Pythagorean Brotherhood

Founded around the sixth century BCE by the mathematician Pythagoras (of the famous theorem), the Pythagorean Brotherhood was both a philosophical school and a tightly controlled secret society. Based in southern Italy, its members lived communally, shared property, and adhered to strict rules — including long periods of silence for new initiates — while guarding their teachings from outsiders.

At the core of the Brotherhood was a radical idea: that numbers underpinned all reality. Mathematics wasn’t just a tool but a sacred key to understanding the universe. This idea was intertwined with beliefs in the immortality of the soul and reincarnation. Members pursued purification through study, discipline, and an almost monastic lifestyle that involved strict vegetarianism.

But the Brotherhood’s influence extended beyond philosophy. Ancient sources suggest it also pursued political power, embedding itself within elite circles and shaping civic life. Ultimately, that strategy provoked backlash. By the fifth century BCE, persecution and internal strife led to the Brotherhood’s collapse. Still, its ideas endured, profoundly shaping later thinkers including Plato and leaving a lasting imprint on Western thought.

Assassins

Active in the 12th and 13th centuries, the Assassins were a secretive Shiite Islamic sect known for their targeted political killings and unwavering loyalty to their leader, Ḥasan-e Ṣabbāḥ (also known as the “Old Man of the Mountains”). Operating from mountain strongholds in Lebanon, they built influence not through armies but through fear, eliminating powerful enemies with precision.

Their name is the origin of the modern word “assassin,” though its exact roots are debated. It may derive from the Arabic term asāsīyūn (“the faithful”), later conflated with hashshāshīn — or “hashish users” — a label likely spread by enemies to discredit the group. Over time, the order’s real activities became entangled with dramatic stories, from drug-induced devotion to elaborate initiation rites — many of them recorded by outsiders and difficult to verify. Even so, the Assassins stand as an early example of a secret society wielding outsized political power through secrecy, discipline, and targeted violence.

Knights Templar

Founded around 1118 during the Crusades, the Knights Templar were a Christian military order tasked with protecting pilgrims in the Holy Land. Unlike classic secret societies, they were a highly visible institution — sanctioned by the church and deeply embedded in medieval politics — but their internal rituals, hierarchy, and initiation practices were closely guarded.

As their power grew, so did their wealth. The Templars established one of Europe’s first international banking systems, allowing travelers to deposit funds in one location and withdraw them in another. Soon they controlled vast landholdings, lent money to monarchs, and answered only to the pope, giving them extraordinary autonomy.

That combination of secrecy, wealth, and independence made them both influential and suspect. In 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered their mass arrest, and under pressure, the papacy dissolved the order in 1312 — although their legend still lingers.

Freemasons

Formally established in 1717 with the creation of the first Grand Lodge in London (though their roots stretch much farther back), the Freemasons grew into one of the most expansive and influential secret societies in history. Evolving from medieval stonemasons’ guilds, the organization retained a structure of lodges, initiation rites, and closely guarded rituals that bound members together across borders.

In the American colonies and early United States, Freemasonry attracted an unusually high concentration of political leaders. Thirteen of the 39 signers of the Constitution were Masons, including George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, John Hancock, and Paul Revere. Lodges functioned as spaces where educated, well-connected figures exchanged ideas shaped by Enlightenment values — including constitutional government and republicanism.

Freemasons have long been linked, sometimes speculatively, to major political upheavals, including the American, Russian, and French revolutions. Whether or not they acted in concert, their real power lay in their network: a far-reaching, oath-bound fraternity that connected influential figures and helped circulate ideas that reshaped the modern world.

Sons of Liberty

Formed in 1765 in response to British taxation, the Sons of Liberty were a secretive political organization that helped drive the American colonies toward revolution. Originating in Boston and quickly spreading across the colonies, the group operated through local cells, organizing protests, intimidation campaigns, and acts of resistance against royal authority.

Their most famous action came in 1773, when members carried out the Boston Tea Party, dumping 342 chests of British tea into the harbor in defiance of imperial control. But their influence extended far beyond a single protest. The Sons of Liberty coordinated opposition to the Stamp Act and other policies, mobilizing public sentiment and, at times, using violence to enforce boycotts and punish loyalists.

Though less formal than other secret societies, they shared key traits: selective membership, covert operations, and a shared ideological mission. In effect, they functioned as an underground political network — one that helped transform colonial unrest into organized revolution. Paul Revere, John Adams, Samuel Adams, and other important figures of the American Revolution were all members.

