Walking the Line: How Freemasonry and Stoicism Shaped My Moral Compass
Walking the Line: How Freemasonry and Stoicism Shaped My Moral Compass
“Let not your mind run on what you lack as much as on what you have already.”
— Marcus Aurelius
Growing up, I didn't know the word Stoicism, but I witnessed its essence in our Perth home through my father's quiet example. Though Lodge meetings happened only on Tuesday evenings, the principles of Freemasonry shaped our every day.
Some evenings, I'd glimpse Dad preparing for Lodge—the familiar routine of the dinner suit, the careful packing of his bag before heading out. But it was in the spaces between these formal moments where the true lessons lived. As a single parent raising us girls, he demonstrated these principles not through ceremony, but through daily acts of steadfast care and integrity.
In recent years, as I grappled with PTSD from my military service—where trust was fractured by false allegations and harassment—these childhood lessons became anchors. When hypervigilance made every interaction feel loaded with hidden meaning, when memories of betrayal by those who should have been trusted colleagues and superiors clouded my thoughts, I'd find myself at my desk, Marcus Aurelius's Meditations open beside me, seeking wisdom in ancient words.
The 3 AM anxiety attacks began teaching me what my father's Masonic principles had always shown—that character reveals itself not in grand gestures, but in consistent, truthful living. On sleepless nights, when questions of who to trust swirled like storm clouds, I'd practice what the Stoics called "negative visualisation." Yes, people might betray confidence. Yes, uncertainty might persist. And yes, like my father's unwavering integrity through single parenthood, I could choose to stand firm in my principles.
And the deeper I've gone into Stoicism, the more I've recognised uncanny parallels with the values I inherited from Freemasonry—by osmosis, by legacy, by love.
The Four Pillars of Inner Strength
Like the cornerstones of a temple, Stoic philosophy rests on four foundational virtues. Each one, weathered by time yet unshaken, offers shelter from life's storms:
Wisdom – Like a compass needle finding true north, it's the quiet knowing that helps us discern what matters from what doesn't.
Courage – Not just the warrior's shield, but the heart's ability to face each dawn with resolve, each challenge with steady breath.
Temperance – The art of finding balance, like a skilled gardener knowing just how much water each plant needs to thrive.
Justice – The thread that connects us to others, guiding us to weave fairness and honor into the fabric of daily life.
These aren't dusty philosophies trapped in ancient texts. They're living tools, as practical as a builder's level, as necessary as a sailor's stars—especially when life's seas turn stormy and unpredictable.
The Mason's Blueprint for Living
Picture a master craftsman's workshop, where every tool has its purpose, every measurement its meaning. This is Freemasonry—not shrouded in mystery, but illuminated by purpose. Like a well-designed building, it stands on three fundamental pillars:
Brotherly Love – Like the individual stones that together form an arch, each supporting the other, this is how we hold each other up.
Relief – The extended hand, the shared burden, the quiet act of service that builds bridges between hearts.
Truth – The plumb line that keeps us straight, the level that ensures we build on solid ground.
Freemasons also uphold morality, justice, temperance, fortitude, and prudence—which are directly aligned with the Stoic virtues.
Two Paths, One Journey
Like a tapestry woven from different threads that create a single beautiful pattern, Stoicism and Freemasonry intertwine in remarkable ways. Imagine a garden where two ancient paths—one worn by philosophical wanderers, the other by dedicated craftsmen—lead to the same peaceful center:
The Philosopher's Path | The Mason's Way | Where They Meet |
|---|---|---|
The quiet wisdom of reflection | The careful measure of the square | Both teach us to pause and consider |
The courage to face what comes | The fortitude to build what lasts | Both shape stronger hearts |
The balance of enough, not excess | The perfect ashlar, neither more nor less | Both guide us to moderation |
The justice that binds all | The mortar of brotherly love | Both connect us to something larger |
Like a master beekeeper tending different hives that produce the same sweet honey, I've found that these traditions, though distinct, nurture the same essential virtues. They're not abstract theories to debate—they're more like the tools in a craftsman's belt or the seeds in a gardener's hand. Each day offers new chances to build, to grow, to shape ourselves through ritual, reflection, and the quiet work of becoming.
Building the Honeycomb of Character
Like a bee methodically building its honeycomb—cell by cell, day by day—I've found myself constructing a framework of values drawn from both traditions. In my study, where morning light catches dust motes like floating possibilities, I work at this architecture of character. My father's picture in in full regalia sits on my desk beside my collection of Marcus Aurelius translations—tools of different trades, building the same foundation.
