“Even after their techniques became well known,” says Reynolds, “the internal secrecy of the society remained.” The group was founded by the most talented British stonemasons, who banded together to charge premium prices for their superior techniques. Since the 15th century, the Freemasons have been the most influential international society with the longest membership list. Once upon a time, this image problem would have been unthinkable. After all, what’s the point of joining a secret society that wants to be open, transparent and normal?” “Surely some of the attraction for any potential member is that weirdness. “They’re a deist non-religion marked by a disjointed mixture of conservatism and high theater,” Vice summarizes. But if they’re seen as too boring, they risk alienating prospective members seduced by the glamour of it all. In short, the Masons need to seem rational and relevant. “It’s like the old guy trying to communicate to his grandson - how can they appeal to younger generations?” “Freemasons are seen as a group of old men, which is superficial in one sense, but also accurate,” he notes. Especially because of the Internet, secret societies like the Masons are doomed.”įilmmaker Aaron Franz echoes that idea. They need to keep the organizations going.
“For the Freemasons, their greatest concern is not the secrecy of the organization, but attracting new members. “Secret societies have fallen out of fashion,” asserts John Lawrence Reynolds, author of Secret Societies: Inside the World’s Most Notorious Organizations. Vice writer Dylan Brethour says it’s an attempt to solve its “centuries-old PR problem,” which is made worse by the public perception that the Masons are just a strange group of old men who like to wear costumes. Today in Minnesota and across America, the Masons operate like a public corporation that just happens to have some weird rituals. Turns out the true webmasters are the Freemasons, one of the oldest and most famous international fraternal organizations. The Illuminati is just one example of a no-longer-really-secret society that attracts online attention with a website and a PR firm (albeit a fake one). And often, surprisingly, this isn’t the result of being forcibly exposed. But it prompted my first discovery in my quest to uncover the secrets of secret societies: Most of them have an online presence. Instead of a foreboding, secretive-looking structure, I came upon an out-of-service gas station. The vaguely Italianate-sounding rep listed on the agency’s otherwise bare-bones website, Helen Milano, wasn’t answering my emails, so I drove to the Beverly Hills address listed on the site. The Illuminati deems itself “an elite organization of world leaders, business authorities, innovators, artists and other influential members of this planet.” It enlists a PR firm that caters to “planetary influencers” like religious movements, global corporations and heads of state.
#The secret society inside secrets archive
Photography provided by Jason Schmidt/Trunk Archive I haven’t been tapped to join one, which makes me all the more curious: Do they still exist? And in today’s world, is anyone actually joining? What had compelled me to sneak a peek at the goings-on behind OTO’s (appropriately, as it turns out) closed doors? Like most Americans, I have a mild obsession with secret societies. Nodding casually at no one in particular, I avoided all eye contact until the ceremony ended then backed out of the room and raced to my car. Seconds before all eyes were fixed on me, I mumbled to the man next to me that he could take my spot.
As my turn approached, my mind frantically raced: How could I escape? Watching members stand one by one, I realized I was supposed to stand alone, kneel before the nude “priestess” and recite the OTO creed. True panic set in when “communion” began. In sheer Midwestern Catholic shock, I found myself staring open-mouthed at a nude woman propped up on the altar, apparently a key element of the ritual. That is, until they were no longer robe-clad. I attempted to maintain a casual expression that conveyed “Sure, I participate in secret ritualistic dramas all the time” as I watched the robe-clad members of OTO’s Los Angeles chapter conduct quasi-Masonic rites of rebirth. Monastic chanting and cloyingly sweet incense enveloped me as I sat along the perimeter of the ceremony room of clandestine fraternal society Ordo Templi Orientis.