Bavarian Illuminati

Founded in 1776 by the German law professor Adam Weishaupt, the Bavarian Illuminati was a short-lived but highly influential secret society rooted in Enlightenment ideals. Created in opposition to what Weishaupt saw as the oppressive influence of church and state, the order sought to promote reason, moral reform, and political change through a tightly controlled, hierarchical network.

Members were recruited from educated and elite circles — including academics, officials, and intellectuals — and organized into 13 graded levels of initiation, each revealing more of the group’s aims. Like the Freemasons (from which they took some of their members), the Illuminati relied on secrecy, coded identities, and internal discipline to bind its members and extend its reach across Europe.

Despite its rapid growth, the order lasted less than a decade. At its height around 1784, the Illuminati had around 2,000 to 3,000 members, including notable figures such as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. But within a few years the Bavarian government had outlawed the secret society, and its leaders were arrested or dispersed.

Almost immediately after being outlawed, the Illuminati became the subject of conspiracy theories linking it to revolutions and global power — a reputation that has endured ever since.

Carbonari

Active in early-19th-century Italy, the Carbonari were a network of clandestine groups advocating liberal reform and national independence. Their name — meaning “charcoal burners” — hints at their use of coded language and ritual symbolism.

Emerging around the Napoleonic era, the Carbonari became the primary source of opposition to conservative regimes imposed after 1815. They organized revolts, most notably the 1820 uprising in Naples, and helped lay the groundwork for the Risorgimento, the movement that led to the unification of Italy.

Despite their influence, the Carbonari were never ideologically unified. Some members favored republicanism, others constitutional monarchy. Their origin remains murky — they were possibly linked to Freemasonry or earlier mutual-aid societies. What united them was structure: secret initiations, hierarchical ranks, and a decentralized network capable of mobilizing dissent across the peninsula.

Skull and Bones

Founded at Yale University in 1832, Skull and Bones is one of the most famous collegiate secret societies in the United States, and one of the most exclusive. Each year, a small group of seniors is selected for initiation, joining a tightly knit network whose rituals and inner workings remain largely hidden from outsiders.

What sets Skull and Bones apart is not its size but its influence. Its membership has included Presidents William Howard Taft, George H.W. Bush, and George W. Bush, along with senators, judges, financiers, and intelligence officials. The society has long been seen as a pipeline into positions of power, with connections formed at Yale extending into the highest levels of American political and economic life.

While many details about its activities are speculative, its structure — selective membership, lifelong loyalty, and secrecy — places it firmly in the tradition of elite secret societies whose power lies in who they connect.

Bohemian Club

The Bohemian Club, founded in San Francisco in 1872, began as a gathering of writers, artists, and journalists but quickly evolved into an exclusive enclave for the wealthy and powerful. Its members — including presidents, business leaders, and cultural figures — meet privately throughout the year, most notably at the annual summer retreat at Bohemian Grove in California’s redwood forest.

There, members don robes, stage theatrical ceremonies, and socialize far from public scrutiny. The most famous ritual is the “Cremation of Care” ceremony, a musical drama held in front of a concrete owl. While the club insists these traditions are merely playful, the secrecy surrounding the gatherings — and the prominence of those who attend — has fueled decades of speculation.

More than a conventional secret society, the Bohemian Club is a rarefied social network where influence and access converge. Its power lies less in ideology than in proximity: a private space where some of the world’s most powerful figures can meet off the record.

Peace Sign

The peace sign — formed by raising the index and middle fingers in a “V” shape — is a casual greeting used today to signal acknowledgment and friendliness, but its meaning has shifted significantly over time.

The gesture first gained widespread recognition during World War II, when British Prime Minister Winston Churchill popularized the “V” sign as a symbol for “victory” in the fight against Nazi Germany. The gesture became part of a broader Allied campaign, reinforced by media and propaganda, and was widely understood to represent resilience and triumph.

In the 1960s, the same gesture was reinterpreted during anti-war movements, especially in the United States in response to the Vietnam War. Activists adopted the “V” sign as a call for peace rather than as a support for military victory, reflecting a broader cultural shift toward nonviolence. Because the symbol was already widely recognized, it was easily repurposed, helping it spread quickly through protest movements as a symbol for peace.

