Aristotle at the Trojan War and "Traitor Founders" in the NSA Hall of Honor

Another episode of the Bacon-Shakespeare debate – discussing the nature of self-deception in history and literary studies. Or about how "unsolvable" historical mysteries are created in science when researchers hide important documents and facts from themselves.

The irritatingly strange play Troilus and Cressida is considered one of Shakespeare's most "problematic" works for a variety of reasons. The essence of all these numerous problems has been dissected by literary scholars for centuries, but here it's useful to provide just one vivid example for illustration.

Usually, this example is mentioned simply as "the most famous of anachronisms" in Shakespeare's plays. But if you delve a bit deeper into the topic, the picture that emerges is not just strange, but far more interesting...

So, to start – the actual perplexing quote from the play. Act II, Scene 2, a fragment of a conversation between the three sons of King Priam, Trojan heroes Hector, Paris, and Troilus [o1]:

Although the reality of legendary Troy was confirmed by archaeological excavations only in the 19th century, even in Shakespeare's times, virtually all moderately educated people were aware that the Trojan War, vividly described by Homer in "The Iliad," took place many centuries before the philosopher Aristotle was born. Hence, the quoted fragment itself naturally causes surprise.

Upon closer examination of the quote, it becomes evident that Hector conveys the philosopher's words in a notably different manner than they are usually translated from Ancient Greek in the corresponding section of Aristotle's "Nicomachean Ethics". And precisely in the way Hector quotes Aristotle, these words can be found only in the works of one of Shakespeare's contemporaries, the English philosopher Francis Bacon...

All serious Shakespeare scholars, of course, are well aware of this strange and suspiciously coincidental "misquotation" shared by two famous authors who lived at the same time and in the same place but never mentioned each other in their works. However, scholars find it challenging to provide a plausible and (most importantly) convincing explanation for this.

More precisely, it's considered that the documents available to science are still insufficient to reliably clarify such mysterious peculiarities.

Among the documents of our investigation, however, there are quite specific and provably authorial explanations on this matter that have long been assembled. But to support them with especially strong facts proving the authenticity of the discovered documents, it's useful to look into a place quite distant from Shakespeare studies – the Cryptologic Hall of Honor of the United States National Security Agency.

This "venture into the NSA" proves doubly useful also because our Bacon-Shakespeare investigation incidentally provides an answer to a major unsolved mystery in the history of 20th-century espionage cryptography.

The Halo of "Traitors" and the Sacred Cow

A quarter of a century ago, in 1999, the leadership of the NSA decided to immortalize the glory of its invisible front heroes. To this end, a Hall of Honor was established in the NSA's Cryptologic Museum, with a special display – or Honor Roll – featuring memorial plaques and photographs of the heroes.

The trio chosen to lead this array of the nation's most distinguished cryptographers were three characters well known to us: William Frederick Friedman, Elizebeth Smith Friedman, and Herbert Osborn Yardley. The selection of these individuals is noteworthy because each of them carries a rather specific halo of "deceptions and betrayals."

How cryptographer Elizebeth Smith (née Friedman) came to acquire such an unpleasant halo will be discussed in one of the next episodes of the series. The story of how Herbert Yardley and William Friedman, rival colleagues, ended up being branded as "traitors" was covered in the previous episode [i1]. But there, only the backstory was outlined. Now, it's time to delve into the details of this dramatic and instructive plot.

After the publication of secret Japanese documents on the betrayal of certain "leading cryptoanalysts" of the USA, particularly H.O. Yardley, in L. Farago's book [o2] in 1967, a wide variety of researchers, both governmental and independent, scrutinized this story. The common outcome of these efforts, spanning over 30 years, can be considered the Honor Roll in the NSA Museum, which essentially cemented the researchers' consensus conclusion about the fabricated nature of the false accusations against Herbert Yardley.

After 1999, however, some cryptology historians continued to clarify this still murky issue of betrayal and compromise at the heart of intelligence affairs, since crucial questions about documents from Japanese archives remained unanswered. The research of John Dooley, a professor of computer science specializing in information security and author of several notable works on the history of cryptography, became particularly productive in this area in the 2000s.

