Nearly a century later, the cat remains an intriguing symbol of the relationship between observation and reality. Popular descriptions of the experiment sometimes suggest that an observer brings reality into existence merely by looking at it. Quantum mechanics, however, does not establish that human consciousness creates physical reality. Measurement involves physical interactions, and modern explanations of quantum decoherence describe how interactions between a system and its environment help explain the emergence of the apparently definite world we experience (Zurek, 2003). Nevertheless, Schrödinger's experiment presents an opportunity to consider a different question: What is the relationship between the observer and the reality he experiences?
For the speculative Freemason, perhaps we have been concentrating upon the wrong occupant of the experiment. What if the most important question is not what happens to the cat when we open the box, but what happens to the observer? We ordinarily assume that our task is to examine the world, identify its imperfections, and determine how those imperfections might be corrected. Yet every judgment we make is influenced by the condition of the person making it. The greatest mistake may be assuming that the problem lies entirely in the reality we observe, without considering that the observer himself may be the first thing requiring improvement.
There is a subtle but consequential proposition here. We cannot change an external circumstance merely by choosing to perceive it differently, nor can we alter moral truth by changing our opinions about it. But if we improve ourselves, we may become capable of perceiving reality more accurately, judging circumstances more wisely, and acting more effectively. Those actions have consequences beyond ourselves. Through them, what begins as a change in the observer can eventually become a genuine change in the reality he inhabits.
The Observer Is Never Neutral
We often speak of reality as though our experience of it were identical to reality itself. We see a situation, assign it meaning, and respond as though our interpretation were an objective account of what has occurred. Yet perception is influenced by memory, experience, expectation, temperament, and prejudice. Two men may witness the same event and leave with entirely different understandings of its significance. Neither has necessarily invented the external event, but each has interpreted it through the experiences and assumptions that shape his judgment.
Consider a disagreement between two Brothers. One interprets a careless remark as a deliberate insult, while the other regards it as an unfortunate choice of words. The remark itself does not change, but the realities experienced by the two men may be profoundly different. The first may respond with resentment, withdraw his friendship, or seek retaliation. The second may ask for clarification, extend patience, or dismiss the matter as unworthy of further concern. From a single event, two very different sequences of consequences can emerge, not because the original circumstance was different, but because the observers were.
This distinction raises a philosophical question: Which is more powerful, perception or reality? The question may be misleading because perception and reality are not necessarily competing forces. The external world imposes conditions upon us, but our understanding of those conditions influences how we respond. A man who sees hostility everywhere is likely to behave differently from one who approaches the same circumstances with patience and goodwill. Over time, their differing conduct may help produce the very kinds of relationships each has come to expect.
Yet there is a danger in taking this argument too far. A man can change his perspective and remain completely wrong. He can reinterpret dishonesty as cleverness, cruelty as strength, or injustice as necessity. A more comfortable perception is not necessarily a more accurate one, and personal satisfaction is not evidence of moral improvement. If our objective is simply to change how we feel about ourselves or the world, we may succeed without becoming any wiser or better.
The more demanding question is whether we can improve the observer's ability to recognize reality as it is, rather than merely as he wishes it to be. That requires something beyond perception itself. It requires standards against which our understanding and conduct can be measured, standards that do not change simply because our personal circumstances or preferences have changed. Here, the philosophical foundations of Freemasonry become particularly important.
The Working Tools and the Standards Beyond Ourselves
Freemasonry provides a remarkably direct response to the problem of the imperfect observer through its working tools. Yet there is an essential distinction between the man who uses those tools and the standards they represent. The instruments do not acquire their properties from the preferences, experiences, or perceptions of the workman. A builder does not determine what constitutes a right angle according to his personal understanding of geometry. He applies the Square because it provides a reference against which his work can be tested. The speculative Mason is invited to approach the improvement of his character with a similar willingness to submit his judgment to standards beyond himself.
The Square represents the obligation to measure our conduct against principles of moral rectitude. Honesty, justice, fidelity, and integrity cannot become whatever we wish them to be simply because a particular interpretation serves our interests. A man may persuade himself that his dishonesty was justified, his prejudice reasonable, or his conduct honorable, but such judgments do not necessarily make them so. The Square challenges him to distinguish between what he believes to be right and what is right. Its purpose is not to confirm his existing understanding, but to reveal the distance between his conduct and the standard against which that conduct is measured.
The Compasses introduce a related but somewhat different lesson. As an operative instrument, the compasses describe circles, establish boundaries, and define relationships of distance and proportion. They can be adjusted to draw circles of different dimensions, but their operation remains governed by principles of geometry rather than the inclinations of the individual holding them. In speculative Masonry, this becomes a useful illustration of the boundaries we establish around our passions, desires, and conduct. Different circumstances may require different judgments concerning the appropriate extent of our actions, just as the compasses may be opened to different widths. Yet the obligation to exercise restraint does not disappear merely because restraint becomes inconvenient.
