Received from PRAV Perspectives <pravpublishing@substack.com>
This chapter shared by Prav, is very valuable for the understanding of two of the most important esoteric masters of the XX century, who have developped their own philosophical and metaphysical theories of the path of mankind towards truth, with concordand and discordant positions, very well exposed in this text.
We know how René Guénon (1886-1951) was more a metaphysician of the suprarationl intelect, of the absolute, of the supreme unity, in the path of Knowdlege trodden and expounded by the Indian Jnanis, of the Vedanta darshana (specially the advaitic or non-dual), being introduced to it shortly after his passage by the hermetica, gnostica, maçonic and catholic traditions and initiations, path of Knowdlege that he found also in Islam, being since 1911 acquainted with sufism, and becming Islamic and living his last 25 years in Egypt, writing his books.
Julius Evola being ten years younger (18989-1974), had a very different journey, much more active, bold and revolutionary (even if in the fascist Italy), being a Kshatryia, a warrior, compared to Guénon that was much more a Brahman, a contemplative, using the castes of Indian tradition, so much studied and apreciated by the two, who have become the most known and influent theoricians and representatives of the Perennial Tradition, or Primordial Tradition.
Surely both had their limitations, some errors are patent in their works, still much can be better understood of modern society and of spiritual paths for our days reading and meditating them.
Andrea Scarabeli introduces us also to Guido De Giorgio, an important Traditionalist that was trodding the Catholic path of devotion, that Guénon underestimated, as for him mysticism had very little to do with initiation and metaphysics, and who was the confidente receiver of the letters writen by Guénon questionning positions and writings of Evola. By his side Evola liked Giorgio and after his death he published some of his works. I will add more in this introduction after some hours. Also remarkable is the good relation established between sir John Woodrofe and the young tantrik Julius Evola.
«The year 1926 is also the year of the great public confrontation between Evola and Guénon. It was a conflict between two men, two generations, two ways of under- standing ‘tradition’ (which at that time was still written in lowercase), which had matured in silence since 1925, as can be seen from the correspondence between the French metaphysician and Guido De Giorgio, the Catholic Traditionalist who, for better or worse, acted as a mediator between these two men, separated by twelve years and by two worldviews that could not be reduced to a common denominator: Guénon often ‘used’ De Giorgio to ‘discipline’ the philosopher, who was categorical in his judgements and equally hasty in his conclusions. Evola’s name appears repeatedly in their correspondence: in practically every letter, Guénon expresses constant, often ruthless judgements about him. ‘I wonder if it will ever be possible to do something good with Evola,’ he wrote to De Giorgio on 7 March 1930 — an attitude, as has been noted, reminiscent of that of a teacher towards a disobedient pupil who must be brought to heel.
De Giorgio himself was often quite ‘testy’ with the philosopher, towards whom he harboured a certain suspicion, especially with regard to the idea of going beyond the devotional-religious level, which in his eyes was a tad sacrilegious. This persistent suspicion would confirm and radicalise that of the French metaphysician (as can be seen from the latter’s replies), creating a mechanism that would become increasingly ruthless as the years went by. ‘What is really strange is the way in which you are treat- ing Evola and the result you are achieving’, Guénon wrote to him on 15 January 1930: ‘I doubt very much that he would accept it from anyone other than you.’
Evola was completely unaware of these manoeuvres and never hid his admiration for the author of La tradizione romana (“The Roman Tradition”), drawing a famous portrait of him in The Path of Cinnabar:
‘He was a sort of initiate at a wild, chaotic level. He […] was exceptionally learned and knew many languages. His character, however, was rather unstable — or subject to manic-depressive episodes, as a psychologist might say — and pervaded by passionate, emotive and lyrical drives reminiscent of Nietzsche’s temperament.’
He was so disgusted with the modern world that he retreated to the mountains of Piedmont — Evola met him there a few times — and ended up in a dilapidated parish house near Mondovì, where he lived a modest and frugal life. His only published book appeared posthumously (we shall return to this), but he sent Evola several heated and inspired letters, which Evola transcribed and published in Ur, La Torre, and Diorama Filosofico. De Giorgio ‘dramatised and energised the idea of Tradition, which Guénon, in conformity to his own personal equation, presented in exceedingly formal and intellectual terms. To this, De Giorgio added a personal tendency towards absolutist positions which proved most congenial to my own character.’
