This episode traces a strange and elegant thread between David Lynch’s Twin Peaks cosmology and the philosophical architecture of Freemasonry. Both traditions distrust final answers. Both insist that mystery is not a flaw but a tool—something like a chisel that keeps the builder awake. Lynch treats closure as artistic death; Masonry treats completion as spiritual stagnation. When these two worlds meet, the owl-ring becomes a symbol of perpetual investigation, and the Square and Compasses become the geometry of eternal striving. What emerges is a shared blueprint: the unfinished temple as a living principle, a reminder that the search for light is more vital than the possession of it.
This episode traces a sharp line between the Masonic Level—symbol of equality, humility, and shared human destiny—and the immense industrial architectures that manufacture the tools of modern warfare. The Level teaches that all people stand on common ground, “partakers of the same nature,” and that death is the great equalizer that dissolves rank and distinction. Yet the defense industry operates on a different plane entirely: profit-driven hierarchies crafting weapons that divide, destroy, and stratify the world.
We explore this philosophical collision with care. On one side stands the Fellow Craft’s call to upright living, unity, and the quiet moral geometry of the Level. On the other stands ITAR-governed corporate machinery—engineers, factories, algorithms, supply chains—shaped to produce precision instruments of organized violence. Between them lies a chasm where ethics, economics, and power intersect. This episode asks what becomes of equality when the tools we craft are designed to end lives, not harmonize them—and whether moral architecture can survive inside an industry built on coercion, secrecy, and profit.
This episode explores the shared sky between Masonry and Starfield—a symbolic canopy that says more about human purpose than it does about stars. In Masonry, the Celestial Canopy stretches from the lodge room to the edge of creation, reminding the initiate that the universe itself is the Temple of the Grand Architect. In Starfield, that same vastness becomes the stage for Constellation’s search for the Unity: a literal attempt to pierce the heavenly veil and discover what truth, if any, lies beyond it.
We draw parallels between the Lodge’s starry firmament and the cosmic expanse the player navigates. Where Masonry uses the canopy as a moral reminder—boundless charity, an infinite pursuit of light—Starfield transforms it into a philosophical battleground. Sanctum Universum, the Enlightened, and House Va’ruun echo the ancient triad of Beauty, Wisdom, and Strength as they debate what lives behind the cosmic curtain. Constellation’s Lodge stands alone as the one institution content to search without dogma, mirroring the Craft’s insistence that truth must be discovered, not inherited.
The episode follows this shared journey beneath the vault of heaven: from the Mason’s quiet moral ascent to the traveler’s leap into the Unity. Both paths lead toward a revelation that is less about cosmology and more about character. Whether walking the mosaic pavement or drifting through the nebulae of the Settled Systems, the seeker confronts the same question age after age—what does it mean to find light in a universe that refuses easy answers?
By the end, the canopy becomes something more than a roof or a sky. It becomes the infinite canvas where meaning is made, where the Lodge and the Starfield overlap, and where the search for truth continues in every universe the traveler is willing to explore.
Every Christmas, depictions of the Nativity show three kings offering gifts at the manger. Yet the Bible itself calls them “Magi” or wise men – not royalty at all[1][2]. Instead of seeing these figures as sovereigns crowned by divine right, we can regard the Magi as models of disciplined seekers of knowledge. For a Freemason, especially one who has passed through the Fellowcraft degree, this reframing is illuminating. The Fellowcraft in Masonry symbolizes the mature seeker – one devoted to learning, humility, and moral development. In the story of the Magi, we find a parallel journey: a voluntary quest for truth undertaken at great cost and uncertainty, guided by knowledge rather than authority, and bearing gifts that represent lessons every Mason must contemplate. By exploring the Magi’s story through a Masonic lens, we can transform a familiar biblical narrative into a study of humility, discipline, and moral philosophy – qualities embodied in the Fellowcraft degree.
The journey of the Magi was an act of free will and faith. No decree or command compelled these wise men to leave their homeland; they chose to seek out a great truth that had been revealed to them only in part. According to tradition, the Magi saw the rising of a remarkable star and intuited via their scholarly arts that it heralded the birth of a special king in Judea[3]. Acting on this knowledge, they set out on a long trek westward. Historians and commentators estimate that their route may have covered hundreds of miles, likely from Mesopotamia or Persia into Jerusalem and then Bethlehem[4]. Such a journey would have been voluntary, costly, and uncertain in the extreme. One modern commentary notes that “they traveled a great distance, enduring hardship and uncertainty, driven by faith and a deep desire to honor the newborn King”[5]. The Magi sacrificed time, comfort, and wealth on this expedition with no guarantee of success[4]. They did not even know exactly where their quest would end – only that a star led them onward.
