Julius Evola- The Sufi of Rome

by Frank Gelli

  ‘It is not true that Horus, Osiris’ stupid son, defeated Seth. Seth blinded Horus, he was not castrated. It is a lie. A nation of eunuchs wanted to make Seth like them. He was the one with balls (le palle) not his enemies. A little like the Italians today. They have lost their balls – they lost the war, ignominiously – Rommel writes that the Italian soldiers in the desert would hide under tanks and trucks to escape fighting, officers had to shoot them out of them - and so this race of castrati cut off Mussolini’s balls. At Piazzale Loreto they did not rest till they did that...’

  He meant the outrages the Italian mob inflicted on their dictator’s corpse after he was shot in 1945. They kicked him, smashed his skull, cut off his testicles and stuffed them into his mouth. I have seen pictures in old newsreels. They are enough to turn your stomach. The bloated, bloody mass of flesh looks like a huge foetus. It is obscene. The same people who had been cheering the dictator were atoning for their bad conscience by savaging his body. An episode that speaks volumes about the real nature of the Italians, generally supposed to be a nation of kind, children-loving, harmless people. Lurking beneath that appearance, a primitive, savage bunch – that is the more likely truth.

  I shared my masochistic feelings with him. He nodded agreement: ‘Yes, you know what I think. It is not fascism that failed Italy, it is the Italian people – I should say, a certain type of Italian, the lowest element, the majority, alas - who let down the regime’s ideals...Yes, there were exceptions, like the heroic charge of that cavalry regiment in Russia – you must have seen the film, Carica Eroica, I am sure – like the boys of the Decima (Navy Commando Units). Still, you can see what Mussolini meant when he said that you could not win a war with merda. Too many Italians were merda. Their conduct in the war showed they had no stomach, no guts, no balls. Therefore they took their revenge on their leader, the one who had tried to forge them into another people, into what they were not. For a while they had believed it. I mean, they had thought of themselves as something different, heroic, hardy, a people of steel, so they were all the more enraged when they realised what they actually were – ballless, spineless, invertebrates. So they transferred their self-hatred on their fallen leader. The scapegoat, a Hebrew myth, comes handy here. And the Jews had taken their religion from the Egyptians, as Dr Freud claimed. Seth, again, obviously...’

  He paused, looking grim. ‘Seth was a desert god. But there are oases in deserts. Places of rest and refreshment. There is a kind of purity there...I could have been born in a desert...providing there were mountains there, I would have been happy.’

  ‘His enemies claimed Seth had abandoned his people. That he had confused them. They could not see beyond their noses. The confusion was in their heads. No, Seth had clear vision. You have to be a mischief-maker in a society of idiots, of democrats, of molluscs. They of course will repay you with hatred, or indifference. Exile you to the wilderness of anonymity, to the desert of insignificance. They don’t realise they do you a favour. It is good being away from the riff-raff. Seth had got it right. I could never have been a priest. Not a priest of any monotheistic religion – my caste is warriors – but a priest of Seth, perhaps...’

  The ferocity of Evola’s comments on his own people, the Italians – not that he really thought Italy as his natural, proper nation – should not be misunderstood. The rash and the unsubtle will salivate, like Pavlov’s dogs, and bring up the dreaded ‘R’ word, but in this context that is an unprecise and misleading notion. Indeed, it almost looks like a contradiction in terms. A racist is someone who consider other races inferior, not his own. Thus, all that Evola meant, I think, is a certain strain in the Italian national character. And national character is perfectly legitimate and intelligible notion. Even that icon of liberalism, the Englishman J.S. Mill, invoked national character to explain the conduct and the destiny of certain nations. “It is national character that causes one nation to succeed in what it attempts, another to fail; one nation to understand and aspire to elevated things, another to grovel in mean ones.” It is national character, according to the celebrated libertarian philosopher, that “makes the greatness of one nation lasting and abandons another to early and rapid decay.”