De Giorgio was the (not too impartial) ‘arbiter’ of the dispute between Evola and Guénon, whose name had been circulating in Italy for some years, thanks to Reghini’s tireless work in Ignis and Atanòr. It was precisely the Pythagorean who put him in contact with Evola, who showered him with articles, often critical, which the Frenchman did not take very well.
On 26 January, Guénon wrote to De Giorgio that he had read Il problema di Oriente e Occidente e la teoria della conoscenza: i Tantra (The Problem of East and West and the Theory of Knowledge: The Tantras). In this essay, published in three parts in Ultra between February and September 1925 (it was to form the first chapter of L’uomo come potenza [Man as Power]), Evola called Guénon a ‘rationalist’ for advocating the primacy of ‘pure intellectuality’ (a phrase with a very different meaning) at the expense of ‘power’: ‘Evola does not lack pretensions, as you see; but, for my part, I insist on thinking that he does not understand at all what we mean by ‘intellectuality’, ‘knowledge’, ‘contemplation’, etc., and that he does not even know how to distinguish between an ‘initiatory’ and a ‘profane’ point of view.’ Guénon rolled with the punches for the time being, adding: ‘It seems that he intends to have an account of my work on Vedanta published in the journal L’Idealismo Realistico; we’ll see what comes of it.’
More than a simple compte rendu, the text that sparked the polemic was a long essay on Man and his Becoming According to the Vedānta published in the aforementioned journal in the autumn of 1924.
Once again, Evola interpreted the primacy of ‘contemplation’ advocated by Guénon as ‘rationalism’, opposing it to the ‘magical’ and ‘Hermetic’ realisation that characterised the Western tradition, consisting of ‘free initiative, affirmation, the value of individuality, a tragic conception of life, a will to power and action.’ These ‘magical’ elements, resting on the Nietzschean background that characterises the ‘first Evola’, were in fact also present in certain Oriental traditions, which Guénon, however, deemed to be ‘deviations’, as he suffered from a ‘dogmatic and authoritarian tendency.’ Following in Reghini’s footsteps, the Italian philosopher contrasted the strength of a Western tradition to those who lost themselves in ‘Oriental mists.’
‘We affirm that if the East represents a spiritual reality, so does the West,’ he wrote, referring to Essays on Magical Idealism and Man as Power, ‘soon to be published.’
To simplify, on the one hand we have Guénon, the East, and metaphysics; on the other Evola, the West, and magic. Here is the extent of the unbridgeable gulf between the two: while the Frenchman preferred contemplation and was rather allergic to magic (although he was aware of the particular meaning that his Italian correspondents attached to the term), Evola sided with action. And — at least in the Evolian vision of those years — the former stood for ‘metaphysics’ just as the latter stood for ‘magic’, which is to say Roger Bacon’s ‘practical metaphysics’, based not on faith but on self-realisation. While Guénon was a metaphysician, with a meticulous mathematical rigour and a Cartesian style (Antoine Faivre called him the ‘Descartes of esotericism’), Evola was a magician who employed an evocative language. We only have to read a few pages of Ur on the subject to realise this:
Magic cleanses the world, restores it to its free, supersaturated, essential state; to that state in which nature is not yet nature nor spirit, in which there are no ‘things’ and no ‘gods’, but powers; in which life is a heroic affair of every moment, made up of acts, symbols, commands, magical and ritual gestures, in great waves of ‘sound’, light, and terror.
Magic, we read in these pages, creates: not bridges, but distances, chasms, between beings. Neither ‘brothers’ nor ‘fathers’, but stronger forces and weaker forces, side by side or against each other, loyally, coldly acknowledged, in the discipline of a spirit inwardly inflamed, but outwardly rigid and hardened like steel, containing in magnificent measure the boundlessness of the infinite: militarily, as in a war enterprise, as on a battlefield.
It does not produce ascetics or mystics, but ‘solar and self-sufficient beings, a breed of far-sighted, fearful, and distant Lords who ‘are of themselves’, who do not take but give a superabundance of light and power, and resolutely turn towards an ever more dizzying intensity.’
Frontispiece of the magazine Ur dating from 1928, prior to the split in the editorial committee (Calcara Collection).