This voluntary pursuit of light in the face of uncertainty resonates strongly with the Masonic ethos. A man becomes a Freemason of his own free will and accord, seeking greater understanding of life’s truths. There is no external compulsion – only an internal desire to grow in wisdom. Advancing to the Fellowcraft degree, in particular, signifies a commitment to journey further, climbing the winding staircase of knowledge despite not knowing every lesson that lies ahead. Just as the Magi left behind familiar comforts to venture into the unknown, so too does a Fellowcraft Mason dedicate himself to a path of self-improvement and enlightenment, accepting that the rewards are largely intangible. The Fellowcraft’s pursuit of knowledge can be “costly” in terms of effort and discipline, and the outcome (personal transformation) is realized only over time. Yet the willingness to undertake such a quest is precisely what defines both the Wise Men and the true Mason. In each case, humility is key: the Magi did not presume they already had the truth – they were humble enough to admit a greater truth existed and to go searching for it. Freemasonry likewise begins and ends in humility. One of the first lessons impressed upon an initiate is that “the internal, not the external qualifications of a man are what Freemasonry regards.” In the words of an established Masonic lecture, “The internal, not the external qualifications of a man are what Freemasonry regards. As you increase in knowledge you will improve in social intercourse.”[6] Worldly wealth, titles, and honors are left at the door (indeed, new Masons are symbolically divested of all metals upon initiation). What matters is the character and teachability of the individual. The Magi exemplify this spirit: though they were men of great learning and (likely) high standing in their own society, they approached the Christ child with reverence and teachability, not with pride. One can imagine the wonder and humility required for these “prominent men from the East” to kneel before a poor infant in a Bethlehem house[7]. Their quest stripped away any pretensions of worldly status; in that sacred moment they were simply seekers of light, much like Fellowcraft Masons meeting on the level, setting aside worldly distinctions in a shared pursuit of truth.
Notably, the Magi navigated by the light of a star and the learning of their tradition – astronomy, astrology, perhaps prophetic texts – rather than by any political or ecclesiastical authority. In Matthew’s account, the wise men from the East arrive in Jerusalem and ask, “Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east and have come to worship him” (Matt. 2:2). This simple statement reveals that their motivation and guidance came from scientific observation (the star) combined with scholarship (likely knowledge of prophecies). Indeed, many scholars identify the Magi as priest-astrologers, probably from Persia or Babylon[2]. They would have been learned in the movements of heavenly bodies and aware of foreign prophecies – perhaps influenced by Jewish exiles’ traditions or the prophecy of Balaam about “a star out of Jacob.” Whatever their exact background, “they studied the stars and ancient texts, which led them to discern that a new king had been born in Judea”[3]. In other words, they followed knowledge.
Contrast this with how the local authorities in Judea react. King Herod, upon hearing the Magi’s inquiry, had to summon chief priests and scribes to learn where the Messiah might be born – information readily available in scripture (Micah 5:2)[8]. The religious establishment in Jerusalem possessed prophecy and authority, but they showed no initiative to seek out the newborn Messiah themselves. It was foreign scholars, guided by intellectual and spiritual curiosity, who actually acted on the knowledge. This highlights a profound point: the Magi’s loyalty was to truth above all, not to any king or decree. In fact, after finding the Christ child, the Magi deliberately defied Herod’s orders to report back to him, being warned in a dream of his wicked intent (Matt. 2:12). They remained true to the higher knowledge and their conscience, rather than obeying a corrupt earthly authority.