Waving Hello or Goodbye

Waving a hand to greet someone or say goodbye feels instinctive today, and while the origins of this social gesture are hard to trace, many researchers believe it may have developed from early signals of peaceful intent.

Anthropologists and body language scholars suggest that raising an open hand could have served as a way to show that a person was unarmed. Displaying an empty palm — clearly visible to others — would have helped communicate that no weapon was being held, making it safer to approach strangers. 

Over time, this practical signal likely evolved into a social greeting. The side-to-side motion associated with modern waving may have emerged as a way to attract attention or increase visibility, especially from a distance. Today, waving is used around the world as a friendly motion, though its form and frequency can differ across cultures.

Shaking Hands

The handshake is one of the most widely recognized gestures in professional and social settings, used to greet others, mark agreements, and signal mutual respect.

Historical evidence suggests the gesture dates back thousands of years. Depictions from ancient Greece — including reliefs and funerary art from the fifth century BCE — show individuals clasping hands in what is often interpreted as a symbol of trust, agreement, or equality. Like other open-hand gestures, the handshake may have originated as a practical way to demonstrate peaceful intent. 

From the 17th to the 19th centuries,  handshakes became increasingly formalized in Europe. While the gesture itself predates this period — appearing in ancient Greek, Roman, and Mesopotamian cultures — the modern handshake as a common greeting and symbol of agreement spread more widely across the European continent, where etiquette and social norms codified their use in diplomatic, commercial, and social interactions. 

Today, handshakes remain common worldwide, though customs vary, with grip strength, duration, frequency, and accompanying gestures differing across regions and cultures. In some societies, handshakes are lighter or combined with a bow, while in others they are firmer and more prolonged. 

Shrugging

A shrug — lifting both shoulders, often with palms turned upward — is a common nonverbal gesture used to signal uncertainty, lack of knowledge, indifference, or resignation. People often pair it with phrases such as “I don’t know” or “Who knows?” to reinforce the meaning.

The gesture works because it visually reinforces the idea that the person has no answer or firm stance to offer. As a purely nonverbal gesture, the shrug can be understood across many languages, but it’s most common in Western cultures, where it clearly signals uncertainty or indifference. While the precise historical origin of the shrug is hard to trace, the word itself comes from Middle English schruggen (“to draw together” or “to shrink”), which originally described the physical act of raising the shoulders.

Scholars also note that elements of the shrug — shoulder lifting, palms facing up, and raised eyebrows — appear across many cultures as signals of uncertainty or detachment. Few gestures capture one of the most human feelings of all as clearly as a shrug: the silent acknowledgement that, sometimes, we simply don’t know. 

Other Clinking Theories

One alternative theory, of no precise origin, suggests that clinking glasses was meant to frighten away evil spirits. In medieval Europe, there was a superstitious belief that evil spirits lurked in alcohol or hovered around celebrations. The high-pitched sound of touching glasses, according to the theory, would chase them away. It’s a nice idea, and there may be some truth to the story, but there’s scant evidence to support it being the sole, or even partial, origin of this toast ritual. 

Another theory suggests the practice was a way to complete the sensory experience of drinking. Sipping wine and toasting already involved sight, touch, smell, and taste — and the clink added sound, the last of the five senses. Historian Margaret Visser argues that clinking grew in popularity during the 17th century, when Venetian glassmakers perfected the art of clear, resonant crystal. For the first time, drinking vessels produced a beautiful ringing tone when struck together, and that sensory pleasure became part of the ritual.

The Bottom Line

The most accurate answer to why we clink glasses is also the least satisfying: Nobody really knows for sure. The toasting of someone’s health is an ancient ritual, rooted in Greek and Roman drinking culture and quite likely long before — and these ancient civilizations may well have knocked their mugs and cups together in rowdy celebration or solemn toasts. 

The more delicate clink likely became fashionable in the 17th century, when new glassware made the sound more appealing — and possibly because it gave people a way to maintain the communal spirit of shared drinking in an age of individual cups. The one thing that seems almost certain is that the poison theory holds no water, let alone any wine. Despite being the most widespread theory — repeated at dinner tables and now online — it is almost certainly a myth.

Sharing (Beds) Is Caring

For most people, sleep was also a communal activity. Beds were valuable — sometimes one of the most expensive items a household owned — and they were rarely reserved for just one person. Entire families might pile into a single bed, often joined by visitors. In inns or when traveling, sharing a bed with a stranger was standard practice. 

