslim neighbours in order to sell
their products in the interior of the Empire. Muslims living in Tripoli
also wanted their products to be traded overseas. Thus, networking with
their Christian neighbours was a necessity in order to survive in a world
where Westerners seemed increasingly superior in all areas. The real-
isation of this fact was probably the main reason for freemasonry being
able to expand outside Beirut and its cosmopolitan atmosphere. Masonic
principles of equality that emphasised common humanity, instead of
varying political or religious inclinations, were extremely useful for a
community in which no prior sense of cohesion had existed.
In the late 1960s, when John Gulick wrote his book on the history
of Tripoli, he did not comprehend the meaning of freemasonry, nor
did he even mention its existence. Does that make it less important?
Is this a sign of the fraternity’s failure? Was it not sufficiently relevant
to Greater Syrian society?
If one compares lodges in Tripoli with others in European cities one
can note a common feature: although not a secret society, freemasonry
is almost invisible to the public eye. Its meetings are not widely adver-
tised and its charitable deeds are not widely known. Nevertheless, the
same largely holds true regarding the Rotary Club or the Lions – two
societies that are not perceived as having secrets and that do not shy
away from public attention. But there seem to be sufficient reasons for
these groups to continue existing. Perhaps Gulick did not delve deeper
and therefore did not mention masonic lodges simply because he was
not aware of their existence? Perhaps he did know about them, but as
an outsider he did not deem that it was possible to be introduced to
their histories and their contemporary significance? It is also possible
that these lodges did not produce the results they were aspiring to and
they were not able to bridge the gap between the religious communi-
ties on all levels.

However, their existence was, and most probably still is, significant
for a great many members of Syrian society. Freemasonry certainly
profited from the similar socio-economic standing of its members,
though at the same time these were exactly the people most likely to
produce an improvement for the entire populations of El Mina and
Tripoli.
The overlaps, the minimal presence of foreigners, the connected-
ness through intermarriage and business – all these were signs that
freemasonry was supposed to be a cohesive force to keep the city and
its port together. Hence, this foreign concept could indeed work in
Tripoli and El Mina. And if it worked on a small scale, and if people
would use their power and prestige for an all-inclusive system of wel-
fare, then why not establish more lodges? This they did.

CONCLUSION
Freemasonry arrived in the Ottoman Empire at a time when familiar

traditions and values were being severely tested. Identities seemed
shaken and individual lives were interrupted by unforeseeable socio-
political changes.
Towards the end of the nineteenth century, Ottomans were looking
for a new perspective in order to consolidate their existence; a new way
to strengthen social cohesion. This was a period when ideologies were
invented, redefined and refined; a time when new ideas found fer-
tile ground to flourish. The Sublime Porte feared potential autonomy
and separatism; it had lost territory in Europe and in North Africa
to Western powers and its military and political weakness did not
go unnoticed by the subjects of the Empire. To compound matters,
they were confronted with the power of the other global players on a
daily basis. Even the reactions of the different Ottoman governments
to challenges from the outside made the people feel the substantial
changes that were taking place to their lives and the loss of secure
values. Ottoman bureaucracy was constantly in a state of flux, as was
the educational system. Global trade and corporations produced new
winners, while others were forced to look for different places of employ-
ment. Due to technological innovations their skills were becoming
redundant. Even dress codes had to be adapted.
When the inhabitants of Ottoman Syria were introduced to
masonic rituals and tenets, they realised that this concept of brother-
hood could relieve their distress. The craft seemed perfectly suited to
their own needs and purposes: to strengthen the individual by means
of a newly defined unity. They were thereby introduced to a new form

of inter-sectarian sociability, which enabled them to create networks

in the form of lodges that were spread all over the region. However,
the benefits of this idea were not only restricted to the Ottoman
Empire: when freemasons left the area they were able to identify with
foreigners on account of their masonic membership. Moreover, when
Ottomans were initiated in regular lodges outside the Empire, they
were also able to enter lodges at home. Participation formed a common
bond and thereby facilitated mobility. It helped to ease socio-political
tensions by establishing a space where common values were more sig-
nificant than the varying political outlooks and religious affiliations.
Rather, Ottoman freemasons attempted to achieve what politics and
religion were not able to manage: by establishing a masonic brother-
hood, they united otherwise disparate minds. Unity meant strength.
Chapters 1 and 2 demonstrated the situation of the Ottoman Empire
and its dominant weakness. These chapters also examined the various
characteristics and inherent peculiarities that made the brotherhood
prosper even outside its traditional European playground.
Chapter 3 discussed how it was predominantly lodges in Egypt and
those geographically closer to the Sublime Porte that were especially
prone to mixing their masonic activities with political concerns. On
the one hand, Syrian freemasons who migrated to Egypt, such as Jurji
Zaidan, did not always find a masonic equivalent to the first lodges
they joined, and as a result they left the brotherhood. On the other
hand, Egyptian freemasons attending masonic meetings in Greater
Syria soon became disappointed by the lack of a political atmosphere.
The most outspoken of these Egyptian freemasons in Greater Syria
was al-Afghani, who was himself Persian but had joined freemasonry
in Egypt. He explicitly considered the fraternity to be a tool for chan-
ging political conditions. He became so disillusioned with the existing
forms of freemasonry that he even founded his own lodge in Egypt in
order to enforce his political aims.1
In Beirut, freemasons shared an academic or cultural background
and Chapter 4 indicates the overlapping activities of this new middle
class in diverse organisations and societies. The first lodges were estab-
lished on fertile ground and quickly started to inspire the foundation
of new lodges. There was seemingly no intention to establish another

CONCLUSION 217
society focussed solely on cultural issues; rather the idea was to include
everyone who was willing to contribute to a better society in general.
This was also the reason for the occasional collision of various lodges
with masonic grand bodies. An overzealous attitude when expanding
their masonic circles did not always conform to the official rules of
freemasonry. However, with the inclusion of prestigious families, such
as the Sursocks, Trads and the Yannis, the brotherhood held great
appeal from its early years. With over 1,500 members by the time of
the Young Turk Revolution in 1908, freemasonry outnumbered any
other social or political institution besides religious communities.
Hence, it is not surprising that the lodges soon began exerting a
strong influence on areas outside Beirut. Chapter 5 shows how men
from the cultural sector were mainly active in lodges on the mountains.
Additionally, an emphasis is placed on the difficulty of pinpointing
only one form of freemasonry in the region, as various forms of the
brotherhood existed. Though they all sought to strive towards unity,
intellectual emancipation and tolerance, the conflicting interpreta-
tions of freemasonry’s aims and purposes did result in clashes. The
detailed description of lodges on Mount Lebanon shows that freema-
sons did not always manage to exclude political and religious disputes.
Sunneen Lodge was eventually prohibited from continuing its activities
in 1927 after the Grand Lodge of Scotland examined the controversial
nature of the lodge’s meetings. It is doubtful whether Sunneen Lodge
was ever in a position to exert political influence beyond the local
sphere, but it is likely that the Grand Lodge of Scotland withdrew its
official support and recognition as a result of the fact that politics was
a dominant issue during its existence.
Chapter 6 examines lodge members in Tripoli, who had a similar
socio-economic position. They were neither inclined to establish lit-
erary societies, nor did they threaten the current government through
the publication or performance of subversive works. In Beirut, Western
influence helped to create an atmosphere filled with innovative ideas
in an attempt to unite traditional values and teachings with modern
academic curricula. However, Tripoli was more conservative and also
less involved in criticism of political conditions. The inhabitants of
the city had other problems related to their daily lives. Interruptions

caused by internal hostilities could cost them dearly, as they were

mostly dependent on trade and therefore had to rely on network-
ing. Freemasonry served as a tool to help bridge socio-cultural gaps,
and even more significantly, could aid in bringing together men of
different religious denominations for the very first time in Tripoli
and El Mina. Masonic lodges were the first places in Greater Syria in
which men gathered without a single focus, such as business, religion
or politics. It was demonstrated how lodges in Tripoli and El Mina
cooperated, which is indicated by the lodges’ close relationships and
overlapping membership. This research has established many hitherto
unknown links between men whose single common denominator was
their interest in freemasonry and the ideas it epitomised.
I believe it is pertinent to utilise Stefan Weber’s description of cities
as ‘heterogeneous structures of social organisation’, when analysing
freemasonry. He defines the compositions of cities as ‘shaped by shifts
in individual and collective identities’, a characteristic which can be
applied for freemasonry as well.2 Even more than urban spaces, masonic
lodges are subject to cultural dynamics and evolution. Masonic rituals,
rules and traditions serve as props, but the realisation of the contents
mainly depends on the individuals belonging to the lodge.
As shown in the last chapter, socially active groups and charitable
groups existed in Tripoli and El Mina, but they complied with reli-
gious demarcations. At the end of the nineteenth century freemasonry
was a novelty in the region and was able to overcome these limitations.
Tripoli’s freemasons crossed the borders and formed lodge communi-
ties; an extremely unusual phenomenon at the time in the region. The
establishment of El Mizhab Lodge, Kadisha Lodge and all the subse-
quent lodges was seen as a first step in order to make further changes
possible. Butrus al-Bustani, though not a mason, perfectly embodied
the overall motto of Syrian freemasonry in one of his articles on society
and the state of the Ottoman Empire, when he asked the people to put
welfare and the interests of their Syrian fatherland above sectarianism
and factionalism.3
The lodges examined in this thesis are proof of this attempt. It is
no coincidence that most of the masons belonging to Syrian lodges
during its first years were either the founders or members of social

CONCLUSION 219
and charitable institutions. Yet, in many ways freemasonry acted as

the missing cohesive link. As this thesis has shown, the fraternity
provided this connection. It bridged the gap between religious congre-
gations by spreading the ideas of fraternity and equality. While not
complying with a specific political agenda, the lodges in Greater Syria
were political insofar as they influenced relationships between men
who were politically and/or socio-culturally active. Religious commu-
nities may have been in competition, but their adherents nevertheless
came together in the lodges using freemasonry as a basis for mutual
understanding. It was the framework offered by masonry that offered
the greatest benefits: overriding political or religious cleavages in order
to establish a common denominator, whereby it was possible to find
a shared level for communication and cooperation. They interpreted
freemasonry as a way to promote social and moral emancipation, the
welfare of the people and religious tolerance. Without doubt, it was
also useful in terms of business and trade, as the masonic networks
brought together influential men of various occupations. Their regular
meetings were shaped by masonic traditions and rules, thereby enab-
ling them to cooperate and produce results. Consequently, this also
affected the non-masonic surroundings, with charitable deeds being
the most visible confirmation of this success.
At least for a limited period, following the 1860s massacres and
until the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, freemasonry certainly func-
tioned as a forum that sought to foster a peaceful alliance in parts
of Greater Syria. The increased cooperation among different religious
communities can be considered as an indicator of the fraternity’s
success. Its steadily increasing popularity among Ottomans certainly
suggests freemasonry’s ability to work on problems overshadowed by
religious or ideological conflicts.
On the other hand, especially if one takes into account Lebanon’s
recent history, there is an inherent vice in a movement whose rules and
standards persist in non-interference in political and religious matters
as from the outset it is restricted in its impact. As demonstrated in
regard to European freemasonry, conflicts can reach a point where the
fraternity becomes helpless and has to yield to more powerful forces
that dare to meddle in politics.

Much more research has to be done to deepen our knowledge about

the way lodge meetings were used as vehicles to spread ideas, and
how lodges developed and operated after the reign of Abdulhamid II.
While the history of European and American lodges has been exten-
sively studied, no such analysis of contemporary Syria and Lebanon
has been made. Especially with regard to the period starting with the
Young Turk Revolution, it is unclear how the various national lodges
came into existence, or if networking was still one of the characteristic
features in their mutual relationships, and how far nationalisation of
lodges inside Ottoman Syria indeed succeeded. The further develop-
ment of relations between Syria or Lebanon and other international
masonic bodies also remains unstudied. Was there a new wave of
activity by a new generation of masons in order to establish a form of
Ottoman freemasonry?
Without future research, the field is left open for fundamentalist
movements, which will seek to claim sovereignty over interpretation
in order to create their own truths and blur our general perception of
the dynamics of freemasonry in the Middle East. And though this
thesis may only be a small contribution to the subject, I hope it can
serve at least as a comprehensive first step for future academic research
towards clarification rather than obfuscation.

APPENDIX I
Chronology of the Ottoman Empire with a

Focus on the Late Period1
1288/89–1481 Ascent and expansion of the Empire
1481–1600 Between East and West
1600–1774 Successes and defeats
1774–1922 The longest century of the Empire and its final
dissolution
The peace between the Ottoman Empire and Russia
leads to the final loss for the Ottomans of large areas
in Europe. The peace contract in general is seen as
the start of the ‘Ottoman Question’: the question
of how the Empire should be divided best. Due to
diverse capitulations all European powers had rights
to intervene and meddle with the Ottoman’s pol-
itical force. Abdulhamid II, who is in power then,
insists on his status as religious leader. The Ottoman
regime increasingly introduces reforms following
growing pressure on the side of the European powers.
Financial, military and administrative structures are
remodelled according to European examples. Newly
introduced reforms are supposed to equalise the
status of Muslims and non-Muslims, to secure pri-
vate ownerships and to enable all Ottomans to take
part in the election system
Sommer_Appendices.indd 221 11/15/2014 6:23:31 PM

1829/30 Independence of Greece

1831–40 Syria under Egyptian rule; a number of reforms
introduced
1834 Damascus revolt against Egyptian rule
1834 British Consulate in Damascus opened
1835 The arrival of steamships in the Eastern Mediterranean
results in an increase in trade
1839/40 Edict of Gülhane; period of reforms and start
of the Tanzimat period. (The Tanzimat period
(1839–76) saw reforms centre around a new con-
cept of justice (adalet): equality before the law for all
Ottoman subjects, Muslim and non-Muslim alike.
In the 1850s–60s, intellectuals known as the ‘New
Ottomans’ engaged in a liberal critique of Tanzimat
policies with emphasis on fatherland (vatan), freedom
(hurriet), and constitutionalism. The Tanzimat
reforms culminated in the constitution and parlia-
ment of 1876, but the 1877–78 war with Russia and
the Treaty of Berlin allowed Sultan Abdulhamid
II to bring an end to ‘liberalism’ and proceed with
reforms under an autocratic regime)
1858 Ottoman Land Code; land property has to be
registered
1860 Maronite-Druze rebellion in Mount Lebanon region;
Anti-Christian riots in Damascus
1861 Mount Lebanon detached from Syria, becomes a sep-
arate administrative unit
1861 Damascus connected with Istanbul by Telegraph
1861 Foundation of Palestine Lodge, No. 415, in Beirut
1864 Government printing press established in Damascus
1865 First newspaper printed in Syria
1868 Syrian Protestant College (later American University)
established in Beirut
1869 Foundation of Le Liban Lodge in Beirut
1869 Foundation of La Chaine d’Orient Lodge in Beirut

CHRONOLOGY OF THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE 223
1876 Abdulhamid II proclaims a new constitution (consti-

tutional monarchy with a two-chamber parliament
and a large part of non-Muslim representatives)
1876 Foundation of Speranza Lodge in Alexandretta
1877 Elections of the first Ottoman parliament
1877/78 Complete independence for Serbia, Montenegro and
Romania after the Congress of Berlin; partial inde-
pendence for Bulgaria; Bosnia and Herzegovina
under Austrian administration; Cyprus under
English administration; Russian-Ottoman War
causes increased taxation in Greater Syria
1878 Revocation of the constitution; Dissolution of
Parliament
1880 Foundation of Siria Lodge in Damascus
1881 After annexing Algeria between 1830 and 1870,
France occupies Tunisia. European powers adminis-
trate Ottoman finances
1882 Great Britain occupies Egypt
1882 Foundation of L’Unione Lodge in Homs
1883 Foundation of Bajazet Lodge in Haifa
1886 Foundation of Surea Lodge in Antiochia
1887 Foundation of Luce Lodge in Adana
1887 Foundation of Henderson Lodge in Aintab
1888 Establishment of vilayet of Beirut
1888 Beirut supplied with gas
1889 Foundation of La Syrie Lodge in Beirut
1890 Foundation of La Syrie Lodge in Aleppo
1894 Modern harbour construction in Beirut
1895 Construction of railway line Beirut–Damascus and
Damascus–Rayek
1900 Foundation of Peace Lodge, No. 908, in Beirut
1900 Construction of railway line Damascus–Medina
1904 Foundation of Sunneen Lodge, No. 969, in Shweir
1906 Construction of railway line Rayek–Aleppo
1906 Foundation of Kadisha Lodge, No. 1002, in Tripoli

1908 Foundation of Zahle Lodge, No. 1047, in Zahle

1908 Foundation of La Turquie Lodge, No. 1049, in
Constantinople
1908 Renewed Constitution as a result of the pressure of
the Young Turks who take over control; Independence
of Bulgaria
1909 Foundation of Noor al-Dimashq Lodge, No. 1058, in
Damascus
1910 Foundation of Salah ed-Din Lodge, No. 1071, in
Acre
1910 Foundation of St John Lodge, No. 1080, in Cairo
1911 Foundation of Logos Lodge, No. 1083, in
Constantinople
1911 Foundation of Carmel Lodge, No. 1085, in Haifa
1911 Foundation of El Hakikat Lodge, No. 1088, in
Lattakia
1911 Foundation of L’Unione Lodge in Tripoli
1911/12 Loss of Tripoli (Tripolitania), Cyrenaika and the
Dodecanese during Italo-Ottoman War; Albania
and Yemen leave the formation of states belonging
to the Ottoman Empire
1912/13 Almost complete loss of remaining occupied
European areas during Balkan Wars
1913 Foundation of Emessa Lodge, No. 1125, in Homs
1914 Foundation of El Mizhab Lodge, No. 1130, in
Tripoli
1914–18 World War One (the Empire not only continues to
massacre remaining Armenians, it also loses Iraq,
Palestine, Saudi Arabia and Syria and sides with the
Central Powers)
1915 Beginning of the Armenians’ deportation
1916 Sykes-Picot Agreement: Partition of Arab provinces
of the Ottoman Empire between Britain and France;
Syria to be allocated to France
1917 Foundation of St Andrew Lodge, No. 1161, in
Aboukir

CHRONOLOGY OF THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE 225
1918 Foundation of Mina al Amin Lodge, No. 245, in

Tripoli
1918 ‘Arab Revolt’ liberates Damascus
1919 Foundation of Highasdan Lodge, No. 1185, in
Constantinople
1920 Foundation of Taurus Lodge, No. 1249, in
Alexandretta
1920 With the Treaty of Sèvres, Turkey agrees to limit
its territorial claim of Anatolia and East Thrakia
and functions under control of the Allies. The rest
of Ottoman lands are to be divided between Great
Britain, Russia, France, Italy, Greece, the Armenians
and the Kurds
1919/22 Greece invades West Anatolia and occupies Izmir
1918/23 Istanbul and the Straits are under allied
administration
1919/22 Greek-Turkish War: The Turkish army under
General Mustafa Kemal Pasha drives the Greeks out
of the occupied west-Anatolian zones
1923 Foundation of Mount Lebanon Lodge, No. 1312, in
Shweifat
1923 Revision of the Treaty of Sèvres, Peace Treaty of
Lausanne: Turkey regains East-Thrakia and all rights
over Anatolia, including the Eastern Provinces
29 October 1923 Proclamation of the Republic of Turkey

APPENDIX II
Sommer_Appendices.indd 226
Lodges established in Ottoman Syria with a Focus on today’s Lebanon between 1860 and 1911
(further lodges established by the Ottoman Grand Orient and the Grand National Lodge of Egypt
were not taken into account)
Grand Lodge of Grand Orient de Ottoman Grand Orient Grand Orient d’Italy*
Scotland (GLoS) Grand National Lodge of France (GOdF) (OGO) (GOdI)
Egypt (GNLoE)
Palestine Lodge, Beirut, Le Liban Lodge, Beirut, estd
estd 1865 1868 Speranza, Alexandretta,
estd 1876
Unknown, estd between
1891-93
Peace Lodge, Beirut,
Surea, Antiochia, estd 1886
estd 1901
Siria Lodge, Damascus,

Sunneen Lodge, Shweir, Other lodges Hilal Lodge, Ittihad estd 1880
estd 1904 in Homs, Beirut, estd Lodge,
Zahleh, etc. before 1913 Beirut,
Helbon Lodge, Aleppo, estd
Zahle Lodge, Zahle, estd
1886
estd. 1908 Hermon Lodge, Beirut, before
estd before 1913 1913
Kadisha Lodge, Tripoli, La Chaine d’Orient Lodge,

Luce, Adana, estd 1887
estd 1906 Beirut, estd 1869
Mina al Amin Lodge, Henderson, Aintab,

El Mizhab Lodge, Cairo, estd 1918 La Syrie Lodge, Beirut, estd 1887
Tripoli, estd 1914 estd 1890
Bajazet, Haifa, estd

1883
11/15/2014 6:23:32 PM
APPENDIX III
Exemplary Movements of individual Masons to different Lodges during the first 50 Years of Masonry
in Ottoman Syria (1860–1908)
Hilal (OGO)
Hermon
(GNLoE) Siria (GOdI)
Peace (GLoS): Attiyeh, Le Liban (GOdF):
Najib; Bashour, Nauffal Reiss, K.
Ibrahim
Ittihad
Namy, Ahmed; (OGO)
Sunneen (GLoS): Lair,
Edouard; Munzer, Abraham Sabbagh S.
Kadisha (GLoS):
Massif, Mikhail Abdallah; Barroudi, Alexander; Bashir, Da’ud
El-Dagher, Mikhail Kanaan; Esseily, Fadlallah; Salhab
Kahil, Joseph; George; Sharrif, Hikmet; Hilmi,
Ghoraib, Alexandre;
Monkara, Mahmoud; Ahmed; Mohbat, Fadlallah S.;
Attiyeh, Najib
Abdulwahab, L’Unione
Khaireddeen, Klat, Zaki; Zouan, Georges; Hobaika, (GOdI)
Bey Kamal; Nader, Jacob Nimr S.; Samaha, Elias Y.; Antakly, Salim;
Salhab George Antakly, George;
Bassily, Antonius;
Palestine (GLoS): El-Rayess, Bort, Assad;
Salim Khalil Yanni, George; Levaffi Dimitri,
Fakhouri, Shukri
Arnaout, Abdul-Kader;
Abdulwahab, El Mizhab (GLoS):
Tabet, Hattai; Bisbany, Nassib; Khoury, George
Khairedeen Antakly, Salim;
Akauri/Ackaou, Joseph; Ayoub, Hannah;
Gelegh, Joseph; Sursock, Dimitri; Dobrowolsky, Azar Azar;
Gelegh, Habib; Constantin; Yaziji, Na’ame Nicolas;
Achou, Selim; Monasterski, Louis; Debbas, La Chaine Fakhouri, Shukri;
Esseily, Fadlallah; Fadlallah Khalil d’Orient (GOdF): Tajer, Elias Michael;
Fayad/Haiad, Assad; Husni, Joseph
Fayad/Haiad, Joseph; El-Rayess, Salim Khalil
Haggi, Nicolas;
Kaseiri, Antun; Homsy, Constantin
Sursock, Dimitri; La Syrie
Kulph, Jules; (GOdF) Mina al Amin
Helbon (GOdI): (GNLoE)
Beyhum, Hassan
Luethi, Jaques; Zollinger, Emile;
Altaras, Jaques; Khayat, Antonio
Bey Aghy, Joseph
11/15/2014 6:23:32 PM
APPENDIX IV
228
Freemasons involved in the Press and/or societies in Ottoman Syria and Egypt1
Name2 Name of the Journal (J), Period Published or Lodge Affiliation

Newspaper (N) or Periodical (P)3 Established
FREEMASONRY
Ibrahim al-Hourani An-Našra al-Usbuˉ’ıˉ ya, Beirut, N 1872–? Le Liban

IN THE
Khalil al-Khouri H
. adıˉqāt al-Ah bār, Beirut, N 1858 – after 1913 Charter Member of Zahle lodge
˘
Salim al-Bustani H. adıˉqāt al-Ah bār, Beirut, N 1870–1879 Nassib al-Bustani member
˘
Al Ǧanna, Beirut, N (Le Liban, Kadisha, Iskandar
Al Ǧinan (The Gardens), Beirut, an 1870–1886 Faduil (Sunneen), Joseph Khalil
encyclopaedic periodical including (Sunneen), Barid (Peace)
politics, distant to government, no
partisanship for any religion, patriotic
OTTOMAN EMPIRE
(from 1870 onwards on the cover: ‘Love

of my Fatherland is Part of the Faith’)
11/15/2014 6:23:32 PM
Alexander Barroudi, also At.-T.abib (under the name of Medical 1874 Le Liban, Peace
active for Al-Muqtat.af News), Beirut, monthly, J
Shahin Macarius (from 1876 At.-T.abib, Al-Muqtat.af, J Lata’if, Le Liban
onwards also responsible for
Muqtat.af at the American
FREEMASONS
press in Beirut)
Ibrahim Yaziji Change of At.-T.abib from medical Le Liban
professional journal into encyclopaedic
educational journal
At.-T.aqaddum, N
Bishara Zalzal At.-T.abib Le Liban
INVOLVED IN THE
Yacub Sarruf Tamarāt al-Funuˉn, Beirut, N Le Liban; Sarruf was married

ˉ
1876–1952 to Yacut Barakat (3 of the
PRESS
Al-Muqtat.af, Beirut, later Cairo

Al-Muqat..tam, Beirut, later Cairo, N Barakat family were members
AND
of Sunneen); when he died,

different lodges sent speakers
and writers for his obituaries,
among others:
(Continued)
SOCIETIES 229
11/15/2014 6:23:32 PM
230
Name2 Name of the Journal (J), Period Published or Lodge Affiliation

Newspaper (N) or Periodical (P)3 Established
Jurdak Mansur (Sunneen),
Isa Iskandar al-Maalouf (Zahle),
Muhammad Kurd Ali (Le
Liban)
Khalil al-Ayyubi Aš-Šharq, Damascus, N 1916 Sunneen
FREEMASONRY
Faris Nimr Al-Muqt.ataf, Beirut, later Cairo Le Liban