Freemasonry has long held a similar stance that enlightenment comes through rigorous study, personal experience, and obedience to conscience – not through blind submission to authority or dogma. Anderson’s Constitutions of 1723, a foundational Masonic document of the Enlightenment era, captures this spirit. It notably broadened the fraternity beyond any one sect or political allegiance, stating that Masons are only obliged to adhere to that universal religion “in which all men agree” – to be good and true, men of honor and morality, leaving their specific opinions to themselves[9]. This was a radical departure from a world where truth was often dictated by state or church authority. Additionally, Anderson’s Constitutions decreed that rank and privilege hold no sway in a lodge: “All preferment among Masons is grounded upon real worth and personal merit only;… no Master or Warden is chosen by seniority, but for his Merit.”[10] In other words, Freemasonry rejects any “divine right” of kings or nobles within its sacred space – echoing the Magi’s own indifference to worldly station as they themselves sought a higher King. A brother who might be a prince outside is on equal footing “on the level” with a brother who is a pauper. What elevates a Mason is his commitment to knowledge, virtue, and the Craft’s principles, not his birth or office.
The Fellowcraft degree, in particular, celebrates knowledge as the great guide. It instructs the Mason in the Seven Liberal Arts and Sciences, those classical pillars of learning: Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic, Arithmetic, Geometry, Music, and Astronomy[11][12]. In older lectures, these are represented by the seven steps of a winding stairway that the Fellowcraft ascends in his quest for wisdom[13]. The inclusion of Astronomy here is especially apropos when reflecting on the Magi. Just as the Fellowcraft is taught to gaze at the heavens to appreciate the order of creation, the Magi literally looked to the stars to find direction. The Second Degree urges Masons to contemplate the cosmos as a way to broaden the mind and sense the Grand Architect’s design: “Geometry, [applied] to…the sun, moon and heavenly bodies, constitute the science of Astronomy; and, lastly, when our minds are filled, and our thoughts enlarged, by the contemplation of all the wonders which these sciences open to our view, Music comes forward to soften our hearts and cultivate our affections”[12]. Here we see knowledge (even scientific knowledge) leading directly to a sense of wonder and devotion. The Magi’s astronomical observations led them not to pride, but to worship – they used science as a lamp unto the spiritual. In the same way, Freemasonry teaches that the study of the liberal arts and sciences serves to enlighten the Mason’s mind so that he can better understand God’s creation and moral law. A noted Masonic scholar, Carl H. Claudy, wrote that “The Fellowcraft Degree is a glorification of education, the gaining of knowledge, the study of the Seven Liberal Arts and Sciences and all that they connote.”[14]
Equally important, this knowledge is pursued with discipline and integrity, not for vainglory or power. The Fellowcraft is reminded to subdue his passions and keep his intellectual powers in check with morality. In our ritual, as we figuratively “pass between the pillars” to enter the Middle Chamber of wisdom, we are taught that power without control is useless, and control without power is futile – “he shall climb by strength, but directed by wisdom; …progress by power, but guided by control”[15]. The Magi exemplified this disciplined approach: their learning did not make them arrogant; it made them receptive to greater truths. They combined knowledge with action, and action with humility. Freemasonry likewise balances the head and the heart. The opening of a Fellowcraft lodge includes an invocation that beautifully marries the intellectual and the spiritual: “May the rays of Heaven shed their benign influence over us, to enlighten us in the paths of virtue and science.”[16] Knowledge and virtue are to advance hand in hand. Thus, the wise men traveling under the star and the Fellowcraft ascending his winding stairs both embody the ideal of seeking Light through knowledge, guided by a higher light of conscience and faith, rather than any earthly mandate.
When the Magi finally found the young child (by now, perhaps a toddler) with Mary his mother, they fell down in reverence and presented the famous gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh (Matt. 2:11). These three gifts have invited symbolic interpretation for nearly two millennia. Traditional Christian exegesis sees in them a threefold homage to Jesus’s identity: gold signifying his kingship, frankincense his divinity (or priestly role), and myrrh foreshadowing his death and embalming[17]. Early church fathers and even the well-loved carol “We Three Kings” popularized this allegory. However, beyond what the gifts say about Jesus, they also teach us – and particularly, they teach lessons that every Freemason is called to contemplate. We can view these gifts as emblematic of three profound truths that a Mason (indeed, any thoughtful person) must reconcile in his own life: material stewardship, spiritual aspiration, and the inevitability of death.
