The Secrets of the Building Lodges by F.E. Farwerck

In ancient times, it was common in northern Europe to build with wood, as the rich forests provided more than enough suitable types of timber. In southern Europe, people also built with wood, but stone had already been used as a building material for a very long time. When various Germanic tribes, in search of fertile farmland—which the forested landscapes of northern Europe provided only sparingly—migrated into the collapsing Roman Empire during the so-called Migration Period, they also became acquainted with stone construction.

Up to that point, the erection of stone buildings had, of course, been in the hands of Roman, Greek, and Byzantine master builders. The first Germanic builders to work with stone were the Lombardic Magistri Comacini. They are known to us from the regulations issued by Rothari, the king of the Lombards who had settled in Italy at the time, in which he established the relationship between the client and the master builder. From the name by which these builders were referred to in these regulations, it was inferred that they were Roman builders who had continued their profession in the Lombardic kingdom. However, this assumption is incorrect, as the Latin name was merely a result of the fact that all laws in the Lombardic kingdom were written in Latin.

King Rothari (c. 606 - 652)

The name likely meant "the collaborating (co) master (magistri) masons (macini)," though this is not certain, and many other interpretations exist. Be that as it may, whenever we encounter the names of these magistri, they turn out to be Lombardic names, sometimes more or less Romanized.

The Magistri Comacini did not limit their activities to Italy; various Germanic rulers also summoned them to other European countries, where they not only constructed buildings but also taught the local populations the art of building with stone. This led to the emergence of groups of builders in northern Europe who, under the leadership of a master builder, traveled wherever churches and other structures needed to be erected.

Under the master builder, there were several stone masons—experts in working with and building with stone—who, in turn, had a number of journeymen and apprentices training under their supervision. Their work increasingly began with the establishment of a lodge, a temporary wooden shelter where discussions took place, drawings were made, visiting journeymen were received, and where apprentices were promoted to journeymen and journeymen to masters. Over time, the name of this wooden structure was transferred to the community of collaborating builders themselves.

It has often been assumed that church construction in the Middle Ages was entirely in the hands of the clergy. However, this has proven to be incorrect. While historical records frequently mention that a particular bishop built a church, this almost always means that he commissioned its construction—he was the patron, not the master builder. That being said, there were bishops and abbots who are known to have acted as architects, but from an early period, laypeople were also recorded as master builders.

We also hear about monks practicing manual labor, especially when it comes to the construction of monasteries. However, a careful study of the available sources shows that secular building lodges were responsible for a significant portion of the construction work.

In the northern regions of Europe, large-scale church construction naturally began only after the Christianization of the area, initially with wooden churches built in a traditional local manner. Later, inspired by the Lombardic master builders, stone construction emerged. As early as 804, we read about the layman Odo, who built the cathedral in Aachen.

Cathedral of Aachen

It is impossible to list all the secular builders mentioned in the early centuries of church construction, but their number far exceeds that of bishops and abbots who can be definitively identified as master builders overseeing works carried out by monks or lay brothers.

Each building lodge functioned as a closed community, and apart from those who received their entire training within the same lodge, admission was subject to certain conditions—professional competence being one of the most important. However, the exclusivity of the lodge made it necessary to establish safeguards to prevent unauthorized individuals from entering. In addition to verifying skill level, specific recognition signs were used for this purpose.

In the craft guilds, which later evolved from these lodges, these signs consisted of a gesture, a handshake, and a word. The gesture involved placing the extended right hand on the throat with the thumb positioned at a right angle. Evidence that this gesture was already in use among the building lodges can be found in a sculptural relief at St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna, dating from either 1147 or 1258, when the cathedral was rebuilt after a fire (see image below).

Hand gesture in relief at St Stephen's Cathedral

At that time, however, craft guilds had not yet been established—the cathedral was built by a building lodge, and this sign was apparently already in use there.

The handshake used in the masons' guilds involved placing the thumb on the knuckle of the other person's index finger and pressing it three times. It is reasonable to assume that the guilds inherited this gesture from the building lodges.

