A message from Anonymous


I have a question about "communicating" with Lucifer as an archetype or symbol, or rather learning how to develop a personal relationship with the light bringer archetype. I'm not expecting a big booming voice or a disembodied consciousness, but a more personal relationship with the deity which may or may not exist. I've been considering contemplating my own life to find Lucifer within myself. Do you have any tips on developing this sort of personal relationship?

Personally, I would caution you against starting such a relationship looking completely inward, and building a practice based on those findings. This is something I did as well, and while I don’t exactly regret it, I think it held me back for a long time too. 

If you go searching for things within you that you believe to be representative of Lucifer right off the bat, it’s easy to become overconfident in your knowledge of him, and you are more likely to ‘create’ him as you would want him to be. For example, I thought my dislike of God was representative of Lucifer when I first started out, and so I built him into an entity that fit my preferences.

I might get some negative reactions for saying this, but if Lucifer stands as an archetype/symbol who you are completely comfortable with, who represents everything you love and abhors everything you hate, then you seriously need to reexamine your faith and the purposes you have created it for. If you’re not being challenged to see things from new perspectives, if you’re not being forced to question your own beliefs, then you are not taking in the lessons that this symbol is offering. Light reveals harsh truths, but it can also blind you to these truths—stand too close so that you believe yourself with all your prejudices and biases to already be this Lightbearer symbol, and chances are you’re allowing yourself to be blinded.

Apotheosis is a long journey—I would suggest that if you really want to start inward, find what Lightbearer qualities you are lacking, and work on those first. This is still toeing the line regarding creating the Lightbearer as you wish him to be, but less so than the above I think. 

If you’re willing to hold off on inward work for the time being, study anything about this archetype that you can get your hands on. Find out what other people have to say about these figures in all their guises—even the less flattering ones. Read about the lightbearer as the liberator of man, read about him as the gifter of fire, read about him as deceiver and destroyer. Read everything, from scathing insults from bible-belt believers to admiration-fueled prose written by atheists. Read fiction and scripture alike.

Make note of the information you like, and the information you don’t like. Figure out what representations you are comfortable with, and which you are uncomfortable with. Ask yourself why—don’t sugarcoat your answers, or try to reason with yourself on why you are justified in your preferences. Be as objective as possible. Once you’ve done that, start over. This time, try to understand why the authors of all these different pieces feel the way they do, see the lightbearer in the way they do. Pretend you’re the theist who is enraptured by Prometheus’s sacrifice, pretend you’re the born-again Christian who awaits the day that the devil is gone for good. Take into account your original biases, and build an argument against them. Question everything.

Something will come from this. It may not be the type of relationship you originally wanted, it may not even be with the Lightbearer figure/symbol that you originally admired, but it will be something with depth, a relationship you can build on towards your own apotheosis.

The Mountain

I want to thank wanderinglistener for their most recent piece of artwork which reminded me of The Mountain, a timelapse video that has become more like a religious experience for me.

Without fail, The Mountain makes me tear up every single time I watch it. I’ve often said that finding this faith was akin to falling in love, and that description is still the best I can give—but The Mountain acts as a reminder that I fell in love with far more than a set of ideals, I fell in love with humanity and the world around me. So it only makes sense that my understanding of my faith, and my preferred visualization of my god would not be confined to a particular shape or form.

Instead, he is a sky that should be dark and empty (for what could arise from Godlessness except darkness?), but has become a canvas on which he paints to honor his Lord. He paints to remember, to resemble, to reflect—to become more like God in all his ways (for He must increase, and I must decrease). It is a paltry likeness, but what do we know of God anyways—for humanity it is breathtaking and awe-inspiring all the same.  Unsuccessful though his attempts may be, he has brought us a bit closer to knowing an unfathomable God, and to bringing the divine to earth.

He has starlight for eyes, countless burning suns shining all the brighter despite (or perhaps because of) the eternal separation from his God. Crowned in his broken glory, he announces a Dawn that will nevermore grace him with its light. Wrapped in shadow though he may be, his steps leave sunbeams in his wake.

I see him as an exile in a world where flowers bloom at his feet only to wither and fade, but endure despite the destructive expanse of humanity. A world where the depths of the sea lure the relentless curiosity and greed of mankind, who see opportunity in place of beauty. A world where it becomes less about him and less about God (despite his attempts to paint the sky and remind us of The One who loved us enough to denounce his beloved prince for the sin of failing to love us with the same fervor), and more about us, with all our faults and imperfections. A world where amidst all the death and suffering and darkness there is also life and joy and hope. A world where we have made ourselves imitations of the divine, stumbling in our quest to become our own flawed gods.