The results of these investigations around the theme of long-standing betrayals were published by John Dooley in 2011, in the article "Was Herbert O. Yardley a Traitor?" [o3]. The key findings of this research can be summarized in two points.

First and foremost, Dooley's extensive searches in all conceivable archives – from the national archives of Japan and the USA to the personal archives of cryptographers and writer L. Farago – regarding the betrayal of Herbert Yardley failed to reveal ANY real document on this matter before the summer of 1931 [o4]. In other words, the secret Memorandum of the Japanese Foreign Ministry from June 10, 1931, prepared a few days after the release of the exposé book The American Black Chamber [o5] turns out to be, in fact, the only real compromising material against Yardley. Moreover, this material, which shows clear signs of deliberate "fabrication for history," is not supported by any preceding documents.

Secondly, John Dooley's thorough searches led him to an earlier – and highly unexpected – document in the archives of the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which must be quoted in full:

Confidential #48
Date: March 10th, 1925
From: Isaburo Yoshida, Acting Ambassador to the US
To: Kijuro Shidehara, Minister of Foreign Affairs
Re: Telegram Codes

Mr. W. Friedman, an American, from Cornell University seems very skilled in breaking codes; for he was engaged in breaking codes at the war in Europe (i.e., WWI), and he is now working for the US Army. When he came to see me recently, he mentioned that the US Army had no difficulty breaking codes. In order to prevent this, we have no choice but change codes very frequently.

Cryptology historian John Dooley commented on his unexpected discovery as follows [o3]:

This telegram, if anything, is more of a blockbuster than the Yardley allegation. Here, for what this author believes is the first time, is a report that William Friedman was in contact with the Japanese while he was a War Department employee during the 1920s. What are we to make of this?

Yardley is not mentioned in this telegram. Friedman was certainly in Washington during the 1920s. He was actively working for the War Department, and had been the War Department’s Chief Cryptanalyst since late 1921 [o7]. He certainly knew of Yardley’s bureau and it’s work. What could he have been doing talking to Japanese diplomats? Why is he apparently boasting to Yoshida that the United States can break Japanese diplomatic codes? None of these questions have been addressed to date.

To this series of inconvenient questions, "still unanswered," one must inevitably add another one. Or rather, two. The existence of the secret dispatch from 1925, informing about a leak to Japanese diplomats by a leading U.S. cryptoanalyst, has been known since 1967 from Farago's book (although this telegram was not found in the author's archives). So why, in the decades of research that followed, did no one besides John Dooley publish the contents of such an interesting document?

Even the highly respected among cryptography historians, David Kahn, known for his meticulous work with archives and who published a whole book on Herbert Yardley's biography [o8] in 2004, doesn't mention the secret Japanese telegram #48 from 1925 in a single word. What is the reason for such selective blindness?

These last two questions are added here, of course, purely rhetorically. Because with the joint efforts of both official NSA historians and independent cryptology historians, led by David Kahn, the role and persona of "the greatest cryptologist" William F. Friedman is to be portrayed as a kind of Sacred Cow of modern cryptology. An ideal and flawless "servant of science," almost deified and devoid of human flaws.

No one in the field, in fact, dares to study Friedman's life and deeds objectively. As those of a smart and talented person, without a doubt, but also in many of his actions, a person vain and weak-willed, duplicitous and envious, vindictive and spiteful.

Dealing with such human qualities of William Friedman among cryptology historians is not just unconventional but, as far as one can see, simply prohibited. Observing this taboo is quite straightforward since, from the publication of the "bombshell telegram" in 2011 to the present day, none of the academic researchers dared to delve seriously into the circumstances, motives, and mechanisms of this scandalous story. Everyone continues to pretend as if the document and the betrayal simply did not exist.

Therefore, it's evidently useful to shed light here on significant details of what happened with Friedman in the 1920s.