This arrangement came with its own etiquette. In a family home, women usually slept toward the wall to keep them safe from intruders, with men and visitors closest to the door. Bedfellows were expected to lie still, keep to their side, and avoid hogging the covers. Not everyone succeeded. Samuel Pepys, the 17th-century English diarist, even ranked his bedmates based on their conversation and behavior. 

Famous American figures weren’t exempt, either. In 1776, John Adams and Benjamin Franklin shared a bed at a crowded inn, arguing over whether to keep a window open — Adams feared catching cold, while Franklin insisted fresh air was good for one’s health — until Adams finally fell asleep mid-lecture.

Night, but Make It Hazardous

Before habits changed between roughly the 15th and 17th centuries, many Europeans slept on simple straw pallets laid on dirt floors. Even later, poorer households continued to rely on mattresses stuffed with straw or rags. In parts of Scotland and Ireland, entire families slept on floors strewn with rushes or heather.

Winter brought another challenge: the cold. Without central heating, beds could be freezing. People used bed warmers — pans of hot coals or heated stones wrapped in cloth — to take the edge off, though these came with obvious risks. And fire was a constant concern. A stray spark from a candle or hearth could quickly ignite thatched roofs, wooden beams, or straw bedding, turning a quiet night into a disaster.

Night air itself was widely thought to be dangerous, leading people to wear caps in bed or even cover their faces outdoors. Meanwhile, fears of burglary meant going to bed was often described as “shutting in,” a defensive act in a world where darkness provided cover for thieves — and, many believed, for witches, spirits, and other supernatural threats prowling about in the night.

When People Slept in Shifts

As for those unbroken eight hours of shut-eye we imagine in the past? Far from it. For centuries, many people slept in two distinct phases: a “first sleep” and a “second sleep.” After a few hours of rest, they would wake naturally in the middle of the night and remain awake for an hour or two before returning to bed.

This interval — sometimes called “the watching” in English — wasn’t considered a problem. People used the time to pray, reflect on dreams, chat, do light chores, or even visit neighbors. Some medical texts suggested it was an ideal time for intimacy, when the body was relaxed.

Historian A. Roger Ekirch has uncovered hundreds of references to this pattern across diaries, literature, and legal records, not just in Europe but around the world. Later studies have found similar nighttime wakefulness in places such as Madagascar, where people often wake briefly after midnight and nap frequently during the day.

Not everyone agrees on how universal segmented sleep was, but there’s growing evidence that it was widespread — and that our bodies may still be wired for it. In the 1990s, a sleep experiment conducted in extended darkness found that participants naturally fell into a two-part sleep pattern, with a calm, meditative waking period in between.

How Night Transformed

So what changed? Beginning in the 17th and 18th centuries, the conditions around nighttime, and our ideas about it, evolved. Street lighting, coffeehouses, professional police, and a growing culture of evening entertainment encouraged people to stay up later, while the Enlightenment helped banish the associations between nighttime and evil.

By the 19th century, consolidated sleep was the norm, at least outside rural areas — and by the 20th century, the idea of waking in the middle of the night had shifted from normal to problematic. 

All of which is to say: However restless your nights may feel, they’re probably still an improvement. Your bed likely isn’t crawling with lice, doubling as a livestock shelter, or shared with a traveling stranger. Modern sleep may not be perfect — but compared to 300 years ago, it’s practically a dream.

The Faneuil Hall Weather Vane

There’s an argument to be made that the 38-pound copper grasshopper on top of Boston’s Faneuil Hall isn’t a time capsule in the true sense, but it does kind of fit the bill. In 1742, a copper grasshopper weather vane was installed atop the structure. Later, in 1768, Thomas Drowne (the son of the master craftsman who built the weather vane) placed a note inside the body of the grasshopper entitled “Food for the Grasshopper.” The note, addressed to “my brethren and fellow grasshoppers,” mentioned some of the building’s history, including an earthquake that once toppled the grasshopper from its lofty position. 

After that first note was placed, people began adding coins and notes every time the weather vane was brought down for repairs, creating an inadvertent time capsule. Unfortunately, the weather vane, valued at around $300,000, was stolen in 1974. It was later found, but its historic contents were missing. The grasshopper was returned to its rightful place, with fresh notes and items added to its belly, beginning the process anew. 

