Dao in Transition: Comparative Reflections on Laozi’s Italian Translations in the Interwar Period

Abstract

The development of Daoism in Italy is deeply connected to how its classical texts were received and circulated. Although Italian Christian missionaries were among the earliest Western commentators on Daoism, significant Italian engagement with Daoist works only emerged in the 20th century. During the first half of that century, Italian publishers released six translations of the Laozi, three partial translations of the Zhuangzi, and several general works on Daoism. This surge of interest was influenced by two major 19th-century developments: the rise of sinology as an academic field in France, which spurred European scholarly interest in Chinese culture, and the spread of international esoteric and occult movements, which drew heavily from Eastern philosophies. This paper focuses on two important Italian translations of the Laozi from the interwar period—Julius Evola’s 1923 translation and Attilio Castellani’s 1927 version. These translations exemplify the dual influences of academic sinology and esoteric movements on the Italian reception of Daoism. By comparing these works, this paper highlights how Daoist ideas were introduced and interpreted in Italy, shaped both by the translators’ personal backgrounds and their distinct intellectual aims, thus revealing the varied contexts in which Daoism was received in early 20th-century Italy.

1. Introduction

The Italian reception of Daoism during the 19th and early 20th centuries broadly followed a European pattern shaped predominantly by the writings of Jesuit missionaries. As scholars such as Clarke (2000) and Walf (2005) have demonstrated, Jesuits largely ignored Daoism, and when they did acknowledge it, their tone was often disparaging. Daoist doctrine was frequently dismissed as a folk religion steeped in superstition and falsehood. This perception is evident, for example, in Matteo Ricci’s account of a visit to a Daoist temple, which he presents as a deeply negative experience. Similarly, Athanasius Kircher’s China Illustrata refers to Daoism as being “full of abominable falsehoods” (Walf 2005, p. 284).1

Nevertheless, the 19th century marked a turning point in the Western reception of Daoism, largely due to improved access to translated texts and the growing interest of prominent intellectuals. Despite these advances, earlier Christian missionary paradigms strongly influenced the general framework for interpreting Daoism. These interpretations were primarily text-centered, often seeking parallels between Daoist classics and the Bible. Consequently, the main Western approach to Daoist philosophy during the 19th and early 20th centuries remained rooted in the study of foundational texts such as the Laozi and the Zhuangzi (see Clarke 2000; King 2023).

A pivotal development occurred in 1814 with the establishment of the first academic chair in Sinology at the Collège de France in Paris, awarded to Jean-Pierre Abel-Rémusat. Rémusat’s work initiated a wave of scholarly interest in Daoist texts, culminating in the influential 1842 French translation of the Laozi by his student Stanislas Julien (Lao Tseu: Tao Te-king: le livre de la voie et la vertu). From the mid-19th century onward, new translations of the Laozi began to appear across Europe, sparking what Walf described as “the first flood of Laozi translations” (Walf 2005, p. 278).

Alongside academic interest, the rise of esoteric movements—particularly the Theosophical Society—played a critical role in reshaping the Western perception of Daoism. Within the Theosophical framework, the Laozi came to be seen as a mystical, esoteric text that embodied a “Perennial Truth,” aimed at the illumination of Divine Wisdom (Irwin 2004, p. 3). The centrality of the Laozi is evidenced by the numerous translations and editions published by theosophical and related esoteric publishers from the 1880s through the 20th century. The widespread dissemination of the text across Europe and the Americas helped stimulate a broader cultural interest in Daoism, drawing the attention of philosophers, artists, and writers. Disillusioned with industrial capitalism, positivist rationalism, and the myth of progress—especially following World War I—many intellectuals turned to Eastern spiritualities as alternative paths to transcendence. Daoism, in particular, appeared to offer a means of reestablishing the mystical connection with the transcendent realm of the divine, a way of “reestablishing the mystic connection with the abyss, the transcendent realm of Deity” (Pokorny 2024, p. 69).

In Italy, the reception of Daoism mirrored this dual trajectory. On the one hand, the academic study of Daoism developed through the efforts of early Italian sinologists, many of whom had trained in Paris. Key figures include Antelmo Severini—a student of Julien—who initiated Chinese studies in Florence; Carlo Puini, Severini’s disciple, who published the first substantial Italian studies on Daoism in 1878 and 1917; and the renowned orientalist Giuseppe Tucci, who began his career with a focus on Chinese philosophy and Daoism. On the other hand, Italy’s cultural landscape in this period was also marked by a rising interest in alternative spiritualities, fueled by national identity crises and a fascination with the esoteric. Theosophical, anthroposophical, and spiritualist circles played an instrumental role in introducing Daoist ideas to a broader Italian audience, often blending them with Renaissance Hermeticism and perennialist themes (see Pasi 2012).