  Naturally, progressive and soppy souls will violently disagree with Evola as to what constitutes “greatness” and “elevated things”. But the existence of national traits distinctive of a nation, a people, a race - if you can bear the use of that word - is something that should not be especially controversial. Indeed, I find it a matter, a truth of plain common sense. Can you doubt that the character traits of a Swede are not the same as that of, say, a Brasilian? Or that an Englishman’s character is different from that of a Greek? Indeed, even within Italy, there is significant diversity in values and behaviour. A Sicilian and a Piedmontese have quite different attitudes to work, food and humour. Evola of course meant more than that. The dualism which he identified within a civilisation - the opposition between the traditionalist mindset and that of modernity – implied a radical, metaphysical dividing line, cutting across even a partly empirical concept like national character. But, as far as his anti-Italian remarks are concerned, they should be construed as a ruthless, unsentimental but not implausible critique of an all too recognisable ethos – that of his people.

  His anti-nationalism was rooted in his conviction that Europe’s nations were actually the result of the disintegration of the Holy Roman Empire of the Middle Ages. Europe’s spiritual unity was lost forever after that. The Empire’s self-bestowed appellation of “German”, much mocked by historians like Gibbon, was in part what appealed to him. But he had no illusion about Germans, either. ‘All modern European nations are artificial constructions’, he would say. Now that sounds somewhat trendy and post-modern. The truth is that in spirit Evola was universal – though not one to warm the heart of today’s Europeans. The boundless universe he dwelled in was Tradition. Through that, he could transcend the narrow nationalisms, the petty squabbles of patriots and jingoists typical of the far right. It is ironic, I feel, that his critics have simplistically dubbed him a fascist thinker. The cult of the nation, a key feature of Mussolini’s regime, was utterly alien to him. For me, that was refreshing. A thinker whose mind ranged over space and time, bound to none, but rooted in altrove. That fascinated me. I secretly wished I could be like him – well, almost.

  THE CROSS ANDTHE CRESCENT

  They say there is something vulnerable, even pathetic about a man in a wheelchair. That was not the impression Evola conveyed. Instead, he looked indomitable. Even as a cripple. You could not feel sorry for him. That is something I discovered as I got to know him better. “An appalling misfortune” I first thought, meaning the Vienna air bombing by the Allies that had damaged his spinal cord. But then I realised that nothing about him would induce me to pity him. Not at all. More likely, he would make you feel sorry for yourself. Because you knew you were not like him – a warrior. That is how I shall always remember him. A kshatriya, a spiritual fighter. Brave, steady and unyielding. A rock, yes. He was like that.

  As I sat there, looking at him, thinking those thoughts, the subject of the crusades came up. Because of a recent article I had read in the Roman right-wing newspaper, Il Tempo. About the medieval German Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, who went off to free the Holy Sepulchre during the third crusade. The Baron cared little for the ostensibly religious side of those medieval phenomena – it was something bound up with his aversion to the Church - but he was definitely Barbarossa’s big fan.

  ‘Nothing more stultifying than our country’s history school books in which the great king is portrayed as Italy’s chief enemy. His struggle with the fractious Lombard towns was holy and necessary. The Lombards were merchants, bankers and moneylenders – second-rate descendants of the ancient Germanic Longobardi, a warrior race - there is a street in London today called Lombard Street, you know? The Lombards were called to run the financial services after Edward I expelled the Jews from England. The sort of stingy people
you see in a counting house. Shabby bankers, mean-spirited, greedy for gain. With no understanding of the idea of an imperial spiritual authority. Despite what our official ‘patriotic’ historians claim, Barbarossa turned out victorious at the treaty of Constance. The vision of a holy war always appealed to his martial spirit. When other crusading princes set off, the emperor, pretty ancient by then, felt he had to go. Mind you, even the great Sultan Saladin admired him – he had once addressed the emperor as ‘the Lord of the World’. But fate was unkind to him. Barbarossa drowned in a river before reaching Palestine. His bones ended up in Lebanon, a church in Tyre, I think. A century ago German archaeologists tried to dig them up. I don’t know whether they ever succeeded... Anyway, Barbarossa became a symbol of the German nation, as the Second Reich was being created. What a difference from our own, squalid Risorgimento agitators, Garibaldi, Mazzini, all that gang. And they are celebrated as now as Patres Patriae! Terrorists, freemasons, foes of Tradition to a man. Every country has the heroes it deserves...’