Al-Muqat..tam, Beirut, later Cairo
IN THE
Yusuf as-Shalfun At.-T.aqaddum, N 1874–1889 Palestine

Ali Nasr ad-Din Al-Minbar, Beirut, J 1923 Le Liban
Gibran Tueni Al-Ahrār, Beirut, N 1923 Le Liban
Bishara Abdallah al-Khouri At-Barq, Beirut, N 1908 Sunneen
Jurji Abdallah Attiyeh Al-Murāqib, Beirut, N 1908 Sunneen
OTTOMAN EMPIRE
Iskandar Khouri At.-T.abāt, Beirut, J 1908 Sunneen

Unsi Abu as-Suud Wādıˉ an-Nıˉl, Cairo, N 1867–1874 Star of the East
Raud.at al-Ahbār, Cairo, N 1875–1878
˘
11/15/2014 6:23:32 PM
Jurji Zaidan Al-Hilal, Cairo, N 1892 Mason but no lodge name
mentioned (Thomas Philipp,
Gurgi Zaidan, His Life
and Thought (Beirut: In
Kommission bei Franz Steiner
Verlag/Wiesbaden: 1979)
FREEMASONS
Bishara Taqla Al-Ahrām, Alexandria, N 1876 – until now Star of the East
Jurji Yanni Al-Mabāhit, Tripoli, J 1918 Le Liban, Kadisha
Lutfallah Klat Al-Hawadit, Tripoli, J 1911 Most of the Klat-family
members belonged to Kadisha
in Tripoli or/and Le Liban in
INVOLVED IN THE
Beirut
Constantin Yanni Dalil Hims, Homs, N ? Emessa
PRESS
Muhammad Kurd Ali Al-Muqtabas, Damascus, J 1906 Le Liban

AND
Al-Umma, Damascus, N 1909

SOCIETIES 231
11/15/2014 6:23:32 PM
Societies founded around the same years targeting education, science and/or charity4
232
Founders Members, Art Of Society
Al-Ǧam˓iya as-Suˉrıˉ ya Eli Smith, Butrus al-Bustani, 42 members, mainly American missionaries, Arab
li-l-˓uluˉm wa-l-Funuˉn Cornelius van Dyck mission-employees and business men. No Muslims.
(1847–1852) Nine of the members not of Beirut; among them
Mikhail Mishaqa and Antonius Yanni
Aim of the society is the support of education and
FREEMASONRY
science, irrespective of religion

Al-Ǧam˓iya al-Mašriqıˉ ya Beirut’s Jesuits Society supporting education and science
IN THE
(1850–?)
Al-Ǧam˓iya al-˓Ilmıˉ ya Chair: al-Amir Muhammad Amin 116 members, Christians and Muslims from Syria and
as-Suˉrıˉ ya (1868–1870) Arslan, Husain Bayhum, Hussain Egypt; representatives of the Ottoman government
Khoury, Salim al-Bustani, Abd like Franco Pasha, governor of Mount Lebanon, foreign
ar-Rahim Badran, Salim Shihada, diplomats like the Ambassador of Belgium and Iran.
Salim Ramadan, Musa Yuhanna The society’s aims are the support of science, economy
Farij, Habib al-Galh, Rizqullah development, Arab language and literature and the
OTTOMAN EMPIRE
Hadra analysis of society

Ǧam˓iyat Bairuˉt al-Inǧıˉlıˉ ya Chair: Butrus al-Bustani; only Beirut’s first bible society; women permitted to join;
(1860–?) Christians on the board of among the members American missionaries with their
management wives
11/15/2014 6:23:33 PM
Ǧam˓iyat Mār Mans.uˉr dıˉ Paul 80 members, Catholic charity, support of schools and
(1860–?) needy children
Ǧam˓iyat ar-Ruˉm al-Urtuˉduks Charity of the Greek-Orthodox Church
ˉ ˉ
al-Hairıˉ ya (?–?)
˘
Ǧam˓iyat Šams al-Birr (?–?) Founders: Shahin Macarius, Faris Literary Society
FREEMASONS
Nimr
Ǧam˓iyat Zuhrat al-Àdāb Members among others: Sulaiman al-Bustani, Adib
(1873–1876) Ishaq, Ibrahim al-Yaziji, Yurji Yanni, Faris Nimr,
Yacub Sarruf
Ǧam˓iyat al-Maqās.id al Hairıˉ ya Founder: Abd al-Kadr al-Qabbani Sunni – islamic Society; aims: support of education,
˘
INVOLVED IN THE
al-Islāmıˉ ya (1878–?) public charity, schools

Ǧam˓iyat Bākuˉrat Suˉriyā Founders: Yacut Barakat Sarruf, First Arabic society for female education; meetings
PRESS
(1881–1888?) Maryam Nimr Macarius every two weeks at Macarius’s home; activities among
other lectures on literary topics, questions of education
AND
and family problems

Al-Maǧma˓ al-˓Ilmıˉ aš-Šarqıˉ Founders: Yacub Sarruf, Faris Nimr,
(1882–1886) Shahin Macarius
Ǧam˓iyat as.-S.inā˓a fıˉ Bairuˉt Founder: Shahin Macarius
(1882–?)
SOCIETIES 233
11/15/2014 6:23:33 PM
Religions Affiliations in Tripoli and ElMina

Tripoli el-Mina
Year 1812 1905 1914 1812 1905 1914
Muslim 10 200 19 767 19 954 1 000 4 176 4 156

GO 700 2 332 2 643 2 000 4 153 4 148
Maronite 200 1 121 1 242 – 217 234
Catholic – 64 66 – 6 –
Protestant – 66 51 – 3 –
Jewish – 61 72 – – –
In 1914:
Tripoli el-Mina
Male Female Male Female
Muslim 10 250 9 704 2 136 2 020

GO 1 500 1 143 2 389 1 759
Maronite 628 614 124 110
Catholic 33 33 ? ?
Protestant 27 24 ? ?
Jewish 35 37 ? ?
(According to Ibrahim Darbily, Al urtudux fi tarablus khalal al-ghran
al-tissa-ahsra, [The Orthodox in Tripoli during the nineteenth century],
(Balamand University, Tripoli: 2006), pp 243)

FREEMASONS INVOLVED IN THE PRESS AND SOCIETIES 235
Growth rates of the religions between 1905 and 1914

Muslims: 0.95 per cent
GO: 13.34 per cent
Maronites: 10.8 per cent
Represented Families in Orthodox Associations in Tripoli

and El-Mina between 12.12.1881 and 11.05.18975
Family Surname Times of Tenure
Bashbash ? 1
Boulos Hannah 1
Habib Salim 3
Haddad Elias 2
Hamawi Na’aman 1
Klat Zaki 2
Klat Constantin 2
Klat Najib 1
Klat Ya’cub 2
Dib Georgous 1
Sariq Ghizr 2
Sariq Mikhail 1
Sariq Nastas 2
Sioufi Dimitri 2
Sioufi Ayas 1
Trad Assad 1
Ghoraib Assad 3
(Continued)

Family Surname Times of Tenure
Fakhr Yussef 1
Qamr Mikhail 1
Matook Ibrahim 1
Matook Nicula 1
Najjar Mikhail 2
Najjar Yussef 3
Nahhas Elias 1
Nahhas Jurjis 2
Nahhas Sami 5
Nahhas Salama 1
Sadaqa Ishak 2
Sadaqa Selim 2
Sarraf Sami 2
Sowaya Assad 2
Takhan Jibrail 4
Khos Jisr 2
Nasur Dib 3
Naufal Habib 2
Yussuf Hannah 1

FREEMASONS INVOLVED IN THE PRESS AND SOCIETIES 237
Members of the City Council (millet) in

Tripoli (baladiyyeh) in 1900
Ghisr Naufal, Jurji Naccache, Edouard Catzeflis, Abdallah Ghos,
Constantin Klat, Assad Sowaya, Assad Arghya, Hannah Ghoraib,
Sami Saraf, Sami Ghos, Anastas Sariq, Ibrahim Sadaqa replacing Jurji
Yanni
Consul offices including Posts as Translators held by

Orthodox Scholars from Tripoli in the nineteenth century
Family Consulate
Catseflis Consul of England

Consul of Austria and Norway
Consul of Russia and Germany
Consul of Austria and Hungary
Consul of Sweden and Norway
Consul of Greece
Consul of the Netherlands
Yanni Consul of the USA and Belgium
Mansour Translator for the Spanish Consulate
Naufal Translator for the German Consulate
Translator of Russian
Advisor for Russia
Translator for the Russian Consulate
Representative of the Greek Consulate
Klat Translator for the Consulate of the USA

Trading and other professions of some Tripolitan Diplomats

during the nineteenth Century
Name Employer Job description
George Catseflis English Consul Head of the Centre for

Translation in Tripoli
Christoph Consul for Austria, Head of the Centre for
Catseflis Sweden, Norway and Translation in Tripoli
Denmark
Selim Naufal Translations in Russian, Agent for the Russian
Consultant for Russia steamship
Yacub Naufal Consulate Russian Merchant in Tripoli and
translator in Egypt Alexandria
Nassim Klat Translator for the Merchant in Tripoli and
American Consul in Alexandria
Tripoli
Nicula Mansour Translator for the Merchant in Tripoli
Spanish Consulate
Habib Naufal Agent for the Greek Merchant, Agent for an
Consulate English company
Iskandar Catseflis Vice Consul for Russia Agent for a Russian
and Germany Company
Tiyudur Catseflis Consul for Spain and Agent for an Austrian
Austria-Hungary Company
Johnny Catseflis Consul for Sweden and Merchant in Tripoli
Norway

NOTES
Introduction
1. Letter from Le Liban Lodge to the GOdF, (13 June 1876), carton no. 1,
Archive of the GOdF.
2. Jacob M. Landau, ‘Prolegomena to a study of Secret Societies in Modern
Egypt’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 1/2 (January 1965).
3. Daniel Ligou, Dictionnaire de la franc-maçonnerie, (Presses Universitaires de
France, Paris: 1987), pp. 629–30.
4. More information on Alexander Howard in Chapter 4; links between lodges
in Greater Syria and Carmel Lodge, established in Haifa in 1911 will be
taken into account.
5. The participation of Armenians in masonic lodges was not restricted to
Armenian-only lodges.
6. [Les idées de tolerance, de solidarité et de fraternité], Letter from Le Liban to the
GOdF, (12 May 1912), carton no. 1, Archive of the GOdF.
7. [L’amour de l’humanité [ . . .] l’union fait la force], Letter from Le Liban Lodge to
the GOdF, (13 June 1876), carton no. 1, Archive of the GOdF.
8. Another example is Esther Möller’s thesis on the Mission Civilisatriçe in
Lebanon, still waiting for publication, University of Mainz 2011.
9. Ryan Gingeras, Sorrowful Shores: Violence, Ethnicity, and the End of the Ottoman
Empire, 1912–1923, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 2, 5.
10. Cem Emrence, Remapping the Ottoman Middle East, (I.B.Tauris, London:
2012), p. 4, 11.
11. Quoted here is Thomas Philipp in his review of Ilham Khuri-Makdisi’s
The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 1860–1914,
(University of California Press, Berkeley: 2010) in which he criticises the
author’s lack of elaboration regarding the fraternity’s importance during and
for the nahda; http://hsozkult.geschichte.hu-berlin.de/rezensionen/2010–4-
084, (03 November 2010).
Sommer_Notes.indd 239 11/17/2014 12:56:21 PM

240 NOTES TO PAGES 5–10
12. Jessica Harland-Jacobs, Builders of Empire: Freemasonry and British Imperialism,

1717–1927, (University of North Carolina Press: 2007).
13. James W. Daniel, Masonic Networks and Connections, (Library and Museum of
Freemasonry, London: 2007), p. 180.
14. Philipp: p. 9.
15. Also see, Kristiane Hasselmann, Die Rituale der Freimaurer, (Transcript,
Bielefeld: 2009).
16. More details on capitulations and how they worked in the specific context
will follow further below.
17. Benjamin Fortna, ‘Education and Autobiography at the End of the Ottoman
Empire’, Die Welt des Islams, vol. 41/1, (March 2001), p. 3.
18. [L’évolution morale et sociale], Letter from Sunneen Lodge to Le Liban Lodge, (02
January 1906), Le Liban, carton no. 2, Archive of the GOdF.
19. Miroslav Hroch, Das Europa der Nationen. Die moderne Nationsbildung im
europäischen Vergleich, (Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Göttingen: 2005), p. 46.
20. Emrence, Remapping, p. 42.
21. Ibid.: p. 8.
22. John George Gibson, ‘The Policy of Colonial Freemasonry’, The Freemason,
(London: 25 July 1908), p. 56.
23. Philip Nord, ‘Republicanism and Utopian Vision: French Freemasonry
in the 1860s and 1870s’, Journal of Modern History, vol. 63, (June 1991),
p. 213.
24. Mathew Burrows, ‘“Mission Civilisatrice”: French Cultural Policy in the
Middle East, 1860–1914’, The Historical Journal, vol. 29/1, (March 1986),
pp. 112–114.
25. Paul Dumont, ‘Freemasonry in Turkey: a by-product of Western penetra-
tion’, http://turcologie.u-strasbg.fr/dets/images/travaux/freemasonry%20
in%20turkey.pdf, (17 November 2010), p. 2.
26. Further explanations regarding the history of the Ottoman Empire will be
given in the following chapters.
27. [La paix, le progress et le bonheur], Letter from Sunneen Lodge to Le Liban,
(02.01.1906), Le Liban, carton no. 2, Archive of the GOdF.
28. Thierry Zarcone, Mystiques, Philosophes et Francs-maçons en Islam (Jean
Maisonneuve, Paris: 1993). The United Grand Lodge of England was active
in these cities from the 1850s onwards, (Registration books UGLoE, 1850).
29. References: Rosario F. Esposito, ‘I primi massoni in medio Oriente’, Rivista
Massonica LXX-XIV (July 1979), pp. 231–6; Robert Freke Gould, The History
of Freemasonry throughout the World, vol. 4, (Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York:
1936), p. 311; Pierre-Yves Beaurepaire, Franc-Maçonnerie et Cosmopolitanisme
au Siècle des Lumières, (Editions Maçonniques de France, Paris: 1998),

NOTES TO PAGES 10–14 241
pp. 72–73. Beaurepaire relies, among others, on Daniel Ligou’s Dictionnaire

de la franc-maçonnerie in its edition from 1974. I checked the 1987 edition
(Presses Universitaires de France, Paris: 1987) and indeed Ligou mentions
early lodges (keywords Syrie and Turquie) but a closer look at the different
dates of lodge foundations reveals that he is sometimes mistaken. Hence
caution is advised when using his information.
30. Jurji Zaidan, Taʾ rıˉ kh al-maˉ sūniyya al-˓aˉ mm [General History of Freemasonry],
(Cairo: 1889), p. 120.
31. A petition sent by Le Liban to the GOdF in 1876 suggests a connection to
the grand lodges in the United States and England, although no sources
have been found to confirm this. ‘En case de difficultés pour envoyer les
métaux directement les R. L. pourront expédier métaux ou billets de banque
par l’entremise de la Grand Loge d’Angleterre à Londres, par la G. Loge de
France à Paris, et par la G. Loge d’Amérique à Newyork’, (1876), carton
no. 1, Archive of the GOdF.
32. Appendix IV.
33. The author refers here to the perception of intellectuals developed by Karl
Mannheim, elucidated further below. See also, Charles Gattone, ‘The Role
of the Intellectual in Public Affairs: Changing Perspectives in the Modern
Era’, Theory and Science, vol. 1/1, (Fall 2000).
34. A general overview regarding intellectuals: Liberal Thought in the
Eastern Mediterranean, edited by Christoph Schumann, (Brill, Leiden:
2008).
35. For example, in Samih al-Zeine’s book, History of Tripoli: then and now,
(Dar al-Andalus, Beirut: 1969) it seems that there existed only intellectu-
als in Tripoli. However, using the term without differentiations renders it
useless.
36. Further explanations regarding the exact location of Kadisha will be deliv-
ered in Chapter 6.
37. As a valuable source underlining this statement served the directory of the
American University in Beirut (AUB).
38. Henry Jessup in his Station Report, 1861, in, The Missionary Herald: Reports
from Ottoman Syria, 1819–1870, edited by Kamal S. Salibi and Yusuf K.
Khoury (Royal Institute for Inter-faith Studies, Amman: 1995), p. 20.
39. Map of Syria by Henry H. Jessup made for the American Presbyterian
Mission by (1873), C.M.S. Archives, C.M.S. Gr. 3, vol. 6, CM/012/29D, the
University of Birmingham, Birmingham.
40. [Nous devons agir pour unifier les maçons des différents rites réguliers ou irréguli-
ers], Letter from Le Liban sent to the GOdF, (17 October 1893), carton no. 1,

41. Beshara Doumani, ‘Endowing Family: Waqf, Property Devolution, and

Gender in Greater Syria, 1800–1860’, Comparative Studies in Society and
History, vol. 40, (Cambridge: 1998), p. 11.
42. James Anderson, The constitution of the free-masons. Containing the history,
charges, regulations &c. of that most ancient and right worshipful fraternity,
(William Hunter, London: 1723), p. 54.
43. Further information on this subject with regard to European and American
lodges: Freemasonry on both sides of the Atlantic, ed. William Weisberger,
Wallace McLeod and S. Brent Morris, (Columbia University Press, New
York: 2002).
44. Eric Anduze’s PhD is entitled La Franc-maçonnerie coloniale au Maghreb et au
Moyen Orient (1876–1924) un partenaire colonial et un facteur d’éducation poli-
tique dans la genèse des mouvements nationalistes et révolutionnaires, (Université
des Sciences Humaines de Strasbourg: 1996). It was published in two
parts, the first being La Franc-maçonnerie au Moyen–Orient et au Maghreb, fin
XIXe–début XXe siècle, (L’Harmattan, Paris: 2005).
tion’, http://turcologie.u-strasbg.fr/dets/images/travaux/freemasonry%20in%
20turkey.pdf, (10 October 2009), p. 5.
46. Hyde Clarke, Sovereign and Quasi-Sovereign States: Their Debts to Foreign
Countries, 2nd edition, (E. Wilson, London: 1879). Clarke lists the various
debts of foreign countries or British colonies while at the same time com-
plaining about French corruption and English indifference.
47. Registration books, St. John & St. Paul, 1869, Archive of the UGLoE. He
was not the only mason to change lodges. Muhammad Abduh, for example,
changed lodges as well as the Italian Verde brothers; while in 1865 the
banker Gustave Oppenheim joined two lodges at once: Bulwer Lodge in
Cairo and St. John’s Lodge in Alexandria.
48. I use the term ‘lodge-hopping’ in order to describe the practices of many
European and Arab masons in the Ottoman Empire: they moved constantly
from one lodge to another or were members of different lodges at the same
time. They formed varying groups to found new lodges and thereby helped
the fraternity to spread while also strengthening the early lodges.
49. Research on this has been carried out by Thierry Zarcone, Secret et Sociétés secrètes
en islam. Turquie, Iran et Asie Centrale, XIXe-XXe siècles, (Archè, Milan-Paris:
2002); La Turquie moderne et l’islam, (Flammarion, Paris: 2004); La Turquie.
De l’Empire ottoman à la République d’Atatürk, (Gallimard, Paris: 2005); Prières
des musulmans chinois, (Koutoubia, Paris: 2009); Le soufisme, (Gallimard,
Paris: 2009). As Almut Höfert has stated, Eurocentric concepts of individu-
ality, which perceive modernity as a way into freedom for a subject, followed

by Western economic developments, create more harm more than good.

[‘Anmerkungen zum Konzept einer “transkulturellen” Geschichte in der
deutschsprachigen Forschung’, Comparativ. Zeitschrift für Globalgeschichte und
vergleichende Gesellschaftsforschung, Bd. 18, ‘Transkulturelle Komparatistik.
Beiträge zu einer Globalgeschichte der Vormoderne’, edited by Wolfgang
Drews; Jenny Oesterle, (2008), pp. 14–25.] Just by taking religion as an
example, using definitions and meanings dominant in the Western world
shows to what degree the so-called civilisation paradigm obscures possible
insights. Ussama Makdisi calls this a ‘crisis’, which resulted in different
forms of orientalism, and ‘both Western and non-Western Orientalisms
presuppose a static and essential opposition between East and West: yet
both are produced by – and are an attempt to overcome – a crisis in this
static opposition created by the same dynamic colonial encounter’, [Ussama
Makdisi, ‘Ottoman Orientalism’, The American Historical Review, vol. 107/3,
(June 2002), pp. 795–96.
50. Timothy Baycroft, ‘Nationalism, National Identity and Freemasonry’,
Journal for Research into Freemasonry and Fraternalism, vol. I, (2009), p. 15.
51. Ibid.: p. 17.
52. Alexander Piatigorsky, Freemasonry, (Harvill Press Editions, London: 1997),
p. 361.
53. Ibid.: p. 13.
54. Ibid.: p. 21, freemasons generally meet once a week or every two weeks in
order to celebrate their rituals, consider previous minutes of former meet-
ings, initiate new members, review general and charitable funds and pro-
pose new members. For example El Mizhab lodge, founded 1914 in Tripoli,
registered meetings once a week according to its book of attendance.
55. www.history.ac.uk/makinghistory/resources/articles/oral_history_2.html,
(17 December 2009).
56. All of the following interviews, meetings and photographs were carried out
between 8 and 24 July 2008.
57. See also: José A. Ferrer Benimeli, La masonería españiola, (Istmo, Madrid:
1995); La Masonería españiola en el siglo XVIII, (Siglo Xxi De España
Editores, Madrid: 1986); Freimaurerei und Faschismus, (Studienverlag GmbH,
Innsbruck: 2009).
58. Jacob Landau, ‘Muslim Opposition to Freemasonry’, Die Welt des Islams, New
Series, vol. 36/2, (July 1996), p. 187. Reference should also be made to the
work of Jens Hanssen and Leila Fawaz. See, Jens Hanssen: Fin de siècle Beirut:
the making of an Ottoman Capital, (Clarendon Press, Oxford: 2005); ‘From
Social Status to Intellectual Activity: Some prosopographical observations
on the municipal council in Beirut, (1868–1908)’, in: From the Syrian Land

to the States of Syria and Lebanon, edited by Thomas Philipp and Christoph
Schumann (Orient Institut, Beirut: 2004). Also see Leila Fawaz, Merchants
and Migrants in Nineteenth Century Beirut, (Harvard University Press: 1983).
Fawaz, ‘Foreign Presence and Perception of Ottoman Rule in Beirut’, in:
Arab Provincial Capitals in the Late Ottoman Empire, edited by Jens Hanssen,
Thomas Philipp and Stefan Weber, (Ergon, Würzburg in commission,
Beirut: 2002), pp. 97–142; ‘The City and the Mountain: Beirut’s Political
Radius in the Nineteenth Century as revealed in the Crisis of 1860’, IJMES,
vol. 16/4, (November 1984), pp. 489–95.
59. Part of Article 17 of the Hamas Charter, translated and annotated by
Raphael Israeli from the Harry Truman Institute, Hebrew University
Jerusalem and available online: www.fas.org/irp/world/para/docs/880818.
htm, (23 January 2009).
60. Part of Article 22 of the Hamas Charter/Covenant.
61. Significant research into the history of the Protocols and its processing has
been done during recent years. Ao.: Hagemeister, Michael. ‘The “Protocols
of the Elders of Zion” and the Myth of a Jewish Conspiracy in Post Soviet
Russia’, in: Nationalist Myths and Modern Media. Contested Identities in the Age
of Globalization, ed. by Jan Herman Brinks, Stella Rock and Edward Timms,
(I.B.Tauris, London: 2006), pp. 243–55; Hermann Goedsche, ‘“The Rabbi’s
Speech: the Promise of World Domination” (1872) / “Protocols of the Elders
of Zion” (c. 1902)’, in: The Jew in the Modern World: a Documentary History, ed.
by Paul R. Mendes-Flohr and Jehuda Reinharz, (Oxford University Press:
1995), pp. 360–67; Stefan-Ludwig Hoffmann, ‘ “Brothers or Strangers”:
Jews and Freemasons in Nineteenth-Century Germany’, German History 18,
(2000), pp. 143–61.
62. Monica Corrado, ‘An Annotated Translation of Luwis Shaykhu’s Article on
Freemasonry’, AHL – Archaeology & History in the Lebanon, No. 25 (Lebanese
British Friends of the National Museum in London, LBFNM: Winter 2007);
Louis Shaykhu, al-Sirr al-maÒun fi hayʾ at al-farmaˉ sūn (The well-kept secret in
the Freemason organisation), (Beirut: 1909–1911).
For more sources see also: Jacob M. Landau, ‘Prolegomena to a study of Secret
Societies in Modern Egypt’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 1/2 (January 1965),
pp. 135–86; Shimon Shamir, ‘Midhat Pasha and the Anti-Turkish Agitation
in Syria’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 10/2 (May 1973), pp. 115–41.
63. Eva H. Balaˉzs, ‘Freimaurer, Reformpolitiker, Girondisten’, in: Beförderer
der Aufklärung in Mittel- und Osteuropa, (Ulrich Camen, Berlin: 1979),
pp. 129–233.
64. Elie Kedourie, ‘Young Turks, Freemasons and Jews’, Middle Eastern Studies,
vol. 7/1, (January 1971), pp. 89–104.