Gold – Material Stewardship: Gold has always been a symbol of material wealth, power, and kingship. The Magi bringing gold acknowledged the temporal royalty of the one they sought. For the Mason, gold represents all the worldly resources and opportunities we are given – our wealth, our possessions, our physical talents. We are taught that these are not to be scorned, but neither are they to rule us. The Magi laid their gold at the feet of a higher cause (the Christ child), illustrating that material wealth finds its highest purpose in service and tribute, not selfish indulgence. Freemasonry similarly instructs its members to use their worldly goods responsibly, charitably, and without arrogance. In a lodge, rich and poor meet without distinction; wealth confers no status in our fraternity[6]. As the old charge states, “Masonry regards no man for his worldly wealth or honors”[18]. This is a gentle way of reminding us that money and title are tools, not the measure of a man. The Fellowcraft ideal includes the notion of stewardship over the material: managing one’s time, treasure, and talent for the good of oneself and others. In operative symbolism, the 24-inch gauge (a tool taught in the earlier degree) reminds Masons to apportion the hours of the day to work, rest, and service – essentially to “budget” our lives and resources wisely. Gold given in homage rather than hoarded in pride is gold rightly used. And so the Mason must learn charity and justice in all material dealings. It’s worth noting that in Masonic initiation, a candidate is divested of metallic objects (gold, silver, money) to teach that in the search for truth, one’s financial status is irrelevant and material attachments should not hold one back. All preferment is grounded on merit, not money[10]. The lesson of gold, then, is proper dominion over the material self – to neither demonize wealth nor worship it, but to govern it with conscience. A Freemason should be a builder of society, using his resources to support family, fraternity, and community. In biblical terms, he must render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and unto God what is God’s – understanding that worldly gold is ultimately temporal and accountability for its use is eternal.
Frankincense – Spiritual Aspiration: Frankincense is a fragrant resin used historically as incense in religious rites. Burning frankincense produces a white smoke that was often associated with prayers rising to heaven (in the Jewish Temple, frankincense was part of the sacred incense, and in many cultures it symbolized deity or worship). The Magi offering frankincense acknowledged the divinity or sacredness of Christ’s mission. For the Mason, frankincense represents the spiritual dimension of life – our relationship with the Divine, our moral aspirations, and the spiritual virtues we cultivate. Freemasonry is not a religion, but it is deeply concerned with spirituality and morality. We open and close Lodges with prayers, we invoke the Grand Architect of the Universe, and we teach a Mason to center his life on the polarity of earthly duties and spiritual growth. The incense’s ascending smoke is a fitting image of the soul’s aspiration toward higher things. In the Fellowcraft degree, after filling his mind with scientific knowledge, the Mason is reminded to “soften his heart”[12] – an allusion to cultivating gentleness, reverence, and empathy (as music does in the seven arts). This balance between head and heart is critical. A purely intellectual path can lead to hubris, but when knowledge is combined with piety or spiritual humility, the result is wisdom. Freemasonry encourages each brother to practice his own faith devoutly and to approach the altar of the Divine with humility. As one Masonic source puts it, “Humility is the chief virtue cultivated in Freemasonry. It is humility before God, acknowledging that no wisdom or strength of man is sufficient without the Divine.”[19]. The virtue of reverence is part of the Fellowcraft’s journey – symbolized in our rituals by moments of prayer and by the central place of the Volume of Sacred Law (the Bible or other holy book) on the altar. Just as the frankincense gift suggests that the child before the Magi was more than just a human king, so the Mason is reminded that man is more than just an economic or physical being – he is a spiritual being accountable to God and conscience. Our rituals teach us to “embrace humility and restrain our passions”, showing courtesy to all and respecting the sanctity of life[20]. In short, frankincense as a Masonic lesson is an exhortation to keep our spiritual nature in focus: to pray or meditate often, to align our lives with the divine principles of Truth, Relief, and Brotherly Love, and to let our works be a sweet savor for the Almighty, as it were. The Fellowcraft’s lecture on the winding staircase even includes references to wisdom, strength, and beauty – those spiritual pillars. And when he finally reaches the Middle Chamber, what is his wage? Not gold or silver, but nourishment (symbolized by corn, wine, and oil) and the approval of the Master. This can be seen as symbolic of spiritual reward – the frankincense of a life well-lived, pleasing to God and man.