The Plumb offers perhaps the clearest expression of a reference existing beyond the observer. A plumb line does not become perpendicular because the builder believes it to be so. Suspended freely, it responds to gravity and establishes a vertical reference independent of the preferences of the man examining it. In Masonic symbolism, this physical certainty lends particular force to its association with uprightness and rectitude. Understood as an emblem of divine moral authority, the Plumb reminds the Mason that he is accountable to a standard greater than his own judgment. A man may incline toward ambition, resentment, vanity, or self-interest, but the Plumb does not incline with him. It reveals his deviation rather than accommodating it.
These working tools find a deeper philosophical foundation in the tradition of the four cardinal virtues: wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice. In The Republic, Plato examines these virtues as qualities essential to the rightly ordered soul and the just community, while situating the highest possibilities of knowledge within his account of the Form of the Good (Plato, ca. 375 BCE/1992). His philosophy offers a powerful challenge to the proposition that moral truth is merely a matter of individual perception. On a Platonic account, the observer may misunderstand justice, recognize it imperfectly, or gradually develop a clearer understanding of it, but his changing opinion does not determine what justice is. Virtue is not created to satisfy the observer; the observer must be educated to recognize and pursue virtue.
Within this framework, the relationship between the working tools and the cardinal virtues becomes especially meaningful. Wisdom enables the Mason to recognize the standards against which his conduct should be measured. Courage allows him to uphold those standards when doing so demands sacrifice or risks disapproval. Temperance governs the passions and desires symbolically circumscribed by the Compasses, while justice directs his conduct toward what is right rather than merely what is personally advantageous. The Square and Plumb remind him that uprightness must be demonstrated through conformity to principles that stand beyond his immediate preferences. The tools thus become more than familiar emblems of good behavior. They direct the workman toward an objective moral order that he is obligated to understand and, increasingly, to embody.
A commitment to this Platonic understanding significantly changes the argument about perception and reality. We are not suggesting that every observer creates his own moral universe or that changing perspective somehow changes the nature of goodness, justice, or truth. We are suggesting that the observer is imperfectly equipped to recognize those realities and must undertake the work necessary to improve his understanding. The standards do not move to accommodate him. He must change in order to bring himself into closer alignment with them.
This also gives the symbolism of the rough ashlar a more demanding significance. The unfinished stone represents the individual requiring the application of appropriate working tools, while its preparation represents the cultivation of character and the development of moral understanding (Mackey, 1869). A workman might look at a rough stone from a different angle and persuade himself that its irregularities are less noticeable. But changing his viewpoint has not removed a single imperfection from the stone. Genuine improvement requires labor, accurate measurement, correction, and a willingness to acknowledge what remains unfinished.
The speculative Mason therefore encounters a remarkable paradox. He is simultaneously the observer, the workman, and the imperfect material upon which he labors. His judgment must identify the deficiencies in his own character, even though that judgment may itself be distorted by those deficiencies. The working tools help resolve this difficulty by directing his attention toward standards beyond his personal perception. The task is not to change the Square until his conduct appears square, nor to tilt the Plumb until his inclination appears upright. It is to change himself until his conduct more closely conforms to what those instruments represent.
The Lifeguard Principle: The Responsibility of Self-Improvement
There is a practical principle familiar to lifesaving that helps explain why this inward work matters. A lifeguard must possess the competence, discipline, and judgment necessary to perform a rescue without unnecessarily becoming another victim. Training emphasizes the safety of the rescuer because an individual who cannot maintain control of himself may be unable to help someone else. Good intentions, however sincere, are not a substitute for preparation. The desire to save another person must be accompanied by the ability to act effectively.
This provides an appropriate analogy for the work of speculative Freemasonry. We frequently speak of improving our lodges, strengthening our communities, promoting harmony, and making the world a better place. These are worthy ambitions, but they raise an uncomfortable question. How can a man who has not learned to govern his own temper bring peace to a disagreement? How can someone dominated by vanity encourage humility in others? How can a Brother who refuses to examine his own prejudices expect to administer justice fairly?
The lifeguard principle does not suggest that we must achieve perfection before attempting to help another person. Such a requirement would make service impossible, because the work of self-improvement is never entirely finished. Rather, it reminds us that our capacity to help others depends in part upon the qualities we have developed within ourselves. The more effectively we govern our passions, discipline our judgment, and recognize our limitations, the more capable we become of contributing something constructive to the lives of others. Self-reliance, understood in this sense, is not freedom from obligation to others. It is the cultivation of the capacity to fulfill those obligations responsibly.
