Building Men, Not Butterflies

 This proverb is usually attributed to an anonymous modern source:

"If you spend your time chasing butterflies, they will fly away. But if you spend your time building a beautiful garden, the butterflies will come to you. And if they don't, you still have a beautiful garden."

For reasons both personal and Masonic, that proverb has always spoken to me. I was raised a Master Mason in Mariposa Lodge No. 24 in California. Mariposa, appropriately enough, is the Spanish word for "butterfly." Perhaps that is why this simple proverb has lingered in my thoughts for years. It captures, in a few sentences, a truth that Freemasonry has been teaching for centuries.

The butterflies are not the point.

The garden is.

Perhaps the greatest misunderstanding in Freemasonry is believing that our purpose is fellowship.

Certainly, fellowship is one of the great blessings of the Craft. We enjoy dinners together. We gather for barbecues. We hold social nights, pancake breakfasts, family events, and festive boards. We laugh together, mourn together, and form friendships that sometimes last a lifetime. These moments strengthen the bonds between Brothers and enrich the life of the lodge.

But they are not why Freemasonry exists.

They are the butterflies.

The garden is the man.

No barbecue has ever transformed a man's character. A steak dinner has never taught integrity. Ice cream socials, game nights, and potlucks may strengthen relationships that already exist, but they do not, by themselves, build better men. Fellowship is valuable, but it is the fruit of Masonry—not its foundation.

The working tools remind us of that truth.

The Common Gavel removes the roughness of our character. The Chisel develops our abilities through education and discipline. The Square teaches morality. The Plumb demands uprightness before God and man. The Level reminds us of our equality. Even the Trowel, so often associated with Brotherly Love and Affection, assumes that the stones have already been prepared before they are joined together.

An operative mason would never attempt to repair a cracked stone simply by spreading more mortar over it. Mortar binds sound stones together; it does not restore structural integrity to damaged ones. At best, it conceals the defect for a while. Eventually, time exposes what was always there.

The same is true in Masonry.

Sometimes we mistake activity for accomplishment. We become convinced that if we schedule enough dinners, enough family nights, enough social events, enough fundraisers, enough entertainment, fellowship will somehow flourish.

But butterflies cannot be chased.

They arrive because the garden is healthy.

Likewise, genuine fellowship cannot be manufactured through calendars filled with events. It grows naturally when men are sincerely engaged in improving themselves together. Men who are striving to become wiser naturally enjoy the company of other men pursuing wisdom. Men committed to honesty are drawn toward honest men. Men who labor side by side with the working tools inevitably develop friendships rooted in shared purpose rather than shared recreation.

Scripture teaches the same principle.

Christ said,

"But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you." (Matthew 6:33, KJV)

Notice the order. We seek righteousness first. Everything else follows.

The Psalmist offers a similar image:

"And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season." (Psalm 1:3, KJV)

The tree never chases fruit. It simply grows where it has been planted. Fruit becomes the evidence of health, not the objective of life.

So it is with Masonry.

When we focus first on building better men, fellowship often appears almost effortlessly. The laughter around the dinner table becomes richer because it is shared among men of character. Conversations become deeper because they are rooted in mutual respect. Harmony becomes genuine because it rests upon integrity rather than convenience.

Ironically, when a lodge begins chasing fellowship as its primary mission, it often loses both fellowship and purpose. Meetings become social clubs. Difficult conversations are avoided. Standards quietly decline because no one wishes to disturb the peace. The Trowel becomes a tool for covering cracks instead of binding together sound stones.

That is not the work of Freemasonry.

The Craft was never established to produce successful social clubs.

It was established to produce better men.

If we succeed in that work, the butterflies often come.

If attendance grows, wonderful.

If lifelong friendships develop, even better.

If the lodge becomes known for its warmth and harmony, we should be grateful.

But if none of those things happen—if the butterflies never arrive—we still possess something of immeasurable value.

We have built men of integrity.

We have strengthened fathers, husbands, sons, leaders, neighbors, and citizens.

We have contributed to society in the way Freemasonry has always intended—not merely by entertaining good men, but by helping ordinary men become better ones.

That is a beautiful garden.

And perhaps that has been the lesson hidden in both the proverb and the working tools all along. Stop chasing butterflies. Pick up the tools. Build the man. The fellowship may come, and if it does, cherish it. But whether it comes or not, the work has still been worthwhile.

After all, butterflies eventually fly away.

Character remains.

What Does Your Lodge Produce?

I recently read a Facebook post by Masonic author John S. Nagy listing twenty reasons he believes contribute to the long-term decline of lodge membership. The responses that followed were every bit as interesting as the original post. Some brothers blamed bureaucracy. Others pointed to politics, poor education, oversized buildings, weak candidate selection, or a lack of community involvement. Several argued that the problem was not the institution but the members themselves. One thoughtful response observed that men join organizations for meaning rather than management. As I read through dozens of comments, it became clear that everyone was describing symptoms. What struck me was that almost no one was asking a simpler and more fundamental question: What does a lodge actually produce?

Every organization exists to produce something. Universities produce educated graduates. Hospitals produce healthier patients. Businesses produce goods and services. Police academies produce police officers. Even organizations that do not manufacture physical products are measured by the people they develop or the value they create.