Myrrh – The Inevitability of Death: Myrrh is perhaps the most curious of the three gifts to give to a newborn, because it was commonly used as an embalming resin and as a medicine. Culturally it signified bitterness and death – the word myrrh is related to “mourning” – yet also healing (it was an antiseptic). Christian interpretation has long held that the myrrh was a prophetic token of Christ’s mortality: He was born in order to one day die, and by that death and burial (with myrrh and aloes, per John 19:39) bring healing to mankind. For the Mason, myrrh is a stark reminder of the third great truth: Memento Mori – remember that you must die. Freemasonry does not shy away from this ultimate fact of life. On the contrary, the Craft instructs us continually to contemplate our own mortality so that we may live better. As one modern Masonic essay notes, “Perhaps the most common of [Freemasonry’s symbols] is the concept ofmemento mori— the reminder of one’s inevitable demise — represented by the skull and crossbones.”[21] We recognize many symbols of mortality in our teachings: the skull, the coffin, the sprig of acacia at a gravesite, the broken column, the hourglass with swiftly running sands[22]. Why dwell on such morbid imagery? Because to the wise, the thought of death is not morbid but clarifying. Knowing that our time is limited, we prioritize what truly matters. The Fellowcraft degree, though focused on the bloom of life (mid-life, with its duties of learning and building), still occurs in the context of the Masonic journey that will climax with the Master Mason confronting the tragedy of Hiram Abif – a drama that teaches the immortality of the soul through the allegory of death and resurrection. Even before that final lesson, Masons are taught to set their houses in order: to act upon the Square (morally) and the Level (remembering that death will level us all). We learn that “this life is not the end of man, but only the beginning”, and that we must so build our earthly temple that it may find approval in the eyes of the Supreme Architect when our work here is done. In practical terms, embracing the lesson of myrrh means cultivating a life of integrity and equanimity. We must face the fact that riches, honors, and even knowledge will all dissolve in time – but the virtues of the soul and the services we render will live on in the memories of others and, if one believes, in the world to come. The myrrh given by the Magi can remind Masons that every Initiation is in a sense a new birth, and every Raising a symbolic conquest of death. The Christ child accepted the myrrh – symbol of mortality – and later, according to Christian belief, transmuted it into a symbol of triumph by rising again. While Freemasonry is not a church and does not preach resurrection in a religious sense, it certainly imparts the hope that living morally and accepting the inevitability of death leads one to die well and be remembered honorably. Each lodge’s memorial service and the fraternity’s tradition of caring for widows and orphans testify that death is a door, not a dead end. Thus, myrrh challenges us to live with the end in mind. A Mason should regularly ask himself, What legacy will I leave? Have I reconciled myself with my Creator and my fellow humans? By pondering these questions, we are less apt to be seduced by trivial pursuits and more driven to “occupy our time wisely”[23] in doing good. In sum, myrrh – the bitter herb of burial – teaches the sweet wisdom of a life examined. It is the ultimate leveler that makes all men equal and all the more inspires the Mason to pursue the true and lasting treasures of the soul.
Reinterpreting the Christmas narrative of the Magi in this way reveals a rich tapestry of Masonic principles: humility in the face of the unknown, disciplined pursuit of knowledge, and a deep engagement with moral philosophy. The Magi began as seekers – not as kings entitled to answers, but as pilgrims willing to learn. Their story, when viewed through the eyes of a Mason, becomes a powerful allegory of the Fellowcraft’s journey. The Fellowcraft degree is fundamentally about maturity and preparation: the candidate stands midway between youth and age, laboring to build his character through study and virtuous action. Freemasonry has often been described as “a progressive moral science”, one that encourages its initiates to make daily progress in knowledge and virtue[24]. In the Magi, we see an embodiment of that description. They progress step by step (or mile by mile) toward the light of a new truth. They combine science (astronomy/astrology) with morality (paying homage to a righteous king, defying an evil one) in their decision-making. They demonstrate brotherhood (perhaps traveling in harmony together, pooling resources for the journey) and philosophy (seeking answers to profound questions about prophecy and cosmic signs).