Self-deception of omissions and historical facts

Discussing specific details and nuances of American cryptology in the 1920s here is particularly convenient with reliance on the historical works and investigations of the researcher we already know, John Dooley. Because quite recently, in 2023, Dooley published a monograph entirely dedicated to the three leading figures of the NSA Honor Roll: The Gambler and the Scholars: Herbert Yardley, William & Elizebeth Friedman, and the Birth of Modern American Cryptology. [o9]

The most outstanding feature of this new book is that it does not mention, not even in a single word, the 1925 episode of the informative meeting between the Japanese ambassador and military cryptographer Friedman. Although it's absolutely certain that over the years, historian Dooley definitely unearthed additional documents and evidence surrounding this mysterious episode.

How do we know that such documents exist and are in Dooley's possession? We know from Dooley himself...

In 2015, the CRYPTOLOGIA magazine published a review [o10] of a fresh biographical book entirely dedicated to the vibrant life and unusual endeavors of the owner of the Riverbank Laboratories: George Fabyan: The Tycoon Who Broke Ciphers, Ended Wars, Manipulated Sound, Built a Levitation Machine, and Organized the Modern Research Center [o11]. The book was authored by some Richard Munson, and the comprehensive and substantive review in the cryptological journal was written by Professor John Dooley.

As befits a serious cryptology historian, Dooley thoroughly examines the cryptological aspects of the biographical book in his critical review, paying special attention to the noticeable errors made by the author, who is clearly far from the nuances of code-breaking and the history of intelligence services. Among the significant mistakes in the book, the scholar notes that Friedman, who came to government cryptology from Fabyan's Riverbank Laboratories, never actually served in Yardley's Black Chamber. Throughout the 1920s, Friedman was not involved in breaking foreign ciphers but was improving codes and cryptographic security for the Signal Corps of the U.S. Army.

However, the most interesting part of Dooley's extensive, seven-page review is not what is included but what is not there... For unspoken reasons, the historian nowhere and not in a single word mentions one very important and quite specific aspect of Colonel Fabyan's life. It's precisely about this, however, that needs to be discussed in more detail here. Fortunately, not only Munson's book about Fabyan but also some local history journals about Chicago and its surroundings (where Riverbank is located) describe this – Japanophile – aspect of the millionaire philanthropist's life quite substantively. [o12]

During the early years of his career, George Fabyan spent some time in Japan, establishing friendly relations in government and business circles. Since one of Fabyan's high-ranking friends in the USA was President (and also a known Japanophile) Theodore Roosevelt, in 1905, when the Russo-Japanese peace negotiations were organized in Portsmouth by Roosevelt's initiative to end the war, Fabyan served there as a "liaison officer". In other words, as a trusted intermediary, Fabyan facilitated personal contacts between the American president and Foreign Minister Jutaro Komura, who headed the Japanese delegation at the negotiations.

As a result of the successful outcomes of this event, Theodore Roosevelt was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, and George Fabyan became a recipient of the Order of the Rising Sun. This is a special and oldest government award in Japan, recognizing those who have made outstanding contributions to the country's success in international affairs or the promotion of national culture.

In the following years, Fabyan's ties with Japan grew even stronger, so that from 1907 to 1910, his estate, Riverbank, served as a temporary residence for high-ranking Japanese guests visiting the USA. Among the guests at Riverbank were General Tamemoto Kuroki, commanding the Japanese forces in Manchuria, Prince Kan-in-no-Miya from the royal family, and other distinguished individuals. Thanks to his very special relationship with Japan, in Chicago, Colonel Fabyan was effectively considered the unofficial consul of the country until an official Japanese consulate was established. [o11]

The next very important aspect of this story is the fragments of personal correspondence between George Fabyan and William Friedman after the Friedmans fled Riverbank for Washington in December 1920. All the fragments cited below are taken from the book by the amateur biographer Munson, who found these letters in the archives. However, these documents are not mentioned in the review by the specialist historian Dooley, presumably because they do not represent any particular interest.

In the vast majority of books discussing the history of cryptology in the first half of the 20th century, it's implicitly assumed that the strained relations between the Friedmans and Fabyan at the end of their work at Riverbank, as well as the sudden but secretly prepared departure of the couple to Washington, supposedly ended the five-year collaboration between the parties. However, the correspondence published in the book from the following years shows that this is not quite the case. More precisely, not at all.