And because not unlike him, wherein our divinity is seen best when we are rising from our darkest moments, he gives us the opportunity to be refined by fire, to become more like God. If that means having to become the monster of our nightmares, an adversary that is as horrible as we can conceive ourselves to be, then so be it. If it means forsaking the pearls and jewels that once adorned his being, replacing them with a mask reflecting our own doubts and fears (for that which is holy is hidden and veiled), it will be done. If it means becoming hated rather than revered for his trials, then he will serve in the only way he knows how. He will test and illuminate and burn if he must, but in the end we must make that choice for ourselves, and craft ourselves into divinity.

My faith resembles a kiss between earth and sky, where humanity and divinity become so entwined that it is impossible to tell the two apart. Instead, they become something far more radiant in their unity. 

A message from Anonymous


As an agnostic luciferian, how do you deal with disbelief and deity silence? I find myself being jealous of other luciferians who claim to have personal experiences with lucifer, and I can't seem to move forward because of this.

I’m going to be completely honest here: the issue of deity silence was only a significant problem for me when I still considered myself pagan.

I found that there was an overwhelming pressure within the community to seek those experiences of gods tapping you on the shoulder or whispering in your ear, and that mindset really caused me to focus on the ‘divine’ aspects of luciferianism while ignoring the more human aspects. And I think this was what I needed at the time—after all, I came to luciferianism so cynical about divine, as someone that wanted nothing to do with it. The immersion in a community that actively welcomed and sought out divine experiences helped spur the first of many paradigm shifts that would occur in my faith, and did inspire me to grow spiritually.

But after a while, I felt stuck. Like you, I couldn’t seem to move forward. I felt like I was hearing the same conversations over and over again, most of which were not challenging my faith or the way I thought—I felt comfortable, maybe even overconfident, in my theism and in my god. Looking back, I think I hit a point where I felt as though my faith was only ever validated and motivated forward by the next ‘experience’ I had with the divine, the next ‘sign’ from my god that this was real. I’d come to rely on the divine more than myself, something I had told myself I’d never do, and had grown lazy waiting for divine inspiration while not taking the initiative to find it myself.

So when I broke away from the pagan community, it was kind of like starting over, since I was approaching luciferianism through a completely different mindset. The divine was no longer my only priority in my faith, Lucifer as an entity suddenly didn’t matter so much—instead, humanity bloomed into focus. ‘Divine experiences’ weren’t a necessity anymore, and deity silence didn’t scare me as much. Before, deity silence meant that perhaps Lucifer wasn’t a real entity, and that perhaps I was wasting my time for nothing. It increased my disbelief not only in my god, but in the values I thought I was fighting for. Afterwards, deity silence meant nothing—it could make me disbelieve in Lucifer as an entity, yes, but not in Lucifer as a force and ideology embedded within humanity itself.

I can’t disbelieve when I see people flourish despite adversity, inspire hope when all seems lost, and stare injustice in the eye with the promise that they will go down fighting if they must. So maybe I don’t always believe in my god as an actual god—it now seems rather insignificant that I cling to a literal divine form for him when he can be seen in so many other manifestations which, rather than being distinct and separate from humanity, are embodied in mankind’s very essence. 

So while I still honor him as a god, and while divine experiences and signs are not unwelcome, I don’t feel as though I need them to validate my practice or my faith anymore, and I don’t need to look towards the divine when I can also look to humanity for inspiration.

A message from xing-to-me


Hello! Is good to see someone who also worships Lucifer. I been worshipping him for about a year now and I come to realize he really likes Butterflies. I don't know if it was just my experience with him or if you can relate?

Hi there, I’m afraid I don’t really have any personal experiences that would support the butterfly thing.

But I just want to clear one thing up, because I’ve gotten quite a few new followers referring to my practice as ‘worship’ and it is making me rather uncomfortable.

I do not worship Lucifer. I respect, love, and honor him, and it is because of that deep-rooted respect for what he represents that I cannot claim to worship him, no matter how much I may long to. It is my personal belief that the complete submissive fealty towards him and the exalted glorification of his name suggested by the term ‘worship’ is not something he would want from me, and would in fact negate my work towards emulating his ideals. For more info on this, please see my post Of Worship and Submission, or Lack Thereof

So i’d highly appreciate it if my followers could not refer to my practice and devotion as ‘worship’—thank you in advance!

A message from Anonymous


Hey, I was just wondering about a certain few Luciferian principles. There're things about how the Luciferian is "elite" to "inferior" people of Abrahamic faith & other more, er, arrogant things (I'm truly very sorry if that's insulting), & besides those few I agree with all the principles of Luciferianism. I'd be willing to follow the path, but I've never been one for exerting my status above others or seeing people immediately as "subhuman" because of one trait. Is this a bad thing for me?