65. Nadjat Fathi Safwat, Freemasonry in the Arab World (Arab Research Centre
Publications, London: 1980).
66. ‘This period featured the beginning of a centralized system of education,
the creation of new criminal and commercial courts, and an ever-deepening
commitment to the establishment of an effective and robust military. By
1876, the appartus of the state took on the veneer of a more regularized,
Western-style bureaucracy. The Ottoman constitution of 1876 was the in-
vention of this new bureaucracy, which increasingly saw itself as the sole
arbiter of modernism and reform of the empire’, [Ryan Gingeras, Sorrowful
Shores: p. 14].
67. Paul Dumont, ‘Les Loges Maçonniques Françaises à Istanbul’, in: Économie
et sociétés dans l’empire ottoman (Editions du CNRS, Paris: 1983); ‘La Franc-
Maçonnerie d’obédience Française a Salonique au début du XXe siècle’,
Turcica XVI, (1984).
68. Karim Wissa, ‘Freemasonry in Egypt 1798–1921: A Study in Cultural
and Political Encounters’, British Society for Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 16/2,
(1989).
69. Ibid.: pp. 157–158.
70. See also: Margaret C. Jacob, Living the Enlightenment. Freemasonry and Politics
in Eighteenth-Century Europe (Oxford University Press, New York: 1991);
Stefan-Ludwig Hoffmann: Die Politik der Geselligkeit, Freimaurerlogen in der
deutschen Bürgergesellschaft 1840–1918 (Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Göttingen:
2000).
71. Eric Anduze, La Franc-Maçonnerie coloniale au Maghreb et au Moyen Orient
(1876–1924), (available at the library of the GOdF, Paris: 1996).
72. ‘Les Premières Loges Ecossaises en Grande Syrie’, Cahiers de la Méditerrané
(Centre de la Méditerranée Moderne et Contemporaine de l’Université de
Nice-Sophia-Antipolis, CMMC), Nr. 72, (Juni 2006), pp. 321–330;
‘Revolutionary Thoughts – Lebanese Freemasonry before the Young Turk
Revolution’, AHL – Archaeology & History in the Lebanon, no. 25, (Winter
2007), pp. 66–81; ‘Early Freemasonry in Late Ottoman Syria from the
Nineteenth Century onwards – The First Lodges in the Beirut Area’, Free-
masonry and Fraternalism in the Middle East, edited by Andreas Önnerfors
and Dorothe Sommer, Sheffield Lectures on the History of Freemasonry and
Fraternalism, (CRFF, Sheffield: 2008); pp. 53–84. Publication of my MA thesis
‘Revolutionary Thoughts’, Zeitschrift für Internationale Freimaurerforschung IF
(Peter Lang; Prof. Helmut Reinalter, Universität Innsbruck: 2007/08).
73. Jacob M. Landau, ‘Farmasuniyya’, Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd edition, vol. 2,
(Brill, Leiden: 1965), pp. 296–297. Exploring Ottoman and Turkish History,
(Hurst & Company, London: 2004); The Politics of Pan-Islam, (Clarendon

Press, Oxford: 1990); ‘Prolegomena to a study of secret societies in Modern

Egypt’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 1/2, (January 1965), pp. 135–86; ‘Muslim
Opposition to Freemasonry’, Die Welt des Islams, New Series, vol. 36/2 (July
1996), pp. 186–203. Also: Shimon Shamir analysed anti-Turkish agitation
and secret groups: Shimon Shamir, ‘Midhat Pasha and the Anti-Turkish
Agitation in Syria’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 10/2, (May 1974), pp. 115–41.
Chapter 1 The Ottoman Empire in Late

1. Vivid examples of these encounters varying in perspective were not written
but edited by Bernard Lewis, A Middle East Mosaic: Fragments of Life, Letters,
and History, (Random House, New York: 2001).
2. Dagmar Glaß, Der Muqtataf und seine Öffentlichkeit, (1. Band, Streitgespräche),
(Ergon, Würzburg: 2004), pp. 2–3.
3. Nahda, pl. at, getting up, rising; awakening (esp. national), rise, growth,
boom, upswing, advancement, progress; resurgence, revival, rebirth,
renaissance; (spiritual) movement; ability, capability, power [Hans Wehr,
A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, Arabic-English, New Edition 2000,
edited by J. Milton Cowan, (Otto Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden: 1st edition
1961), reprinted by Librairie du Liban, Beirut: 1980, p. 1004].
4. Norman Hampson, ‘Enlightenment’, in: The Blackwell Dictionary of Twentieth-
Century Social Thought, edited by William Outhwaite and Tom Bottomore,
(Blackwell Publishers, Oxford: 1993), p. 195.
5. Fatma Müge Göçek, ‘Introduction’, in: Social Constructions of Nationalism in
the Middle East, edited by Fatma Müge Göçek, (State University of New
York Press, Albany: 2002), p. 1.
6. Also: Stephen Sheehi, Foundations of Modern Arab Identity, (University of
Florida, Gainesville: 2004); Elias Khoury, ‘The Unfolding of Modern Fiction
and Arab Memory’, The Journal of Midwest Modern Language Association,
vol. 23/1, (Spring 1990); Regina Karachouli, ‘Abū Íalıˉ l al-Qabbaˉnıˉ (1883–
1902) – Damaszener Theatergründe und Prinzipal, Die Welt des Islams,
New Series, vol. 32/1, (1992).
7. Glaß therefore identifies the Arab press as the most visible output of the
nahda and as textual manifestation of modernisation and westernisation
(Glaß, 1. Band, p. 5).
8. Karpat, ‘The Ottoman Emigration to America, 1860–1914’, IJMES, vol.
17/2, (May 1985), p. 193.
9. Karpat: p. 177.
10. Catherine Mayeur-Jaouen, ‘The Renaissance of Churches at the End of the
Ottoman Era’, in Christianity. A History in the Middle East, edited by Habib
Badr, (Middle Eastern Council of Churches, Beirut: 2005), pp. 759–60.

See also: Youssef Courbage, ‘Situation Démographique comparée du Bilad

El-Cham aux XVIIe et XIXe siècles’, in: Les Relations entre Musulmans et
Chrétiens dans le Bilad al-Cham, (Actes du Colloque, Balamand University,
Tripoli: 2004); Bernard Heyberger, ‘The Development of Catholicism in the
Middle East (16th-19th Century)’, in Christianity. A History in the Middle
East, pp. 631–53.
11. Karpat: pp. 177–8.
12. The interdependence of Ottoman workers and Westerners but also the compe-
tition among Ottomans themselves during the nineteenth century is described
by Sherry Vater in her article ‘Militant Textile Weavers in Damascus: Waged
Artisans and the Ottoman Labor Movement 1850–1914’, in Workers and the
Working Class in the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic 1839–1950, edited
by Donald Quataert, Eric J. Zurcher, (I.B.Tauris, London: 1995).
13. After 1908 the emphasis on the Turkish language became even more pro-
nounced as the ‘diversity of language, in the words of Namık Kemal, was a
“barrier” to state centralization and national unity’, Ryan Gingeras, Sorrowful
Shores: p. 16.
14. M. Şükrü Hanioğlu, A Brief History of the Late Ottoman Empire, (Princeton
University Press, Oxford: 2008), pp. 143–4.
15. Youssef M. Choueiri, A companion to the History of the Middle East, (John
Wiley & Sons: 2008), p. 300.
16. Göçek, Introduction: p. 9.
17. [Nombreux étaient ceux qui croyaient encore que l’Empire, face à l’inexorable montée
des nationalismes, pouvait être sauvé par l’instauration d’une société nouvelle, placée
sous la bannière de l’Union et de l’égalité des peuples], Paul Dumont, ‘La franc-
maçonnerie ottoman et les “idées françaises” à l’époque des Tanzimat’, Revue
du monde musulman et de la Méditerranée, vol. 52–3, (1989), p. 155.
18. Also: Tareq Y. Ismael, Middle East Politics Today, (University Press of
Florida, Gainesville: 2001), pp. 22–4; Hanioğlu, A Brief History of the Late
Ottoman Empire, p. 166, 183; Donald Quataert, The Ottoman Empire. 1700–
1922, (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2nd edition: 2000/2005),
pp. 188–92; Youssef M. Choueiri, Arab Nationalism: A History, (Blackwell
Publishers, Oxford: 2000), pp. 1–55.
19. Ernest Gellner, ‘Nationalism’, in The Blackwell Dictionary of Modern Social
Thought, edited by William Outhwaite et al., (Blackwell Publishers, Oxford:
1993), p. 410..
20. Göçek, Introduction: p. 5.
21. Hatt-i Serif of Gülhane: the ‘Noble Edict of the Rose Chamber’, 3 November,
1839, expressed principles of individual liberty, freedom from oppression,
and equality before the law and security of life, property, and honour to all
subjects of the empire regardless of their religion or race.

22. Hanioğlu: p. 72.

23. Ibid.: p. 73.
24. Ibid.
25. Ibid.: pp. 74–5.
26. Ibid.: p. 75.
27. Ibid.: p. 108. On the Empire’s following defensive political character: Selim
Deringil, ‘Legitimacy Structures in the Ottoman State: The Reign of
Abdulhamid II (1876–1909)’, IJMES, vol. 23/3, (Aug. 1991), pp. 345–359.
28. Ibid., p. 71.
29. Jacob Landau, Exploring Ottoman and Turkish History, (Hurst & Company,
London: 2004), p. 355.
30. Fruma Zachs, The Making of a Syrian Identity, Intellectuals and Merchants in
Nineteenth Century Beirut, (Brill, Leiden/Boston: 2005), p. 92.
31. Kemal Karpat, An Inquiry into the Social Foundations of Nationalism in the
Ottoman State, (Center of International Studies, Princeton University Press:
1973), p. 87.
32. Michael Provence, The Great Syrian Revolt and The Rise of Arab Nationalism,
(University of Texas Press, Austin: 2005), p. 5.
33. Emrence: p. 51.
34. Zachs: p. 94.
35. Hanioğlu, A Brief History, pp. 109–11.
36. Ibid.: 120. Though the first Ottoman constitutional period lasted only
about a year, it was nevertheless the fundament on which the Young Turks
continued to build upon when coming to power in 1908. On the genesis of
the constitution, individuals involved and obstacles to render it compatible
with Muslim law: Robert Devereux, The First Ottoman Constitutional Period.
A Study of the Midhat Constitution and Parliament, (Johns Hopkins University
Press, Whitefish Mt: 1963).
37. Choueiri, Arab Nationalism: p. 45.
38. Hanioğlu, A Brief History: pp. 121–3. Further reading on the constitution-
alist movement: Serif Mardin, The Genesis of Young Ottoman Thought. A study
in the Modernization of Turkish Political Ideas, (Syracuse University Press, New
York: Edition 2000, originally published in 1962), p. 70.
39. Landau, History: p. 22.
40. Jacob Landau, The Politics of Pan-Islam, (Clarendon Press, Oxford: 1990), p. 6.
41. Landau, History: pp. 21–2.
42. Landau, Politics: p. 37.
43. Hanioğlu, A Brief History: p. 125.
44. Erik J. Zürcher, Turkey. A Modern History, (I.B.Tauris, London: 1993, reprint:
2009), p. 77.
45. Hanioğlu, A Brief History: p. 125.

46. Ibid.
47. Donald J. Cioeta, ‘Ottoman Censorship in Lebanon and Syria, 1876–1908’,
IJMES, vol. 10/2, (May 1979), p. 181.
48. Ibid.: pp. 128–9.
49. Zürcher: pp. 80–1.
51. D.A. Rustow, ‘Western Nationalism and the Ottoman Empire’, in: The
Mutual Effects of the Islamic and Judeo-Christian Worlds: The East European
Pattern, edited by Abraham Ascher, et al., (Brooklyn College Press, Brooklyn:
1979), p. 67.
52. Karpat: p. 110.
53. Fatma Müge Göçek, ‘The Decline of the Ottoman Empire and the
Emergence of Greek, Armenian, Turkish, and Arab Nationalisms’, in: Social
Constructions of Nationalism in the Middle East, edited by Fatma Müge Göçek,
(State University of New York Press, New York: 2002), p. 55, 56.
54. Rustow: p. 71.
56. Gingeras, Sorrowful Shores: p. 5.
57. [De prôner la destruction des barriers ethniques et religieuses existant entre les dif-
férente composantes de la population ottoman], Dumont: p. 154.
58. Even the term ‘decline’ when linked to the Ottoman Empire should be used
with caution: decline describes the dislocation of the traditional order com-
pared with earlier ‘golden’ times and it took place only in comparison to the
rise of European states and their progress in all areas. Moreover, it appears at
times to have been less a decline than a lack of different processes that were
contemporaneously evident in the Western world. In this regard I am think-
ing of the Enlightenment and the evolution of a prosperous bourgeoisie.
For different regions, ‘decline’ does not seem to apply, as Stefan Weber has
emphasised in one of his articles on the material culture of Damascus at
the end of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. [Stefan Weber,
‘Reshaping Damascus: social change and patterns of architecture in late
Ottoman times’, in: From the Syrian Land to the States of Syria and Lebanon,
edited by Thomas Philipp and Christoph Schumann, (Orient Institute,
Beirut: 2004), also: The Empire in the City. Urbanism: Imported or exported?
Native Aspirations and Foreign Plans, edited by Joe Nasr and Mercedes Volait,
(Wiley Academy, West Sussex: 2003)]. Hanioğlu convincingly comments
on the Sublime Porte’s dilemma when forced by Western powers to push
through reforms on the one hand, but on the other hand at the same time
the process was thwarted by exactly the same powers for fear of the creation
of a homo ottomanicus, (A Brief History, p. 206).
59. Jürgen Habermas, The Philosophical Discourse of Modernity, (MIT Press,
Cambridge: 1987), pp. 1–2.

60. Anthony Giddens, The Consequences of Modernity, (Polity Press, Cambridge:

1990), pp. 55–63.
61. Hroch: p. 75.
62. Itzchak Weismann, Task of Modernity. Sufism, Salafiyya, and Arabism in Late
Ottoman Damascus, (Brill, Leiden: 2001), p. 4.
63. Hanioğlu, A Brief History: p. 205; also: Gad G. Gilbar, ‘The Muslim Big
Merchant-Entrepreneur of the Middle East, 1860–1914’, Die Welt des Islams,
New Series, vol. 43/1, (2003), pp. 1–36.
65. Selçuk Ak¢in Somel, The Modernisation of Public Education in the Ottoman
Empire. 1839–1908, (Brill, Leiden: 2001), pp. 2–3.
66. Somel: p. 3.
67. One has to be careful with the term globalisation. As Jon Garvie in the Times
Literary Supplement stated: ‘Discussions of globalization share one similarity
– an inability to decide what the terms mean’. Globalisation, according to
Garvie, was a ‘messy idea for an anxious world.’ As with Cosmopolitanism,
advocates of globalisation split the term’s meaning into different sectors, in-
cluding the economy and culture, in order to give it a less ambiguous meaning.
Arising during the European Enlightenment, it marked a period when ‘soci-
ability triumphed over sovereignty’, (http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/
tol/arts_and_entertainment/the_tls/article5759419.ece, 18 February 2009).
68. With the conclusion of the Austro-Ottoman War, the Ottoman Empire had
to sign this treaty, ceding territory and strengthening thereby the Habsburg
Monarchy.
69. Roderic H. Davison, Essays in Ottoman and Turkish History, 1774–1923. The
Impact of the West, (University of Texas Press, Austin: 1990), p. 75.
70. Davison: p. 79.
71. Donald Bloxham, The Great Game of Genocide. Imperialism, Nationalism, and
the Destruction of the Ottoman Armenians, (Oxford University Press, New York:
2005), p. 31.
72. Fatma Müge Göçek, ‘The Decline of the Ottoman Empire and the Emergence
of Greek, Armenian, Turkish and Arab Nationalisms’, in: Social Constructions
in the Middle East, edited by Fatma Müge Göçek, (State University of New
York Press: 2002), p. 21.
73. For example separatist movements in the Balkans: M. Şhükrü Hanioğlu,
A Brief History, p 110.
74. Roger Owen, The Midde East in the World Economy: 1800–1914, (Methuen &
Co Ltd, London: 1981), pp. 100–2.
75. Erik J. Zürcher, Turkey: p. 84.
76. Owen: pp. 102–8.
77. Zürcher: p. 84.

78. Owen: p. 153.

79. Ibid.: p. 159.
80. Zürcher, Turkey: p. 55.
81. Ibid.: p. 163.
Chapter 2 Masonic Principles Challenged

1. Already more than 100 years earlier, opponents of freemasonry raised their
voices against lodges established in Smyrna and Constantinople. Being
alerted by the Roman Church, Greek, Armenian and Catholic Churches
were united against the Masonic thread; consequently, the lodge of Smyrna
disappeared. Also the lodge in Constantinople had to be closed when accused
of converting Ottomans to Catholic Christianity.
2. Thierry Zarcone, ‘Anti-Masonry among the Ottomans and in contemporary
Turkey’, a paper delivered at the Canonbury Conference on Anti-Masonry,
(London: 30 October 2010).
3. Landau, History [citing Cevat Rifat Atilhan, Masonluk Nedir (Akin
Basimevi, Istanbul: 1937) p. 35]: p. 10.
4. Landau: p. 5.
5. Letter to the American Presbyterians from Asaad Jacob, member of the
Greek Church who obviously converted to Protestantism, 1827, in: The
Missionary Herald, Reports from Ottoman Syria, 1819–1870, p. 448.
6. Landau, History: p. 7; Zarcone, ‘Anti-Masonry’.
8. Ibid.: p. 20.
9. Ibid.: p. 20.
10. However, defining freemasonry as an originally European concept does not
entail that no prior para-masonic orders developed in the Middle East. In
his thorough studies on the parallels between freemasonry and Sufi brother-
hoods, Thierry Zarcone convincingly shows the similarities between the two
concepts. Both Sufis and freemasons borrowed ideas and rituals from each
other. See: ‘The Transformation of the Sufi Orders in the Turkish Republic
and the Question of Crypto-Sufism’, in: Cultural Horizons: a Festschrift in Honor
of Talat S. Halman, edited by J. L. Warner, (Syracuse University/Yapi Kredi
Yayinlari, New York/Istanbul: 2001); Mystiques, Philosophes et Francs-maçons
en Islam: Riza Tevkik, penseur ottoman (1868–1949), du soufisme à la confrérie,
(Bibliothèque de l’institut français d’études anatoliennes d’Istanbul, Paris:
1993); ‘Rudolf von Sebottendorf und der Mythos der “Alten Tuerkischen
Freimaurerei’’’, Gnostika, vol. 33, (AAGW, Sinzheim: July 2006), pp. 37–54;
‘Seyh Mehmed Ataullah Dede (1842–1910) and The Mevlevihane of Galata:

An Intellectual and Spiritual Bridge between the East and the West’, in: The
Dervishes of Sovereignty, The Sovereignty of the Dervishes, The Mevlevi Order in
Istanbul, edited by Ekrem Isin, (Pera Museum, Istanbul: 2007), pp. 58–74.
11. R. William Weisberger, Speculative Freemasonry and the Enlightenment,
(Columbia University Press, New York: 1993), pp. 2, 158.
12. James Anderson: p. 2.
13. August Wolfstieg, Christenthum, Humanität und Freimaurerei, (Georg Stilke,
Berlin: 1900), pp. 5, 6.
14. Wolfstieg: p. 11.
15. James Anderson: p. 2.
16. Beaurepaire: p. 21.
17. [L’Ordre n’admet que des Chretiens; a Hors de l’Eglise Chretienne il ne peut, ni ne
doit être recu aucun Franc-Macon. Voila pourquoi les juifs, les Mahometans, et le
Paiens, en sont ordinairement exclus comme infideles.], Ibid.: pp. 64–5.
18. Wolfstieg: p. 13.
19. [Die Wissenschaft, soweit sie sich ihr nicht unbedingt beugt, muss als atheistisch
gebrandmarkt werden, damit die katholischen Schäflein sich von ihr fern halten
und nicht über die innere Hohlheit des römischen Systems aufgeklärt warden.], Otto
Henne, Aus Loge und Welt, Freimaurerische und kulturgeschichtliche Aufsätze,
(Franz Wunder, Berlin/Leipzig: 1905), p. 65.
20. Jewish Masonic candidates, for example, faced problems in nineteenth-
century Germany. The more they ‘adopted universalist values, the more
these could be re-inscribed with particularist notions and turned against
them in the claim that the Jews had no culture of their own’ and could never
be ‘loyal citizens’. But the more Jews emphasised their religious particu-
larity, for example in explicitly ‘Jewish’ lodges, the more they were accused
of lacking any feeling for universal human values, in short of not belong-
ing to the Weltbürgertum, Stefan-Ludwig Hoffmann, ‘Brothers or Strangers’,
Jews and Freemasons in Nineteenth-Century Germany’, German History,
vol. 18/2, (2000), p. 160. In Italy freemasons before the Renaissance and the
Risorgimento were strongly influenced by radical anti-clericalism and ‘the
desire to reduce the influence of the Catholic Church and to laicize Italian
life as quickly as possible’. See: S. William Halperin, ‘Italian Anticlericalism’,
1871–1914’, The Journal of Modern History, vol. 19/1, (March 1947), p. 18.
It is a remarkable fact that the fight against the Catholic Church lodges
busied most of the masons in theoretical terms and also affected most of
their actions, so that questioning the membership of men belonging to other
creeds assumed a less important role. ‘[F]reethinkers, Protestants, and Jews
met and exchanged ideas in an unorthodox way, and this caused more revo-
lutionaries and radicals to join the Freemasons.’ Although the lodges did not

serve as agitating groups, they functioned ‘as a type of front organisation’.,

Albert Boime, The Art of the Maccia and the Risorgimento: Representing Culture
and Nationalism in Nineteenth-Century Italy, (University of Chicago Press,
Chicago/London: 1993), p. 25.
21. Pierre-Yves Beaurepaire, ‘Sociabilité des Lumières et exclusion dans les ports
méditerranéens au XVIIIe siècle: l’exemple de la Franc-maconnerie’, Cahiers
de la Méditerranée, vol. 69, (2004), p. 5.
22. Ibid.: p. 71.
23. Beaurepaire, Franc-maçonnerie et Cosmopolitanisme au Siècle des Lumières,
pp. 61–89.
24. Margaret C. Jacob, The Origins of Freemasonry: Facts and Fictions, (University
of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia: 2006), p. 48.
25. Ibid.: p. 52.
26. Höfert, ‘Europa und der Nahe Osten’, p. 568.
27. Jacob, Living the Enlightenment: p. 34.
28. Ibid.: p. 50.
29. Ibid.: p. 68.
30. Weisberger: p. 59.
31. Jacob, Living the Enlightenment: p. 71, 46, 158.
32. Emrence: p. 52.
33. Johannes Ebert, Religion und Reform in der arabischen Provinz, Husayn al-Gisr
at-Tarabulusi (1845–1909). Ein islamischer Gelehrter zwischen Tradition und
Reform, (Heidelberger Orientalische Studien Band 18, Peter Lang GmbH,
Frankfurt a. M.: 1991), pp. 167–8.
34. Ibid.: p. 131.
35. Ar-Risala al-Hamidiyya, 1888 (Ebert).
36. Ebert: pp. 141–8.
37. The Confirmation of the Immortality of Matter by means of Darwin’s Theory.
38. Ibid.: p. 131.
39. Ibid.: pp. 135–7. On 2 July 1866, Alfred Russel Wallace, the joint proponent
of natural selection, wrote to Charles Darwin to lament how he had been ‘so
repeatedly struck by the utter inability of numbers of intelligent persons to
see clearly or at all, the self acting & necessary effects of Nat Selection, that I
am led to conclude that the term itself & your mode of illustrating it, however
clear & beautiful to many of us are yet not the best adapted to impress it on
the general naturalist public’, Michael Shermer, ‘A Skeptic’s Take on the Public
Misunderstanding of Darwin’, Scientific American, February 2009, online version
www.sciam.com/article.cfm?id=darwin-misunderstood, (10 October 2009).
40. Dagmar Glaß, Der Muqtataf und seine Öffentlichkeit, (2. Band, Streitgespräche),
(Ergon, Würzburg: 2004), p. 428.

41. When checking the names of the writers in Masonic registers in Glaß’s two
volumes, it was possible to discern the high number of masons contributing
to the paper.
42. Aziz al-Azmeh, ‘Islamist Revivalism and Western Ideologies’, History
Workshop, No. 32/1, (Oxford University Press: Autumn 1991), p. 48; Donald
M. Reid, ‘Syrian Christians, the Rags-to-Riches Story, and Free Enterprise’,
IJMES, No. 1, (1970), p. 362.
43. Reid: p. 359.
44. Samuel Smiles, Self-Help, (Oxford University Press: 2002), Introduction by
Peter W. Sinnema, p. VII; original version published by Smiles himself in
1859.
45. Reid: p. 360.
46. Donald J. Cioeta, ‘Ottoman Censorship in Lebanon and Syria, 1876–1908’,
IJMES, vol. 10/2, (May 1979), p. 179. According to Cioeta in most of the
cases when journalists left Beirut there were other reasons as well besides
the censorship under Abdulhamid.
47. Ibid.: p. 361.
48. Ibid.: pp. 364, 365.
49. Jurji Zaidan, Taʾ rıˉ kh al-maˉ sūniyya al-˓aˉ mm (General History of Freemasonry),
(Cairo: 1889), Preface.
50. For further information on Young Turks and reformers in Egypt, see:
Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age, 1798–1939, (Cambridge
University Press, Cambridge: 1983). Names can then be compared to the
lodge listings kept at the archives of the grand lodges in London, Edinburgh
and Paris. Sarruf’s father-in-law, Shahin Makarius, was responsible for a
printing press, and also wrote different books on freemasonry, such as The
Virtues of Freemasonry, as well as translating the masonic constitutions for a
publication entitled The General Masonic Constitution, Rite of Jerusalem. For
Makarius, educational and charitable efforts were the main characteristics
of the brotherhood, as can be observed in his article on the pedagogical
situation in Greater Syria. In this article, he not only mentions schools
and similar institutions, but also the state of freemasonry and the number
of lodges established in the region, Henry Diab and Lars Wahlin, ‘The
Geography of Education in Syria in 1882 with a Translation of “Education
in Syria” by Shahin Makarius, 1883’, Geografiska Annaler, 65B, (1983).
51. Ra’if Khuri, Modern Arab Thought: Channels of the French Revolution
to the Arab East, (Kingston Press, Inc., Princeton/New Jersey: 1983), p. 38.
52. Glaß: p. 561.
53. Smiles: p. 94.
54. Ibid.: p. 197.
55. Ibid.: p. 17.