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These were rather ‘Luciferian’ words in the eyes of the more measured Guénon, who would never write for Ur, while De Giorgio, who was equally opposed to these theses, would publish scathing lines against the ‘magical divulgation’ of the Group (which he never joined and towards which he harboured quite a few suspicions). In the essay La magia, il maestro e il canto (“Magic, the Master, and Song”), he noted:
‘He who really practises magic: 1) is completely unknown, for he makes sure to hide himself, or rather must hide himself (absolutely); 2) discourages others from practising it (absolutely); if he limits himself to this (very rare), he closes himself off, and must close himself off, in an icy shell; 4) uses it for ‘another purpose’, and that is that.’
De Giorgio too preferred the ‘traditional’ option to the ‘magical’ one, and he wrote as much to the philosopher — who published De Giorgio’s letter, with the comment:
‘Finding that the modern world has essentially developed on the trunk of action, we believe that the most appropriate formulation of ‘Tradition’ today is the magical one.’
This option, according to Evola, was the only one capable of resolving the crisis of the West without contradicting its intrinsically active nature.
Let us return to the casus belli. The Evolian essay [by Evola] saw in the Vedanta described by Guénon a ‘nihilism of reality, values, and the individual.’ Evola also sought to go beyond rational consciousness, but in a completely different direction:
‘What lies beyond concepts is power. Beyond the philosopher and the scientist there lies not the saint, the artist, or the contemplator — but the magician: the dominator, the Lord.’
This was too much. In May 1926, Guénon launched a counterattack, again in L’Idealismo Realistico. In the essay A proposito della metafisica indiana: una rettifica necessaria (“On Indian Metaphysics: A Necessary Rectification”), he turned the accusation of ‘rationalism’ back on Evola, seeing it as linked to a fundamental misunderstanding of ‘metaphysics’ and ‘pure intellectuality.’ He ascribed to Evola a ‘voluntarism’ closer to the likes of Nietzsche and Schopenhauer than to Tantrism, one which ‘certainly has nothing metaphysical or, in any case, initiatory about it.’ It was just one of many examples of the ‘manifest incomprehension’ of the Italian thinker, who, ‘in spite of his intention to speak of our book, has only read it very distractedly!’ Guénon’s tone was condescending but not unjustified, given that Evola had advised him to think longer before publishing such texts! But it had taken Guénon fifteen years to write the book, whereas his accuser ‘is very young, and that is undoubtedly what excuses him; he still has much to learn, but he has time ahead of him and may be able to learn it… as long as he changes his attitude a little and doesn’t pretend to know everything already!’
It was quite a scolding to which the smug Evola replied in a note that followed Guénon’s ‘rectification.’ He responded to many of the points raised by Guénon — not all of them — and underlined how the Frenchman, in turn, had failed to grasp all the objections raised. In this respect, it was quite a typical controversy… Evola defended the Tantric option, stating that he had received ‘sufficient assurances from people who have had direct and inner relations with it.’ He referred to John Woodroffe, about whom we will speak shortly. He concluded: ‘Of course, we have many things to learn still — but we also have some to teach. […] To those who begrudge us our age […] we might reply that they must envy us for having the time to learn which others, who need it at least as much, lack in their advanced years.’ He concluded by mocking the Frenchman who ‘feels the need to speak ex tripode, from the height of an intolerant and dogmatic authoritarianism — in truth, more like a Protestant pastor than a serious scholar of initiatory matters.’
This exchange reveals a difference in ‘personal equations’ that was destined to endure even after the philosopher embraced the ‘traditional’ perspective — which is why it is inaccurate to define Evola as a ‘pupil of Guénon.’ But there is also some common ground, as has been shown by all those scholars who have explored both authors sine ira et studio, freeing themselves from their respective ‘scholasticism’ and orthodoxy. This common ground was glimpsed by Pierre Pascal, who recalled — with much emphasis and a little ‘embellishing’ — an evening he spent in the company of the French metaphysician in 1928. When Guénon opened the door for him, Pascal saw that he was holding Man as Power, Theory of the Absolute Individual, and Pagan Imperialism.
‘Here are three Italian books of the utmost importance’, Guénon reportedly said. ‘They speak as we speak, which may seem incredible. But it is so! They are steep books that do not spare the reader, for their style is one of icy fire. The author, known to our best brethren in Heliopolis, is called Julius Evola.’