The Massachusetts State House Cornerstone Capsule

In 1795, American revolutionaries Samuel Adams and Paul Revere placed a time capsule beneath a cornerstone of the Massachusetts State House in Boston. It was a ceremonial affair, with 15 white horses — one for each state in the union — pulling the stone to its resting place. The time capsule contained an engraved silver plaque, a medal honoring George Washington, and coins dating to 1652. It was dug up and opened in 1855, at which time more items were added — including silver and copper coins from 1851 to 1855 and a selection of newspapers. Everything was placed in a newly built brass box and returned to the original resting place. 

In 2014, builders doing work on the foundation of the State House rediscovered the time capsule. It was X-rayed and then carefully opened at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, allowing conservators to examine the long-buried contents. The artifacts were then placed in a new stainless steel time capsule — along with a mint set of 2015 U.S. coins and a silver plaque commemorating the latest unearthing and reburial — and returned to their location beneath the cornerstone. 

The Cathedral of the Good Shepherd Capsule

During restoration work on the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd — Singapore’s oldest Catholic church — in 2016, workers discovered a shoebox-sized time capsule beneath a foundation stone. The capsule was placed in 1843, probably by French Catholic missionary priests. When conservators opened the 173-year-old capsule, they found a prayer booklet and newspapers from 1843, along with 24 British, French, and Spanish coins from the 18th and 19th centuries. The historic artifacts were placed on public display in the cathedral’s heritage gallery. 

The Century Safe

In 1876, Anna Deihm, a publisher from New York, came up with the idea for a time capsule for the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia to commemorate the nation’s 100th anniversary. Unlike earlier time capsules, this one — called the Century Safe — had a specific future opening date: the bicentennial in 1976. 

A velvet-lined safe was chosen as the capsule, which was then stuffed with all manner of 19th-century relics, including a gold pen belonging to poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, a book on temperance, a scroll signed by members of the 44th Congress, and portrait photographs of President Ulysses S. Grant. 

The capsule was placed under the East Portico of the U.S. Capitol — and largely forgotten about. Thankfully, some diligent soul remembered the Century Safe just in time to have it restored and unlocked on schedule in 1976. At the opening ceremony, Senator Mike Mansfield said that the unveiling of the time capsule had fulfilled “the wish of a lady who sought to speak to us from the other side of a 100-year gulf.”

Gender Norms

Novels and their later dramatic adaptations helped popularize fainting, but Victorian society made it believable. Strict gender roles were the norm, with men expected to be rational and sturdy and women gentler and more fragile. These conventions helped reinforce the ideals that valued women as morally upright and composed, yet prone to emotional delicacy. 

Fainting, then, was a socially acceptable — even expected — way for women to express emotion: It was seen as just dramatic enough without being rebellious or excessive. A sudden swoon could signal just the right kind of femininity, perhaps acting as more of a social cue than a physiological event. Even mild episodes — a moment of dizziness or a need to sit down — were easily dramatized with props such as smelling salts carried around in beautiful cases, helping to punch up the cultural script.

The Physical Reality

Victorian fainting, of course, wasn’t all fiction. People fainted then as they do now, and 19th-century English life was rife with conditions that could make anyone lightheaded. Poorly ventilated homes that burned coal for heat; crowded and polluted cities; arsenic-laced beauty treatments and wallpaper; and even dangerous additives in food posed additional, very tangible, hazards. Add to that the weight of layered Victorian clothing, and it’s easy to imagine moments of dizziness. 

Of course, no discussion of Victorian fainting is complete without mentioning corsets. An essential part of the Victorian silhouette, corsets could indeed restrict breathing or affect blood pressure, especially if tightly laced. But historians agree that the idea of women regularly tight-lacing to the point of passing out has been largely exaggerated. Most women wore corsets for support, not spectacle; women of all classes were able to work or remain active even while wearing the everyday garment. It is probable, however, that corseting, along with these other environmental factors, did contribute to some lightheadedness and fainting during this era.

Fact or Fiction?

The image of women draped dramatically in parlors or fainting rooms — which, along with the famous fainting chairs, didn’t acquire their names until the turn of the 20th century — owes more to melodrama and modern imagination than it does to historical reality. The Victorian era had no shortage of medical issues, from infectious diseases such as cholera and typhoid to heart problems and complications during childbirth. But fainting wasn’t a persistent epidemic. Instead, it very likely became a myth that persists today as part of the broader Victorian idea of female fragility.