What, then, does a Masonic lodge produce?

At first glance, the answer seems obvious. Lodges produce Entered Apprentices, Fellow Crafts, and Master Masons. They conduct meetings, confer degrees, collect dues, maintain buildings, and elect officers. Yet those are activities, not outcomes. They describe what a lodge does, but not necessarily what it creates.

The distinction matters.

Organizations rarely become something overnight. Instead, they slowly become exceptionally good at producing whatever they consistently reward. If attendance is rewarded, they produce attendees. If ritual memorization receives the greatest praise, they produce ritualists. If longevity in office becomes the measure of success, they produce officeholders. If maintaining the building consumes most of the energy, they produce caretakers of real estate.

None of these things are inherently wrong. Ritual excellence is essential. Good officers are indispensable. Financial stewardship protects the future of the lodge. Buildings provide a home for the Craft. The problem arises when these worthy activities quietly become the purpose rather than the means to a greater purpose.

Reading the comments beneath Nagy's post, I noticed that nearly every criticism pointed back to this idea without saying it directly. Complaints about bureaucracy were really complaints that administration had become more important than transformation. Frustration over entitlement in officer advancement reflected the feeling that progression had become disconnected from personal growth. Concerns about quantity over quality questioned whether the goal had shifted from building men to counting members.

Several brothers argued that members themselves bear responsibility. They are right. A lodge is not an outside entity acting upon us. It is us. Every brother contributes to its culture through what he tolerates, what he encourages, and what he brings through the west gate each meeting. Yet even this observation leads back to the same question. If members shape the lodge, then what are we intentionally trying to produce?

One response particularly resonated with me. A brother observed that after World War II, Freemasonry became so busy making Masons that it gradually lost focus on teaching men how to be Masons. Whether one agrees entirely with that assessment is almost beside the point. It raises an important distinction between initiation and transformation. Degrees introduce a man to the Craft. They do not complete the work of the Craft.

Our ritual has never suggested otherwise.

The Entered Apprentice is taught that he stands at the beginning of his journey. The Fellow Craft is directed toward intellectual and moral improvement. The Master Mason is confronted with mortality itself and challenged to live a life worthy of remembrance. None of these lessons suggest that memorizing ritual or occupying an officer's chair is the destination. Each degree points beyond itself toward the lifelong labor of building the internal temple.

This principle appears throughout Masonic literature. Albert G. Mackey wrote that the symbolic teachings of Freemasonry are intended to cultivate moral and intellectual improvement rather than merely transmit ceremonies. Albert Pike reminded readers that symbols are not ends in themselves but vehicles through which deeper truths are discovered. The ritual exists to awaken reflection, not replace it.

The Bible expresses a similar principle. "For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he" (Proverbs 23:7, King James Version). External actions matter, but they ultimately reflect internal formation. Masonry has always claimed to be concerned with that internal formation.

If that is true, perhaps membership decline is not the disease. It is the symptom.

Healthy organizations naturally attract people because they produce something of obvious value. Men do not seek out organizations because they have efficient bylaws or balanced budgets. They seek places where they find purpose, challenge, fellowship, wisdom, and opportunities to become better versions of themselves.

A lodge that consistently develops thoughtful husbands, dependable fathers, ethical leaders, loyal friends, and engaged citizens offers something increasingly rare in modern society. Such men become the fraternity's greatest ambassadors. They require no advertising campaign because their lives become living testimonials to the value of the institution that helped shape them.

Conversely, if a lodge primarily produces meeting attendees, committee members, or officeholders, it should not be surprised when younger generations fail to see why they should devote decades of their lives to joining.

Peter Drucker famously observed that "culture eats strategy for breakfast." An organization can write strategic plans, revise bylaws, increase dues, lower dues, merge lodges, sell buildings, modernize websites, or redesign officer training. None of those efforts address the fundamental question unless they first determine what kind of men they hope to produce.

This shifts the conversation in an important way. Instead of asking, "How do we increase membership?" perhaps the better question is, "If a man spends five years in our lodge, what kind of man will he become?"

The answer to that question influences everything else. It shapes education, mentorship, officer development, fellowship, charitable work, candidate selection, and leadership succession. It determines whether ritual remains a living teacher or becomes an end in itself.

Perhaps that is the hidden thread connecting so many of the comments beneath John Nagy's post. Each brother described a different symptom because each has experienced Masonry from a different perspective. Yet beneath those varied experiences lies a common concern. We all hope that the fraternity remains faithful to its original purpose—not simply to preserve an organization, but to transform the men within it.

When future generations evaluate our lodges, they are unlikely to remember how efficiently we managed committees, how many motions we passed, or how perfectly we balanced the annual budget. They will remember the men we produced.

That may be the most important measure of a lodge's success.

References

Drucker, P. F. (2006). The effective executive. Harper Business. (Original work published 1967).

Holy Bible. (1769/2017). King James Version. Cambridge University Press.

Mackey, A. G. (1927). An encyclopedia of Freemasonry (Vols. 1–2). The Masonic History Company. (Original work published 1873).

Pike, A. (1871). Morals and dogma of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry. Charleston, SC: Supreme Council, 33°, Southern Jurisdiction.