In fact, immediately after the Riverbank fugitives transitioned to government service in Washington, from the first months of 1921, Friedman and Fabyan continued to maintain regular, reasonably friendly and quite businesslike contacts. Fabyan still addresses Friedman as "Billy," who occasionally sends his former boss updates on his work achievements in improving codes at his new job, and Fabyan in return is generous with praise.

However, both parties always had strictly business interests in this correspondence. And when it comes to requests and services, the tone of the messages immediately becomes less warm and friendly.

Friedman, for instance, persistently and repeatedly asked Fabyan to print additional copies of some of his cryptoanalytic articles and brochures from the Riverbank period in his press. Fabyan sharply refused, not even attempting to appear polite: "I don’t want to obligate myself to do anything which may not fit into my game at a certain time"... In a subsequent letter, he explains the situation in these terms: "It may be egotism on my part, but so long as I pay the fiddler, I am going to have the privilege of selecting a few of the tunes. [...] If I cannot have your work without restrictions, I will have to do without it." (Fabyan letter to Friedman, January 12, 1922)

No longer being Friedman's boss in any capacity, Colonel Fabyan, nonetheless, repeatedly tried to continue giving him instructions and assignments. In the spring of 1921, for example, he writes to Friedman about two Washington conferences discussing a certain encrypted manuscript from the 13th century, and he instructs Friedman to "attend both of these meetings and give me a report on it." (Fabyan letter to Friedman, March 2, 1921). Interestingly, Friedman obediently did as his former boss commanded.

Why he did this is quite understandable. In his response letters, Friedman either continues to ask the Colonel for additional publication of his own works from the Riverbank publications or requests sponsorship for funding his personal research. This was formulated, though, not directly, but in Friedman's typical manner of ambiguous hints: "I only wish I had the resources necessary to carry out one or two of the projects I have in mind." (Friedman letter to Fabyan, March 10, 1921).

Sometimes, their business relationship even turned into open bargaining. When Fabyan wanted a particular letter of interest to him deciphered and provided with a brief report, Friedman asked for $150 upfront. The Colonel countered with an offer of $50, to which Friedman stated he was willing to do it for free, provided that Fabyan, for a change, not list himself as the report's author, as usual, but the true author, i.e., Friedman...

So, gathering and comparing all these documented facts in chronological order, we get the following overall picture.

At the end of December 1920, the Friedmans, tired of Fabyan's despotism and the feudal spirit of unfreedom at Riverbank, fled to Washington, where William Friedman was guaranteed cryptographic work with ciphers and codes in the Signal Corps of the military department.

To the Friedmans' surprise, their authoritarian boss George Fabyan, informed about the departure of his leading cryptographers at the very last moment before they left, took the news surprisingly calmly. No scandals or quarrels ensued, so the relationship between the parties, judging by the correspondence from 1921-1922 preserved in the archives, remained not only even but entirely businesslike.

From November 1921 to February 1922, the international Washington Naval Conference took place in the U.S. capital, dedicated to the new division of spheres of influence and the disarmament of fleets in the Pacific region, taking into account the outcomes of World War I. Herbert Yardley's Black Chamber, successfully decrypting Japan's secret diplomatic correspondence, provided Americans not only with accurate knowledge of the Japanese side's minimum requirements but also secured the most advantageous positions for the USA in the final treaty.

It's documented [o9] that Colonel Fabyan, after World War I, not only maintained very close contacts with U.S. military cryptographers and military intelligence service but also actively and fruitfully connected his Department of Ciphers at Riverbank to the cryptoanalysis of new cipher equipment for the government. Having years of confidential relations with the senior management of American special services, Fabyan was almost certainly aware of Yardley's Black Chamber's grand successes in reading the Japanese. The existence of documents on this delicate subject, however, remains unknown. But...

Documented evidence [o11] indicates that William Friedman, while working with military ciphers and codes in Washington, repeatedly tried to get Fabyan to secure his copyright on the Riverbank publications' cryptology pamphlets. However, Fabyan was not one to do anything for free or without seeing a benefit for himself and his own projects. Historians lack documents on how George Fabyan's activity as the "unofficial consul" of Japan took shape in the 1920s, but…

It's documented [o3] that in March 1925, William Friedman personally met with the Japanese ambassador in Washington to inform him of the weaknesses of the Japanese diplomatic codes, which could easily be broken by foreign cryptographic intelligence. As an experienced cryptographer for the American army, Friedman recommended that the Japanese change their codes more frequently, importantly, without asking for anything in return for his informant services.

