restored to the British crowns, taking his hereditary seat in London. Although a popular and diplomatic monarch, Charles died without a legitimate heir, and was succeeded in 1685 by his brother, the Duke of York, who became King James II of England, while also being James VII of Scots (see Masonic and Monarchical Timeline, page 412).
In collaboration with such famed colleagues as the diarist Samuel Pepys (then Secretary to the Navy), James had previously revitalized the British Fleet after its abandonment by Oliver Cromwell. And, as James, Duke of York, he had named the American settlement of New York in 1664.1 But, despite all his expertise and former glory, James became a very unfortunate king. Plagued in the first instance by a challenge for the throne from his illegitimate nephew, the Duke of Monmouth, James ultimately fell foul of his old trading enemies, the Dutch. He and Charles II had declared war against Holland in 1665 and, during his reign as King James II of England (VII of Scots), this loomed large to confront him in 1688.
At that time there was a religious upheaval in Britain—mainly because of Quaker and Presbyterian movements whose popularity in the rural areas was undermining the supremacy of the Anglican Church. It was also not long since England had been a formally Catholic nation, and Catholics still constituted about a seventh of the population.2 In addition to this, there were many Jewish people in Britain and, throughout the reign of Charles II, everyone had been treated with due accord. His reign had been such a relief following the church-banning Cromwellian Protectorate that no one cared which religion their neighbour might prefer. But the Anglican ministers of James’s era were not so forbearing, and pressures (such as exclusion from trading opportunities) were brought to bear against those who did not conform to the Church of England doctrine.
James decided that, as King and Guardian of the Realm, he had a primary responsibility to the people before any allegiance to Parliament and the Church. On 4 April 1687, he issued a Declaration for Liberty of Conscience. It conveyed the ideal of religious tolerance and freedom for all, stating:
Conscience ought not to be constrained, nor people forced in matters of mere religion. It has ever been contrary to our inclination, as we think it is to the interests of governments, which it destroys by spoiling trade, depopulating countries and discouraging strangers. And finally, that it never obtained the end for which it was employed.
We therefore—and out of our princely care for all our loving subjects (that they may live at ease and quiet), and for the increase of trade and encouragement of strangers—have thought fit, by virtue of our royal prerogative, to issue forth this declaration of indulgence…and do straitly charge and command all our loving subjects that we do freely give them leave to meet and serve God after their own way and manner.3
It was one of the most public-spirited documentary pronouncements ever made by a reigning monarch, but it was more than the Anglican ministers could tolerate—a king who presumed to offer people freedom of religious choice. James had challenged their ultimate supremacy—he must be in league with the Catholics!
James had always been offended by the way in which the Church had abandoned his grandfather, Charles I, to the mercy of irreligious mobsters, and how the bishops had conformed so readily to Cromwell’s closure of the churches. He was no Anglican conformist, neither was he raised as a Presbyterian in the manner of his greatgrandfather James I. But, in attempting to grant an equality of conscience, he sought to repeal the restrictive Test Acts of 1673 and 1678, which bound those in public office to communion with the Church of England. His action, therefore, was seen to oppose the privileges of the Anglican clergy, as well as affording people a denominational choice over which Parliament had no control.
Much later, in 1828-9, England’s Test Acts were finally repealed in favour of Catholics (with the exception of the offices of monarch and Lord High Chancellor). Then, in 1858, the provisions were relaxed in respect of Jews, and the Scottish Test Act of 1681 was overturned in 1889. In Britain today, all religious denominations (Christian or otherwise) are afforded the right of worship according to their beliefs and conscience—precisely as King James II (VII) envisaged over 300 years ago. James was way ahead of his time, but his public popularity counted for nothing in 1688, neither did his earlier courage on the battlefields of France and Flanders, nor his years of relentless work for the British Navy. Because of his liberal attitude in religious affairs, the stage was set for James’s regnal demise.
The Revolution
What has all this to do with Freemasonry? In actual fact, everything, for when King James was sent into French exile in December 1688, the traditional masonic inheritance of the Kings of Scots went with him—as did his key masonic allies. This is one of the reasons why today the 33-degree masonic working known as the Scottish Rite (albeit, as we will see, now a contrived Scottish Rite) embodies rituals that are unfamiliar to the three degrees of English Craft Freemasonry (see page 308). For now, to complete the 17th-century picture, we need to follow on with the drama of King James.
James had two daughters by his first wife, Anne Hyde of Clarendon, as well as a young son by his second wife, the Italian noblewoman Mary d’Este de Modena. The elder of the daughters, Mary, was married to Prince William of Orange, Stadhouder (chief magistrate) of the Netherlands. It had been hoped that this alliance would calm the long-standing dispute between Britain and Holland over international trading rights but, in the event, it worked to the contrary.
Given the situation of religious unrest in Britain, William saw his opportunity to dominate Britain’s trade from within and, with approval from the Anglican Church, he put together an invasion force. Meanwhile, the Westminster Parliament in London had denied King James the funds to maintain a standing army in times of peace, so when William’s assault came he had no means of defence. What followed in this large-scale, but comparatively localized, revolution was as pictorially dramatic as any Hollywood screenplay.
With a substantial fleet of ships and around 6,000 troops, William of Orange disembarked at Torbay in south-west England on 5 November 1688. Almost immediately, he issued violent threats against James’s family. Consequently, on 21 December, James’s second wife, Mary de Modena (disguised as an Italian laundress), and their son, the infant Prince of Wales, were secreted from London by night. Taken by armed riders across the countryside to the coast in howling gales and driving sleet, they embarked a small boat for Calais. Mary then got word to her cousin, King Louis XIV of France, who sent courtiers to fetch her. Once in Paris, Mary was met by King Louis and presented with the keys to the Château de Saint Germain-en-Laye. (This royal palace had previously been the grand residence of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots 1542-87, before she also became Queen of France in 1559.)
Meanwhile, back in London, James received an ultimatum from his son-in-law, William. It stated that if James did not give up his crown immediately, then his family would be at risk. William was unaware that Mary and the prince had already left the country. Resigned to the situation, King James made a final gesture by throwing the Great Seal of England (the constitutional device of the English monarchy) into the River Thames.4 He then made his way to Paris and to the Stuart Palace of St Germain, which became his primary residence thereafter.
Following James’s departure, the parliamentary House of Lords determined that since he had fled, but not formally abdicated, there remained a legal compact between the king and the people. The throne was, therefore, ‘not vacant’ (although not technically occupied either). It was suggested that a Regency (with an appointed state administrator) was the best way to preserve the kingdom during the remainder of James Stuart’s lifetime, but William of Orange made it clear that he had no intention of becoming just a Regent—neither would he consent to sharing in government. His declaration was so forceful that there was an immediate fear of war, and many thought he would seize the crown regardless. A panic conference then ensued between the Houses of Lords and Commons, resulting in a decision that per haps the throne was vacant after all.5