The specific word used for recognition has not been passed down to us. However, a distinctive way of knocking—used by a visiting journeyman seeking entry into a lodge—has been recorded. This consisted of two quick knocks in succession, followed by a third knock after a slightly longer pause. Several other recognition methods have also been preserved, all of which likely originated from the era of the building lodges.

Initiation rites were also among the lodges' secrets, though very little is known about them, and most of what we do know comes from the later craft guilds. To what extent the guilds faithfully preserved these original rituals is unclear, and they appear to have degenerated to some degree over time. However, given the prevailing beliefs of earlier times, it is likely that the building lodges also had specific initiation rites.

Among the most obvious secrets, as mentioned, were the trade secrets that apprentices and journeymen gradually learned and were required to master as masters. These primarily included the technical skills of properly working stone, shaping it into a perfect cube, and creating sculptures, among other tasks. The prohibition against revealing these trade secrets remained in effect for a long time, even when the existing regulations of the building lodges were documented in print in 1459. For example, these regulations stated that neither master, overseer, nor journeyman should teach anyone outside their ranks anything related to the craft.

However, even more important than these practical secrets were the architectural and geometric principles that guided construction and determined the proportions of buildings—principles that inspire admiration for Romanesque and later Gothic churches. Some knowledge of these proportions has been passed down in cryptic language, sometimes in verse form. While these verses were likely understandable to craftsmen of the time, they are obscure to us today. Many have attempted, with varying degrees of success, to rediscover the foundational principles of these proportions.

The symbolic meanings of various tools—such as the chisel, hammer, compass, measuring rod, and square—were also likely among the building lodges' secrets. However, the specific meanings have not been passed down to us. Medieval prints with alchemical imagery already associate the compass with the spirit (the sun and the day) and the square and measuring rod with matter (the moon, night, and the burial urn)(see image below). This symbolism was likely inherited from the building lodges.

Example of alchemical imagery with tools

The lodges did not operate in isolation but formed associations that secured special privileges from emperors and the pope. One of these privileges was that their members were not subject to secular or ecclesiastical jurisdiction but fell under the authority of the lodges themselves. Any offenses committed had to be judged within the lodges, with appeals possible to the central leadership of the organization. This provided the builders with a level of security that other citizens did not enjoy.

Since they formed a closed community, it was inevitable that they also discussed religious or political ideas that could not be openly expressed in the outside world. Occasionally, some of these ideas leaked out, but due to their privileges and their monopoly over the essential field of architecture, there are no known cases of persecution against them. Only in the final period of the building lodges do we occasionally find instances of master builders being persecuted for their religious beliefs.

The security that builders enjoyed within their closed circles likely made the lodges a refuge for members of other secret societies—groups persecuted by the Church either for heresy or for continuing pagan traditions. This particularly refers to the remnants of ancient initiation societies and ritualistic men’s brotherhoods, which have gradually become better understood over time.

With the spread of Christianity, these brotherhoods—originally dedicated to Wodan—were, of course, banned. However, they likely continued their rites in secret until this was no longer possible. At that point, they may have reemerged as neighborhood guilds (buurgilden), which officially aimed to promote mutual aid among neighbors. Yet, these guilds were also viewed with suspicion by the authorities and were repeatedly outlawed. Eventually, they found a new form in certain trade guilds, often named after saints—particularly in Scandinavia, where many records about them have survived.

Ultimately, members of these brotherhoods and guilds sought sanctuary within the building lodges, where they found peace and protection. We know this in part because elements from the earlier men’s societies and neighborhood guilds are clearly present in the building lodges and the later masons' guilds. Furthermore, various indications suggest that members of the building guilds were not ordinary craftsmen. For example, the poet Michael Beheim (1416–1474) describes stonemasons, singers, and poets together as striving toward higher arts, suggesting that their work was regarded as something beyond mere manual labor.