It's also documented [o7] that Friedman soon began to experience significant mental health problems. In 1927, he sought help from Washington psychoanalyst Dr. Philip Graven, whose treatment sessions he attended regularly for six months. Additionally, it's known that a series of similar nervous-psychological breakdowns or "cryptological schizophrenia," triggered by the specifically duplicitous work of a state cipher specialist, continued to plague Friedman during critical moments of his espionage service. [i2]

It's documented [o13] that by 1928, William Friedman had managed to officially secure his copyrights on the "Riverbank Publications on Cryptology," submitting to the Library of Congress a copy of each of the dozen and a half printed brochures with "indisputable proof" of his authorship. Registration cards from the Library of Congress, related to these publications (previously only bearing Fabyan's name and that of his Riverbank Laboratories on the cover), served as confirmation of Friedman's authorship.

In his "Memorandum Regarding The Riverbank Publications" [o13], prepared in the 1950s, William Friedman carefully does not specify what kind of "indisputable proof" he provided to the Library of Congress. However, knowing that all rights to these publications previously belonged to George Fabyan; knowing that Fabyan turned any such requests from Friedman for service into commercial transactions; and now understanding the key facts of the accompanying events, it becomes not too difficult to understand the reason why William Friedman became the "initiative informant" of the Japanese embassy in the 1920s…

In other words, the historical science has enough reliable facts and documents to answer the "unsolvable" mystery of the betrayal by the "father of American cryptology" (as Friedman was referred to in the USA until recently [i3]). The problem is only that historians categorically refuse to study the available documents on this matter and assemble them into a logically coherent picture.

Why this is the case is a question for the scholars themselves. But for precisely the same reason (also related to the name Friedman), another historical mystery remains "unsolvable" to this day — about the peculiarities of Shakespeare's play Troilus and Cressida.

Nuances of Translation

Returning to the topic of Aristotle, who is perplexingly cited in Troilus and Cressida amid the battles of the Trojan War, it would be beneficial first to recall the traditional translation of the relevant fragment from the philosopher (highlighting in bold the crucial point).

"Hence a young man is not a proper hearer of lectures on political science; for he is inexperienced in the actions that occur in life..." (Nicomachean Ethics, by Aristotle. Translated by W.D. Ross, 1908)

In Shakespeare's play Troilus and Cressida, Hector reproduces this phrase somewhat differently — fully echoing, notably, the translation variant by Francis Bacon. One particularly meticulous researcher, who has thoroughly examined this issue, comments on this episode as follows:

In Bacon's "Advancement of Learning" he translates an opinion of Aristotle to the effect that "young men are no fit auditors of moral philosophy." The same sentiment appears in Troilus and Cressida: — Young men whom Aristotle thought Unfit to hear moral philosophy. (II,2)

The word "moral" has been called a mistranslation of the Greek word, politikes. But the actor Shakspere was said to know "little Latin and less Greek," and this "only strengthened his claim for the authorship of the play."

How strange, though, that Bacon, whose recently discovered library, we are told, shows him to have been an accomplished Greek scholar at fourteen, should also mistranslate this word.

An examination of Bacon's work, however, shows that he made an unusual but, in this case, apt translation of the word, to meet the requirements of his thesis. But where did the actor get this "mistranslation," and how should he be so familiar with this unusual use of politikes as to use it in a play? This can be explained only by one of the pernicious theorists who are claiming that Bacon and the actor collaborated.

The quoted fragment is taken from the quite old research book by historian James Finn Baxter, The Greatest of Literary Problems [o14] first published in 1915 and in a revised and expanded edition in 1917. The main feature of this voluminous monograph is that Baxter began his investigation of the Bacon-Shakespeare problem as an enlightened skeptic and staunch supporter of traditional views on Shakespeare's authorship. By the end of his meticulous and comprehensive investigations, Baxter became fully convinced that Bacon was the author of the Shakespearean texts.