‘What a fine name and what a fine surname!’, replied Pascal. ‘It seems to rhyme with Dante’s verse… ‘Who soars above others like an eagle.’’
‘As always, well said, dear Pascal! Indeed, fire in ice and ice in fire… The tone of an eagle... the demon of action!’
Pascal read all three and was thunderstruck. He concluded: Evola and Guénon were awaiting ‘a high noon of bodily and spiritual liberation.’ Beyond their differences, the two were part of ‘a conspiracy of souls’, ‘a kind of armed vigil, a chivalrous ritual, a nocturnal stand against the Prince of this world, against the potestas tenebrarum.’
This is a wonderful testimony — perhaps too wonderful to be true — which, apart from its exaggerations, captures a shared horizon and proves that this polemical exchange did not exhaust their personal and intellectual relationship.
That year Evola made a comeback as an author with two works. One was a pamphlet entitled L’individuo e il divenire del mondo (“The Individual and the Becoming of the World”), which brought together two lectures delivered in Via Gregoriana in December 1925. The first, which gave the booklet its title, was published in Ultra in December of that year and then translated into German in the journal Logos. In The Path of Cinnabar, Evola anticipates the publication of the German version with respect to the forthcoming Italian version, for in reality it was published in 1931 under the title Die drei Epochen der Gewissheitsproblems, thanks to the interest of Guido Calogero. It was Gentile’s pupil, the editor of the Italien Heft devoted to Italian ideal-ism, who chose the text — to the consternation of the review’s editorial board, given Evola’s outsider status in university circles. The theorist of the Absolute Individual sent him the essay on 4 August 1930: ‘Here, then, is the article for Logos. I hope it will go. It was translated by a German, and then revised by another German, a graduate in philology.’ Although he had passed through what is conventionally defined as the ‘philosophical phase’, the end of which is just as conventionally set at 1925–26, Evola actually continued to engage with philosophy in the following years — and not only through essays and articles.
From 26 to 29 May 1929, the annual National Congress of Philosophy was held in Rome. While the honorary committee was chaired by His Excellency Benito Mussolini, the organising committee was headed by Gentile. Although Evola was not among the speakers — he was not an academic — on the afternoon of the 28th he took part in the discussion sparked by the neo-Thomist Gustavo Bontadini’s paper “Critique of the Antinomy of Transcendence and Immanence.” The panel was chaired by Calogero himself, who in the following days asked Evola for a summary of his speech. On 26 June, Evola sent him ‘the summary of my address. You can, of course, make any changes you think fit.’ The text was eventually published in the pro-ceedings, together with another one, in the margin of Giuseppe Saitta’s paper, “The Subjectivist Aspects of Plotinus’ Epistemological Doctrines”, a long-standing interest of Evola’s. The collaboration with Calogero would continue the following year, when the professor delivered the lecture “Idealism as Solution and Idealism as a Problem” to the Association for Moral and Religious Progress on 11 May 1930. Evola and Ugo Spirito also took part in the debate, at the request of the speaker.
As for the second part of Evola’s pamphlet, it is the transcription of the lecture given on 6 December 1925 at Via Gregoriana, entitled Nietzsche e la sapienza dei misteri (“Nietzsche and the Wisdom of the Mysteries”), an elaboration of the article “Dionysus” he had published in Ignis in November–December 1925. This text would follow Evola until the end of his days: he would reread and revise it, softening the original Nietzschean and anti-Christian tones, and making continuous changes that testify to an intellectual journey not without setbacks and second thoughts.
A record of Evola’s first ‘public appearance’ in Via Gregoriana is found in the following words from The Path of Cinnabar:
‘I had composed this essay in a state of lucid intellectual vertigo’ and ‘the work certainly contained a certain ‘drive’: for when I once read the essay at a conference and attempted to stir those feelings which I had personally felt when writing the text, there were people among the audience who even experienced visions and hallucinations.’
Painting by Julius Evola, untitled, 1919.
The second book of 1926 was more organic: an impressive work on Tantrism, which had been in progress for some time, entitled L’uomo come potenza (“Man as Power”). The Tantric teachings were bound to attract Evola’s interest, both because they were based on the concepts of freedom and power, and because in discussing them theoretically, Evola was presenting the fruits of his own research — including, but not limited to, philosophical research. Unlike the few other studies of Tantrism available in Italy, Evola’s reflected a certain kind of interest that was not merely speculative, but rather focused directly on the ‘operative’ core of the teachings in question.