I’m not sure where you heard of these as being luciferian principles, but speaking as a luciferian I can assure you this isn’t something I ascribe to or promote in any way. In fact, that particular mindset goes counter to what Lucifer stands for in certain mythos interpretations, where his rebellion was an active struggle against the injustice of a divine hierarchy. 

Choice and free will are not only applicable when they suit you—if someone is going to uphold these values as a defense to their right to reject YHWH, they must be equally willing to respect another’s choice to love and worship YHWH. Thinking they are somehow superior because of their faith is not respect.

So no, it is in no way ‘bad’ that you would refuse to put yourself on a pedestal and look down on people who have as much devotion to their faith as you, and have every right to follow their chosen god without being treated as inferior. Keep on keeping on, anon.

A message from Anonymous


I know you're agnostic, but maybe you can help me--how would I go about oathing myself to Lucifer?

You don’t. The greatest oath you can make is a vow not to bind yourself to him. 

Regardless of whether you’re approaching Lucifer and Luciferianism through atheism, theism, or agnosticism, there are a couple different reasons why being oathbound would prove to be a problem. 

The first would be the goal of apotheosis. If you are seeking to become your own god, why would you make a vow to follow another god for the rest of your days? Even if you are only seeing him as a means of support for your own growth, the goal is to not need that support. 

Additionally, depending on your level of faithfulness to keeping that oath, it may later prove to be a self-imposed restriction on your own free will—a restriction that Lucifer as a god would not want in the first place.

You should ask yourself, what is the point of making an oath to a god of change, a god who finds beauty in the ephemeral? What use would a sworn oath be to a god who recoils from absolute fealty and worship directed towards him?

Even if you did make an oath, he would find a way to make you go back on your word, along with the faith that fueled its initiation.  As Adversary and Destroyer, it is what he does best. He will make you question all that you thought you loved about him, all that you held dear, because a resolve to remain steadfast and loyal to him as you believe him to be is a resolve to never embrace change or doubt, a resolve to be stagnant in your faith.

Take it from someone who once made such a vow—the only acceptable binding oath made to him is a broken one.

The ‘What-If’ Game

 I love playing the ‘what-if’ game when it comes to my faith. I will find any excuse to poke holes in the carefully woven fabric of belief that I’ve spun for myself, and then try to patch it up with questions and ideas that challenge the pattern and structure I had initially created. Some patched up bits have remained and grown into their own works of art. Others have not been able to withstand the constant destruction and renewal.

This has resulted in a vastly different faith than the one I started with—and yet, it’s not really all that different at its core. Perceptions have changed, paradigms have shifted, but what began with the radical idea of embracing doubt rather than fearing it has remained fairly constant throughout the years.

One particular version of the ‘what-if’ game that persists even today began when I started to let go of my grudge with my birth religion, when I stopped shying away from the love my god had for his Father. When I stopped trying to make my god fit the mold I had imagined for him, so too did the tapestry of my faith expand from the limits I had imposed on it.

This new game dared to ask: What if everyone else is seeing what I keep myself blind to? What if I’ve been trying to fit his Father and the risen Son into molds that supported my preconceptions, rather than just letting myself try to learn and understand what they were rather than what I thought they must be?

As time went on, new questions developed. If I have come to terms with Lucifer as being a mere spark from the fire that is God, as a small reflection (albeit profaned) of God, and I love him and all that he represents, what if I were to seek to love the son who was found worthy, he who resides in the Father and has won his favor, instead of Lucifer?

Lucifer, after all, is limited. He is the exiled son who was found lacking. His is the ruin and loss to Christ’s victory. How much stronger then, would my devotion be to the Morningstar who was crowned in his place?

Perhaps I’ve just heard renditions of “you follow the wrong god” one too many times. I prefer to think that this is the case, because the alternative is too heartbreaking to bear—that it is not my own skepticism speaking, but rather my god; that along with finding himself unworthy of seeking forgiveness from his God, he would also find himself unworthy of my own reverence and love.

And objectively, my studies have led to me finding far more parallels between them than differences. If I love Lucifer for his vision for humanity, it should be simple to lose myself to that proclaimed love and hope that Christ has for mankind. If I love Lucifer for his flawed nature, my love should grow tenfold for Christ’s human and mortalstate. If Lucifer’s sense of justice is mirrored and strengthened within Christ, I should be head-over-heels in love already.

So my doubting heart, that very same doubting heart which I cherish for having led me to my god in the first place, has risen to this challenge to lead me away from my god.  I am no stranger to having my faith tested and tried, or threatened with destruction so that it may be built anew—that is what I expected from this endeavor. I think I may have even wished for it, subconsciously. After all, the previous times that my faith has been shattered have also been the times that I’ve come into greater understanding and love. If I’ve learned to trust anything throughout the years, it has been to trust in my doubt, to trust that the breaking down of one’s faith is not necessarily a bad thing, regardless of whether it is shattered by my own hands or by someone else’s.