56. Ibid.: p. 18.

57. Ibid.: p. 38.
58. Ussama Makdisi, ‘Ottoman Orientalism’, The American Historical Review,
vol. 107/3, (June 2002), pp. 768–96.
59. Ibid.: p. 769.
60. Ibid.: p. 770.
61. Ibid.: p. 781. Allegedly Fuad Pasha himself was a freemason, initiated in an
Italian lodge in Constantinople; also: Letter from Le Liban to the GOdF, (21
July 1903), carton no. 1, Archive of the GOdF.
62. Ibid.: p. 787.
63. Ussama Makdisi, ‘After 1860: Debating Religion, Reform, and Nationalism
in the Ottoman Empire’, IJMES, vol. 34/4, (2002), pp. 601–17.
64. Ibid.: p. 606.
65. Butrus Abu-Manneh, ‘The Christians between Ottomanism and Syrian
Nationalism: The Ideas of Butrus al-Bustani’, IJMES, vol. 11/3, (1980), p. 299.
66. Makdisi, ‘After 1860’: pp. 608–9.
67. Butrus Abu-Manneh: p. 290.
68. Anderson: p. 3.
69. Jacob, Living the Enlightenment: p. 47.
70. Jacob, Origins: p. 55.
71. Philip Nord, ‘Republicanism and Utopian Vision: French Freemasonry in
the 1860s and 1870s’, Journal of Modern History, vol. 63, (June 1991), p. 221.
73. Stefan-Ludwig Hoffmann, ‘Democracy and Associations in the Long
Nineteenth Century: Toward a Transnational Perspective’, The Journal of
Modern History, vol. 75/2, (June 2003), p. 294.
74. Anderson: p. 5.
76. George Simmel, ‘The Sociology of Secrecy and Secret Societies’, The American
Journal of Sociology, vol. 11/4, (University of Chicago Press: January 1906), p.
464, 465.
77. Ibid.: p. 477.
78. Stefan-Ludwig Hoffmann, ‘Civility, Male Friendship, and Masonic
Sociability in Nineteenth-Century Germany’, Gender & History, vol. 13/2,
(August 2001), p. 225.
79. Noel P. Gist, ‘Culture Patterning in Secret Society Ceremonials’, Social
Forces, vol. 14/4, (May 1936), p. 499.

80. Ibid.: p. 503. Women were part of the profane world and although some
lodges did introduce them, they never were fully accepted. Indeed, mixed
lodges until today are not recognised as regular masonic lodges by most
grand bodies, hence, their members of both sexes cannot profit from their
status as masons when travelling.
81. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, Ernst und Falk, Gespräche für Freymäurer, written
between 1776 and 1778 (online source: pdf created by pdfbooks.co.za, (13
January 2008).
82. [FALK. Wir nehmen also die beste Staatsverfassung für erfunden an; wir nehmen
an, daß alle Menschen in der Welt in dieser besten Staatsverfassung leben: würden
deswegen alle Menschen in der Welt, nur einen Staat ausmachen?
ERNST. Wohl schwerlich. Ein so ungeheurer Staat würde keiner Verwaltung fähig
sein. Er müßte sich also in mehrere kleine Staaten verteilen, die alle nach den näm-
lichen Gesetzen verwaltet würden.
FALK. Das ist: die Menschen würden auch dann noch Deutsche und Franzosen,
Holländer und Spanier, Russen und Schweden sein; oder wie sie sonst heißen würden.
ERNST. Ganz gewiß!
FALK. Nun da haben wir ja schon Eines. Denn nicht wahr, jeder dieser kleinern
Staaten hätte sein eignes Interesse? und jedes Glied derselben hätte das Interesse seines
Staats.], Lessing: zweites Gespräch.
83. Lessing, Ernst und Falk.
84. Anthony J. La Vopa, ‘Conceiving a Public: Ideas and Society in Eighteenth-
Century Europe’, Journal of Modern History, vol. 64, (March 1992), p. 79.
85. Johannes Rogalla von Bieberstein, ‘Geheime Gesellschaften als Vorläufer
politischer Parteien’, in: Geheime Gesellschaften, Wolfenbütteler Studien zur
Aufklärung, Band V/1, edited by Peter Christian Ludz, (Lambert Schneider,
Heidelberg: 1979), p. 430.
86. Sami Zubaida, ‘Cosmopolitanism and the Middle East’, in: Cosmopolitanism,
Identity and Authenticity in the Middle East, edited by Roel Meijer, (Curzon
Press, Surrey: 1999), p. 15.
87. Stefan-Ludwig Hoffmann, ‘Nationalism and the Quest for Moral
Universalism’, in: The Mechanics of Internationalism – Culture, Society, and
Politics from the 1840s to the First World War, edited by Martin H. Geyer and
Johannes Paulmann, (Oxford University Press, Oxford: 2001), p. 259.
88. Ibid.: p. 260.
89. Zubaida: p. 19.
90. Stéphane Yerasimos, ‘Cosmopolitanism: Assumed Alienation’, in:
Cosmopolitanism, Identity and Authenticity in the Middle East, edited by Roel
Meijer, (Curzon Press, Surrey: 1999), p. 38.
91. Rebecka Lettevall, ‘The Idea of Kosmopolis: Two Kinds of Cosmopolitanism’,
in: The Idea of Kosmopolis, edited by Rebecka Lettevall, My Klockar Linder,
(Södertrörns Högskola, Huddinge: 2008), p. 14.

92. Pauline Kleingeld, ‘Six Varieties of Cosmopolitanism in Late Eighteenth-

Century Germany’, Journal of the History of Ideas, vol. 60/3, (July 1999), pp.
505–24.
93. Ibid.: pp. 517–8.
94. Almut Höfert, ‘Europa und der Nahe Osten: Der transkulturelle Vergleich
in der Vormoderne und die Meistererzählungen über den Islam’, Historische
Zeitschrift, vol. 287/3, (December 2008), p. 567.
95. Andreas Önnerfors, ‘Cosmopolitanism and what is “Secret”: Two Sides of
Enlightened Ideas concerning World Citizenship’, in: The Idea of Kosmopolis,
edited by Rebecka Lettevall, My Klockar Linder, (Södertörns Högskola,
Huddinge: 2008), pp. 65, 66.
96. [Il (le Cosmopolitanisme maçonnique) permet aux frères de s’épanouir et de se décou-
vrir dans deux univers emboîtés, celui qui les a vu naître, et dont ils s’affirment
sujets modèles, et celui qu’ils ont choisi, construit, dont ils se veulent des citoyens
exemplaires–bien que « sans souveraineté » pour reprendre l’expression de Daniel
Gordon], Pierre-Yves Beaurepaire, Franc-maçonnerie et Cosmopolitanisme au
Siècle des Lumières: p. 12.
97. Ibid.: p. 13.
98. Önnerfors: p. 69.
99. Beaurepaire: p. 16.
100. Ibid.: p. 24.
101. Ibid.: pp. 30–2.
102. Hoffmann, ‘Nationalism’: p. 261.
103. Ibid.: p. 263.
104. Ibid.: p. 273.
105. Zubaida: p. 18.
106. Hoffmann, ‘Nationalism’: pp. 275, 276.
107. Zubaida: p. 16.
108. [Comme une obédience ‘nationale’ et refuse toute intrusion étrangère–notamment
britannique–dans l’espace français, prétend au monopole de la correspondance
étrangère [ ] l’émergence du nationalisme devait encoure radicaliser les positions au
tournant du siècle.], Beaurepaire: pp. 37, 38.
109. Jessica Harland-Jacobs, ‘“Hands across the sea”: The masonic Network,
British Imperialism, and the North Atlantic World’, The Geographical
Review, vol. 89/2, (April 1999), p. 239. Though, as will be argued further
onwards, British lodges did not succeed everywhere in respect of power
consolidation and continuing perpetuation.
110. Jacob, ‘Origins’, p. 66.
111. Harland-Jacobs: p. 251.
112. Ibid.: p. 250.
113. In 1738 Anderson published the second edition of his Charges and made
some debatable changes, which will be discussed in the next chapter.

114. James Anderson, The Old Charges of Free and Accepted Masons, first pub-
lished in London 1723, www.freimaurerloge-erlangen.de/download/old%20
charges.pdf, (14 October 2006), p. 1.
115. [Lieu de rencontre et de sociabilité, et donc différentes formes d’aide et de protection
[. . .]a pour conserver un lien ideal avec la mère patrie et pour cultiver un senti-
ment d’appartenance à la lointaine communauté nationale.], Fulvio Conti, ‘Entre
Orient et Occident, Les loges maçonniques du Grand Orient d’Italie en
Méditerranée entre le XIXème et le XXème siècles’, A lecture given in Nice
at an international conference entitled La franc-maçonnerie en Méditerranée
(XVIIIe-XXe siècles): modèles, circulations, transferts, (October 2005).
116. Ibid.
117. Ibid.
118. August Horneffer, Die Bedeutung deutscher Auslandslogen, (Verein deutscher
Freimaurer, Leipzig: 1920), p. 3.
119. Ibid.: p. 7.
120. Hoffmann, ‘Nationalism’: p. 278.
121. [On est loin de la fraternité universelle fondée sur la vertu, les sciences, l’humanité.
Une communauté se soude autant négativement, en s’opposant à l’autre, en le rejetant,
que positivement par le fait de cultivar des valeurs communes.], Beaurepaire: p. 63.
122. A common feature for the lodge members studied in this thesis was that
they displayed a tendency to ‘lodge-hopping’, which in its character proves
that lodges in Cairo, Alexandria and Constantinople were less attractive for
Syrian masons who rarely joined them. The Registration books for English
lodges clearly show that this kind of shifting behaviour happened almost
completely within Egypt or between Egypt and lodges in Constantinople.
For example, the Bulwer Lodge had two incarnations within the space of
four years: in Constantinople in 1861 and in Cairo in 1865. In the late
1860s and early 1870s, many masons moved from the Cairo lodge to the
one in Constantinople. Among these masons was Prince Halim Pasha who
at one point worked heavily against the Ottoman Regime. (Registration
books, 1861, 1865, Bulwer Lodge, Archive of the GLoE); Muhammad
‘Abduh moved from the Star in the East Lodge, where he had been initiated,
to La Concordia Lodge; both were located in Cairo.
123. Anonymous, ‘A Letter from Syria’, The Freemason, (London: 15 August 1908),
p. 101.
124. Ibid.
125. Al-Azmeh: p. 48
126. Ibid.: p. 50, 51.
127. Ibid.: p. 49.
128. Ebert: p. 117.

129. Dagmar Glaß, Der Muqtataf und seine Öffentlichkeit, 2nd vol., (Ergon,
Würzburg: 2004), p. 631.
130. Ibid.: p. 635.
131. Ibid.: p. 497.
132. Ibid.: p. 453.
133. Ibid.: p. 473.
134. Ibid.: p. 485.
135. On different ideologies, their translations and interpretations in the Ottoman
Empire: Ra’if Khuri, Modern Arab Thought: Channels of the French Revolution to
the Arab East, (Kingston Press, Inc., Princeton/New Jersey: 1983).
136. Khuri: pp. 29, 30.
137. Yasir Suleiman, The Arabic Language and National Identity, (Georgetown
University Press, Washington D.C.: 2003), p. 25.
138. Ibid.: p. 26.
139. According to Fruma Zachs, a translated version of the original Jawab
‘ala Iqtirah al- Ahbab is: Mikha’il Mishaqa, Murder, Mayhem, Pillage, and
Plunder – The History of the Lebanon in the 18th and 19th Centuries, translated
by W.M. Thackston Jr, (State University of New York Press, Albany: 1988),
in: Fruma Zachs, ‘Mikha’il Mishaqa – The First Historian of Modern Syria’,
British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 28/1, (May 2001).
140. Zachs: p. 77.
141. He also belonged to the small circle of men involved in scientific discus-
sions in the form of letters to Al Muqtataf (Glaß: p. 390).
142. A Compendium on the History of Syrian Territories, (Beirut: 1874).
143. Youssef M. Choueiri, ‘Two Histories of Syria and the Demise of Syrian
Patriotism’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 23/4, (Oct. 1987), p. 499.
144. Ibid.: p. 500.
145. The History of Syria.
146. Hroch: p. 46.
147. Hroch: p. 107.
148. Hroch: p. 239.
149. Letter from La Chaine d’Union to the GOdF, (22 December 1869), Le Liban,
carton no. 1, Archive of the GOdF.
Chapter 3 Masonic Grand Bodies

1. For further information on Italy and Italian freemasonry, see Derek Beales,
‘Garibaldi in England: the Politics of Italian Enthusiasm’, in: Society and Politics in the
Age of the Risorgimento, edited by John A. Davis and Paul Ginsborg, (Cambridge
University Press, Cambridge/New York: 1991); Marco Novarino, Grande

Oriente d’Italia, (Erasmo Edizione, Rome: 2006); Paul Naudon, Histoire

Generale de la Franç-Maçonnerie, (Office du Livre, S.A., Fribourg/Suisse:
1981); R.J.B. Bosworth, Italy and the Wider World, (Routledge, London/New
York: 1996); Lucy Riall, The Italian Risorgimento. State, Society & National
Unification, (Routledge, London/New York: 1994); John Dickie, ‘The
Notion of Italy’, in: Modern Italian Culture, edited by Zygmunt G. Baraǹski
and Rebecca J. West, (Cambridge University Press, New York: 2001); Brian
Richardson, ‘Questions of Language’, in: Modern Italian Culture; Anna Cento
Bull, ‘Social and Political Cultures from 1860 to the Present’, in: Modern
Italian Culture; William Halperin, Italian Anticlericalism, 1871–1914,
The Journal of Modern History, vol. 19/1, (March 1947). A short overview of
Italian freemasons is given by Anna Maria Isastia, ‘La Franc-Maçonnerie et
la construction du citoyen en Italie’, Journal for Research into Freemasonry and
Fraternalism, vol. 1/1, (Equinox: 2010), pp. 36–48.
2. Karim Wissa, ‘Freemasonry in Egypt 1798–1921: A Study in Cultural
and Political Encounters’, British Society for Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 16/2,
(1989); Albert Kudsi-Zadeh, ‘Afghani and Freemasonry in Egypt’, Journal
of the American Oriental Society, vol. 92/1, (January – March 1972); Elie
Kedourie, ‘Young Turks, Freemasons and Jews’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol.
7/1, (January 1971).
3. Lisa Kahler, ‘The Grand Lodge of Scotland and the Establishment of the
masonic Community’, www.srmason-sj.org/web/heredom-files/volume7/
grand-lodge-of-scotland.htm, (13 March 2007).
4. Interview with Robert Cooper, curator of the Grand Lodge of Scotland,
(Winter 2008).
5. Jacob, Enlightenment: p. 179.
6. Ibid.: p. 184.
7. Ibid.: p. 186.
8. Philip Nord, ‘Republicanism and Utopian Vision: French Freemasonry
in the 1860s and 1870s’, Journal of Modern History, vol. 63, (June 1991),
pp. 213–14.
9. Ibid.: p. 215.
10. Ibid.: pp. 216–17.
11. Ibid.: p. 219.
12. Ibid.: p. 221.
13. Ibid.: pp. 226–28.
14. Albert G. Mackey and H.L. Haywood, Encyclopaedia of Freemasonry, vol. I,
(Kessinger Publishing, Whitefish/Mt: 2003), p. 316.
15. Harland-Jacobs, Builders of Empire, p. 38.
16. Daniel Ligou, Dictionnaire de la franc-maçonnerie, (Presses Universitaires de
France, Paris : 1987), p. 1223.

17. Cecil Layiktez, ‘The History of Freemasonry in Turkey’, www.themasonic-

trowel.com/Articles/History/other_files/the_hystory_of_freemasonry_in_
turkey.htm, (17 November 2010).
tion’, http://turcologie.u-strasbg.fr/dets/images/travaux/freemasonry%20in%
20turkey.pdf, (17 November 2010), pp. 1–2.
19. Ligou, pp. 1223–4.
20. Dumont, p. 3.
21. Ibid.
22. Ibid.: pp. 6–8. For early lodges affiliated with the Grand Lodge of England:
Lane’s Masonic Records, 1717–1894, online: www.freemasonry.dept.shef.
ac.uk/lane/, (23 November 2010).
23. M. Şükrü Hanioğlu, ‘Notes on the Young Turks and the Freemasons, 1875–
1908’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 25/2, (April 1989), pp. 186–7.
24. Dumont: p. 10.
26. Ibid.: p. 194.
27. Ibid.: pp. 11–12.
28. The Provincial Grand Lodge became extinct already in 1884 ; also: Eric
Anduze, La Franc-Maçonnerie au Moyen-Orient et au Maghreb fin XIXe–début
XXe siècle, (L’Harmattan, Paris: 2005), pp. 17–18.
29. Cecil Layiktez, ‘The History of Freemasonry in Turkey’, www.themasonic-
trowel.com/Articles/History/other_files/the_hystory_of_freemasonry_in_
turkey.htm, (17 November 2010).
30. Albert Kudsi-Zadeh, ‘Afghani and Freemasonry in Egypt’, Journal of the
American Oriental Society, vol. 92/1, (January – March 1972), p. 26.
31. Ibid.: p. 28.
32. Encyclopaedia: p. 316.
33. Kudsi-Zadeh: p. 32.
34. Ibid.: p. 34.
35. Robert Gould, Gould’s History of Freemasonry throughout the World, vol.4,
(Charles Scribner’s sons, New York: 1936), p. 233.
36. Dumont: p. 14.
37. Similarly, Jacob Landau was not able to uncover additional connec-
tions: Jacob Landau, Middle Eastern Themes: Papers in History and Politics,
(Routledge, London: 1973), p. 45.
38. Registration Books of the UGLoE, 1868, La Concordia.
39. Member lists of English lodges in Constantinople, Cairo and Alexandria
suggest that they were frequented by a large number of non-Arabs, who
probably changed lodges according to their travel route or work location.
Lists indicate lodges in Constantinople (Oriental Lodge in 1856, Deutscher

Bund Lodge in 1860, Bulwer Lodge in 1861, Areta Lodge in 1864); in Cairo
(St. John’s Lodge in 1862, Bulwer Lodge in 1865, Grecia Lodge in 1866, La
Concordia Lodge in 1868, Star in the East Lodge in 1871); and in Alexandria
(Hyde Clarke Lodge in 1865, Zetland Lodge in 1867, St. John and St. Paul
Lodge in the 1870s).
40. Most striking were the two Englishmen Hyde Clarke and Henry Bulwer,
who not only joined various lodges but who also had lodges named after
them.
41. Eliezer Tauber, ‘Egyptian Secret Societies, 1911’, Middle Eastern Studies,
vol. 42/4, (July 2006), pp. 610–618.
42. Correspondence between Le Liban and the GOdF, carton no. 1, Archive of
the GOdF.
43. Leon Zeldis, a scholar deeply involved in research into the history of Israeli
lodges, is currently working on a publication about the Barkai Lodge,
founded in Jaffa in 1906 under the Grand Orient de France.
44. According to Zeldis, the building later served as meeting place for Jewish
immigrants at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth
century. Afterwards it became the headquarters of the central committee of
a pioneer Zionist movement of Russian Jews. Zeldis researched the history
of freemasonry in Israel in general: Leon Zeldis, Bnei-Or Be-Eretz Hakodesh
(Sons of Light in the Holy Land), (E.Narkis Publishing House, Herzlia:
2009).
45. Robert Morris, Freemasonry in the Holy Land, (Masonic Pub. C., New York:
1872), p. 219, 259.
46. Supreme Council USA, The New Age, vol. 29, (1921), p. 479.
47. http://lebanonmasonry.info/, (19 November 2010).
48. Ligou: p. 708. Ligou also mentions a Grand Lodge named Hounayn Kattini
though it is not impossible that this is a confusion with a mason’s name; a
member of the Grand Lodge of Lebanon called Hounayn Kattini served as
a masonic authority for the Memphis Rite in Arab countries; http://grando-
rientarabe.blogspot.com/2010/03/lu-sur-le-blog-maconnique-de-jiri.html;
www.grandorientarabe.org/index.php?p=1_8_Liban-Syrie-Palestine, (03
January 2011).
Chapter 4 Freemasonry in Beirut

1. Emrence, Remapping the Ottoman Middle East, p. 44.
2. [Les consuls possèdent en Orient les privilèges d’exterritorialité dont jouissent chez
nous les ambassadeurs.], Karl Baedeker, Palestine et Syrie, (Leipzig: 1912),
p. XXIII.

3. Leila Fawaz, ‘Foreign Presence and Perception of Ottoman Rule in Beirut’, in: The
Empire in the City. Arab Provincial Capitals in the Late Ottoman Empire, pp. 71–4.
4. Donald Quataert, The Ottoman Empire. 1700–1922, (Cambridge University
Press, 2nd edition: 2000/2005), pp. 78–9.
5. Ralph Bodenstein, ‘Housing the Foreign. A European’s Exotic Home in
late Nineteenth-Century Beirut’, in: The Empire in the City. Arab Provincial
Capitals in the Late Ottoman Empire, p. 106.
6. Fruma Zachs, ‘Toward a Proto-Nationalist Concept of Syria? Revisiting the
American Presbyterian Missionaries in the Nineteenth-Century Levant’, Die
Welt des Islams, New Series, vol. 41/2, (Brill: July 2001), pp. 149–150.
7. Jens Hanssen, Fin de Siècle Beirut. The Making of an Ottoman Provincial Capital,
(Clarendon Press, Oxford: 2005), p. 56.
8. Bodenstein: pp. 106–9.
9. Hanssen: p. 58.
10. Ibid.: p. 60.
11. Ibid.: p. 86.
12. Leila Fawaz, ‘Foreign Presence and Perception of Ottoman Rule in Beirut’,
in: The Empire in the City. Arab Provincial Capitals in the Late Ottoman Empire,
p. 93.
13. Hanssen: p. 84.
14. Ibid.: pp. 141–2.
15. Fawaz, ‘The City and the Mountain: Beirut’s Political Radius in the
Nineteenth Century as revealed in the Crisis of 1860’, IJMES, vol. 16/4,
(November 1984), pp. 493–4.
16. Originally meaning ‘mister’, a title then used for officials and religious
scholars.
17. Hanssen: p. 62.
18. Ibid.: p. 86.
19. Fawaz, ‘Foreign Presence’: p. 93.
20. Hanssen: pp. 66–7.
21. Ibid.: p. 85.
22. Fawaz, ‘Foreign Presence’: p. 102.
23. Walter P. Zenner, ‘Middleman Minorities in the Syrian Mosaic: Trade,
Conflict and Image Management’, Sociological Perspectives, vol. 30/4, (October
1987); Nejdet Gök, ‘Introduction of the Berat in the Ottoman Diplomatics’,
Bulgarian Historical Review, vol. 3, (2001), pp. 141–50.
24. Fawaz, ‘Merchants and Migrants’: pp. 71–4.
25. Şevket Pamuk and Jeffrey G. Williamson, ‘Ottoman De-Industrialization
1800–1913: Assessing the Shock, Its Impact and the Response’, JEL, No. F1,
N7, O2, (February 2009 draft), p. 5, 24.

26. Ibid.: p. 78.

27. Ibid.: pp. 82–5.
28. Ibid.: p. 95.
29. Ibid.: p. 96.
30. Fawaz, ‘Merchants and Migrants’: p. 124.
31. Hanssen: pp. 71–3.
32. Ibid.: pp. 109–11.
33. Emrence: pp. 52–3.
34. Hanssen: pp. 139–41.
35. Ibid.: pp. 116–27, 141–4.
36. Ibid.: p. 181.
37. Ibid.: p. 163.
38. Ibid.: p. 185.
39. Rev. R. Elliott in his annual letter from Gaza, 29 December 1891, in:
Extracts from Annual Letters of the Church Missionary Society (Gilbert &
Rivington, London), pp. 411–12.
40. Ibid.: pp. 149–71.
41. Ibid.: p. 150.
42. Ibid.: p. 164.
43. Ibid.: pp. 193–4.
44. Emrence, Remapping: p. 41.
45. David Stevenson, The Origins of Freemasonry. Scotland’s Century 1590–1710,
(Cambridge University Press: 1988), pp. 6–7.
46. I found a significant overlap in memberships of the municipal council and
masonic lodges by comparing masonic lists with those of Beirut’s municipal
members’ lists. Also, see: Jens Hanssen, ‘From Social Status to Intellectual
Activity: some prosopographical observations on the municipal council in
Beirut, 1868–1908’, in: From the Syrian Land to the States of Syria and Lebanon,
edited by Thomas Philipp and Christoph Schumann, (Orient Institute,
Beirut: 2004), p. 27. Or, further, taking also into consideration socially
and politically active Greek-Orthodox Beirutis who simultaneously were
also members of various lodges: May Davie, La Millat Grecque-Orthodoxe de
Beyrouth, 1800–1949, (University de Paris-Sorbonne: 1993).
47. For example, Kadisha Lodge was reactivated and re-consecrated in Beirut
in August 2010 under the Grand Lodge of Scotland and again, it decided
to work in French. Religious affiliations of the lodge’s founders are equally
split, (Letters between Kadisha’s secretary and the GLoS, October/November
2010, received from the secretary W. Tatar).
48. David Stevenson, The Origins of Freemasonry. Scotland’s Century 1590–1710,
(Cambridge University Press: 1988), pp. 6–7.