Michael Beheim

After the Christianization of these regions, paganism did not suddenly disappear. The ongoing struggle against it is evident from the numerous repeated prohibitions against pagan beliefs and practices, which clearly proved difficult to eradicate. If this was true for the general population, then it is even more likely that these old religious traditions persisted within the building lodges, which were shrouded in secrecy.

Indeed, there are many indications that the pagan spirit endured within the lodges. One such indication is a directive from Pope Gregory VI in 750 to the bishops and abbots of Hesse, in which he states: "The German builders working on churches and monasteries must be well cared for, and no violent conversion attempts should be made on them, as they may otherwise abandon their work."

Aside from the pope’s pragmatic approach—prioritizing the continued construction of churches over immediate conversions—this directive has significant implications. By the time it was issued, the Hessians had been Christian for at least a century, yet many of their builders apparently still adhered to pagan beliefs. There had evidently been attempts to eradicate these beliefs by force, prompting some builders to leave their work in protest. Furthermore, this directive confirms the earlier assertion that church construction in Hesse was not primarily overseen by clergy but rather by lay builders—since monks and lay brothers would not have required conversion.

The survival of pagan ideas among the lay builders of Romanesque churches is also evident in various symbolic carvings they incorporated into these structures. Most notably, they included ancient Germanic script—runes—which can still be found on the walls of many churches, even later Gothic ones, such as those in Dordrecht, Leersum, and Soest. Particularly remarkable are the runic symbols in the church of Borculo, though some were destroyed in the devastating storm of 1928. That these were recognized as pagan symbols is made evident by the small crosses added to the Ing-rune in Borculo’s church—an apparent attempt to Christianize the inscription.

Ing-rune at Borculo church

More significant than the presence of runes are the sculptural reliefs found in Romanesque and Gothic churches, which clearly reference pagan myths and heroic legends. Outside of Iceland—where the Church adopted a more tolerant stance—Christian authorities in Europe generally sought to replace these old stories with Christian legends. However, it is evident that these myths continued to live on among the general population and that medieval builders were well-versed in them.

Because the building lodges operated with relative autonomy and were less vulnerable to persecution than the general populace, their members did not always have to keep these myths and sagas—along with their lingering pagan beliefs—entirely secret. While they exercised caution, they could afford a degree of openness, even incorporating elements of these traditions into church architecture. When a pagan motif could be reinterpreted in a Christian way, it was often tolerated, even if the explanation seemed somewhat forced. Yet, at times, sculptors created works that resisted any Christian reinterpretation, further confirming that the spirit of the old religion persisted within the lodges.

It is impossible to catalog all the mythologically inspired carvings found in medieval churches, so we will focus on three primary categories: (1) scenes from the legends of Dietrich von Bern (Theodoric the Great), (2) depictions of gods with their sacred animals, and (3) representations of the Fenriswolf.

The legends of Dietrich von Bern revolve around Theodoric the Great, king of the Ostrogoths, who settled in Italy in 490. Though elements of his saga acquired a Christian veneer, they originate in ancient pagan traditions. One of these myths describes his battle with a dragon—a clear parallel to the Norse god Thor’s fight against the Midgard Serpent. In Christian tradition, the same story was later attributed to St. George and St. Michael, but among the common people, it was also associated with the increasingly legendary figure of Dietrich von Bern.

Dragon eating Sintram

A unique motif in Theodoric's dragon battle is the near-devouring of his servant Sintram, who is saved at the last moment (see image above). This aspect is absent from other variations of the story. A Christian interpretation of such an image is easy to construct: Dietrich represents Christ, the dragon symbolizes the Devil, and Sintram is the human soul, rescued at the last moment from damnation. But whether this was truly the sculptor’s intended meaning remains an open question.

A depiction related to this saga can be found in the Church of St. George in Bacherville near Rouen (see image below). According to its description, it represents St. George fighting the dragon. However, curiously, he does not use a spear or a sword, as is customary in Christian depictions of this theme, but rather a hammer. Now, as previously mentioned, the pagan dragon slayer was Thor, whose weapon was always the hammer Mjölnir. This suggests that the image was clearly influenced by the pagan god-myth.