  I pressed him on the meaning of the crusades. Were they justified? Was it a matter of European civilisation against a hostile, aggressive Islam? He shook his head. He was not going to agree with that. Instead, he reiterated the position set out in Revolt against the Modern World: ‘The doctrine of holy war is common to both Catholicism and Islam. The men who fought each other in the crusades moved within a similar spiritual horizon. Despite all the differences, there was an underlying unity. Both Muslims and Crusaders fought not for the sake of earth but of Heaven.’ He quoted with approval a supposed hadith of Muhammad: “The blood of the martyr is closer to God than the ink of the scholars or the prayers of the pious.” Then he mentioned St Bernard of Clairvaux, the monk who had composed the rule of the Order of the Knight Templars.

  ‘The true crusader aim was paradise, not just a piece of rocky terrain. Jerusalem did not mean the arid, insignificant settlement on Mount Zion. It meant a heavenly city. Even the Book of Revelation makes that clear. The crusaders were heroic pilgrims, embracing hardships, trials and even martyrdom for the sake of something higher, holier, eternal. A world of difference from the fat, placid burghers of their days, who never stirred from their towns except to trade and hoard gold. Sacred warriors like the Templars and the Hospitallers practiced self-denial, asceticism, spiritual warfare. Just as much as any devout monk shut in his cell. Or indeed, like any good Muslim intent on jihad. Even more. You know, the holy warriors of Islam need not renounce marriage or sex or worldly goods. The Templars vowed to follow poverty, chastity and obedience. Their knightly rule was radical, very radical indeed.’

  I observed that the crusades had not met with success in the end. He shrugged his shoulders: ‘So what? Victory lies in the fighting itself, not in the end result. That is at best a contingent fact. St Thomas Aquinas’ teleological mania deceived him when he wrote that war for its own sake would be stupid. That dumb ox! He was so obese, I wonder whether the fat got to his brain, occasionally. The truth is quite opposite. A man like Bertrand de Born rejoiced in fighting for its own sake, according to Dante. Warfare is the true warrior’s vocation, regardless of outcome. And the sufferings of the soldiers of the Cross, even in defeat, meant a form of purification. An inner cleansing. Someone has compared the crusaders’ unhappy lot to a state of true virtue. Virtue of course meant not in the contemporary moralistic way but in its original, etymological sense, connected with virility. Superior, Olympian values, derived from Transcendence. You know how the good – I mean, those men endowed with nobler, superior qualities – go often unrewarded, even despised in this life. Doesn’t the fate of Mussolini, Codreanu, Skorzeny and Degrelle teach you anything? Of those who fought for the freedom of Europe against bolshevism and democracy? They were beaten, yes. Their memory is now deliberately hated, sullied and besmirched. Never mind. Sacrificing yourself for what is higher – call it Heaven, if you like - is all that counts. The highest glory lies beyond the vicissitudes of human contingency.’

  I was edified by his insight into the meaning of the crusades as failure. In the eyes of the majority of course failure is bad but it all depends on what counts as failure – or as success. Why should a cause necessarily be invalidated by the end results, conceived on the earthly, materialistic plane alone? Pious Shia Muslims would never say that Husseyn’s defeat at the battle of Karbala meant that the Imam’s noble side was not just and righteous. Brute force won at Karbala, not true justice. The experience of bitter martyrdom purified and inspired the followers of Ali for all time to come. Their triumph was in their defeat. Even the historical victors come close to admitting something similar. If England and America had been defeated militarily in WWI, would the fans of democracy concede that the Axis had been right? Of course not. Therefore military success cannot be the ultimate proof of the intrinsic value of a cause. To me that seems to validate Evola’s point.

  After drinking a glass of water, he qualified one thing: ‘I must not be too tough on St Thomas. Yes, his rationalism is tiresome but at the end of his life he grasped the inner truth that had eluded him in his official writings. You know, he had this vision while saying Mass. (Dante believed he got a poisoned chalice.) We don’t know what it was he saw. He actually fainted while elevating the host. All he said afterwards was that “before it, all my books, my theology, my writings, controversies, arguments, even my prayers, all, they suddenly appeared to me like worthless rubbish.” You see, a transcendent Power had manifested himself to Aquinas during the Eucharist. In the highest ceremony of transmutation in Christianity. A sacred performance – maybe even a magical one - in which the priest acts in persona Christi. Thomas died shortly afterwards but I wonder whether the vision allowed him a glimpse into the secret of all secrets. If so, he must have died content.’