This is why Masonic self-improvement should never be confused with self-absorption. The rough ashlar is not prepared so that it can sit upon a pedestal and admire its own perfection. It is prepared so that it may become useful in the construction of something greater. The individual Mason likewise works upon himself not merely to enjoy a private sense of moral accomplishment, but to become a more dependable Brother, a more thoughtful citizen, and a more beneficial influence upon those whose lives intersect with his own.
Indeed, we might reasonably question the judgment of any man who devotes extraordinary energy to correcting the imperfections of everyone around him while remaining remarkably indifferent to his own. Such a man may possess considerable zeal, but zeal without self-examination can become destructive. Before attempting to reshape a lodge, a family, or a community, the Mason ought to consider whether the qualities he brings to that effort will contribute to its improvement or merely reproduce his own deficiencies on a larger scale. The obligation to improve ourselves is therefore inseparable from the obligation to serve others.
The Platonic virtues provide a moral direction for this preparation. Wisdom is necessary because good intentions unsupported by understanding may produce harmful consequences. Courage is necessary because recognizing the right course does not guarantee that we will possess the resolve to follow it. Temperance is necessary because passion and self-interest can overwhelm even a sound judgment, while justice is necessary because our actions must serve what is right rather than merely what is convenient. These virtues are not simply desirable qualities to be admired from a distance. They are capacities that must be cultivated if our efforts to improve the world are to produce the good we intend.
From the Observer to Reality: The Cycle of Change
We can now return to the relationship between perception and reality with a more substantial philosophical foundation. The original proposition was that changing the observer changes what he observes. But the Masonic argument reaches its conclusion through a longer and more consequential process. When the observer undertakes genuine moral improvement, he becomes better equipped to recognize reality accurately. Clearer perception permits sounder judgment, sounder judgment supports more virtuous choices, and those choices become actions that produce consequences in the world around him.
Psychologist Albert Bandura (2001), in his work on social cognitive theory, described human beings as both products and producers of their social environments. Individuals are influenced by the circumstances in which they live, but they also exercise agency through their choices, self-regulation, and behavior. Their actions influence other people and help shape the environments in which subsequent experience occurs. This reciprocal relationship offers a useful psychological parallel to the Masonic understanding of self-improvement. The individual is not simply a passive recipient of reality, nor does he possess unlimited power to create it. He is a participant whose conduct can influence the conditions of his own life and the lives of others.
Consider once again the Brother who interprets disagreement as a personal attack. If he responds defensively, he may provoke similar defensiveness in others, deepening the hostility he believes he has discovered. Suppose, however, that he undertakes the difficult work of examining his pride, practicing temperance, and developing the wisdom to distinguish honest disagreement from personal animosity. The next disagreement may appear less threatening, not because the other Brother has necessarily changed, but because the observer has become more capable of understanding the situation. He may listen more carefully, respond with greater restraint, and judge the circumstances more fairly.
Those changes do not remain confined to his thoughts. His conduct influences the response of the other Brother, which may in turn alter the character of their relationship. A conflict that might once have produced resentment may instead become an occasion for mutual understanding. Cooperation may replace suspicion, and a relationship previously weakened by pride may become stronger through the exercise of patience and goodwill. What began as a change within one individual has now produced consequences in the external world.
The original disagreement has not been erased. No mysterious power of consciousness has altered the past or changed the words that were spoken. Yet the reality of the relationship has changed in a meaningful and observable way. The transformed observer perceived the situation more accurately, judged it more wisely, and acted more virtuously. His actions influenced another person, and together they produced circumstances different from those that would likely have followed his earlier conduct.
This process also explains why the transformation is cyclical rather than merely linear. The improved relationship becomes part of the observer's subsequent experience, reinforcing his understanding of patience, justice, and brotherly love. That experience may encourage further self-examination and still greater improvement. Better judgment produces better actions, better actions help create better circumstances, and those circumstances provide new opportunities for moral development. The observer and the world continue to influence one another, but the direction of that influence has changed.
Of course, this process has limits. Improved perception cannot remove every injustice, prevent every misfortune, or compel others to behave virtuously. A well-governed man may still encounter dishonesty, hostility, and suffering. Nor should responsibility for harmful circumstances be placed automatically upon the person experiencing them. The value of this philosophy lies not in pretending that individuals possess unlimited control over the world, but in recognizing that they possess a meaningful capacity to influence it through their choices and conduct.
This is also where the Platonic understanding of virtue becomes indispensable. Without an objective moral direction, the cycle of perception and action might simply reinforce our existing prejudices. A man who believes himself justified in mistreating others may interpret their resentment as confirmation that they deserve his hostility. His perceptions shape his conduct, his conduct produces hostility, and the resulting hostility reinforces his original perceptions. The cycle is real, but it moves toward greater disorder rather than improvement.