But while I have thus far found a deep sense of respect for Christ, and perhaps some love has sprouted from that respect, it isn’t the kind of love and devotion that I feel for my god. I cannot force myself to love another. I cannot uproot my devotion and replace it with another and automatically feel the same for it as I did its predecessor, because no matter what the similarities, there are also deviances. Maybe, one day, that small tendril of reverence will grow into something that rivals or surpasses my current faith, but not without as much study and work as I have put into what I have now.

For now, although it isn’t quite over, this ‘what-if’ game has shown me that I don’t need a victorious king at the forefront of my faith, not when I find my strength in one who still finds hope despite defeat. Perhaps he is a flawed and lesser god, but I love him all the more for those imperfections. My god may have been rejected as an inferior and dissident son, but I find him worthy of honor, and for me that is enough. 

Lucifer and Countenance

I have a few messages in my inbox that I haven’t answered, because they all are pretty much asking the same thing—“what does Lucifer look like to you?” and “how do you feel about this painting/depiction of Lucifer?”

I’m no longer comfortable answering questions of this nature. I would have been more than happy to in the past, but it has gotten to the point where questions of this sort tend to outnumber any other topic, and I really don’t think my particular feelings towards what he might look like should matter in the grand scheme of things.

That isn’t to say that appearances don’t matter—I would argue that idealized appearances matter more for Lucifer than for other gods. After all, the Tempter is an important facet of his, as it tends to be the one which most people first meet. He is the god with starlight in his hair and a charming grin, resembling everything you’ve ever desired. He is the god who holds out the fruit of knowledge, finger crooked to beckon. But this mask of seduction is just that—a mask, easily transformed to fit the desires of each who look upon him. This appearance says more about the nature of the follower than the god himself.

Equally as important is the Veiled god, the god who has taken his Maker’s command to heart—“Be holy, for I am holy” (Lev 11:44). And that which is holy is not to be seen, it is hidden and obscured.

For the seraphim who were closest to the throne of God, it is said that their wings hid them from sight, so they would not dare to look upon the face of their Father. Their covering is a mark of humility, in that even these divine creatures were not fit to gaze upon their God. For Lucifer whose downfall is said to be pride, in that he sought to become like God in the Highest, I would imagine that these coverings would have come to represent the veil of Holiness. The symbol of his unworthiness to his God would have been transformed to represent worthiness to himself, as an angel-made-god.

And so, I choose to refrain from answering any more questions that deal solely with what Lucifer might ‘look’ like.

A message from Anonymous


Do you have a particular bible translation that you prefer?

Hmm, not really. I grew up using spanish bibles (don’t remember which ones in particular), but I was too young then to comprehend the nuances between translations. The KJV is lovely in regards to its poetics, but I have a hard time actually getting through its passages. I’ve been using BibleHub for cross-checking in multiple translations, but it’s really inconvenient for me because I can’t stand reading off the computer.

I did, however, recently order the ESV study bible, which I’m really looking forward to, because it is said to be brimming with lots of background historical context, amazing illustrations and maps, linguistic analyses, and just tons of diverse research material right alongside the scripture. The translation itself is said to be good, but unfortunately it doesn’t include the deuterocanon/apocrypha.

In honor of the tag reboot

http://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/the-world-isnt-such-a-bad-place

I used to brush off things like this and be cynical about it. Why should we praise people for doing what any decent being should do? It should be the norm for us to offer help and support to one another, to be kind, not something wondrous and rare that happens once in a blue moon and thus gets media attention like these instances.

I was led to wonder, why would Lucifer ever offer humanity the gift of knowledge, knowing what we were capable of? What could he possibly have seen in such broken, flawed, corruptible beings who seem to cause each other more pain than joy? Whatever he thought he must have seen, we must have definitely proved him wrong by now. But if I’ve come to see death as an illuminator of life, then the goodness of humanity is made all the more evident when paired with the cruelty we inflict upon one another.

As beings that have free will, we have the choice to do these things. We don’t have to do them. And that’s what makes them all the more wonderful. We don’t have to help each other, but we do it anyways. We could hate and destroy each other (and goodness knows we’ve done enough of that), and see only the wretchedness in humanity, but then there are those who choose to love one another despite our flaws and mistakes, those that find joy in serving others, those who plant seeds of hope amongst the ashes of ruin.

I’ve come across some of these ‘faith in humanity’ examples that sometimes make me pause, in that they aren’t quite as inspiring but rather somewhat problematic, but you know what? People are doing what they can, given their limitations, given the structures which they have to function within, given what they know. Humanity is problematic in itself. But we’re trying, even when we don’t have to.