St. George fighting the dragon with a hammer.

Odin (Wodan), the king of the gods, was always accompanied in mythological stories by two wolves or dogs, while his two ravens brought him news of everything happening in the world and whispered it into his ear. This god is frequently depicted in churches with his companion animals, and a particularly beautiful representation of this can be found in the church of Alpirsbach in Württemberg, where the animals have been fused into wolf-ravens (see image below). Just as Odin’s ravens were said to do, these creatures appear to be whispering messages into his ear.

Odin and his "wolf-ravens"

The two animals also appear separately, seemingly as decorative motifs, so that their inclusion would not raise any objections. This is the case, for example, on one of the capitals of the church in Quedlinburg (see image below). There, we see a wolf and a raven, with the former having a rope tied around its body. The knot is also an ancient symbol, frequently associated with Wodan as a guide of the dead and with his death horse. From this, we can infer that these are indeed Wodan’s companion animals.

Wolf and raven as decorative motifs

Among the mythological creatures was also the Fenriswolf, whom the gods, after many failed attempts, finally managed to bind. As a guarantee of their promise to release him if he could not free himself, the god Tyr placed his arm in the wolf’s mouth. When the gods did not keep their promise, the beast bit off his arm. The gods were overjoyed that the wolf had finally been restrained, averting great dangers for both humanity and the gods themselves. In the related myth, it is said: "Then all the gods laughed, except for Tyr, who did not laugh," which is quite understandable.

The bound wolf was placed under the guard of the harp-playing Eggþér. This saga is depicted in the cloister of the church in Berchtesgaden (see image below) on a column that is slightly heavier than the others. On the left, we see Tyr, reaching with his right hand for the stump of his missing left arm, and on the right, the wolf with the harp-playing guardian beneath it.

Tyr saga on a column

A similar depiction can be found on the Bankhead Cross, which still stands near Duplin Castle in Perthshire, Scotland (see image below). It is assumed that this cross was created by Norwegian settlers after their conversion to Christianity (or at least under their direction) by a sculptor who belonged to a building lodge or a related organization.

Bankhead Cross

The carving shows a mounted rider with a spear, who is likely meant to represent Odin, considering the four warriors depicted below him. Most notably, there are also two dogs on the side, beneath which two more warriors can be seen. These likely represent warriors from Odin’s army of the dead, the Einherjar, to which, despite Christianization, the deceased was still believed to belong. On the back of the cross, a carving has been deliberately removed, likely because it was deemed too pagan. However, on the other side, we once again find the wolf, with the harp-playing Eggþér depicted below it.

Finally, we present an image of a column in the crypt of the church in Freising, which depicts several scenes from Odin’s battle with the Fenriswolf and the wolf’s eventual slaying by Vidar (see image below).

Column in the crypt of Freising church

During Ragnarök, the wolf is said to break free and fight alongside the forces of destruction against the gods, the Einherjar, the light elves, and all other powers benevolent to humanity. In this battle, Odin is devoured by the beast, but his son Vidar avenges him. He pries open the wolf’s jaws by placing his foot inside its mouth—wearing a special shoe made from discarded leather scraps from shoemaking (which is why cobblers are not supposed to keep these pieces!). Vidar then slays the beast.

The sculptor of this column attempted to depict as many details as possible, which makes the composition seem somewhat unusual to us, as multiple moments of the story appear simultaneously and overlap in the carving. On one side, we see Odin, mostly swallowed by the wolf, and Vidar, whose distinctive shoe is clearly visible as he stabs the beast. On the other side, Vidar is shown placing his foot in the wolf’s mouth, grasping the creature, and in a third phase, stabbing it with his sword.

These examples could be multiplied many times over, but even from this selection, it should be clear that many elements from pagan traditions continued to live on in the building lodges during Christian times—undoubtedly forming part of their “secrets.”

F.E. Farwerck in Nehalennia, June 1958