The Mirror of Art

Reflections on St. Cyprian and Frater Acher

Everyone has their opinions about St. Cyprian.

There are whole courses on how to work with the sorcerer saint which are based almost entirely upon unverified personal gnosis. There are Quimbanda cults that work with him to subdue demons and send curses. There are Peruvian curanderos who work with him as the patron saint of healers. There is a magical order of St. Cyprian, whose daily prayer regimen is decidedly monk-like. All of these modes are valid. All of these modes are St. Cyprian.

If you ask any given practitioner who has engaged with him, you might hear any number of variations on what he’s actually about. Often, any given practitioner will hold in higher regard that methodology which was their own gateway to Cyprian, scoffing at or belittling the other alternatives in light of their tried and true orthodoxy. Some will say he’s tricky, mischievous, a bit of a pill. Some will say he’s stern, or paternal, or merciful. Some will say he’s got a dry sense of humor and a lack of sympathy. Some will say he’s kind, calm, and forgiving. And some will say he’s to be feared, amoral and cold.

All of these taken into account, there is only one perspective on St. Cyprian that seems to apply across the board, one bold enough to pan out to the macro, to forego the details of egoistic identity brought about by tradition or modality and observe only the larger shapes taking place. The perspective of which I speak is none other than that of Frater Acher’s. His observation that our magical patron is inconsistent as a feature, rather than a bug, is astute. It takes very little perspective shifting to see that he is, in fact, perceived in as many different ways as there are people who work with him. It’s almost a one-to-one ratio. 

This all began swirling around in me as a question quite a while back. Back when I had put the finishing touches on my St. Cyprian Oil and made a few posts about it, some of which in places that might not have been the wisest of options, looking back. In one of these joyless forums I was called out for “throwing a bunch of shit together and slapping Cyprian’s name on it”. I was told, in no shortage of snark in tone and assumed superiority, that I would have been better off just ordering some oil from a monastery that had been blessed by monks because many of the ingredients I had added to the mix were not found in any of Cyprian’s stories. They said that my six-month long inspired magical art project was worthless.

This, to me, spoke sadly of confusion regarding the whole point of having a magical patron saint in the first place and it wasn’t until A Mage of Many Faces that I was provided the key to articulating why I think my dissenter, or anyone proclaiming Cyprianic orthodoxy, had entirely lost the plot. The suggestion that following a predetermined list of ingredients and compiling yet another thoughtless concoction would somehow be preferable to direct collaboration through spirit communication in order to co-create something challenging and new seemed, to me, quite stupid.

Being a magician is not only about memorizing prayers and following spells by the book. In fact, it could be argued that these are the stepping stones of beginners. The guardrails meant only to give the practitioner a jump start and a way in to deeper, more individualized, more nuanced, and more versatile work. The record of a workable spell, or the colonialist explanations of what any given spirit in a list is “for”, as recorded by a magician in the past who either inherited it, or discovered it themselves through congress with spirits, can be a bootstrap to one’s own practice. They should not be the totality thereof. There is very little in the way of exploration or discovery to be found in exclusively parroting these records. There is very little in the way of true adventure, discovery, and co-creation.

It strikes me as rather obvious, but apparently not so for everyone, that at the foundational level St. Cyprian loves doing magic. Without going through a whole chaplet here, his story is one of travel, adventure, danger, learning by doing, and operating within a multitude of traditions. Tauropolian witchcraft practiced alongside Chaldean astrology, Argoan illusion, Spartan necromancy, and so on, the mage was always learning something new and this meant mistakes were sure to be made. This meant never being afraid to step humbly into the role of student again, striving to gracefully (or at least functionally) integrate new cosmologies, spirits, technologies, and methods into a coherent and effective practice. 

It stands to reason that there would be many failures in these attempts, many lesson-rich experiments in weaving together the seemingly disparate into a harmonizing totality of magical prowess. It seems to me that this would involve more within his story than a few named plants or spirits, that just about any materia one could think of would be a sundry the great sorcerer saint had probably already encountered, if not in his mythopoetic history then surely in his modern day ubiquity through those scattered all across the planet with whom he works.

So when I return to the memory of me in my own shrine room, sitting there with St. Cyprian and a few deceased Thai magicians who also grace me with their guidance, asking them all to work together to help me make something challenging, adventurous, and truly new in honor of him rather than the same old Cyprian oil you can find dozens of practitioners selling from the same old recipe, I can tell you with total confidence that what I felt in response was pure joy from all parties involved.

The challenge, the uncharted territory, the trail being blazed with him at my side guiding my hand away from numerous potential follies and toward grace and success; This is what it’s all about to me. And when I look at his hagiography, what’s actually there, when I consider the rich collaborative magical art of exploration, adventure, and co-creation versus the method of cautious replication, duplication, and mimicry, it seems very clear to me which way our great adventuring sorcerer would prefer to operate. Which way is actually interesting and engaging, versus stale and obligatory. Which way is art, and which way is business as usual.

This takes us to the final message in Frater Acher’s wonderful book. He states that there are two ways to work with St. Cyprian, two ways to take in all the stories and the places and the prayers and the historiola, and those ways are as either veneration or inspiration.

There is a technique in sales called positioning, whereby the qualities of one thing seem to be self-evident based upon the qualities expressed about another thing which is in juxtaposition to the first. When one has a master, it is implied that they are a follower or an underling in some way. Just the same, when one insults another it is usually in hopes that the lowering of another will cause the self to seem elevated through positioning. Positioning has often unseen metaphysical consequences, constructing energetic patterns through which we find our lives emanating in the cascade of time. But one can equally engage in positioning to suggest equality, to lock-in to a parallel line of archetypal storying. To walk beside rather than chase after.

In my own view, repeating what has been said before, following in the saint’s footsteps, worshiping and adoring him while following the notes of those who came before is a perfectly valid method of working with him. It does, however, limit one to being his follower. The devotional path is powerful, but may allow for significantly less individuation in the end. It is hard to become a legend, after all, when you’re groveling at another’s feet.

The inspirational path situates the practitioner as a fellow traveler, as F.A. states. And in my own view this ties nicely into his other works where he stresses developing firsthand spirit relationships and knowledge rather than following grimoires with sigils and seals for spirits, of which you have not even a shred of personal experience or firsthand knowledge. The inspirational path inherently suggests by its shape that the individual is their own magician, their own legend, carving out their own path, not merely following in the footsteps of others but bravely, brazenly, blazing their own trail in parallel to those that came before, rather than behind them.

This method situates St. Cyprian as a sort of peer, rather than an object of veneration. This assumes that the practitioner is legendary in their own right and, while assistance and guidance from Cyprian is still immensely valued and sometimes called upon, it is not a relinquishing of one’s own agency, creativity, or uniqueness of personal hagiography to a story of following others. It is not a pact to guarantee fame or success regardless of the merit of one’s own work. It is not a shortcut or a cheat code to the illusion of accomplishment. It is instead the honest assessment, the full responsibility for one’s own actions, and the wisdom gained through already having traversed the paths of mimicry and noting that they seem to mostly lead in circles.

I choose the path where I am carried by my own merits. And when they are too weak to carry me, I will be able to see it - I will not be blind to my shortcomings. I will cultivate my skill rather than leaning too hard on another to compensate. I will explore more than follow directions.

Instead of worship, I choose to honor.

Instead of following, I walk beside.

Instead of mimicry, I choose the fraught and frightening path of discovery.

I choose adventure over safety.

Amen.