The working tools interrupt that process by requiring the Mason to measure himself against standards beyond his immediate experience. He must ask not merely whether his actions produced the outcome he expected, but whether those actions were wise, courageous, temperate, and just. The objective is not simply to become more effective at achieving whatever ends he happens to desire. It is to become more capable of recognizing worthy ends and pursuing them through appropriate means. Only then does changing the observer become a reliable foundation for changing the world for the better.
Opening the Box: The Reality We Help Create
We can now return to Schrödinger's cat with a different understanding of the experiment. The original thought experiment concerned the interpretation of quantum mechanics, not the moral development of the human observer. It should not be mistaken for scientific evidence that changing our thoughts directly changes the physical universe. Its usefulness here is metaphorical. It invites us to reconsider the relationship between the observer and the observed, while allowing us to explore a distinctly Masonic understanding of how human beings participate in shaping the world.
Freemasonry suggests that the observer deserves considerably more attention than we ordinarily give him. We frequently examine the conduct of others, criticize the imperfections of institutions, and identify the defects of the world around us. These observations may be accurate, and the problems they reveal may genuinely require correction. Yet the accuracy of our observations and the wisdom of our responses depend upon the condition of the person making them. An imperfect observer may recognize a genuine injustice while responding in ways that deepen it, just as a poorly trained rescuer may transform one emergency into two.
The answer is not to abandon the effort to improve the external world. It is to begin that effort with a more disciplined examination of ourselves. The cardinal virtues provide the moral direction, while the Masonic working tools offer symbolic instruments through which that direction can be understood and applied. The Square challenges us to examine the rightness of our conduct, the Compasses remind us to govern our passions, and the Plumb directs us toward an uprightness that cannot be redefined by personal convenience. The standards remain beyond the observer, while the observer undertakes the continuing labor of bringing himself into closer conformity with them.
There is a deeper significance here to the familiar symbolism of building the Temple. The Mason does not improve the structure merely by imagining that its stones are properly fitted. He must undertake the labor required to make them so. Yet the first stone placed under his care is himself, and the quality of his subsequent work depends upon the discipline, judgment, and skill he develops in preparing it. The Temple Within is therefore not separate from the larger world. It is the place where the workman develops the capacity to contribute meaningfully to that world.
Perhaps the greatest mistake we make when looking at reality is assuming that the thing requiring correction is always on the other side of our observation. We look outward for the source of disorder, injustice, conflict, and dissatisfaction, sometimes without considering how our own perceptions and conduct participate in sustaining them. The world is undoubtedly imperfect, and many of its imperfections exist independently of us. Nevertheless, the observer is the first part of that world over which the Mason has a particular responsibility to exercise discipline and control.
The lesson of Schrödinger's Masonic cat is therefore not that observation creates reality, but that the observer possesses the capacity to change the reality in which he participates. That transformation begins not with the external world, but with the observer himself. By measuring his character against standards of virtue that exist beyond his personal perceptions, he develops the capacity to see more clearly, judge more wisely, and act more justly. Those actions produce consequences in the world around him, changing the circumstances that he and others subsequently experience. The process is indirect, but profoundly consequential: we change ourselves to perceive reality more accurately, and through better actions, we change reality itself.
The Mason opens the box expecting to discover something about the cat. The more important discovery may be that he has spent too little time examining the man who opened it. For the great work of speculative Freemasonry is not to persuade us that reality can be made to conform to our perceptions, but to teach us that our perceptions, judgments, and conduct must be improved if we hope to bring the world into closer conformity with the virtues we profess.
And perhaps that is the final paradox of Schrödinger's Masonic cat. We begin by asking whether the observer changes reality through the act of observation. We end by discovering that the most meaningful transformation occurs when the observer first allows himself to be changed by the standards against which he is measured. Only then can he return to the world with clearer vision, wiser judgment, and more virtuous actions, becoming not merely an observer of reality, but a workman capable of improving it.
References
Bandura, A. (2001). Social cognitive theory: An agentic perspective. Annual Review of Psychology, 52, 1–26. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.psych.52.1.1
Mackey, A. G. (1869). The symbolism of Freemasonry: Illustrating and explaining its science and philosophy, its legends, myths and symbols. Clark & Maynard. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11937
Plato. (1992). Republic (G. M. A. Grube, Trans.; C. D. C. Reeve, Rev.). Hackett Publishing Company. (Original work composed ca. 375 BCE)
Schrödinger, E. (1980). The present situation in quantum mechanics: A translation of Schrödinger's “Cat Paradox” paper (J. D. Trimmer, Trans.). Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 124(5), 323–338. https://www.jstor.org/stable/986572 (Original work published 1935)
Zurek, W. H. (2003). Decoherence, einselection, and the quantum origins of the classical. Reviews of Modern Physics, 75(3), 715–775. https://doi.org/10.1103/RevModPhys.75.715