  A mischievous imp prompted me to hazard: ‘Could not a sceptic say that Aquinas simply had had a stroke?’ I expected Evola to react with some asperity. Instead, he observed, placidly: ‘Yes, that is what one-eyed people would say. By one-eyed I mean those who can only see, understand only one dimension of reality. The material, the sensory, the tangible. (Dajjal, the Islamic antichrist, is described as one-eyed.) They take a perverse pleasure in debunking the sacred, the supernatural. But they too stand in need of debunking. The power-laden ideas that have changed the face of the world, even subversive ones, like the French and the Bolshevik revolutions, have not grown out of the merely material. Can you put Marxism into a test tube, analyse it and describe its chemical composition? No, it is an idea. Something intangible. That is the paradox with Marx, the arch-materialist...Ideas come from somewhere. He believed they come from the economic substructure, the forces of production, but that is bunkum. Or crude, materialist reductionism, if you like. You know my view: revolutionary ideas come from altrove, from elsewhere. Dark, destructive forces generate them...But those with pure, perfect vision see with both eyes. To understand what happened to St Thomas you have to have eye for the other dimension, the inner one... A Tibetan would say the Christian monk at last had had “the third eye” opened. That was what the vision was all about. Of course, he could not put it into words. Doesn’t also your Wittgenstein say something similar at the end of the Tractatus? “Of what we cannot speak, therein we must be silent?”

  ‘I saw a painting by Velasquez, The Temptations of St Thomas Aquinas. It shows a diverting, perhaps legendary episode in the saint’s youth. His parents did not wish him to become a Dominican priest, so they arranged to have a gorgeous wench smuggled into his cell. They hoped that the thrills of orgasm would make the young man forsake his vocation. But Thomas leapt up, snatched a dying ember from the fire and drew a cross on the wall. Then he snatched a lit torch from the wall and with that kept the girl at bay. Pity Velasquez fell curiously short in portraying the female. The painting shows her too plain and potato-faced to tempt anyone. On the other hand, the painter depicts the two ministering angels supporting the swooning Thomas as two beautiful hermaphrodites! I know nothing about Velasquez’
sexuality but those angels make you wonder...Anyway, had I been in the Saint’s shoes, I would not have driven a pretty girl away. I would have indulged in the lust of the flesh fully. At least as a monk I would have known what heavenly pleasures I was missing! Thomas never did.’

  I had read somewhere a statement attributed to Muhammad. Something to the effect that “The key to paradise is the sword”. Evola corrected me: ‘It is rather “Paradise lies in the shade of the sword”. There are many hadiths, sayings and acts ascribed to the Prophet. Some are spurious but this one is true. It is narrated by...’ The strange name he uttered meant nothing to me. ‘There is nothing special or shocking in this, once you properly analyse it. It does not say that a Muslim can get to his heavenly reward only by way of the sword. There are many other, bloodless ways. This one refers to the martyr, someone who fights and falls for the sake of Islam. As such, there are similarities in Christianity. Popes granted absolutions from sins to Christian warriors who fought against Saracens. That comes down to the same thing as the hadith in question. This one strikes you more because it is so pithy, unsentimental. And remember, with a sword it is possible to discriminate. Nuclear weapons do not. I do not think that the Prophet could ever have said “Paradise lies in the shade of the atom bomb.”

  THE POPE AND THE SULTAN

  ‘If you look at history you’ll see how Popes have been a very mixed bunch. Some outstanding, excellent men, others quite despicable...Pius II, the noble Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, was an interesting one. As a young man he was quite a rake. As a Pontiff he took his duties most seriously. By his time the crusades were out of fashion. Still, he tried to have a go. After he came to the throne of St Peter Byzantium had fallen to the Turks. As soon as Sultan Mehmet II (note: another Muhammad...), the Conqueror, had entered Constantinople, he had the great church of Sancta Sophia turned into a mosque. And Mehmet did not mean to stop at the second Rome. He declared the first Rome, the city on the Tiber, was going to be next. The conquering Sultan, remember, was not a man to threaten in vain...’