Details about Baxter's remarkable work and how he personally and repeatedly tested Elizabeth Gallup's decoding abilities in revealing Bacon's biliteral cipher will be discussed in the next episode of our series.

Here, to clarify the question of the origin of the strange quote from Aristotle in Shakespeare, it's useful to present the relevant fragment from Francis Bacon's secret autobiography. In the form it was decrypted by E. Gallup [i4]:

My plays are of divers kinds, history, comedy and tragedy. Many are upon the stage, but these already put forth in Wm. Shakespeare’s name, we do nothing doubt, have won a lasting fame, — comedy, the historic drama and tragedy, are alike in favor.

The next volume will be under W. Shakespeare’s name. As some which have now been produced have borne upon the title page his name though all are my own work, I have allowed it to stand on many others which I myself regard as equal in merit.

My name never accompanieth any play, but it frequently appeareth plainly in cipher for witty minds to translate from Latin and Greek.

Receiving such a detailed confession, confidentially provided and personally signed by Francis Bacon, science, one could say, gains a very clear answer to one of the great mysteries of Troilus and Cressida — where the atypical translation of Aristotle at the Trojan War came from.

However, in Shakespeare's "problem" play, there are other very strange anachronisms that seem yet to find explanation among historians and literary scholars. The answers to these mysteries, of course, have long been available to science. But to unearth and accept them, scholars will first need to seriously engage with the early achievements and subsequent dark deeds of betrayal [i5] of the famous cryptographer couple, the Friedmans.

Additional Reading

[i1] Shakespeare Cryptography, and the "Investigation of Numerous Betrayals"

[i2] Francis Bacon and Pearl Harbor: Hiding the Truth (rus.)

[i3] History Science as an Art of Cutting Out

[i4] Francis Bacon and the Cartier Book. Part 11: Message to the Decipherers (rus.)

[i5] 4in1: Mask of Shakespeare and Mysteries of Bacon, Book by Cartier and Secrets of the NSA (rus.); "4in1" as "Foreign One" (rus.)

Main Sources

[o1] Troilus and Cressida. In The Yale Shakespeare: the complete works. Barnes & Noble Books, 1993

[o2] Ladislas Farago. The Broken Seal: The Story of ‘‘Operation Magic’’ and the Pearl Harbor Disaster. New York: Random House, 1967

[o3] John Dooley, “Was Herbert O. Yardley a Traitor?”, Cryptologia 35, no. 1 (January 2011): 1–15.

[o4] Sakuma, S. 1931. Sakuma to Minister and Vice Minister, 10 June 1931, Subject: A Book Written by Yardley, the Former Chief of the Cryptographic Bureau of U.S. Army Intelligence. Washington, DC: National Archives of the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Reels UD-30, frames 157–174

[o5] Herbert O. Yardley. The American Black Chamber. New York: Ballantine Books, 1931

[o6] Yoshida, I. 1925. Secret Telegram No. 48. Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs microfilm archive. Reel UD-29, frames 72–73, Washington, DC: The Library of Congress.

[o7] Ronald Clark, The Man Who Broke Purple. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1977

[o8] David Kahn. The Reader of Gentlemen’s Mail: Herbert O. Yardley and the Birth of American Codebreaking. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004

[o9] John F. Dooley. “The Gambler and the Scholars: Herbert Yardley, William & Elizebeth Friedman, and the Birth of Modern American Cryptology”. Springer, 2023

[o10] John Dooley, “Review of `George Fabyan` by Richard Munson”, Cryptologia 39, no. 1 (2015): 92–98

[o11] Richard Munson. George Fabyan: The Tycoon Who Broke Ciphers, Ended Wars, Manipulated Sound, Built a Levitation Machine, and Organized the Modern Research Center. North Charleston, SC: Porter Books, 2013

[o12] Geneva’s Incredible Fabyan Estate. By Paul Arco, Northwest Quarterly, July 21, 2015

[o13] WF Friedman: Memorandum Regarding The Riverbank Publications. In Howard T. Oakley, «The Riverbank Publications On Cryptology». Cryptologia, Volume 2, Number 4, October 1978, pp 324-330

[o14] James Phinney Baxter, «The Greatest of Literary Problems». New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1915 & 1917