49. Proceedings, GLoS, 1859–1861.

50. In 1906 the Kadisha Lodge adopted sky blue as its official colour, as did the
Taurus Lodge in Alexandretta in 1920. The King Hiram Lodge in Haifa took
royal blue as its official colour when it was established in 1926.
51. The Constitution and Laws of the Grand Lodge of Scotland, (Geo. Steward
and Co. Ltd., Edinburgh: 1923).
52. Archive of the Grand Lodge of Scotland: Registration books, 1914, El
Mizhab; Petition for Carmel.
53. Also, unlike in Istanbul, Alexandria, or Jerusalem, the municipality of
Damascus was not controlled directly or indirectly by foreign interests or
non-Ottomans. Apparently no foreigner sat on the city’s council between
the years 1871 and 1900, Weber: p. 15.
54. Anonymous, ‘Turkey’, Freemasons’ Magazine and Masonic Mirror, (06 January
1866), p. 16. Though the article’s author is unknown, as mentioned
before regarding the Provincial Grand Lodge of Turkey it probably was Lord
Bulwer who claimed a similarity between Islam and Freemasonry.
55. M. James Quilty, Bridging the dichotomy: Economic Change and Class
Consolidation in Ottoman Beirut and Damascus, (National Library of Canada,
Microfilm: 1992), p. 78.
56. Sari Nusseibeh, Once upon a country – a Palestinian Life, (Picador, New York:
2007), p. 24.
57. Quilty: pp. 78–9.
58. Ibid.: pp. 94–6.
59. Registration Books of the GLoS in Edinburgh, 1912, Light of Damascus.
60. Eliezer Tauber, ‘Secrecy in Early Arab Nationalist Organisations’, Middle
Eastern Studies, vol. 33/1, (January 1997), pp. 120–2.
61. For further information on secret societies, see Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought
in The Liberal Age, 1798–1939; George Antonius, ‘The Arab Awakening’,
(Hamish Hamilton, London: 1938); Zeine N. Zeine, The Emergence of Arab
Nationalism, with a Background Study of Arab-Turkish Relations in the Near
East, (Delmar, New York: 3rd edition, 1973); Fritz Steppat, Eine Bewegung
unter den Notablen Syriens, 1877–78, (XVII. Deutscher Orientalistentag,
Vorträge 2, edited by Wolfgang Voigt, Wiesbaden: 1969). There were some
Bustanis, Shidyaqs, al-Yazijis and Arslans among the members, as well as
participating in lodges. The same holds true for Faris Nimr and Yacub
Sarruf. However, after more comprehensive studies on the lodge composi-
tions, I am convinced that it would be wrong to simplify the character of
Syrian freemasonry by categorising it as another secret society. While these
societies were all established with the aim of achieving purely political ide-
als, this was not the case for freemasonry.

62. All information on masonic memberships derives from the Registration

books of the Grand Lodge of Scotland in Edinburgh.
63. Freemasons’ Magazine and Masonic Mirror, (London: 05 August 1865), p. 102.
64. Ussama Makdisi, ‘Ottoman Orientalism’, The American Historical Review,
vol. 107/3, (June 2002), pp. 768–96.
65. Fruma Zachs, The Making of a Syrian Identity, Intellectuals and Merchants
in Nineteenth Century Beirut, (Brill, Leiden/Boston: 2005), p. 230; Mikha’il
Mishaqa, Murder, Mayhem, Pillage and Plunder: the History of Lebanon in the
18th and 19th Century, translated from the Arabic by Wheeler McIntosh
Thackston, (Suny Press, New York: 1988), p. 9. Also: Thomas Philipp, ‘Class,
Community and Arab Historiography in the Early Nineteenth Century –
The Dawn of a New Era’, IJMES, vol. 16/2, (May, 1984), pp. 161–75.
66. See also Chapter 3.
67. Ibid.: p. 232.
68. Ibid.: pp. 238–9.
69. It is not entirely clear if it was Cesar or a relative, Joseph, who joined this
society, as both worked for Western representatives and the forename is not
mentioned in the list; Edward E. Salisbury, ‘The Syrian Society of Arts and
Sciences’, Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 3, (American Oriental
Society: 1853), p. 478.
70. Jens Hanssen, ‘From Social Status to Intellectual Activity: Some prosopo-
graphical observations on the municipal council in Beirut, (1868–1908)’,
p. 65.
71. Salisbury: p. 478.
72. Youssef M. Choueiri, ‘Two Histories of Syria and the Demise of Syrian
Patriotism’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 23/4, (October 1987), p. 496.
73. Choueiri: p. 502.
74. Zachs: p. 221.
75. Zachs: p. 226.
76. For more on this, see Thomas Philipp, Ğurgi Zaidan, His Life and Thought,
(Beirut, Franz Steiner in commission, Wiesbaden: 1979); Shafik Jeha, Darwin
and the Crisis 1882 in the Medical Department, (AUB Press, Beirut: 2004).
77. Karl Baedeker, Palästina und Syrien, (Leipzig: 1904), 6th Edition, p. 242,
276.
78. GLoS, Registration books, 1866–1867, Palestine.
79. I received this information thanks to the contact with Otto Christian
Schepelern, the Chefkonsulent in Denmark in 2008. He additionally
mentioned that Løjtved had been employed as agent dealing with the ac-
quisition of Greek-Roman antiquities in the Roman Empire. (E-Mail, 26
July 2008.)

80. Freemasons’ Magazine and Masonic Mirror, (London: 05 August 1865), p. 102.
[W.M. = worshipful master; S.W. = senior warden; J.W. = junior warden].
81. Hanssen: p. 65.
83. While Christian societies in Greater Syria took the lead, often attracting
Europeans, it also resulted in the foundation of the Muslim Benevolent Society.
Most of the early societies especially outside Beirut worked along sectarian
lines. The Jerusalem Literary Society, the Syrian Society for the Acquisition of Arts
and Sciences, the Oriental Society and the Muslim Benevolent Society all served
philanthropic and educational purposes, connecting the intelligentsia with
the wealthy. It is no coincidence that their numbers grew at the end of the
nineteenth century. At the same time, rumours about secret societies were
spreading, which stimulated prejudices against freemasonry. For further
reading on members of the municipality and their socio-cultural engage-
ments, as well as on different societies founded at the end of the nineteenth
century, see: Jens Hanssen, ‘From Social Status to Intellectual Activity:
Some proposographical observations on the municipal council in Beirut,
(1868–1908)’; A.L. Tibawi, A Modern History of Syria including Lebanon and
Palestine, (MacMillan St. Martin’s Press, London: 1969); Albert Hourani,
Arabic Thought in The Liberal Age, 1798–1939; Robert Morris, Freemasonry
in the Holy Land or Remarks of Hiram’s Builders, (12th edn, Chicago: 1877);
Philipp S. Khoury, Urban Notables and Arab Nationalism, (Cambridge
University Press: 1983); Fruma Zachs, The Making of a Syrian Identity,
Intellectuals and Merchants in Nineteenth-Century Beirut, (Brill, Leiden: 2005);
Shimon Shamir, ‘Midhat Pasha and the Anti-Turkish Agitation in Syria’, in
Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 10/2, (May 1974), pp. 115–41.
85. Ibid.: p. 42.
86. Nadir Özbek, ‘Philanthropic Activity, Ottoman Patriotism, and the
Hamidian Regime, 1876–1909’, IJMES, vol. 37/1, (February, 2005), p. 63.
87. Joe Achcar, ‘Khalil Sarkis and The Hamidie Society’, http://daughter-
ofthewind.org/khalil-sarkis-and-the-hamidie-society/, (11 February 2009).
88. GLoS Archive, Petition of La Turquie Lodge, Registration books 1908,
La Turquie.
89. For other examples of efforts by different Ottoman rulers directed at do-
mestic and foreign policies: Selim Deringil, ‘The Invention of Tradition as a
Public Image in the Late Ottoman Empire, 1808–1908’, Comparative Studies
in Society and History, vol. 35, no. 1, (January, 1993), pp. 3–29.
90. Joe Achcar, ‘Khalil Sarkis and The Hamidie Society’; GLoS Archive,
Registration books, 1905, Sunneen Lodge.

91. www.ambararabians.com/articles/WhiteCityl.shtml, (01 October 2008).

92. Gen. John C. Smith, Around the World, (Knight, Leonard & Co., Chicago:
1895), p. 27.
93. As explained earlier, the decision of the GOdF to omit an oath to the
Supreme Being, which was taken in 1877, was the reason why many
Grand Lodges came to regard this grand body and its daughter lodges as
irregular.
94. Information on Smith’s masonic career: William R. Denslow and Harry
S. Truman, 10,000 Famous Freemasons from K to Z, vol. 3, (Kessinger
Publishing, Whitefish/Mt: 1959, Reprint: 2004), p. 155.
95. Smith: p. 27.
96. Marwa Elshakry, ‘The Gospel of Science and American Evangelism in Late
Ottoman Beirut’, Past & Present, no. 196, (August 2007), p. 212.
97. Ibid.: p. 32.
98. Ibid.: p. 35.
99. Ibid.:p. 37.
100. Proceedings, GLoS, (1881–1883).
101. M. Şükrü Hanioğlu, ‘Notes on the Young Turks and the Freemasons,
1875–1908’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 25/2, (April 1989), p. 188.
102. Ibid.
103. Proceedings, GLoS; 1889–91, Palestine Lodge was supported by Taurus Lodge
No. 765 from Mersina (not to be confused with Taurus Lodge, No. 1249, from
Alexandretta, which was only built in 1920). I could not find the petition of
the older Taurus Lodge. However, between 1886 and 1889 it only initiated
nine new members, four of whom worked for the railway, three of whom were
merchants, one was a doctor and the last was Vice Consul of Italy, Avidio
Rossi. Together with the Palestine Lodge and the Ehden Lodge, it was the only
lodge under the Grand Lodge of Scotland that was in existence in 1889.
104. Hanioğlu: p. 188.
105. Nadir Özbek, ‘Philanthropic Activity, Ottoman Patriotism, and the
Hamidian Regime, 1876–1909’, IJMES, vol. 37/1, (February, 2005), p. 63.
106. Özbek: p. 71.
107. During World War One, no lodges could be established in the Greater
Syrian region. El Mizhab Lodge only continued working – like most of the
other lodges – in 1919. In Egypt some new lodges came into existence, such
as St Andre Lodge, No. 1161, in Aboukir.
108. Letter from Le Liban Lodge to the GOdF, (28 April 1876), Le Liban, carton
no. 1, Archive of the GOdF.
109. Letter from G.D. Sursock to the GOdF to mark the 45th birthday of
the lodge in March 1913, the Centre de Recherche et de Documentation

Maçonnique, Charles Kesrouani, Ghazir/Lebanon; correspondence

between Le Liban Lodge and the GOdF, Le Liban, carton no. 2, Archive of
the GOdF.
110 Letter from Monasterski to the GOdF, (22 December 1869), Le Liban,
111. Correspondence between Le Liban and the GOdF, (1875–77), Le Liban,
112. Thierry Zarcone, ‘Anti-Masonry among the Ottomans and in contemporary
Turkey’, a paper delivered at the Canonbury Conference on Anti-Masonry,
(London: 30 October 2010).
113. Letter from G.D. Sursock, (1913).
114. Salim Mujais, Antoun Saadeh. A Biography. Volume 1. The Youth Years,
(Kutub, Lebanon: 2004), p. 69. When Post died, The New York Times ran
an obituary notice, emphasising the tribute paid to his work in form of
‘decoration Othmanieyh of Turkey, of the Ducal House of Saxony, and of
the Red Eagle and Knights of Jerusalem of Germany’; NYT, (01 October
1909), http://query.nytimes.com/mem/archive-free/pdf?res=FA0E11F73455
12738DDDA80894D8415B898CF1D3, (01 December 2010).
115. Anonymous, ‘Masonry in Egypt’, The Freemason, (London: 27 June 1914), p. 852.
116. Cited by Anonymous, ‘Freemasonry in Syria’, The Freemason, (London: 16
October 1920), p. 198.
117. Shahin Makarius, Kitab al-aˉ daˉ b al-maˉ sūniyya, (Cairo: 1895); Kitab al-asraˉ r
al-khafiyya fil-jam˓iyya al-maˉ sūniyya, (Cairo: 1900).
118. Letter from Emin Arslan to the Committee dated 02 June 1896; Centre
de Recherche et de Documentation Maconnique, Charles Kesrouani, Ghazir/
Lebanon. More information on the Committee: M. Şükru Hanioğlu, ‘Notes
on the Young Turks and the Freemasons, 1875–1908’, Middle Eastern
Studies, vol. 25/2, (April 1989).
119. Hasan Kayali, Arabs and Young Turks: Ottomanism, Arabism, and Islamism
in the Ottoman Empire, 1908–1919, (University of California Press: 1998);
(http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft7n39p1dn, 29 November 2010).
120. Henry Diab and Lars Wahlin, ‘The Geography of Education in Syria in
1882 with a translation of “Education in Syria” by Shahin Makarius, 1883’,
Geografiska Annaler, vol. 65b, (Sweden: 1983), pp. 118–19.
121. Letter from Le Liban Lodge to the Grand Orient, (13 June 1876), Le Liban,
122. Letter from Le Liban Lodge to the Grand Orient, (20 April 1881), Le Liban,
123. Appendix IV; as the exchange of ideas is not the subject of this thesis, this
claim may be substantiated with the forthcoming thesis written by Stephan

Schmid (AUB) who deals extensively with the connection of Beirut’s intel-
lectuals and their masonic backgrounds.
124. The article was written by Salim Khoury, the secretary of Lata’if Lodge,
and describes the civil reception afforded to Smith by Egyptian masons
in Makarius’s house. The meeting was attended by Idris Bey Ragheb, the
Grand Master of the National Grand Egyptian Lodge, and many other
masons from different lodges. With a lot of ceremony, Smith was given
the jewel of the Grand Master of the Grand Lodge of Egypt and the title
Honorary Grand Master of Egyptian Lodges. Smith then delivered an ora-
tion, which Faris Nimr translated simultaneously into Arabic. Sarruf gave
a speech about masonic charitable deeds and Idris Bey Ragheb closed the
meeting by reiterating expressions of thanks for Smith’s generous behav-
iour during the World Fair in Chicago. Khoury goes on to describe the
meeting of Lata’if Lodge, where Smith and Sir H.H. Kitchener had been
present. Again, speeches were given, honouring and thanking everyone.
(Smith: pp. 26–8).
125. For more reading see: Intellectual Life in the Arab East, 1890–1939, edited
by Marwan Buheiry, (Syracuse University Press: 1982); Eliezer Tauber, ‘The
Press and the Journalist as a Vehicle in Spreading National Ideas in Syria
in the Late Ottoman Period’, Die Welt des Islams, New Series, Bd. 30, no.
1/4, (1990), pp. 163–77; Ami Ayalon, The Press in the Arab Middle East: A
History, (Oxford University Press: 1995).
126. For further analysis regarding potential authors behind anti-Ottoman
and anti-Turkish agitation: Shimon Shamir, ‘Midhat Pasha and the Anti-
Turkish Agitation in Syria’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 10/2, (May 1974),
pp. 115–141.
127. More information on the Lewis/Darwin Affair and the involvement of
SPC students: Nadia Farag, ‘The Lewis Affair and the Fortunes of al-Mu-
qtataf’, Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 8/1 (January 1972). See also: Donald
Leavitt, ‘Darwinism in the Arab World and the Lewis Affair at the Syrian
Protestant College’, Muslim World, vol. 71, (1981); Shafiq Juha, Darwin wa
azmat, 1882, (Beirut: 1991).
128. The AUB – Directory of Alumni 1870–1952, Alumni Association Beirut,
(Catholic Press, Beirut: 1953), p. 5, 70.
129. Ibid.: p. 2, 6, 18.
130. Ami Ayalon, Language and Change in the Arab Middle East: the Evolution of
Modern Political Discourse, (Oxford University Press, US: 1987); correspond-
ence between Le Liban Lodge and the GOdF, (1869–1880), Le Liban, carton
no. 1, Archive of the GOdF, National Library, Paris.
131. The AUB – Directory: p. 2.

132. Ibid: p. 11.

133. Ibid.: p. 13, 4.
134. All information on the Shibli family: The Daily Star, (02 August 1997).
135. The Daily Star.
136. Le Liban, carton no. 2, Archive of the GOdF, Le Liban.
137. [Toutes les femmes d’Istanbul sortirent pour le pleurer], Chronique.
138. [Un grand intellectual et home de letters, qui a publié plusieurs ouvrages litteraires
et juridiques], Carla Yardemian, ‘Enquete: Les Trad, famille Beyrouthine’,
Masculin Magazine, Lebanon, (July 1998), p. 10.
139. Fruma Zachs; Making of a Syrian Identity, p. 240.
140. [En 1907, Farès Meshreq et Négib Trad critiquent la politique de la France au
Liban’; and the general consul of France, Fouqes Duparc, even wrote, that ‘l’influence
française, ont-ils déclaré en premier lieu, décroît ici de jour en jour; le mouvement
de désaffection de la population à notre égard s’accentue de manière inquiétante et
le consulat général de France a lié partie avec le clergé maronite contre le people et
les francs-maçons qui, devant cette hostilité, ont dû recourir aux loges écossaises],
Dr. Jean Charaf, ‘Les familles présidentielles – La famille Trad’, Masculin
Magazine, pp. 106–7.
141. [Quant à Farès Meshreq, de culture fort restreinte, ancient émigré en Amérique,
il jouit, dans son district, d’une très petite influence personnelle, et dont le nom n’est
connu que grâce à la fondation à Shoueir, village en majorité orthodoxe, du’une loge
maçonnique à laquelle il a contribué], Charaf: p. 107.
142. GLoS, Registration books, 1910; Petition of Carmel and Salah-ed-din.
143. Chronique: p. 3.
144. For a qualified overview of the relationship between France and Greater
Syria, see: France–Levant, de la Fin du XVIIe Siècle à la Première Guerre
Mondiale, Actes du colloque de Lyon, (Geuthner, Paris: 2005).
145. Correspondence between Le Liban Lodge and the GOdF, Le Liban, carton
no. 1, Archive of the GOdF, National Library, Paris.
146. [Décadence physique et morale], Letter from Le Liban to the GOdF, (10 May
1878), Le Liban, carton no. 1, Archive of the GOdF.
147. [La communauté musulmane qui a été toujours hostile à nos principes philant-
rophiques], Letter from Le Liban to the GOdF, (December 1880), Le Liban,
148. A Letter from Le Liban to the GOdF, (March 1905), carton no. 1, Le Liban,
149. This information was supplied by Robert Cooper, Curator of the Grand
Lodge of Scotland, (13 August 2008), although the enrolment fee of 6 pounds
for each new mason, which was payable to the Grand Lodge, was certainly
a large amount for daughter lodges [Dues payable to the Grand Lodge,

in: Constitution and Laws of the Grand Lodge of Scotland, (Miller and Co/
Edinburgh: 1881), p. 78]. One reason, according to Cooper, for the Scottish
lodges being so much cheaper, is the fact that the Scottish themselves did
not have the same welfare or enjoyed the same degree of prosperity as, for
example, the English lodges. Additionally, initiation into a lodge affiliated
with the Grand Lodge of Scotland was five times cheaper than becoming a
member of a lodge belonging to the French Grand Orient, [comparison be-
tween the fees mentioned in the correspondence between the Grand Orient
and its daughter lodges with the fees noted in the Constitution and Laws of
the Grand Lodge of Scotland].
150. GLoS, Registration books, 1908, Le Liban.
151. The AUB – Directory.
152. Information on the Abcarius family: courtesy of Ruth Abcarius and Gerda
Topakian, Beirut 2007; AUB – Directory: p. 29.
153. AUB – Directory, p. 29.
154. Ibid.: p. 34.
155. UGLoE, Registration books, 1864, Grecia Lodge; www.getty.edu/vow/
ULANFullDisplay?find=beato%2C+antonio&role=&nation=&prev_
page=1&subjectid=500033257, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antonio_Beato,
(25 March 2009).
156. [Devenus de grand éditeurs de cartes postales, les frères Sarrafian ouvrent un deux-
ième studio à Jerusalem spécialisé dans la vente de cartes postales coloriées des lieux
saints], Institut du Monde Arabe, ‘L’Orient des photographes arméniens’,
Exposition, (21 February 01 April 2007), Paris, p. 12.
157. www.libanpostcard.com/postcard_history.html, (27 October 07), p. 6.
158. Sisag Hagop Varjabedian, Armenians from prehistoric times to the present – a
digest of the history, religion, language, literature, arts and culture in general,
(Imprint, Chicago: 1977).
159. Ibid.
160. Ibid.
161. Ibid.
162. Registration books of the GLoS, 1904–08, Peace Lodge; Correspondence
between Le Liban and the GOdF, Le Liban, carton no. 2, Archive of the
GOdF.
163. Ibid.
164. Comparison of all names collected from Edinburgh and Paris.
165. Jeri Freedman, The Armenian Genocide, (The Rosen Publishing Group,
New York: 2008), p. 12.
166. Letters from Le Liban to the GOdF, (1881), carton no. 1, Le Liban, Archive
of the GOdF. Italian lodges were among the first that were closed by

the Ottoman government when rumours about an imminent revolution

spread, parallel to anti-Turkish posters that were put up in Beirut and
Damascus. No supporters of Italian lodges were members of Le Liban and
they denied any connection and instead accused the Jesuits of being behind
a conspiracy.
167. [Das Italienische, das früher neben dem Arabischen die Hauptsprache war,
ist durch das Französische verdrängt worden, da viele katholische Christen
ihre Söhne in den trefflichen Anstalten der Lazaristen und Jesuiten erziehen
lassen], Karl Baedeker, Palästina und Syrien, (Leipzig: 1904), 6th Edition,
p. 244.
168. The first Treaty of Lausanne was signed in Ouchy, south of Lausanne.
169. ‘Peace between Italy and Turkey’, The American Journal of International Law,
vol. 7/1, (American Society of International Law: January 1913), p. 156,
158.
170. David G. Herrmann, ‘The Paralysis of Italian Strategy in the Italian-
Turkish War, 1911–1912’, The English Historical Review, vol. 104/411,
(Oxford University Press: April 1989), pp. 343–5.
172 AUB Directory, p. 46.
173. Ibid.: p. 69.
174. Grand Lodge of Scotland, Registration books, 1904–06, Peace Lodge.
175. Mikha’il Mishaqa, Murder, Mayhem, Pillage and Plunder: the History of
Lebanon in the 18th and 19th Century, translated from the Arabic by Wheeler
McIntosh Thackston, (Suny Press, New York: 1988), p. 1; carton no. 1,
Archive of the GOdF, National Library in Paris, Egyptian lodges.
176. [L’idée de créer en Syrie d’autres loges sous d’autres obédiences l’union et un vrai
gouvernement libéral], Sursock’s Letter, 1913.
177. Grand Lodge of Scotland, Constitution and Laws, (copy of 1923), law 157,
p. 63.
178. Proceedings, GLoS, (1906–07); Letter from Le Liban to GOdF, (04 March
1892), Le Liban, carton no. 1, Archive of the GOdF.
180. Attendance book El Mizhab Lodge, (1914).
181. Registration Book, Grand Lodge of Scotland, 1906, Peace Lodge.
182. John George Gibson, ‘The Policy of Colonial Freemasonry’, The Freemason.
A weekly Record of Progress in Freemasonry, (John Denyer Hand/London: 25
July 1908), p. 56.
183. Letters from Le Liban to the GOdF (12 March 1867), Le Liban, carton no.1;
(30 August 1867), carton no. 2, Archive of the GOdF.
184. GLoS, Registration Book, 1904–05, Sunneen.

185. [À Grâce la France, s’est trouvée illumine par ce Soleil de Vérité], Letter from
Sunneen to Le Liban, (02 January 1906), Le Liban, carton no. 2, Archive of
the GOdF.
186. Archive of the Grand Lodge of Scotland, Petitions, (09 June 1910).
187. Letter from Sunneen to Le Liban, (02 January 1906), Le Liban, carton no. 2,
188. All information on Ahmed Ashi and his photograph are used by kind cour-
tesy of his granddaughter, Nassiba Saati, El Mina, (23 July 2008). Saati is also
in possession of all the letters sent to Ashi and photographed by the author.
189. Letter dates from 17 February 1923.
190. Letter dates from 1929.
191. Attendance book El Mizhab Lodge, (1919).
192. [l’amour patriotique], Letter from Le Liban to the GOdF, (10 May 1878),
Le Liban, carton no. 1, Archive of the GOdF.
193. www.nechurchbeirut.org/cms/?q=node/21, (07 September 08).
194. Courtesy of Pastor Dr Habib Badr.
195. The names of converts on the list that were also connected to masonry
include almost the entire male side of the Abcarius family, the Abbouds,
the Trabulsis, the Aramans and most of the Bustani family. The list also
includes Ibrahim Hourani, Paulus or Boulus Khouly, Ibrahim Kafrouni,
Iskandar Ma’aluf, Khalil Mattar, Faris Nimr and Samuel George Sarrafian,
the father of Jurji Yanni, Antonius Yanni.
196. Selim Deringil, ‘On Conversion and Apostasy in the Late Ottoman Empire’,
in: Collection of papers submitted to the Workshop of New Approaches to the study
of Ottoman and Arab Societies (18th to 20th centuries), vol. III, (Boagazici
University, Istanbul: May 1999), pp. 15–16. One should not omit the mis-
sionaries with their own thoughts as they were not unaware of the ‘real’
reasons behind conversions.
197. In Egypt (Cairo and Alexandria): Ramleh Lodge, St. John’s Lodge, Star in the
East, La Concordia, Grecia Lodge, Bulwer Lodge, Zetland Lodge, St John and
St Paul Lodge, Hyde Clarke Lodge; in Constantinople: Deutscher Bund, Areta,
Oriental Lodge (Archive of the United Grand Lodge, London).
198. Noted in the Registration books at the Archive of the UGLoE.
199. Elie Kedourie, ‘Young Turks, Freemasons and Jews’, Middle Eastern Studies,
vol. 7/1, (January 1971).
200. I.E. Ul-Khouri, ‘Freemasonry in Turkey’, The Freemason, (London: 17
December 1910), p. 398.
201. Lowther Papers, F.O. 800/193a, Sir G. Lowther to Sir C. Hardinge,
Constantinople, (29 May 1910), Appendix of Kedourie’s article.