The writing of this book is inextricably linked with the English judge John Woodroffe, who was born in Calcutta and initiated into Tantrism. Evola probably first heard of him from Decio Calvari or perhaps from Tucci and Formichi. In the second half of the 1910s, Woodroffe published several books on the subject, introducing it into academic circles and dispelling many of the commonplace misconceptions prevalent among English-speaking scholars. One famous study stands out, The Serpent Power, published in 1918 under a pseudonym with strong Hermetic overtones: Arthur Avalon.
Evola had a long correspondence with Woodroffe, which is unfortunately lost; he sent him some of his writings, most likely the issues of Ultra with essays on the Tantras. In 1926, Woodroffe, in agreement with Evola and Calvari, submitted to the journal a text entitled Sâdhâna, which was presented with great pomp together with Hanumanthia Rao’s essay “Contacts between European and Indian Philosophy.” The Roman philosopher was fascinated by the subject from the moment he discovered it and tried to spread it through all the channels at his disposal. In October 1924, Bilychnis published his essay Il mondo come potenza (“The World as Power”), a quotation from Woodroffe’s volume of the same name (which Evola was to have published by Mediterranee in the late 1960s). In the same year, he gave the above mentioned lecture on the Tantras to the Theosophical League, the text of which was published in Ultra and, in three parts, in Atanòr (as already mentioned, Evola would review Avalon’s The Garland of Letters for Ignis in 1925, while also discussing yoga and Tantrism in Bilychnis). Meanwhile, he devoured all the volumes in the prestigious Tantrik Texts series, which collected teachings that had only been transmitted orally or in manuscript form and were therefore inaccessible to ‘laymen.’
Avalon was very impressed by the young man’s preparation. He went so far as to quote him in the preface to the third edition of Shakti and Shakta, simply translating into English the sentences of one of his letters. Evola was trying to do in Italy what Avalon had done in the Anglosphere — and he was doing it with the help of Alvi, who had offered him the support of the Atanòr publishing house. But what also struck the English judge was Evola’s theoretical horizon: his attempt to overcome the dialectical opposition between East and West at a time caught between superficial and exotic ‘Orientalisms’ and bigoted ‘defences of the Christian West.’
In the first chapter of his book, Evola discusses “The Spirit of the Tantras in Relation to East and West” (through the paradigmatic figures of Hegel, Steiner, and Keyserling). He sees East and West as two poles of a metaphysical rather than a geographical nature, and breaks down their supposed antithesis into that between ‘tradition’ and ‘modernity.’ He does this by using as a ‘universal key’ a canon that blends thought and action on the basis of power, a term that unites men and gods, essence and appearance (māyā). In Evola’s analysis, there is no qualitative difference between the planes of reality, but only a quantitative one, linked to the power of each phenomenon and the degree of awareness that accompanies its exercise. This power, which means awakening and realisation, is based on the will and produces, as he himself wrote, ‘a doctrine of the Übermensch which would put Nietzsche to shame.’
In the eyes of many — including Guénon — this option was still too Western and philosophical. Evola’s ‘Nietzschean Tantra’ sparked a polemic with Prof. Vittorino Vezzani, who the following year deplored the anti-Christian overtones of the volume in Ultra. Evola responded in the same journal in March–June 1927, proclaiming the absolute independence of occultism from all morality, philosophy, religion, and value systems. He described it as a discipline of self-realisation beyond good and evil:
‘The path of the ‘Dominators’ and ‘Mages’ requires more desperation, more power of renunciation, sacrifice, and overcoming, more heroism, […] without the support of any prospect of reward, happiness, consolation, and love, than your so-called ‘mystics’ and ‘saints’ could ever teach us.’
This was the very crux of the matter, as Evola did not fail to emphasise:
The fact is that Vezzani is Christian to some extent — and we are not: this is the real difference. Christian values are democratic, sentimental, egalitarian, humanitarian, eudaemonistic (happiness, harmony) and based on insufficiency (the need for love, grace, salvation). Our values, on the other hand, are aristocratic, heroic, anti-eudaemonistic values based on difference, will, and hierarchy.