When the Magi finally bow before the infant Jesus, we witness perhaps the greatest lesson of all: the triumph of humility and wisdom over worldly power. Here are wise men who likely advised emperors in their own land, kneeling on the dirt floor before a poor carpenter’s family. It is a scene reminiscent of Masons gathering in lodge – men of every rank, meeting on the level, bound together by a higher pursuit. The Magi did not seek personal gain; they sought enlightenment. In the presence of what they perceived as a manifestation of the Divine, they emptied their hands of precious gifts and, figuratively, emptied themselves of ego. Freemasonry too asks a man to humble himself in order to learn. We say that a candidate “comes in a state of darkness, seeking light.” No one can learn who thinks he already knows it all. The Wise Men likely had to overcome skepticism and discouragement on their long route – much as a student of philosophy must overcome doubt and fatigue – yet they persevered, exemplifying the Masonic virtues of fortitude and zeal. Their determination to follow the star can be likened to the Fellowcraft’s resolve to follow the principles of Freemasonry even when the way is difficult.
Finally, consider how the Magi returned home. The Gospel tells us they departed “by another way” (Matt. 2:12), avoiding Herod. Symbolically, they could not go back the exact way they came; having found illumination, they were changed and had to chart a new course. So it is with a Mason. After passing through the degrees – especially that of the Fellowcraft, where he is enriched with knowledge of the liberal arts and inspired with the wisdom of ages – he cannot remain the same. His perspectives broaden, his reverence deepens, and his sense of duty sharpens. He must now walk “another way,” hopefully a better way, in life. Freemasonry’s aim is to make good men better, and that transformation implies a journey. The story of the Magi affirms that when one seeks truth sincerely and embraces it humbly, one’s life will indeed take a new direction.
Conclusion. To a Masonic audience, the Magi need no longer be viewed merely as exotic figures in a distant tale; they can be seen as archetypal Fellowcrafts – wise seekers on the path of enlightenment. Their voluntary, costly, and uncertain journey underscores the importance of commitment and courage in the quest for truth. Their reliance on knowledge (of the heavens and the prophecies) over kings’ decrees echoes the Masonic conviction that we must use reason and faith as our guides rather than blind obedience to authority. Their three gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh serve as a three-part lecture in the Lodge of life: govern your material self with wisdom, cultivate your spiritual self with devotion, and prepare your moral self for the finality of death. In these ways, the familiar Christmas narrative is richly reframed. It becomes not just a story of homage to a child, but a timeless illustration of how wise individuals approach the Divine and the moral order – with humility, discipline, and insight. These are precisely the qualities that the Fellowcraft degree strives to instill. As Freemasons studying the Magi’s example, we are reminded to “embrace humility and restrain our passions”[20], to glory in the pursuit of knowledge[14], and to ever keep in mind that life’s ultimate teachings point beyond ourselves. In the end, the Magi found the object of their search – a revelation of truth and hope. So may every Mason, by following their example as humble and disciplined seekers, find the “peace and unity” that Anderson’s Constitutions extol as the center of our Craft[25], and attain that inner “Middle Chamber” where the wages of enlightenment await.
Sources:
Holy Bible, Matthew 2:1–12 (Biblical account of the Magi’s visit).
Longenecker, Dwight. “We Three Kings” – Who Were the Magi? Catholic Education Resource Center[2][26].
Vanden Eykel, Eric. Interview on the Magi.Christianity Today, Dec. 19, 2022[1].
Windle, Bryan. “Who Were the Magi?” Bible Archaeology Report, Dec. 22, 2022[27].
Anderson’s Constitutions (1723) – Charges of a Free-Mason: particularly Charge IV (on merit-based preferment)[10] and Charge I (on universal religion)[9].
General Ahiman Rezon (D. Sickels, 1868) – Fellowcraft lecture on the Seven Liberal Arts and Sciences[12].
Claudy, Carl H. Introduction to Freemasonry – The Fellowcraft Degree (1931)[14].
The Harvey (Emulation) Ritual – Charge to the Fellowcraft (emphasis on internal qualifications and knowledge)[6]; Opening Prayer in Second Degree[16].
Duncan’s Masonic Monitor – (“internal, not external qualifications” and symbolism of removal of metals)[6].
Brown, Editors of California Freemason. “For Freemasons, Death Is Not the End – Memento Mori.” California Freemason (Mar. 20, 2022)[21][22].
Heisner, John R. “The Art of Being a Gentleman.” California Freemason (Dec/Jan 2016)[20].
Grand Lodge of Maine Library. “Liberal Arts & Sciences – Fellowcraft Degree.” (accessed 2025)[24].
Biblical Archaeology Society. “Why Did the Magi Bring Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh?” (Dec. 2011/2025)[17].