202. Ibid.
203. The Supreme Council, composed of 33 honorary Masonic members, is a
masonic body of the Antient and Accepted Scottish Rite. It serves as an
advisory board for all its daughter lodges.
204. Joseph Sakakini Bey, ‘Freemasonry in Turkey’, The Freemason. A Weekly
Record of Progress in Freemasonry, (John Denyer Hand, London: 22 October
1910), p. 264.
205. After a period of shifting borders and the establishment of new national
states, freemasonry has also evolved and developed as an institutional struc-
ture, which closely parallels the contemporary world map of nation-states;
also: Timothy Baycroft, ‘Nationalism, National Identity and Freemasonry’,
Journal for Research into Freemasonry and Fraternalism, vol. 1, (Equinox: 2010),
p. 19.
206. Archive of the GOdF, carton no. 1.
207. Sursock’s Letter, (1913). The names are almost illegible.
208 Interestingly, except for Shweir, Marjayoun and Muhgara, all the locations
had either national or international telegraphs.
209. GLoS, Petitions, Peace Lodge, (1900).
210. Ibid.
211. GLoS, Petition, Peace Lodge, (1900).
213. More information on the fate of Christian Armenians and Greeks, Muslim
Albanians and North Caucasians: Ryan Gingeras, Sorrowful Shores. However,
Gingeras makes a point when emphasising that ‘mass disenfranchisement
and liquidation of home populations is a phenomenon that can be found
the world over. State terror of this sort is a modern phenomenon, and is part
and parcel of the logic of modern state building’, [p. viii]. This is not to
relativise violence during the last Ottoman period, rather, Gingeras wants
to contextualise organised violence – also paramilitary – in order to get a
better understanding of the Young Turks’ mind-sets.
Chapter 5 Freemasonry on Mount Lebanon

1. Kais Firro, ‘Silk and Agrarian Changes in Lebanon, 1860–1914’, IJMES,
vol. 22/2, (Cambridge University Press: May 1990), pp. 151–3.
2. Gingeras, Sorrowful Shores: p. 6.
4. Engin Deniz Akarli, The Long Peace. Ottoman Lebanon, 1861–1920, (Center
for Lebanese Studies and I.B.Tauris, London: 1993), p. 7.

5. Ibid.: p. 7.
6. Thomas Philipp, ‘Class, Community, and Arab Historiography in the Early
Nineteenth Century – the Dawn of a New Era’, IJMES, vol. 16/2, (May
1984), pp. 164–5.
7. Akarli: p. 12.
8. Philipp K. Hitti, Lebanon in History, (St Martin’s Press, London/New York:
1957), p. 442.
9. Ibid.
10. Firro: p. 157.
11. Akarli: p. 27.
12. Akarli: pp. 27–31.
13. Leila Fawaz, ‘The City and the Mountain: Beirut’s Political Radius in the
Nineteenth Century as revealed in the Crisis of 1860’, IJMES, vol. 16/4,
(Cambridge University Press: Nov. 1984), p. 489.
14. Emrence: p. 50.
15. Fawaz: p. 489.
16. Ibid.: p. 490.
17. Firro: p. 160, 166.
18. Fawaz: p. 491.
19. Hitti: p. 443.
20. Fawaz: p. 491.
21. Salim Mujais, Antoun Saadeh. A Biography. Volume 1. The Youth Years, (Kutub,
Lebanon: 2004), pp. 18–19.
22. Quoted in Mujais: p. 20.
23. Archive of the GLoS, Registration books, 1910, Sunneen.
24. Mujais: pp. 35–6
25. Archive of the GLoS, Registration Books, 1904, Sunneen.
26. Shakir Baddour of Palestine Lodge, later Peace Lodge; Michel Bitar of Peace
Lodge; Nahman Kaykati of Le Liban Lodge; Georg Hammam of Le Liban
Lodge; Elias Samaha of Palestine Lodge; G. Judei of Le Liban Lodge; Ibrahim
Shakra of Peace Lodge and Georg Dimitri Mounasser of Peace Lodge. Source:
Petition at GLoS, Sunneen.
27. Mujais: p. 41.
28. Registration Books, Sunneen Lodge, 1908. Bashir was allotted to Kadisha
Lodge. I was not able to find his name among those initiated into Kadisha
Lodge until 1908.
29. A leaflet at family member Samira Bashir’s office in Balamand University,
Tripoli, (15 July 2008).
30. Registration books of the Grand Lodge of Italy; [the relations between
French or Scottish lodges and Helbon Lodge though were not the best and

a representative of La Syrie Lodge speaks about some unnamed actions

of Helbon which apparently had degraded the name of freemasonry,
(Letter from La Syrie to the GOdF, La Syrie, carton no. 1, Archive of the
GOdF)].
31. [Notre existence au Liban va en dépendre. Il nous importe donc de prouver aux
sectaires du fanatisme et de l’égotisme que la Franc-Maconnerie triomphera, parce
qu’elle a pour elle le droit et l’humanité, et qu’elle est forte de cette solidarité admir-
able qui lui a assuré le triomphe en France et en Europe en général], Letter from
Sunneen to Le Liban, (02 January 1906), Le Liban, carton no. 2, Archive of the
GOdF.
32. [Faris Mishriq eminent franc-maçon menace du retrait des members grecs ortho-
doxes des lodges d’obédience française et leur engagement dans des loges écossaises
si la France décidait de poursuivre son appui à la communauté maronite], Souad
Abouelrousse Slim, ‘Le rôle de la Franc-Maçonnerie dans le développement
des nouvelles idées au Levant’, in: France–Levant. De la fin du XVIIè siècle a
la première guerre mondiale, edited by Bernard Delpal, Bernard Hours, Claude
Prudhomme, (Collectif/Geuthner, Paris: 2005), p. 220.
33. As explained in the introduction, lodge-hopping is my own term which
seems to be the most suitable term to grasp the inner dynamics of lodges.
34. Letter from Le Liban to the GOdF, (March 1905), Le Liban, carton no.
2, Archive of the GOdF; Registration books of the GLoS, Sunneen, 1905,
Kadisha, 1906.
35. Registration books of the GLoS, 1908, Sunneen.
36. Only in a later letter Le Liban informs the GOdF that it was M. Armez,
Vice-Consul in Tripoli, mason and secretary of M. Combe, (27 May 1906),
Le Liban, carton no. 2, Archive of the GOdF.
37. Le Liban, (02 January 1906), carton no. 2, Archive of the GOdF.
38. [qui est plus important que celui de Batrun], Le Liban, (27 May 1906), carton no.
2, Archive of the GOdF.
39. [Quant aux attaques contre le dit F., elles ont cessé d’une part mais continuent ave
persistance et ignominies de la part du clergé maronite, maintenant sans conséquences,
car nous sommes assez forts, par nos principes, pour le confondre et les quelques
imprimés que nous avons publiés en langue du pays nous a attirés les sympathies de
beaucoup de monde, même partisans de la prêtraille en déconfiture], Le Liban, (27
May 1906), carton no. 2, Archive of the GOdF.
40. Engin Deniz Akarli, The Long Peace: Ottoman Lebanon, 1861–1920, (University
of California Press: 1993), pp. 64–71.
41. Ibid.: p. 68.
42. Ibid.: p. 55.
43. Akarli: p. 64.

44. Eric J. Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780, (Cambridge University
Press: 1990, 17th edition 2010), p. 85, 88.
45. Archive of the GLoS, Registration book, 1904–08, Sunneen.
46. Kais Firro: p. 158, 160.
47. Firro: p. 163.
48. Akarli: p. 17.
49. Ibid.: p. 70.
50. Ibid.: p. 68, Archive of the GLoS, Registration books, 1904–08, Sunneen.
51. Mujais: p. 42.
52. Akarli: p. 68.
53. Ibid.: pp. 70–1.
54. Ibid.: p. 78.
55. Mujais: p. 25. Here he also mentions the first marriage between a Mujais
and a Sawaya that took place in 1929.
56. Landowners like Mikhail Dagher, Moussa Bakhus Ghanem and Hannah
Ibrahim Milki together with the former mentioned ‘liberals’, some literati
from Shweir, as well as those from villages close by, this alludes to a pecu-
liar position of a lodge, supposed to shun any political or religious matters,
Archive of the GLoS, Registration books, 1904–08, Sunneen.
59. Ibid.
61. Ibid.
62. Correspondence between Le Liban, and the GOdF; carton no. 2, Archive of
the GOdF.
63. Archive of the GLoS, Registration books, 1906–08, Peace.
64. AUB – Directory, p. 13.
65. GOdF, Le Liban, carton no. 2.
67. Mujais, p. 40.
71. John George Gibson, ‘The Policy of Colonial Freemasonry’, The Freemason,
(London: 25 July 1908), p. 56.
72. GLoS, Registration book, 1909, Zahle.
73. Axel Havemann, ‘Die Entwicklung regionaler Handelszentren und die
Entstehung eines Händlertums im Libanongebirge des 19. Jahrhunderts’,
Die Welt des Islams, New Series, XXII, no. 1/4, (1982), p. 53.

74. Caesar E. Farah, The Politics of Interventionism in Ottoman Lebanon, 1830–1861,

(Center for Lebanese Studies in association with I.B.Tauris, London: 2000),
p. 710.
75. Kamal S. Salibi, ‘The 1860 Upheaval in Damascus as seen by al-Sayyid
Muhammad Abu’l-Su‘ud al-Hasibi, Notable and Later Naqib al-Ashraf of the
City’, in: Beginnings of Modernisation in the Middle East, edited by William R.
Polk and Richard L. Chambers, (University of Chicago Press: 1968), p. 191.
76. Map of Syria by Henry H. Jessup made for the American Presbyterian
Mission by (1873), C.M.S. Archives, C.M.S. Gr. 3, Vol. 6, CM/012/29D, The
University of Birmingham, Birmingham.
77. GLoS, Registration books, 1908, Zahle.
78. [L‘église grecque catholique, qui recruts ses membres parmi les chrétiens les plus riches
et les plus considérés, est sous la juridiction d’un patriarche résidant à Damas et
portant le titre de patriarche d’Antioche], in Baedeker, (1912), p. LX, Havemann:
p. 54.
79. For more information on freemasonry in Brazil: Internationales Freimaurer
Lexikon, edited by Eugen Lennhoff, Oskar Posner and Dieter Binder,
(Amalthea, Wien: 5th edition, 2006), pp. 150–1; Daniel Ligou, Dictionnaire
de la franc-maçonnerie, (Presses Universitaires de France, Paris: 1987), p. 164.
80. AUB Directory, p. 25.
81. Registration books, 1906, Kadisha; 1908, Zahle.
82. Jeffrey Lesser: ‘(Re)creating Ethnicity: Middle Eastern Immigration to
Brazil’, in: The Americas, vol. 53/1, (Academy of American Franciscan
History: July 1996), p. 48.
83. Lesser: p. 54.
84. Petition of Zahle to the GLoS, (sent 08 October 1908). Next to his signature
on the petition where a Provincial Grand Master was supposed to sign, no
further proof regarding Mishriq’s position had been found to confirm his
title.
85. Ilham Makdisi, Theater and Radical Politics in Beirut, Cairo, and Alexandria:
1860–1914, (Center of Contemporary Arab Studies, Georgetown University:
2006), p. 24.
86. I. E. Ul Khouri, ‘Freemasonry in Turkey’, The Freemason. A weekly Record of
Progress in Freemasonry, (John Denyer Hand, London: 17 December 1910), p.
398. Unfortunately, up until 1910 there are more than ten Khoury’s listed
as being members of Sunneen Lodge and at least two Khoury’s are listed as
being initiated into Zahle Lodge. Hence, I was not able to identify the au-
thor of this report. Moreover, he possibly joined freemasonry in Boston and
was not necessarily a member of a lodge in Ottoman Syria. Consequently, his
name would not appear among the French and Scottish registration lists.

87. Ibid.: p. 396.

88. Ibid.: p. 396; no information has been found to confirm the statement
about the lodge’s existence 30 years earlier.
89. Registration books, 1910, Zahle.
90. Mujais: p. 59.
91. www.shweir.com/did_you_know.htm, (24 August 2008).
92. Registration books, 1906, Sunneen; 1910, Zahle.
93. Makdisi: p. 23.
94. Makdisi: p. 26.
95. Letter from Sunneen to Le Liban, (02 January 1906), carton no. 2, Le Liban,
96. [Nous remarquons pourtant que ce moyen d’accomplir nos devoir envers nos citoyens
et de nous défendre contre l’agresseur, laisse à désirer sous plusieurs rapports et n’étant
pas à la portée de donner plus d’impulsion aux lumières, seul moyen efficace pour
dévoiler nos ennemis; nous avons cru bien de traduire ‘Le Juif Errant’], Le Liban to
the GOdF, (20.04.1881), Archive of the GOdF, carton no. 1.
97. Makdisi: p. 27.
98. Makdisi: p. 7.
99. Ibid.: pp. 9–29. For masonic affiliations, see appendices III–V.
100. [ À l’émancipation des esprits des Syriens de cet état d’atrophie morale oū les avait
jetés un passé séculaire de fanatisme et d’erreur [. . .] la loi primordiale de cette hon-
ourable association était la tolerance en matière de religion], Letter from Sunneen to
Le Liban, (02 January 1906), Le Liban, carton no. 2, Archive of the GOdF.
101. See also Appendices III and IV. These overlaps were not restricted to Greater
Syria but also existed in Egypt and Constantinople. They become even
more striking with regard to artists or creative jobs in general. Antonio
Beato, the brother of Felix Beato, both photographers in Constantinople,
had joined Bulwer Lodge in Cairo in 1865 and served as Petitioner for Grecia
Lodge in 1864. (Registration books, 1865, Petitions, 1864, UGLoE.)
Chapter 6 Freemasonry in Tripoli and El Mina

1. Doubts already surfaced some fifty years ago regarding this theory, as it seems
unlikely that a Phoenician city built around 900 bc would have been known by
a Greek name. An alternative explanatory theory was advanced by Kurt Galling,
[Kurt Galling, ‘Zur Deutungs des Ortsnamens ‫ = לפרט‬Tripolis in Syrien’, in:
Vetus Testamentum, vol. 4, Fasc. 4, (Brill: October 1954), pp. 418–22].
2. Interview with Abdulsalam Tadmori, Tripoli, (13 July 2008).
3. John Gulick, Tripoli, A Modern Arab City, (Harvard University Press,
Cambridge/Massachusetts: 1967), p. 10.

4. Gulick: p. 18.
5. Diab and Wahlin: p. 121. Shahin Makarius, however, as mentioned in
Chapter IV, remains an ambiguous individual with his own agenda.
Charles Kesrouani, a specialist and the founder of the Centre de Recherche et de
Documentation Maçonnique, CRDM, Ghazir/Beirut, suspects that Makarius
used his masonic membership to move from one lodge to another in order
to gain more knowledge about lodges working under different systems.
As he was once also grandmaster he profited from insider views and the
connections that this post brought with it. In general, his thoughts, espe-
cially regarding religion, are almost contradictory to those expressed by the
GOdF, which was probably the reason for his re-alignment to the GLoS;
Interview with Kesrouani, (19 July 2008). Hence, it may well be that he
partly was biased towards people affiliated to differing grand bodies.
6. Hanioğlu, A Brief History, pp. 73–4.
7. Johannes Ebert, Religion und Reform in der arabischen Provinz – Husayn al-Gisr
at-Tarabulusi (1845–1909) – Ein islamischer Gelehrter zwischen Tradition und
Reform, (Peter Lang, Frankfurt: 1991), pp. 23–5.
8. Ibid.: p. 25.
9. Butrus Abu-Manneh, ‘The Genesis of Midhat Pasha’s Governorship in
Syria, 1878–1880’, in: The Syrian Land, Processes of Integration an Fragmentation,
Bilaˉd Al-Shaˉm from the 18th to the 20th Century, vol. 6, Berliner Islamstudien,
(Beirut, in commission Franz Steiner, Wiesbaden: 1998), p. 262.
10. The newspaper was first published in 1893 and ran until 1920. No numbers
of its circulation are known and the literacy rate among Muslim men in
1912 was only at about 25 per cent, but the only newspaper published in
Tripoli certainly had some influence on the intellectual stratum (Ebert).
11. Ebert: pp. 114–115.
12. Ibid.: p. 128, 150.
13. Baedeker, 1912: p. 332.
14. Gulick: p. 27.
15. Diab and Wahlin: p. 121.
16. Ibid.: p. 121.
17. Gulick: p. 23.
18. Ibid.: p. 121.
19. Diab and Wahlin: p. 121.
20. Ebert: pp. 67–8.
21. Ibid.: p. 71.
22. Gulick: pp. 25–6.
23. Henry Harris Jessup, Fifty-Three Years in Syria, (Fleming H. Revell Company,
New York: 1910), pp. 128–9.

24. Ebert: p. 41.

25. Ibid.: p. 44.
26. Ibid.: pp. 58–9.
27. Baedeker, (1910): p. 19.
28. [Tripoli ist als ungesund in Verruf; indes zeigen sich Fieber erst gegen den Herbst und
sind selten gefährlich], in: Karl Baedeker, Palästina und Syrien, (Leipzig: 1904),
6th Edition, p. 293.
29. Gulick: p. 27.
30. Ibid.: p. 293.
31. Baedeker, Palästina und Syrien, (Leipzig: 1910), pp. 309–10.
32. Ebert: p. 40.
33. Archive of the Greek-Orthodox in Beirut, St George’s school; Gulick:
p. 66.
34. Ebert: p. 47.
35. Ibid.: p. 57.
36. Ahmed Mumtaz Kabbara, al-Mıˉ naˉ ʾ –Taʾ rıˉ kh wa-turaˉ th (El Mina: History
and Culture), (Dar El- Chamal Press, Beirut: 2006). Kabbara had been head
of Tripoli in the 1960s.
37. [La bonne entente est visible dans les relations entre le qadi et les chefs religieux chré-
tiens, qui se traduisaient par des rencontres et des contacts directs ou indirects], Baria
Daher Kheir, ‘Constances et Diversités dans les relations entre Musulmans
et Chrétiens Ottomans de Tripoli entre le XVIIIe et le XIXe siècle’, in:
Les Relations entre Musulmans et Chrétiens dans le Bilad al-Cham, (Actes du
Colloque, Balamand University, Tripoli: 2004), p. 60.
38. Christians and Jews were defined as ‘The People of the Book’ – dhimmi. They
‘received God’s revelation before Muhammad and therefore obtained only
an incomplete message. Thus, dhimmi have religion, civilization, and God’s
words. But since they received only part of the message, they are inher-
ently different from and inferior to Muslims’, Quataert, The Ottoman Empire,
p. 177. After different new reform laws, the Ottoman Law of Nationality of
1869 showed the overall idea behind the changes: Dhimmi was replaced by
‘non-Muslim Ottoman’ – and though this step was contested until the end
of the Ottoman era, it did show ‘a general inclination toward a more secular
conception of the state’, Hanioğlu, A Brief History, p. 74.
39. Henry Harris Jessup, Fifty-Three Years in Syria, p. 112.
40. Ebert: p. 70.
41. Ibid.: p. 93.
42. Ebert, p. 38. The corruption of the police in Tripoli cannot be proven, but
Rida’s statement casts the thank-you letters received by Ahmed Ashi from
his masonic brothers (Chapter IV) in a dubious light.
43. In: Karl Baedeker, Palästina und Syrien, (Leipzig: 1904), 6th Edition, p. 293.

44. Ebert: p. 48. This statement seems to be exaggerated as the author found at
least one more Muslim belonging to the Abdulwahab family who attended
an American school.
45. Unlike in Ottoman times, El Mizhab is now recognised by the government
and holds legal status as a non-governmental organisation.
46. See also Appendix I for further foundation dates.
47. This piece of information and the photographs are mainly courtesy of the
members of El Mizhab Lodge, particularly the current assistant secretary
and librarian, a past lodge master and the present worshipful master. The
information also derives from the archive of the Grand Lodge of Scotland
where the petitions of Kadisha and El Mizhab lodges are preserved.
48. I cannot give any evidence regarding the fate of Mina al-Amin Lodge.
But my conclusion drawn from the analysis of the attendance notes of
El Mizhab Lodge is that although men were originally initiated in Mina
al-Amin Lodge, they actually went on to join either El Mizhab Lodge or
Kadisha Lodge.
49. While the fez originally came from Fez in Morocco, it was Sultan Mahmud
II who introduced a law specifying the fez as headgear to be worn by the
varying ranks of civil and religious officials. Replacing the traditional
turban, the fez helped to eliminate clothing distinctions, which made all
officials equal before the Sultan but also equal among themselves. The fez
soon became popular among all Ottomans regardless of their religious affil-
iations or positions and continued to be a symbol for loyalty to the Ottoman
government. Mahmud II with this homogenizing status maker had man-
aged to place ‘the state at the center of Ottoman life as the sole remain-
ing arbiter of identity’, Donald Quataert, ‘Clothing Laws, State and Society
in the Ottoman Empire, 1720–1829’, IJMES, vol. 29/3, (August 1997),
p. 403.
50. Archive of GLoS, Kadisha’s Petition.
51. It was only in the summer of 2009 that I found out more about the Zehiel
family. This was thanks to Robert Alexandre Zehil, who was born in 1945
and lives in Monaco. The family originally came from Zouk Mikhail, a small
village close to Jounieh. However, over the years some members moved from
Beirut to Tripoli, or left the country entirely for Turkey or further afield.
The fact that family members had joined different lodges was no secret to
Robert Alexandre Zehil, but unfortunately he did not know any further
biographical details. He confirmed that the family name continues to exist
in various forms of spelling.
52. Registration books at the GLoS, 1913, Kadisha.
53. Registration books at the GLoS, 1913, Kadisha.
54. Petitions at the GLoS.

55. Ibid.
56. Information on El Mizhab Lodge comes by courtesy of a past worshipful
master of the lodge and the present assistant secretary and lodge librarian;
Interview, (16 July 08). El Mizhab Lodge only saved its records from the
1950s onwards, whereas the membership records of Kadisha Lodge date back
to the 1930s.
57. At that time El Mizhab Lodge was still known as Fam el-Mizhab – named
after a mountain in Lebanon.
58. Library in El Mina, Letter from Mina al-Amin Lodge to Ahmed Effendi
al-Ashi, (1928).
60. In most of the cases when the Grand Lodge had to reprimand Syrian lodges
it was done because of violations of Law 157 of the Constitutions of the
Grand Lodge of Scotland. This law states that it is prohibited to recognise
unauthorised bodies, such as irregular lodges. Some years later, in 1929, El
Mizhab Lodge was reprimanded for the same reason and the Grand Lodge
seriously considered taking away the lodge’s charter.
61. Meir Zamir, The Formation of Modern Lebanon, (Taylor & Francis: 1985),
p. 151.
63. The Constitution and Laws of the Grand Lodge of Ancient Free and Accepted Masons
of Scotland, published by authority of Grand Lodge, by Grand Secretary,
(Edinburgh: 1923), p. 61, 72–8.
65. Letter found in the folder of the Mount Lebanon petition from 1923 at the
archive of the GLoS.
66. A petition attached to the letter. Fakhouri was the son of Shukri Fakhouri,
who was also responsible for having sent the translated rituals to the Grand
Lodge, Proceedings, (1931–32).
67. Found in the file of petitions relating to Kadisha Lodge in the Archive of
the GLoS. The author of this letter contributes to the discussion about the
lodge’s location in Ottoman years as he states that back then Kadisha had
been working in Tripoli.
68. Also found in the folder from Mount Lebanon Lodge; (forwarded letter dated
13 February 1967).
69. Petition of the Lodge, 1910, GLoS.
70. Petition of El Hakikat Lodge, 1911, GLoS.
71. Eliezer Tauber, ‘The Press and the Journalist as a Vehicle in Spreading
National Ideas in Syria in the Late Ottoman Period’, Die Welt des Islams,
New Series, Bd.30, no. 1/4, (Brill: 1990), p. 165, 167.

72. Hussein Hamade, Al masuniyyeh wa al masuniyyin fi’l watan al arabiyyeh,

(Dar Qatiba, Damascus: probably 1985); courtesy of Bassam Dagher.
73. Petition of Emessa Lodge, 1913, Archive of GLoS.
74. Appendix II.
75. Petition of Taurus Lodge, 1920, Archive of GLoS.
76. Alexander Baroody sometimes signs himself as Barroudi. I use the latter
spelling.
77. A situation that changed in the 1920s when the lodge attracted Syrians from
other areas and Europeans as well.
78. When visiting her twice in the winter of 2007 she ordered her maid to show
me around and I was allowed to have a look at some old family portraits, but
she chose not to divulge further information.
79. The non-masonic activities of the Sursock family are widely described in
various sources on the history of Lebanon, such as May Davie, Atlas Historique
des Orthodoxes de Beyrouth et du Mont Liban 1800–1940, (Balamand Universitym
Tripoli: 1999); Fruma Zachs, The Making of a Syrian Identity, Intellectuals and
Merchants in Nineteenth Century Beirut, (Brill, Leiden/Boston: 2005).
80. Zachs: pp. 238–40.
81. Gulick: pp. 178–9.
82. Information about the Abdulwahabs, if not stated otherwise, comes courtesy
of a grandson of Khaireddeen Abdulwahab, (12 July 08).
83. A recent article on Abdulwahab has been added to wikipedia, briefly out-
lining his life and career, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kheireddine_Abdul_
Wahab, (14 January 2011).
84. It remains extremely difficult to move within Lebanon if one is interested
in politics: Voting is – with very few exceptions – only allowed at a person’s
birth place because of the prevalent system of confessional voting.
85. Habib Abdulwahab al-Hindi followed suit twelve years later.
86. Donald Quataert, ‘Clothing Laws, State and Society in the Ottoman Empire,
1720–1829’, IJMES, vol. 29/3, (August 1997).
87. This was at least the probably exaggerated and jocular explanation of the
family member I interviewed.
88. Registration books of the GLoS, 1904, Sunneen; Khaireddeen was not the
only one with a masonic background from Sunneen Lodge. Among others
were Mahmud Monkara and Zaki Klat.
89. Together with Shukri Fakhouri, Antonius Bassily, Salim Antakly, Nicula
Nini, Assad Bort, George Bandali, George Ma’arbes, George Batash; (foun-
dation document of El Mizhab Lodge, 1914).
90. Khaireddeen shared the need to adapt and adjust when taking over Western
ideas with reformers known for their affinity to the nahda movement.