Sometimes I work with the precise geometry of Masonic principles: the perfect angles of integrity, the level ground of fairness. I remember my father at community fundraisers, quietly counting donations in the church hall, double-checking every figure because accuracy was its own form of honour. Other times, I flow with Stoic wisdom, like the morning I had to lay off staff during COVID. Each difficult conversation grounded in the philosophy that we can't control circumstances, only our response to them.
Each cell of this mental honeycomb holds a specific lesson: the evening Dad missed his Lodge meeting to help our elderly neighbour fix her fence; the time he listened to my teenage angst without judgment, embodying the Stoic practice of withholding criticism. Not for praise or recognition, but because it was right.
The beauty of this work, like the bee's, lies in its patient persistence. Each small choice—declining to engage with inflammatory emails, pausing before speaking in heated meetings, showing up for friends in grief—adds another golden cell to our character's honeycomb. Some days the work is as subtle as breathing through frustration during a difficult client call; others, it's as tangible as the smooth beads of my worry stone, worn by countless moments of choosing patience over reaction.
Living These Principles Today
In my journey through both Freemasonry and Stoicism, these philosophies have become as familiar as my morning coffee ritual. Each dawn, I sit at my wooden desk, journal open, steam rising from my cup. Like Benjamin Franklin with his virtue journal, I've created my own daily practice—though mine involves a Hobonichi Techo Planner and a favourite pen that knows the shape of my thoughts.
The morning pages fill with real challenges:
How I maintained equanimity during yesterday's heated project meeting, choosing to respond rather than react
The way I caught myself doom-scrolling and consciously redirected my attention to productive work
A moment of patience with my granddaughter's endless questions, remembering that wisdom often comes through teaching
The decision to turn off notifications during deep work, creating boundaries that protect my peace
These aren't just philosophical exercises—they're practical tools as essential as a mason's level or a carpenter's square. When my inbox overflows with urgent demands, I recall the Stoic principle of focusing only on what I can control. In team conflicts, I draw on Masonic teachings about meeting on the level and parting on the square.
Some days, the practice is as simple as three deep breaths before responding to a challenging email. Other days, it's an hour of quiet reflection while knitting—each stitch a meditation, each row a reminder that patience builds something lasting. During video calls, my father's picture in full masonic regalia sits beside my keyboard, a tangible reminder of measured responses and careful words.
These ancient wisdom traditions translate surprisingly well to modern challenges:
Using Stoic negative visualisation to prepare for technology failures before important presentations
Applying Masonic principles of relief when mentoring younger colleagues through career transitions
Practicing temperance with social media, treating it as a tool rather than a compulsion
Finding moments of brotherly love in virtual communities, where connections can feel both vast and tenuous
The same principles that steadied hands through wars and revolutions now help navigate the digital age's subtle storms—one mindful moment, one conscious choice at a time.
Why This Matters Now
In a world that feels increasingly polarised, chaotic, and self-serving, I find great comfort in revisiting the pillars my life rests on. Whether it’s my father’s calm during storms or the Stoic reminder that “You have power over your mind—not outside events”—these teachings remind me that I can’t control the world, but I can shape how I meet it.
For others navigating trauma, transition, or questions of meaning, I believe both Freemasonry and Stoicism offer tools worth rediscovering. They’re not flashy, not fast, and certainly not trendy—but they are timeless.
And in their shared silence—ritual, reflection, and resolve—they offer something rare: peace, purpose, and quiet strength
Weaving Your Own Thread
In a world that often feels like a storm-tossed sea, these philosophies are like the lighthouse beams that guide us home. Whether it's my father's steady presence during life's tempests or the Stoic reminder that "You have power over your mind—not outside events"—these teachings show us how to navigate through chaos while maintaining our course.
For those of us navigating trauma, transition, or questions of meaning, both Freemasonry and Stoicism offer threads we can weave into our own tapestry of healing. They're not quick-fix solutions or trending life hacks—they're timeless practices that gain strength with each passing day, each conscious choice.
What ancient wisdom runs through your own family's story? What principles, spoken or unspoken, guide your steps? Perhaps, like me, you'll find that the tools for building a meaningful life have been beside you all along—waiting to be recognised, practiced, and passed on.
In the end, it's in their shared quiet—in ritual, reflection, and resolve—that these traditions offer their most precious gifts: peace, purpose, and the steady flame of quiet strength.