[1] We Three Kings? Interpretations of the Magi ‘Traverse Afar’ – Christianity Today
This episode walks straight into the messy, human middle ground between loving people and losing yourself in the process. Using the story of Paul and Eunice—a sober helper and a deeply traumatized veteran—we unpack what compassion really looks like when trauma, addiction, resentment, and financial collapse all live under the same roof.
Guided by the compass of Freemasonry and the inner fortress of Stoic philosophy, we explore the idea of the cable tow as a moral boundary: the point beyond which “helping” turns into self-destruction. We connect that to how we run systems and services under stress—incidents, outages, RTOs, RPOs, blameless postmortems—and show that both people and platforms need the same thing: clear limits, honest observation, and recovery plans that actually work.
This isn’t an abstract seminar. It’s trauma, rent, sobriety, hatred, love, and the quiet power of one small, consistent life lived decently in front of another broken person.
In this episode, we explore:
How trauma reshapes a worldview—and why one honest counter-example can start to crack it
Why “compassion does not require self-immolation,” and what healthy boundaries really look like
How Marcus Aurelius would diagnose over-giving, resentment, and walking away “without hatred”
The parallels between personal recovery and organizational recovery: incidents, DR tests, and blameless postmortems
Practical steps for people who feel like Paul (the overwhelmed helper) or Eunice (the traumatized survivor) today
This is an episode about keeping your heart open and your compass steady.
Source #01: Paul and Eunice is a personal story from real people in my personal life. Names have been changed to protect the identities of the individuals.
What happens when you put Solomon’s Temple next to a modern error budget and ask them both what “perfection” really means? In this episode, we explore the idea that reliable service is not just a technical outcome but a moral consequence — the visible result of character, duty, and brotherly love expressed through IT work.
Drawing on Freemasonry, Stoic philosophy, and the writings of Marcus Aurelius, we unpack what it means to work logarithmically toward an ideal you will never fully reach. We contrast the Masonic Temple and its working tools with SRE and ITIL principles: why 100% uptime is the wrong target, how continual improvement mirrors lifelong moral refinement, and how duty becomes the backbone of both spiritual life and professional reliability.
Then we zoom in on the real builders of today’s “Temple”: the backup and recovery specialist guarding the sacred data; the infrastructure engineer hewing and setting the foundation; the Citrix/WebSphere/DB2 specialist adorning the inward workings; the mainframe programmer quietly automating away chaos; and the mainframe operator keeping vigil in the sanctum of production. By the end, your ticket queue, your runbooks, and your change windows look less like random toil and more like stonework on a shared, enduring structure.
Freemasonry’s Moral OS and the Birth of Human Reliability
This episode of The Cab Call traces the long arc of Masonic history as if it were the version-history of humanity’s oldest moral operating system. Instead of treating the Craft as a museum of rituals, we explore it as a living reliability framework—prophecy, practice, and interpretation—evolving over thousands of years to keep human beings resilient in a world full of entropy.
We move from the prophetic era, where symbols like the Cube and Square encoded universal laws of stability, through the great operative builders who carried those laws through collapsing empires and dark ages. The Comacine Masters, the Roman Collegia, the cathedral architects—all appear not as quaint historical footnotes but as early maintainers of an ethical architecture designed to produce both strong buildings and strong men.
The episode follows the rise of Speculative Masonry, when the craft stopped building cathedrals and began building character instead, and culminates with the 1717 Grand Lodge—the moment Masonry became a universal, non-sectarian system for producing “Good men and True.” Across the entire journey, we frame the fraternity as a blueprint for human reliability engineering: an attempt to harmonize fallible people with immutable moral laws the same way an engineer harmonizes fallible systems with physical ones.
It’s an episode about continuity across collapse, symbols that outlast empires, and why an ancient institution built for stoneworkers still feels modern in an era of distributed systems and digital drift.
This episode explores the Twenty-four-inch Gauge — one of the earliest and most quietly profound symbols in Freemasonry — as a blueprint for surviving and thriving in modern system administration. The gauge’s ancient triad of vocation, refreshment, and service becomes a practical lens for navigating today’s impossible mix of project deadlines, user interruptions, enterprise timetables, automation demands, and mental load.