91. The co-founders were Antonius Bassily, Shukri Fakhouri, Salim Antakly,
Nicula Nini, As’ad Bort, George Bandali and George Batache. According
to Maha Kayyal, in Tahawwulat al-zaman al-akhir (shifts/transformations of
another time), (Mukhtarat, Beirut: 2001), Khaireddeen initiated the foun-
dation of the lodge between 1900 and 1902. Having first thought that it
was actually Mina al-Amin Lodge that was co-founded by Khaireddeen and
that information had been mixed up, I examined the foundation document
of Mina al-Amin but could not find his name mentioned.
92. Registration books, GLoS, Petition of El Mizhab Lodge, 1914, GLoS,
Charter of Mina al-Amin Lodge, 1918.
93. Pastor Dr. Habib Badr confirmed my impression during one of our meet-
ings, telling me about his own surprise when a Protestant priest’s funeral
was more or less organised by the freemasons with many of the church
members revealing their own masonic memberships; Interview with Habib
Badr and Kamal Salibi, Beirut, (14 July 2008).
94. Interview with J. Bort, El Mina, (11 July 2008).
95. Registration books, Lodge Petitions; Archive of the GLoS.
96. While the family in general, unlike some more conservative Muslim fam-
ilies, has no problem with its involvement in freemasonry, grandson Ismat
Kazem Ouaida seemed less pleased. One shelf in his flat in the centre of
Tripoli is dedicated to anti-Jewish, anti-masonic, conspiratorial ‘literature’;
Interview, El Mina, (24 July 2008).
97. Interview with A. Ghoraib, El Mina, (15 July 2008); Information on the
Ghoraib family if not mentioned otherwise by courtesy of A. Ghoraib.
98. Tamaddun, (03 July 2008).
99. Interview with T., Beirut, (10 July 2008). In other sources Klat is also spelt
Khlat; I decided to adopt T.’s choice.
100. www.euratlas.net/cartogra/ottoman_1845/ottoman_map_9_4.html, (01
October 2009).
101. Samih al-Zeine, Taʾ rikh Óaraˉ bulus, qadıˉ man wa-Îadıˉ than, (Dar al-Andalus,
Beirut: 1969), p. 483.
102. Information about the Klats and the Ghoraibs if not stated otherwise is
courtesy of T.
103. Information on the Doumanis is courtesy of the Doumani brothers.
Interview, Tripoli, (13 July 2008).
104. Registration books, GLoS, Kadisha Lodge.
105. I was told that one member of the Mabro family, Hilda, was working for
the consulate in Tripoli but have not been able to meet her. Hilda married
into the Massad family, which had masonic connections. The word mabro
comes from Greek and means black. Once a piece of land in El Mina was

called the Land of Mabro; it included parts of the ruined old city wall, in
the Deir-Ghrab district.
106. Masons still praise their fraternity for the two famous artefacts made
around this date: the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty, both designed
by Gustave Eiffel and financially supported by many American and French
masons. See ‘Masonry and the Statue of Liberty’, Robert C. Singer, www.
masonicworld.com/education/files, (21 August 2009).
107. Letter from La Syrie to the GOdF, (25 January 1891), La Syrie, carton no. 1,
108. Our interview took place over the course of two meetings, El Mina, (08
July 2008 and 11 July 2008).
109. Registration books at the GLoS.
110. Fruma Zachs, The Making of a Syrian Identity – Intellectuals and Merchants in
Nineteenth Century Beirut, (Brill, Leiden/Boston: 2005), pp. 226–7.
111. Assad originally worked as a journalist and wrote for Al Ahram, Al Muqtataf
and Al Hilal and published a journal (Al Jam’iya al-Usmaniyya) together
with his friend Anton Farrah in Alexandria. He changed his profession in
order to earn more. Unlike his brother, Assad is not known to have been a
freemason, (Samih al-Zeine: p. 490).
112. Fruma Zachs, The Making of a Syrian Identity – Intellectuals and Merchants in
Nineteenth Century Beirut, (Brill, Leiden/Boston: 2005), p. 242.
113. If not mentioned otherwise, information about J. Yanni: Abdulsalam
Tadmori, ‘Al-Muʾ arrikh Jūrjıˉ Yanni’, in: Muʾ arrikūn al-˓aˉ mm min Lubnaˉ n
(‘The historian Jurji Yanni’, in: General Historians from Lebanon), edited by
Massoud Daher, (1988), pp. 109–38.
114. Until our days, Abd al-Qadir al-Jazairi stands out as a hero especially
among Arab freemasons as he saved many Christians in his own house
during the unrests in Damascus in 1860. In the wake of his deeds and as a
mark of gratitude he who had joined already a lodge in Alexandria in the
1840s or 1850s was admitted to different masonic lodges. See also: Jacob
M. Landau, Prolegomena, p. 139.
115. Whiting, Visit to Tripoli, 30 March 1849, in: The Missionary Herald: Reports
from Ottoman Syria, 1819–1870, p. 85.
116. Y. Choueiri, ‘Two Histories of Syria and the Demise of Syrian Patriotism’,
Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 23/4, (October 1987), p. 503.
117. Zachs: p. 242.
118. Taʾ rıˉ kh Sūriya.
119. Fruma Zachs, ‘Towards a Proto-Nationalist Concept of Syria? Revisiting
the American Presbyterian Missionaries in the Nineteenth-Century Levant’,
Die Welt des Islams, New Series, vol. 41/2, (July 2001), p. 172.

120. Tadmori, p. 111.

121. Zachs: p. 243. One of his articles, published in Muqtataf in 1883, was enti-
tled ‘Al-Nahd.a al-adabiyya fıˉ Óaraˉbulus’ (The cultural awakening in Tripoli),
(Choueiri: p. 503).
122. Al-Zeine: p. 565.
123. Ibid.: p. 484.
124. Ibid.: p. 486.
125. Gulick: p. 67.
126. Ibid.: p. 66.
127. Ibid.: p. 181.
Conclusion
1. Elie Kedourie, ‘Young Turks, Freemasons, and Jews’, Middle Eastern Studies,
7/1, (January 1971); Kedourie, Afghani and Abduh: An Essay on Religious
Unbelief and Political Activism in Modern Islam, (Frank Cass, London: 1966).
2. Stefan Weber, ‘Reshaping Damascus: social change and patterns of archi-
tecture in late Ottoman times’, in: From the Syrian Land to the States of Syria
and Lebanon, edited by Thomas Philipp and Christoph Schumann, (Orient
Insitut, Beirut: 2004), p. 9.
3. See also: Stephen Paul Sheehi, ‘Inscribing the Arab Self: Butrus al-Bus-
tani and Paradigms of Subjective Reform’, British Journal of Middle Eastern
Studies, vol. 27/1, (May 2000), pp. 7–24; Butrus Abu-Manneh, ‘The
Christians between Ottomanism and Syrian Nationalism: the Ideas of
Butrus Al-Bustani’, IJMES, vol. 11/3, (May 1980), pp. 287–304.
Appendix I Lodges established in Ottoman Syria

1. www.turizm.net/turkey/history/ottoman3.html; www.historyworld.net/time-
search/default.asp?keywords=Ottoman+Empire+timeline+309&sort2=&bot
tomsort=&topsort=&direction=&timelineid=&getyear=&viewtext=extende
d&conid=timeline&event_number=20&date=; www.theottomans.org/eng-
lish/chronology/index.aspno, (12.01.2009).
Appendix IV Freemasons involved in the Press

1. If not noted otherwise, names of journalists and their publications as well as
information on scientific societies derive from: Dagmar Glaß, Der Muqtataf
und seine Öffentlichkeit, two volumes, (Ergon Verlag, Würzburg: 2004);

Ami Ayalon, The Press in the Arab Middle East, (Oxford University Press,
Oxford: 1995) and Eliezer Tauber, ‘The Press in the Late Ottoman Period’,
in: Die Welt des Islams, New Series, Bd. 30. However, this list is far from
being complete, especially with regard to the Syrian press in Egypt and there
is still research to be done in order to understand the relationship between
masonry and journalistic output there. See also: Ami Ayalon, ‘The Syrian
Educated Elite and the Literary Nahda’, in: Ottoman Reform and Muslim
Regeneration, edited by Itzchak Weismann and Fruma Zachs, (I.B.Tauris,
London: 2005), p. 137. Ayalon listed not only newspaper agents from dif-
ferent Syrian cities but also noted subscribers to Bustani’s Encyclopaedia,
1874–1886. Among them again many individuals’ names familiar through
freemasonry; Cannon, Byron D., ‘Nineteenth-Century Arabic Writings on
Women and Society: The Interim Role of the Masonic Press in Cairo’, in:
IJMES, no. 17, USA, 1985. Memberships of these men can be proven by
means of the lists available at the different archives of the Grand Lodges in
Scotland and England and the GOdF in Paris.
2. Taken into consideration were only Syrians connected to Syrian lodges or
Syrians immigrated to Egypt; hence, men like Muhammad Abduh (Star of
the East and later onwards La Concordia) or Saad Zaghlul (Grand Lodge of
Egypt), both active as journalists and writers of letters to the editor, were
not mentioned.
3. Many of the newspapers and journals had the same names as Masonic
lodges – what was first is not always clear, though: we do find the name
of the political and literary weeklies in Alexandria AlKawab al-Sharqi (the
Star of the East), Al Hilal (the Crescent), by Zaydan in Cairo or Al Arz (the
Cedar), already appearing in Junieh in 1895 [Ami Ayalon, The Press in the
Arab Middle East, (Oxford University Press, Oxford: 1995).
4. Further Information: Donald J. Cioeta, ‘Islamic Benevolent Societies and
Public Education in Ottoman Syria, 1875–1882’, in: The Islamic Quarterly,
vol. 26/1 (1982), pp. 40–55; May Davies, Atlas historique des Orthodox de
Beyrouth et du Mont Liban, 1800–1940, (Balamand University, Tripoli:
1999), Jens Hanssen, ‘The Birth of an Education Quarter, Zokak el-Blat
as a Cradle of Cultural Revival in the Arab World’, in: History, Space
and Social Conflict in Beirut, (Ergon Verlag, Würzburg Beirut: 2005),
pp. 143–74.
5. Further evidence of charitable interest on the side of the masons can be
delivered by the Account books of different Orthodox societies, kept
in the Archive in Beirut: not the members but all the names of donors
and the amount of the financial donations are listed here. All of them
were founded between the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of

the twentieth century. These organisations served different aims: general

charity, charity towards the family of deceased people and towards chil-
dren. One of them was even called Charity of the Orthodox Brotherhood and
the majority of men mentioned there belonged to one or the other lodge in
Tripoli/el-Mina.

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INDEX
Academic Circles, 49 Anglicans, 157

Academic Elite, 11, 71 Anglo-Egyptian Protectorate, 80
Academics, 11, 50, 212 Anglo-Turkish Commercial Convention,
Acre, 85, 115, 184, 186, 187, 224 88
Actors, 4, 7, 8, 25, 49, 141, 143, 159, Antagonism, 48, 63, 74, 90
162, 163 Anticlerical, 161
Adana, 117, 121, 123, 223, 226 Anti-Cosmopolitan, 64
Administrative Council, 142, 150, 152 Anti-Freemasonry, 184
Admission Terms, 47 Arab Christians, 142
Al Afkar, 158 Arab Intellectuals, 27
Al Ahram, 163, 287 Ardahan, 40
Aintab, 122, 223, 226 Armenian Masons, 121, 123
Albania, 4, 40, 188, 224 Armenian Nationalism, 121
Muslim Albanians, 4 Armenian Orthodox Church, 44
Aleppo, 9, 10, 33, 76, 98, 122, 123, Armenians, 2, 4, 40, 44, 77, 120, 121,
137, 148, 161, 164, 171, 186, 223, 122, 123, 139, 201, 224, 225, 239
224, 226 Army, 40, 44, 64, 89, 96, 98, 110, 117,
Alexandretta, 10, 223, 225, 265, 268, 303 122, 139, 144, 165, 178, 197, 200,
Alexandria, 9, 15, 77, 89, 109, 113, 118, 225 (see also Military, Troops)
128, 133, 134, 135, 160, 162, 203, Artists, 10, 70, 160
206, 231, 238, 242, 258, 261, 262, Askale, 12, 169
265, 274, 279, 289, 298 Austrian Protection, 133
Algeria, 40, 208, 223 Austro-Hungarian Empire, 89
Ambassadors, 12, 84 Autonomy, 30, 40, 51, 70, 74, 77, 142, 215
American Missionary Hospital, 192, Awqaf, 14
195 Al-Azhar University, 68
American University of Beirut, AUB,
112, 190, 192, 194, 200, 201, 205, Balkans, 29, 33
209, 223 Balta Liman, 88
Sommer_Index.indd 304 11/15/2014 6:25:06 PM

INDEX 305
Batrun, 150, 152 Cohesion, 31, 121, 151, 213, 215

Al Bayyan, 113 Commercial Interest, 42, 144
Benevolent Fund, 156, 181 Commercial Relations, 141
Berats, 88 Committee for Union and Progress,
Berlin Congress, 34, 107, 223 111, 134, 135
Bessarabia, 40 Concessions, 6, 30, 40, 87, 88, 90, 143,
Black balling, 58 152
Bosnia-Herzegovina, 40, 223 Confessional System, 144
Brazil, 126, 136, 147, 158, 159, 178, Confessionalism, 43
206 Confrontation, 43
Britain, 9, 51, 53, 126, 136, 139, 154, Congregational and Presbyterian
223, 225 Missionaries, 132
British Colonies, 64, 65 Conspiracy, 24, 25, 134
British Colony of Beirut, 89 Constitution, 8, 30, 33, 34, 62, 75, 79,
British Empire, 5, 6, 9, 65 107, 108, 124, 134, 139, 160, 167,
British Freemasonry, 9, 64 178, 179, 222, 223, 224
British Government, 10, 78, 96, 135 Converts, 132, 133, 274
British Secret Service Bureau, 81 Cosmopolitan, 8, 12, 18, 37, 45, 59, 61,
Brotherhood, 3, 10, 16, 18, 52, 53, 59, 62, 64, 65, 66, 69, 71, 213
62, 69, 70, 76, 79, 94, 128, 150, Crete, 40, 65, 135
199, 211, 216, 217 Crimea, 9, 29, 39
Bulgaria, 40, 107, 223, 224 Crimean War, 9, 39
Byzantine State, 77 Cultivation, 66
Cultures, 28, 48, 62, 64, 66
Cairo, 9, 15, 51, 52, 68, 76, 77, 81, 110, Cyprus, 40, 77, 189
113, 118, 128, 133, 134, 162, 184, Cyrenaica, 40
192, 224, 226, 229, 230, 231
Capitalism, 38, 53, 86, 87, 142, 153 Dalil Hims, 184, 231
Global Capitalism, 53, 153 Darwinism, 50, 51, 102, 112
Capitulations, 6, 41, 84, 85, 88, 121, Debt, 41, 42, 87, 107, 121
139, 143, 221 Decentralisation Party, 184
Catholic Theology, 57 Decision-Making, 33, 49, 66, 90
Caucasus, 29 Democratisation, 65
Censorship, 23, 35, 51, 57, 69, 70, 106, Depression, 41
167, 173, 249, 254, 292 Dervishes, 170
Christianity, 12, 47, 55, 97 District Grand Lodge of Syria, 83, 107
Civil Rights, 49 District Grand Master, 76, 77, 133
Civil Unrest, 71, 84, 143 Disturbances, 1, 36, 42, 43, 84, 95
Civilised Nations, 63, 71 Dogmatism, 65
Civility, 51 Domestication, 48
Clergy, 72, 108, 109, 114, 116, 117, Donors, 22, 41, 197
123, 142, 144, 148, 150, 151, Douma, 148
152, 156 Druzes, 1, 42, 84, 140, 141, 143, 152
Code of Ethics, 37 Dualism, 38, 39, 53

Economic Activity, 42 Framework, 5, 6, 32, 44, 60, 61, 65, 67,

Economic Penetration, 28, 41, 44, 77, 85 94, 95, 98, 142, 219
Edinburgh, 20, 73, 95, 107, 153, 155, France,
178, 179, 182, 199, 210 French Freemasons, 75
Education, French Intervention, 43, 84, 140
Educational Institutions, 7, 12, 87, French Mandate, 96, 181, 191, 193,
116, 123, 167, 168, 188, 212 204
Educational System, 215 French Policy, 148
Educators, 70 French Revolution, 24, 25, 39, 69, 74,
Scientific Education, 75 116, 134, 147, 161
Secular Education, 49 (see also Third Republic, 9
Secular) Fraternal Association, 124
Effendis, 87 Free Church of Scotland, 146, 157
Elite, 4, 7, 11, 26, 27, 37, 46, 55, 57, 62, Freedom of Conscience, 74, 75
68, 70, 71, 75, 79, 87, 92, 93, 99,
124, 141, 190, 206 Georgians, 133
Elitist, 37, 48, 57, 58, 62, 162, 179 Germany, 40, 66, 139, 190, 191, 237,
Emancipation, 71, 163, 194, 217, 219 238
Enemies, 23, 44, 161 Global Business, 53
Enlightened, 35, 39, 46, 48, 49, 55, 62, Global Connection, 49
71, 75, 159, 163, 208 Global Market, 8, 28, 33, 91
Enlightenment, 5, 23, 26, 27, 28, 33, Global Status, 41
37, 39, 44, 46, 48, 59, 60, 61, 67, Global Trade, 215
74, 75, 94, 161 Globalisation, 28, 39, 61
European Enlightenment, 27, 28, 37, Governors, 85, 144, 150, 152
44, 60 Grand Committee of the Grand Lodge
Equality, 15, 30, 39, 55, 56, 60, 61, 62, in Edinburgh, 95, 155
67, 75, 94, 121, 147, 213, 219, 222 Grand Lodge of England, 6, 15, 20, 26,
Ernst and Falk, 59 74, 77, 78, 81, 96, 115, 116, 133,
European Freemasonry, 66, 80, 95 134, 135, 174
European Freemasons, 99 Grand Lodge of Italy, 2, 121
European Powers, 9, 29, 32, 38, 39, 40, Grand Lodge of Lebanon, 83
42, 87, 88, 100, 125, 141, 143, Grand Lodge of New York, 83, 174
157, 221, 223 Grand Lodge of Poland, 76
European States, 43 Grand Lodge of Scotland, 10, 20, 73, 74,
Europeanisation, 38 76, 83, 95, 96, 105, 106, 115, 116,
Exclusion, 55, 56, 59 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 135, 136,
137, 138, 139, 148, 153, 154, 155,
Fanaticism, 55, 71, 106, 148, 161, 163 156, 158, 174, 176, 178, 179, 180,
Fatherland, 67, 104, 218, 222, 228 181, 183, 185, 186, 188, 189, 195,
(see also Imperial Fatherland) 219, 217, 226
Financial Markets, 41 Grand National Lodge of Egypt, 26, 78,
Foreign Mission, 12, 42, 89 79, 80, 81, 98, 125, 128, 131, 137,
Foreign Powers, 5, 14, 41, 136 174, 178, 179, 189, 226

INDEX 307
Grand Orient Lodge of Egypt, 26, 78, Ideology, 31, 34, 35, 45, 51, 64, 66, 163,
81, 226 166, 188
Grand Orient of France, 9, 14, 15, 20, 57, Imbalance, 43
64, 73, 74, 75, 82, 95, 96, 105, 108, Imperial Fatherland, 104 (see also
109, 110, 111, 115, 125, 126, 137, Fatherland)
138, 139, 154, 161, 175, 179, 226 Imperialism, 65, 86, 88, 162
Grand Orient of Geneva, 76 Inclusion, 3, 4, 55, 56, 154, 180, 217
Grand Orient of Italy, 65, 73, 97, 122, Independence, 30, 40, 42, 48, 91, 222,
131, 200, 226 223, 224
Grand Orient of Lebanon, 83 India, 53
Grants, 43, 61, 122 Individual Rights, 45
Great Britain, see Britain Individualisation, 59
Great Powers, 133 Individuality, 51
Great Provincial Lodge of Turkey, 15 Industrialisation, 37, 38, 39, 141, 144
Greek Catholic, 12, 29, 89, 100, 141, Infrastructure, 63, 87, 88, 141, 156,
142, 143, 158, 178 167, 173
Greek Orthodox, 12, 14, 22, 89, 100, Institutional Regulations, 43
114, 141, 142, 143, 145, 147, 148, Inter-Sectarian Sociability, 216
151, 160, 165, 168, 171, 172, 173, Interdependent, 43, 68
174, 178, 188, 189, 193, 197, 201, Intermediaries, 23, 41, 88, 144
209, 233, 237 International First Aid Society of Cairo,
Guilds, 49 110
International Masonry, 63
Haifa, 85, 86, 87, 96, 113, 115, 123, International Organisation, 6
137, 223, 224 Internationalism, 45
Hama, 97, 154, 165 Interreligious, 7, 9, 208
Hamas, 23 Intervention, 32, 41, 43, 49, 84, 107,
Hamidie Society, 104, 105 140
Hegemony, 6, 80, 86, 88, 143 Al Islah, 161
Heimat, 66 Islamic Law, 42, 46
Al Hilal, 52, 163 Islamic Unity, 34
Hinterland, 33, 84, 85, 90, 145, 168, 170 Italian Freemasonry, 65, 66, 73, 97
Homs, 9, 96, 137, 154, 164, 175, 176, Italian-Turkish War, 121, 126
184, 185, 223, 224, 226, 227, 231
Human Progress, 64 Jaffa, 2, 81, 82, 113, 125, 137, 226
Humanitarianism, 76 al-Jam˓iyya al-Sūriyya (the Syrian
Humanity, 46, 47, 62, 63, 64, 66, 148, Society), 101, 208, 209
197, 213 Jaridat Tarabulus al-Sham, 50,
Hungary, 25, 136, 237, 238 167, 173
Hypocrisy, 68, 135 Jerusalem, 33, 81, 92, 117, 118
Jesuits, 110, 112, 121, 125, 147, 157,
Idealistic, 45 162, 191, 232
Identity, 4, 5, 6, 16, 19, 27, 28, 29, 33, Jewish, 25, 29, 48, 123, 134, 136, 162,
36, 37, 65, 70, 74 234

Jews, 24, 44, 47, 65, 162, 166 British, 5, 6, 9, 15, 48, 64, 65, 66,
Sephardic, 65 81, 136, 154
Al Jinan, 163, 208 Egyptian, 26, 52, 81, 123, 128, 135,
Journalists, 11, 51, 69, 70, 75, 100, 112, 136, 138
158, 208, 212 English, 5, 49, 74, 81, 133, 134, 135,
Journals, 68, 158, 163, 173, 202 136
Juif Errant, Le, 161, 162 European Grand, 15, 16, 19, 73–83,
Jurisdiction, 6, 85, 88, 95, 96, 97, 98, 110, 112, 126, 134, 185
115, 128, 131, 136, 137, 138, 148, French, 9, 15, 25, 26, 49, 66, 73, 74,
158, 174, 178, 179 75, 76, 138, 147
German, 63, 65, 66
Kars, 40 Greek, 77
Kennedy Memorial Hospital, 168, 169, Irish, 5
192 Italian, 2, 65, 66, 73, 81
Kosmopolis, 61 Ottoman, 1–20, 25, 26, 44, 55, 56,
66, 71, 76–81, 94–101, 104–113,
Laïcité, 65, 116 121, 124, 125, 126, 128, 131, 133,
Land Law, 32, 33, 43 135, 136, 137, 158, 160, 174, 178,
Landlords, 142, 144 179, 180, 185, 186, 194, 195, 206,
Landowners, 42, 100, 102, 110, 142, 209, 216, 218, 226, 227
144, 145, 152, 178 Scottish, 5, 74, 80, 96, 109, 114, 136,
Lattakia, 85, 184, 199, 224 139, 148, 149, 179, 182, 186
Law of Ottoman Nationality, 32 Syrian, 1, 2, 7, 9, 10, 12, 16, 17, 18,
Levant, 9, 24, 76, 213 44, 55, 80, 95, 105, 124, 136, 180,
Lewis Affair, 102, 112, 192 185, 218
Liberation, 25, 72, 76 Turkish, 133, 134
Liberté, egalité et fraternité, 76, 116 Western, 6, 7, 66, 67, 134
Liberty, 15, 39, 52, 53, 55, 61, 67, 75, London, 20, 49, 74, 79, 123, 134, 136,
121, 147 189
Libya, 40, 73, 119 Loyalty, 7, 31, 35, 48, 69, 70, 91, 94,
Lions, 190, 211, 212, 213 120, 133, 137, 151, 167, 171, 173
Literature, 24, 51, 69, 206, 207, 208, Lyon, 9, 108, 151
209, 232
Local Power Base, 42 Mabahith, 209
Local Production, 42, 43 Macedonia, 40
Lodge Hopping, 16, 81, 126, 133, 139, Majority, 30, 40, 42, 44, 48, 50, 52, 55,
149 69, 71, 74, 86, 89, 133, 142, 149,
Lodge Meetings, 10, 20, 21, 49, 52, 74, 160, 162, 167, 169, 171, 178, 181
77, 95, 103, 113, 115, 126, 131, Market Economy, 143
156, 159, 173, 178, 180, 181, 183, Marmara Sea, 4, 37
184, 185, 186, 187, 194, 213, 216, Maronite Church, 142, 147, 150, 151
217, 219, 220 Maronite Clergy, 114, 148, 156
Lodges, Maronites, 1, 12, 14, 42, 89, 116, 141,
Brazilian, 126, 147, 158, 159 147, 151, 164, 178, 188, 235