Evola then ended his reply by attacking Theosophy for its ‘exotic’, ‘moralising’, and ‘clairvoyant’ features. Reghini’s influence is evident in these words, which would lead to yet another repartee between Evola and Vezzani in the columns of Luce e Ombra. This journal witnessed a further clash in 1927, this time between Emilio Servadio, a defender of Evola’s theses, and the editorial staff — a controversy into which Evola himself would enter in 1928 with the essay Idealismo e metapsichica (“Idealism and Metapsychics”) published in Ur. The polemic continued until his personal encounter with Servadio, which we will discuss.
To return to the book L’uomo come potenza, it received plenty of positive reviews, such as the one that appeared in Logos (January–June 1927), which described the text as ‘one of the most serious and complete studies of the metaphysical and magical wisdom of India.’ In a way, this statement captures the real point: we must not forget that the ‘Tantric option’ responded to a precise cyclical logic that was creeping into Evola’s work in those years, inspired by Guénon, but which would bear fruit at the beginning of the 1930s (although, as already mentioned, this fruit would not be too pleasing to the French metaphysician). In a dark age like ours, writes Evola, the methods of liberation valid in other epochs are no longer effective, while those considered ‘exceptional’ acquire an irrevocable centrality: in the Kālī-Yuga,
‘It is elementary forces which now prevail: man finds himself connected to such forces and unable to retreat; hence, man must face these forces, control them and transform them, if he wishes to find liberation and freedom. The path to this goal can no longer be the purely intellectual path, nor the ascetic-contemplative path, nor the ritual one. Pure knowledge in our day must lead to action.’
These few lines encapsulate Julius Evola’s ‘personal equation’, so much so that, in the second part of the volume, the philosopher leaves the ‘speculative’ plane and offers the reader some practical-operational indications that he personally followed in recent years — perhaps also to escape the powerful crisis that almost killed him — and which he would later follow in the context of the Ur Group. They are aimed at training the Will, freeing it from craving and base impulses, as well as from the external objects to which it is often attached. It is not difficult to detect autobiographical overtones in precepts such as:
‘Every negative state (pain, dejection, exhaustion, imbalance, etc.) contains a possibility — a kind of opening — for a higher, superhuman affirmation. The whole secret is to remain vigilant, and when the wave comes, to leave oneself, to take off, to identify not with the surpassed but with the surpassing.’
In addition to evoking images, but also of states of mind, which can voluntarily be dispelled if necessary, Evola invites us to break all established habits that drown the will in automatism. We have to train our memory — as soon as we wake up, we have to envisage our whole day, doing exactly what we have set out to do; and in the evening, before going to bed, we have to check how closely what we planned matches what we have achieved. Like the practices collected by Ginna and Corra, Evola’s exercises also use certain phrases and expressions for the purpose of ‘self-suggestion.’ For example, before going to bed, the practitioner — i.e., Evola — says: ‘I have of a will’, adding, increasingly softly, words such as: ‘firm calm resolute’, and ‘full energetic self-master self-sufficient.’ He then immediately falls into a deep sleep, but only after saying the words: ‘I am — power.’ The practitioner must establish absolute mastery over himself: ‘If there are attacks, do not resist, give in without fighting, let them tire […] and then reassert yourself.’ The general condition for carrying out these exercises is a ‘sober life, without excesses, vegetarian food (the reason: animal food, compared to vegetable food, is already organised with respect to the human being; thus, by eating it, certain subtle forces remain inactive and create a latent torpor, a burden in the occult discipline).’ One must get up at dawn and not stay up too late, ‘see as few people as possible, especially blood relatives and people who are sentimentally attached to you’ (rules which the author did not follow too strictly).
Since we cannot quote the entire practical section, we will limit ourselves to pointing out another exercise that prepares one for yogic realisation. Similar to the Midnight Sun, it consists of two phases and is based on the transformation of the inhaled breath into light. In the evening, before going to bed, ‘be silent. Visualise a sun gradually rising until it reaches midday. Hold it like this for a few moments in the fire of consciousness.’ Then spell out the words ‘I am light’, and after mentally removing them, quickly fall asleep. The next morning, as soon as you wake up, maintain the same state of silence: ‘take the sun from midday and let it gradually set until it is twi- light.’ Then get up, do some exercise, and get dressed, but only after saying:
‘The light is within me.’
These exercises actually have little to do with yoga: they are definitely based on Western sources. Their daily practice is what saved Julius Evola…
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