We trace how the symbolic 8/8/8 division maps directly onto the SA’s world: focused work protected from interruption, rest defended as a prerequisite for cognitive reliability, and an ethical block of time reserved for strategy, documentation, personal growth, and helping others. Along the way, we connect the gauge to principles like conserving RAM, externalizing memory, automating repeated tasks, and carving out time for long-term improvement over perpetual tactical firefighting.
In both Masonry and IT, time is a material you carve — not a stream you ride. This episode examines how the structure of the gauge can stabilize a chaotic profession and help every administrator build a life, and a system, that holds its shape.
Corn, Wine, and Oil: Masonic Wages and the Spirit of Thanksgiving
As we gather this Thanksgiving, we are called to reflect not only on material abundance but on the spiritual rewards we receive through labor, service, and fellowship. In Freemasonry, these spiritual rewards are known as the “Master’s Wages,” represented by three ancient symbols: corn, wine, and oil. These symbols offer a powerful lens for understanding the deeper meaning of thanksgiving and gratitude in our lives today.
The Master’s Wages: Corn, Wine, and Oil
In Masonic tradition, the Master’s Wages—corn, wine, and oil—represent the fruits of a life well-lived. Historically, these elements were actual payments to operative masons working on sacred projects like Solomon’s Temple. Over time, they evolved into spiritual symbols, each carrying lessons we can apply today, especially during Thanksgiving.
Corn (Grain): Symbolizes nourishment and abundance. It reminds us to be thankful for the sustenance in our lives—both physical and intellectual—and for the opportunities to grow and share with others.
Wine: Represents joy and inspiration. Wine encourages us to reflect on the moments of happiness, love, and celebration that have lifted our spirits throughout the year.
Oil: Embodies healing and peace. It teaches us to be grateful for comfort, health, and the support of those who have helped us through times of hardship.
Together, these wages point to a life enriched not by wealth, but by meaningful work, strong relationships, and spiritual fulfillment.
Thanksgiving and the Spirit of Gratitude
The Thanksgiving holiday in the United States has long been a time to pause and reflect. Originating as a harvest celebration, it has become a national moment for giving thanks. This year, amid rapid changes and global challenges, the meaning of Thanksgiving feels especially poignant.
We give thanks not only for the food on our tables but for the often-unseen blessings: the knowledge we’ve gained, the loved ones who stood by us, the resilience we’ve shown, and the kindness we’ve received. These are our modern Master’s Wages—gifts that sustain, uplift, and comfort.
Bringing Masonic Values to Thanksgiving
Freemasons are taught to labor with love and integrity, to seek truth, and to uplift others. These teachings align perfectly with the spirit of Thanksgiving. By applying the symbolism of corn, wine, and oil to our holiday reflections, we deepen our appreciation for what we have and renew our commitment to sharing it with others.
Give the corn of plenty by supporting those in need through acts of charity or service.
Pour the wine of joy by lifting the spirits of friends and family.
Offer the oil of peace by being a source of comfort and reconciliation in your community.
A Thanksgiving Call to Reflection
As you enjoy your Thanksgiving meal, take a moment to think beyond the table. What have been your wages this year? Not just in dollars, but in wisdom, joy, and peace? Who has helped you along the way, and who might need your support now?
Let this Thanksgiving be more than a holiday—make it a tribute to the values we hold dear: gratitude, service, and unity. Like the cornerstone ceremonies where corn, wine, and oil are poured to sanctify new beginnings, let us consecrate this season with thanksgiving in our hearts.
May your life be abundant with the corn of nourishment, the wine of gladness, and the oil of peace.
This episode reflects on the journey from Rebellion to Responsibility, tracing how both individuals and systems evolve through disciplined self-correction. We explore the Masonic allegory of the Rough Ashlar—a person full of natural flaws—being refined into the Perfect Ashlar through the Common Gavel, symbolizing self-discipline and reflection.
The 1980s punk scene serves as a living example of the unrefined Ashlar: a volatile system rejecting all authority. SLC Punk captures its collapse when chaos meets consequence—most tragically in Heroin Bob’s death. The Straight Edge movement emerged as a self-imposed reformation, a kind of ethical debugging through sobriety and restraint.
Maturity, then, is Righteous Re-Engineering—transforming rebellion into mastery. When Stevo chooses law over anarchy, he embodies the truth that sustainable change requires structure. In both character and code, reliability is born not from chaos, but from conscious design.