INDEX 309
Al Mashriq, 24, 209 Multi-religious, 2, 49, 84, 103

Masonic Charges, 14, 65 Multilingual, 61
Masonic Culture, 16 Muqattam, 112
Masonic Grand Bodies, 6, 18, 73, Al Muqtataf, 51, 68, 69, 71, 111, 112,
75–83, 115, 124, 149, 217 204, 210
Masonic Ideal, 47, 63 Muslim Authorities, 44
Masonic Mirror, 99, 103 Muslim Benevolent Society, 101
Masonic Principles, 5, 18, 44–72, 156, Muslims, 1, 6, 12, 14, 29, 33, 35, 44, 45,
213 46, 47, 50, 54, 85, 86, 95, 97, 101,
Masonic Rituals, 58, 215, 218 115, 116, 119, 140, 143, 157, 165,
Matn, 150 166, 168, 169, 170, 172, 178, 181,
Middle Class, 8, 21, 33, 49, 90, 92, 94, 188, 190, 193, 213, 222, 232, 235
99, 100, 101, 103, 113, 116, 179,
188, 216 Nablus, 85
Migrants, 84, 86, 93, 106, 144, 148, Nahda, 6, 27, 28, 112, 159, 163
155, 159, 188 National Consciousness, 7
Migration, 5, 28, 29, 108, 159, 246, National Evangelical Church of Beirut,
279, 297, 298 The, 132
Military, 39, 40, 42, 43, 54, 64, 68, 75, National Grand Lodge of Egypt, 78, 79,
117, 151, 215, 221 (see also Army, 81, 98, 125, 128, 131, 137, 174,
Troops) 178, 179, 189, 203, 226
Militia, 144 National Movement, 7
Millet, 29, 32, 70, 237 National Societies, 63
Mingrelia, 40 Nationalism,
Minority, 33, 40, 42, 86, 173 Arab, 169
Mission Civilisatrice, 26 Armenian, 121
Missionary/ies, 12, 13, 20, 53, 64, 84, 89, Balkan, 33
92, 100, 132, 143, 145, 147, 168, German Romantic, 64
173, 191, 192, 195, 199, 208, 232 Romantic, 64, 68
Moallaka, 137 Turkish, 36, 78
Modern States, 61 Nationalist, 1, 7, 29, 31, 33, 34, 35, 45,
Modernisation, 6, 8, 27, 32, 37, 38, 39, 47, 59, 68, 69, 71, 77, 78, 79, 80,
40, 54, 55, 65, 68, 92, 168 92, 136, 202
Modernity, 27, 28, 38, 54, 55, 70, 87 Nationalist Entities, 71
Moldavia, 40 Nationalist Freemasonry, 71
Monotheistic, 65 Nationalistic, 33, 35, 47, 71
Montenegro, 107, 223 Nationality, 8, 32, 65, 67, 209
Motherland, 44, 91 Natural Sciences, 50
Movements, 1, 7, 23, 25, 29, 31, 39, 40, Network, 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 17, 20, 33, 36,
52, 63, 76, 78, 79, 108, 110, 134, 53, 56, 60, 63, 64, 65, 81, 87, 88,
136, 220, 227 90, 97, 98, 103, 108, 111, 126,
Mughara, 137 130, 141, 149, 163, 186, 187, 197,
Muhyiuddin, 100 207, 209, 213, 216, 218, 219, 220
Multi-ethnic, 2, 49, 84 (see also Social Network)

Newspapers, 51, 68, 87, 158, 163, 173, Pan-Turkism, 36

209 (see also Press) Paris, 20, 25, 26, 47, 49, 95, 98, 111,
Nineteenth Century, 9, 10, 14, 18, 24, 113, 115, 116, 117, 135, 175, 203,
27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 37, 39, 40, 209
42, 44, 45, 50, 51, 54, 61, 62, 63, Parliament, 34, 201, 223
66, 67, 69, 73, 78, 84, 88, 89, 91, Particularism, 29, 61
100, 104, 113, 122, 131, 134, 141, Passport, 57, 58
142, 145, 151, 156, 157, 159, 161, Patriarch, 29, 117, 125, 142, 150
167, 168, 170, 171, 172, 176, 211, Patriot, 71
215, 218, 234, 237, 238 Patriotism, 31, 66, 71, 120
Noble Edict of Gülhane, 31, 222 Patronage, 7, 9, 10, 15, 16, 73, 76, 81,
Non-Sectarian, 14, 124 100, 108, 122, 126, 134, 148, 174,
North Caucasians, 4 179, 185
Peace Movement, 63
Occident, 67 Peasants, 42, 142, 143, 144
Occupation, 54, 68, 77, 80, 96, 112, Philanthropy, 5, 16, 77, 79, 97, 107
117, 133, 165, 166, 205, 206, 219 Photographers, 117, 120, 163
Old Charges, 56 Political Freedom, 45
Opposition, 26, 49, 75, 134, 151, 167 Political Movements, 7
Organised Interest Group, 49 Political Parties, 60
Orient, 5, 9, 14, 15, 20, 24, 26, 47, 54, Port Cities, 8, 33, 49, 91
57, 64, 65, 66, 67, 73, 74, 75, 76, Positivism, 39
77, 78, 81, 82, 83, 95, 96, 97, 98, Power Relations, 64, 66
105, 108, 109, 110, 111, 115, 116, Pre-Islamic Period, 54, 70
122, 124, 125, 126, 127, 131, 135, Predicament, 48
136, 137, 138, 139, 141, 145, 148, Presbyterians, 89, 157
154, 156, 160, 161, 170, 175, 179, Press, 35, 68, 69, 105, 158, 162, 163,
185, 189, 200, 223, 226, 227 173, 178, 222, 228, 229, 230–238
Ottoman Bank, 40, 104 (see also Newspapers)
Ottoman Coast, 33, 49, 143 Public Press, 68
Ottoman College, 91 Private Sphere, 55
Ottoman Company, 104 Privileges, 15, 38, 43, 61, 84, 88, 91,
Ottoman Freemasons, 3, 6, 39, 66, 71, 116, 122, 124, 133, 140, 142, 181
78, 216 Profane, 16, 55, 59, 62, 63
Ottoman Grand Orient, 78, 81, 98, Professional Associations, 49
136, 137, 185, 226 Protection, 31, 43, 65, 75, 88, 89, 112,
Ottoman Orientalism, 54 122, 124, 133, 141
Ottoman Population, 31, 37, 41 British, 133
Ottoman Provincial Law, 90 Protectorate, 40, 80
Ottoman State, 4, 29, 54, 70, 168 Protestantism, 100, 132, 133, 208
Ottomanism, 32, 33, 36 Protocols of the Elders of Zion, The, 24
Provincial Council, 90, 93, 93, 166
Pagans, 47 Provincial Grand Lodge of Turkey, 15,
Pan-Islam, 34, 35 78, 97

INDEX 311
Provincial Grand Master, 76, 97, 155, 159 Romania, 107

Public Debt Administration, 41, 87 Rose Chamber Edict, 31, 32, 165
Public Sphere, 49, 55, 104 Rotary Club, 23, 24, 190, 211, 212, 213
Russo-Ottoman War, 34
Qa’immaqam, 166
Al Qahtaniyya Society, 98 Saida, 85, 117, 140, 141, 154, 157, 161, 194
Saint Joseph’s University, 12, 24, 89,
Radical, 4, 9, 25, 52, 64, 67, 75, 88, 92, 192
139, 159, 162 Salonica, 25, 77
Radicalism, 139, 162 Secrecy, 46, 52, 58, 59, 63, 79, 94
Radicalisation, 9, 52 Secret Societies, 26, 59, 81, 99
Railways, 41, 90, 121, 171 Secular, 6, 8, 38, 45, 46, 48, 49, 75, 92,
Railway Construction, 35 151, 152, 163 (see also Education)
Raw Materials, 41, 43 Secularisation, 48
Reform, 6, 7, 8, 25, 27, 28, 32, 33, 34, Self-Determination, 79
35, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 46, 48, Self-Help, 51, 52, 53
49, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 63, 67, 68, Self-Improvement, 54
75, 77, 78, 91, 99, 103, 104, 108, Separatism, 72, 215
111, 115, 141, 144, 152, 159, 160, Serbia, 107, 223
161, 162, 165, 169, 171, 172, 173, Shiites, 141
179, 208, 209, 221, 222 Shweifat, 182, 225
Reform Edict, 77, 172, 222 Shweir, 96, 111, 115, 125, 126, 137, 145,
Refugees, 29, 91 146, 147, 152, 155, 156, 158, 160,
Religiosity, 46, 193 161, 194, 224, 226
Religious Affiliation, 3, 5, 9, 14, 30, 31, Silk, 9, 42, 43, 100, 140, 141, 145, 151,
33, 35, 46, 47, 56, 70, 140, 164, 189
187, 199, 216 Sociability, 7, 11, 62, 65, 216
Religious Fanaticism, 71 Social Balance, 42, 141
Religious Gap, 49, 213, 218, 219 Social Communication, 49
Religious Tolerance, 5, 187, 194, 219 Social Mobility, 63
Renaissance, 27, 94 Social Networks, 4, 97, 141 (see also
Rescript of the Rose Chamber, 31, 32, Network)
165 Social Structure, 2, 38, 43, 77, 123
Revolution, 2, 7, 24, 25, 28, 39, 40, 52, Socialism, 52
53, 56, 67, 69, 74, 76, 78, 79, 81, South Marmara, 4, 37
88, 109, 112, 116, 124, 126, 133, Sovereign Grand Council of the
134, 135, 136, 137, 147, 149, 161, Memphis Rite, 79
162, 217, 220 Sovereignty, 62, 74, 85, 133, 220
Riots, 42, 43, 71, 222 SPC, see Syrian Protestant College
Risorgimento, 121 Speculative Freemasonry, 62
Rite of Memphis, 79, 125 State Loans, 40
Rituals, 16, 23, 58, 63, 74, 104, 179, State Reforms, 49
190, 194, 195, 196, 215, 218 Sublime Porte, 32, 38, 41, 88, 104, 114,
Roman Church, 44 142, 215, 216

Subprovinces, 85 Treaty of Karlowitz, 39

Sudan, 80, 194 Treaty of Ouchy, 121
Sufi Order, 170 Treaty of San Stefano, 34
Sultan, 7, 31, 33, 34, 39, 41, 44, 78, Tripoli, 1, 2, 3, 7, 12, 13, 14, 17, 18,
107, 108, 114, 172, 192 19, 20, 22, 33, 40, 50, 70, 85, 86,
Sunnis, 142, 143, 193 87, 96, 104, 125, 131, 140, 141,
Supreme Architect, 138 145, 150, 158, 161, 164–214, 217,
Grand Architect, 74–75 218, 224, 225, 226, 231, 234, 235,
Supreme Council of the Scottish Rite, 237, 238
79 Troops, 40, 144 (see also Army, Military)
Suspicion, 41, 45, 107, 114, 131, 157 Tunisia, 40, 107, 223
Symbols, 16, 31, 45, 57 Turkey, 15, 66, 73, 77, 78, 80, 97, 119,
Syrian, 121, 134, 135, 137, 160, 203, 225
Catholics, 29
Freemasons, 1, 7, 16, 69, 71, 81, 124, Ulama, 42, 93, 166
149, 185, 216 Unification, 67, 109
Identity, 70 United Grand Lodge of England, 6, 15,
Lands, 9, 81 20, 81, 116, 134, 135
Syrian-Lebanese Grand Lodge, 83 United States, USA, 105, 132, 145, 158,
Syrian Protestant College (SPC), 12, 160, 170, 191, 209, 210, 237
50, 51, 89, 92, 101, 102, 106, 110, Unity, 1, 3, 30, 34, 56, 69, 70, 72, 98,
112, 113, 117, 121, 122, 123, 154, 124, 154, 167, 184, 187, 215, 216,
158, 172, 194, 223 217
Syrian Society of Arts and Sciences, 101 Universal Solidarity, 62
Universalism, 37, 61, 63, 64, 128
Al Tabib, 110 Universalist, 62, 64
Tamaddun, 199 ‘Urabi Revolt, 79
Tanzimat, 25, 34, 38, 85, 104, 167, 222 Utopian, 47, 60
Taxes, 31, 41, 42, 85, 86, 87, 88, 144,
223 Vienna, 39, 49
Tax Farms, 31, 41, 43 Vilayet, 32, 33, 85, 96, 144, 164, 167,
Telegraph, 35, 39, 167, 171, 222 184, 223
Tolerance, 2, 5, 16, 45, 47, 55, 56, 64, Vilayet Law, 32, 33
109, 163, 167, 186, 187, 194, 197, Virtues, 27, 45, 51, 95, 138
208, 217, 219
Toleration, 28, 45, 94 Walachia, 40
Trade Relations, 187, 213 Weltanschauung, 39, 64
Traders, 9, 42, 88, 105, 108, 144, 145, Weltbürger, 61, 252
178, 186, 206 West, the, 1, 5, 10, 27, 29, 30, 32, 38,
Traditional Boundaries, 61 67, 68, 77, 80, 84, 85, 91, 92, 95,
Traditions, 6, 7, 29, 38, 50, 55, 73, 74, 99, 107, 192, 194
94, 95, 152, 175, 190, 193, 194, Western Affiliations, 134
215, 218, 219 Western Ideas, 28, 50, 193
Trajectory Analysis, 4 Western Institutions, 6, 7

INDEX 313
Western Languages, 50 Worshipful Master, 15, 106, 128, 131,

Western Occupation, 77 138, 154, 175, 180, 181, 188
Western Orientalism, 54, 243
Westernisation, 27, 37, 38, 39, 68 Young Turk Revolution, 2, 39, 40, 56,
World Exposition, 104 69, 78, 81, 109, 124, 126, 133,
World Fair, 104, 105, 106, 116, 203 134, 136, 137, 149, 162, 217, 220
World War One, 24, 66, 79, 85, 88,
108, 119, 139, 154, 160, 173, 174, Zeitgeist, 22, 49, 55, 75
178, 193, 194, 197, 202, 203, 210, Zionist, 23, 24, 136
224 Zionist conspiracies, 136

INDEX OF PERSONS
Abcarius Family 117, 118 Andraos, Adib 183

Abcarius, Amin 117 Antakly, George and Salim 158, 203,
Abcarius, Nassib 117 205, 206, 227
Abd al-Qadir 98, 100, 208 Arbili, Ibrahim and Joseph 112
Abduh, Mohammad 34, 50, 51, 52, Arnaout, Abdelkader 188, 227
68, 81 Arslan, Emin 111, 232
Abdulaziz 33 Ashi, Ahmed Effendi 127, 128, 129,
Abdulhamid 18, 33, 34, 35, 40, 41, 131, 159, 187,
78, 88, 91, 92, 102, 104, 107, 108, Ashkar, George Abboud 130
134, 136, 137, 139, 160, 162, 202, Assmani, Wadi 188
211, 220, 221, 222, 223 Attieh, Habib 178
Abduljalil Family 193 Awad, Iskandar 81
Abdullatif, Omari 184, 186 Azm Family 97
Abdulwahab Family 190, 192, 193
Abdulwahab, Khaireddeen 190, 192, Bandali, George 131, 132
193, 194 Barbour, Najib 112
Abed, Ibrahim 158 Barroudi/Baroody, Alexander 126, 137,
Abi-l-Lama Family 152, 156 147, 153, 154, 159, 177, 227, 229
Abu Nasser, Kamil 159 Bashir, Amir 100
Abu-Jamra, Faris 158 Bashir, David 148, 227
Abu-Jamra, Sa’id 158 Bassily, Antonius 207, 227
Abu-Nakad, Assad 158 Bassily, Assad 207
Achou, Selim 109, 227 Batashe, George 193, 211
Adhamy, Yasser 181, 182 Bayhum Family 101
Afghani, Jamal al-Din 34, 50, 52, 68, Bayhum, Hassan 101
78, 79, 216 Berbari, Wadih 155
Aftimus, J.F. 106 Bey Hamade, Hamade 138
Ahmad Pasha al-Jazzar 100 Bey Zouain, Georges 149, 150, 152
Anderson, James 14, 46, 47, 56, 58, 65 Bey-Dagher, Canaan 149, 150, 152
Sommer_Index of Persons.indd 314 11/15/2014 6:25:18 PM

INDEX OF PERSONS 315
Bezjian, Zenop 122 Erny, R.E. 106

Bisbany, Nassib 189, 227
Bitar, Michel 138 Fadel, Antonious 178
Borghossian, Krikor 122 Fiani, Michel 109
Bort, Assad 193, 196, 197, 198, 199, Fakhouri, Bahij 182, 183
202, 211, 227 Fakhouri, Shukri 191, 192, 194, 195,
Boutagi, Shukri 113 210, 227
Brigstock, Dr. 102 Farrah Family 105
Buccianti, Vittorio 110 Fayad, Assad 109
Büchner, Louis 50 Fayad, Joseph 109, 125
Bulwer, Henry 77 Ferrier, Louis Gaston 108
Burnaby, Lieutenant-Colonel 96 Fuad Pasha 54, 55, 86, 157
Bustani, Butrus 54, 55, 56, 101, 117,
208, 218, 232 Gallais, Emile 109
Bustani, Nassib 104, 228 Gedai, Joseph 109
Bustani, Suleiman 104, 233 Gelegh, Habib 109, 227
Bustros, Nakhle 104 Gelegh, Joseph 109, 227
Gellad, Antonios 186
Catafago, Cesar 101 Ghoraib Family 199, 200, 201, 202,
Catseflis Family 170, 206, 207, 237 211, 227
Catseflis, Edouard and Rodolf 206 Ghoraib, Abdallah 189, 199
Catseflis, Iskander 209, 238 Ghoraib, Alexandre 199, 201, 202, 227
Catseflis, Jean 208, 238 Ghoraib, Salame 178
Cherrif, Hikmet 125, 227 Ghureiggeh, Salame 125
Churchill, Henry 101
Clarke, Hyde 15 Habale, Hamade 138
Colenso-Jones, G.L. 182 Habarjeb, Nicholas 155
Corseiri, A. 109 Habelin, Elias 101
Habib, Alexandre 203, 227
Dagher Family 151 Haggi, Loutfallah 108
Derghazarian, Eghia 122 Haggi, Nicolas 111, 138, 147
Diab, Antoine 123 Hagguri, Yacub 123
Dibs, Najib 113 Hakim, Bakhus 113
Dichy, Victor 183 Hakim, Hannah 184, 203, 204, 206
Dombrowosky, Constantin 109 Halwatiyya Sheikhs 170
Douba, Pious 210 Harris, Jerry 191, 192, 194, 195, 210
Doumani Family 203 Hasibi Family 157
Doumani, Alexander 157 Herder, Johann Gottfried 68
Doumani, Constantin 203 Hikimian, Iskandar 122
Drummond Alexander 157 Hobaika, Nimr. S. 148, 227
Durneika, Abdul Zataar 131 Howard, Alexander 81, 82
El-Malek, Mounir 186 Ibrahim Pasha 85

Eldrige, J. G. 82 Isak, Assad 111

Jafet, Nehmeh 152 Malik, Habib Khalil 117

Jessup, Henry J. 13, 146, 170 Matar, Ilyas 70
Jidaun, Joseph Jarjar 123 Merhej, Moussah 152
Jisr, Hussein 50, 51, 68, 167, 170, Mehmed Emin Ali Pasha 32
173 Mehmed Fu’ad Pasha 32
Midhat Pasha 168
Kafrouni, Ibrahim 113 Mikati, Noureddin 183
Kanawati, Joseph R. 106 Mishaqa Family 70, 100
Kassab, Amin 138 Mishaqa, Mikha’il 70, 100, 101, 232
Kassab, Salim 138, 152 Mishaqa, Nassif 100
Kehyayan, Armenag 120 Mishaqa, Salim 98, 123
Khairallah, Dagher 152 Mishriq, Elias 147
Khouly, Ibrahim 210 Mishriq, Faris 114, 115, 128, 147, 148,
Khouri, I. E. 160 159
Khoury, Boutros 183 Monasterski, Louis 109, 227
Klat Family 201, 202 Monkara, Mahmud 185, 211, 227
Klat, Lutfallah 201, 202, 231, 315 Morris, Robert 24, 82
Klat, Toufik 201, 202 Moussorany, Rashid 184, 185
Koller, Eduard 103 Mujais, David 159, 160, 161
Kulph, Jules 109 Muqaddim, Hassan and Ismail 212
Kusa Family 151 Murad V 33, 107
Mustafa Rashid Pasha 32
Lahoud Family 151 Muzaffer Pasha 150
Lahoud, Elias 151
Lahoud,Faris Gibrael 151 Nahhas, Anton 109, 125
Lair, Edouard 125, 227 Nahhas, Moussa 178
Lambert, Alphonse 108 Nahhas, Sami 178, 184, 236
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim 59, 60 Nahoul, David 154
Lewis, Edwin 50, 102, 112, 192 Nasser, George 159
Løjtved, Julius 102 Naufal, Ibrahim 147
Lord Cromer 51 Naufal, Nicula Lutfallah 166, 167
Lord Kitchener 80 Naufal, Selim 101
Lowther, Gerard 134, 135, 136 Naum Pasha 151
Lutfi, Michael 210 Nelson, W.S. 110
Lyon, Fahd 160 Nimr, Faris 51, 52, 69, 71, 102, 110,
111, 112, 148, 227, 230, 233
Mabro, Toufik 203 Noureddin Effendi 82
Magelssen, William B. 145
Mahmud II 166, 192 Ofaish, Assad 153, 154
Majdalani, Michail G. 123 Oweida Family 198, 211
Majdalani, Towfik 123 Oweida, Mustafa 198, 199
Makarius, Shahin 106, 110, 111, 112,
168 Poladian, Deervelt 122
Malek, Habib 178 Post, George 110

INDEX OF PERSONS 317
Prince Halim Pasha 79 Sursock Family 105, 114, 217

Prince Lucien Murat 75 Sursock, Alexandre 109, 189
Sursock, George Dimitri 100, 109, 110,
Qudsi, Joseph Elias 112 111, 137, 138, 153, 154, 161, 175,
177, 184, 189, 227
Rahmé, Michel 178 Sursock, Jean 109, 189
Ramsay, Andrew Michael 62 Sursock, Najib 104
Rayess, Khalil 106, 137, 138, 227
Rayess, Selim G. 138 Takvorian, Boghos Effendi 123
Rifai, Arif 173 Taqla Family 163
Rihani, Amin 159 Telemagen, Moyssiades 109
Rizcalla, Loutfallah 109 Trad Family 113, 114, 115, 217
Robertson, Felix 118 Trad, Alexandre 114
Robertson, James 118 Trad, Benjamin 114
Trad, Elias 114
Sa’ad, Habib 152 Trad, Najib 114
Saikali, Raji 104 Trad, Petro 115
Sakakini Bey, Yusuf 135 Trad, Selim 114
Salhab, George 125, 148, 227
Salloum, Michel 185 Umari Family 170
Sarkissian, Philippe 122
Sarrafian Brothers 118, 120 Van Dyck, Cornelius 101, 232
Sarrafian, Abraham 118, 119 Vasa Pasha 151
Sarrafian, Boghos 118
Sarruf, Yacoub 51, 52, 69, 71, 102, 110, Wortabet, Yuhanna 101
111, 112, 229, 233
Sawaya, George 161 Yanni, Constantin 184, 185, 231,
Shadhiliyya Order 170 Yanni, Jurji 70, 71, 137, 181, 184, 185,
Shahlaoui, Habib 159 186, 207, 208, 209, 227, 231, 233,
Shakhtuf, Michel 128 237
Shalhoub Family 148 Yanni, Mikhail 207, 208
Shalhoub, Antoine 148 Yanni, Samuel 117, 184, 185, 208
Shama’un Family 158 Yaziji, Ibrahim 110, 111, 113, 229, 233
Shaykhu, Louis 24, 25 Yaziji, Nasif 101
Shehab Family 151, 152 Yaziji, Rashid 178, 184
Shehab, Fatik 157 Yaziji, Yasper 189
Shehab, Malik 158 Youssef Pasha 161
Shibli Family 113
Shibli, Wadi 113 Zabliet, Habib 178
Shoukair, Esper 138 Zaidan, Jurji 10, 51, 52, 102, 163, 216,
Shweiry, Selim S. 126 231
Smiles, Samuel 51, 52, 53 Zalzal, Bishara 113, 229
Smith, Eli 101, 232 Zehiel, Elias 178
Smith, John Corson 105, 106, 112 Zouhair, Mahomoud 183


Freemasonry in The Ottoman Empire A History of The Fraternity and Its Influence in Syria and The Levant 9780755607938 9781780763132 - Compress

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Dedicated to my parents

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p. 3 Figure 1: El Mina in the Late Ottoman Empire (courtesy

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p. 129 Figure 11: Masonic Certificate from 1905 (courtesy of

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I would be more than happy to be the only person responsible for

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I had to choose between the International Journal for Middle Eastern

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GLoS: Grand Lodge of Scotland

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This research examines the socio-cultural structures of masonic lodges

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Ottoman society was traditionally based on affiliations determined

Figure 1 El Mina in the Late Ottoman Period (courtesy of the Municipality of

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Consequently, it is argued here that historians of the Middle East

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In Thomas Philipp’s words, ‘[t]he role of the Freemasons in the

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feature of the nahda, a cultural reform movement led by Arab intel-

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powers. A Western institution automatically had more rights and

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In his study on three distinct Ottoman regions (the coast, the

The port-city intellectual possessed a distinct social habitus in

The middle class individual that Emrence describes is exactly the

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It is no coincidence that freemasonry in this area of Greater Syria

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brotherhood gained a firm foothold in Syria.29 In his general history

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of so-called intellectuals according to the popularity of their creative

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Kadisha Lodge was founded in 1906, either in El Mina (Askale), or

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Figure 2 Map showing Missionary Activities in Beirut and Tripoli (produced in

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These insecurities stemmed mainly from the increasing loss of Ottoman

Sommer_Chapters.indd 14 11/17/2014 12:58:41 PM

In his work on freemasonry in the Middle East, the French scholar

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practice later adopted by Syrian freemasons.48 Hence, while Europeans

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Approach and Content

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nevertheless, had to compromise in order to remove the tension that

Sommer_Chapters.indd 19 11/17/2014 12:58:41 PM

to lodges in the Ottoman Empire. Nevertheless, I will argue that it

Sommer_Chapters.indd 20 11/17/2014 12:58:42 PM

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Historiography has moved away from internal perspectives or sweep-

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defining its meaning according to its influence on the general

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between 1798 and 1921 from a political and social perspective.68 It

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