The international rise of esoteric movements was a significant factor in promoting Daoism in Italy. While academic sinology had limited public impact, theosophical and occultist groups were deeply involved in the production and circulation of works on Daoism. Many such publications were issued by publishers affiliated with or sympathetic to these movements. For instance, the publishing house Carabba included several works on Daoism in its series La cultura dell’anima [Culture of the Soul], edited by Giovanni Papini. This series featured Puini Il Taoismo [Taoism], a Zhuangzi translation by modernist poet Giovanni Novaro (Novaro 1922), and a Daoist texts’ selection, Testi Taoisti [Taoist texts], edited by Carbone (1938) (see Marino 2024, pp. 6–7). Papini himself was a key figure, also serving as editor of important journals such as Lacerba and Leonardo, which regularly engaged with topics such as Eastern religions and artistic modernism.

However, the two intellectual contexts (academy and esoterism) cannot be considered distinct because they are often intertwined. The Italian intellectual scene of the early 20th century was complex and interconnected. Esoteric circles attracted members from diverse social strata, including the upper and middle bourgeoisie, as well as artists, authors, and philosophers. Many prominent figures in interwar Italian culture participated—directly or indirectly—in these movements. Notably, leading orientalists like Formichi and Tucci actively engaged with academic and esoteric circles, helping shape Daoism’s reception in Italy.2 This paper aims to introduce and compare two translations of the Laozi published in Italy during the interwar period: Julius Evola’s Il libro della Via e della Virtù [The Book of the Way and Virtue] in 1923, and Alberto Castellani’s La regola celeste [The Heavenly Rule] published in 1927. These two works not only represent the aforementioned contexts of reception and promotion of Daoist thought but also embody opposing methodologies strongly influenced by different ideas of their purpose and target readers. While Evola’s main aim is to employ the Laozi to nurture his philosophical system and contribute to European philosophical debates, Castellani’s primary objective is to engage in the sinological debate about the text by presenting the Italian reader with the first serious unmediated translation of the Laozi.

To better compare the two works, I will employ two hermeneutical keys from the source text: Dao 道 and the sage (shengren 聖人). These concepts illustrate the different interpretations of the two authors. Dao and the sage are not merely key terms in the source text; rather, they serve as the central elements from which both translations develop, enabling a systematic understanding.

This comparative analysis enhances the field of cross-cultural philosophy by reconceptualizing translation as a dialogue between ideological creativity and academic loyalty.3 By revealing how the starkly contrasting interpretations of Evola and Castellani stem from shared concerns about modernity, this study questions the simplistic binaries of “East” and “West,” portraying the Laozi as a lens through which Europe’s intellectual challenges are refracted. It emphasizes the need to recognize translators as proactive participants—rather than mere facilitators—in the global exchange of ideas, encouraging scholars to place non-Western texts within the contentious ideological contexts that shape them. The reconceptualization of translation as cultural rewriting reflects the inherent tension between interpretive freedom and scholarly responsibility toward source materials and target audiences.

2. The Italian Laozi

The year 1905 marked a pivotal moment in Italy’s encounter with Daoism, as two competing translations of the Laozi emerged—each embodying distinct approaches to the text. Francesco Ferrari’s (1905) Lao Tseu Il libro della via e della virtu, derived from Stanislas Julien’s French edition, sought to present an authoritative, philologically grounded interpretation of the Laozi. Though Ferrari lacked formal sinological training, his reliance on Julien—whom Alberto Castellani later hailed as “the most important sinologist of the time” (Castellani 1927b, p. 52)—signaled a commitment to scholarly rigor. Paradoxically, this ostensibly academic translation appeared in Luce e Ombra [Light and Shadow], a spiritualist journal, which complicated its reception as a strictly academic work and blurred the boundaries between scholarly and esoteric interpretations.

By contrast, Guglielmo Evans’s Lao Tse e il libro della Via e della Virtù, published by the prominent Italian editor Bocca, amounted to a slightly hidden plagiarism of Alexandre Ular’s idiosyncratic German rendition. Ular’s translation—a commercial success in German-speaking circles and later translated into multiple languages (Marino 2024, p. 11)—reimagined the Laozi as an anarchist critique of modernity.4 Evans’s replication of this politicized reading underscored the text’s ideological malleability in early 20th-century Europe. Both translations exemplify Italy’s indirect engagement with the Laozi—mediated entirely through European intermediaries—highlighting the fragmented and derivative nature of early 20th-century Daoist reception in Italy.

Carlo Puini, a pioneering figure in Italian sinology, laid the groundwork for Oriental Religions in Italy through his seminal works on Buddhism and Daoism. Despite his academic prominence as Chair of Languages and Civilizations of the Far East in Florence, Puini notably chose to publish his research on Daoism, il Taoismo, in 1917 in La cultura dell’Anima [The Culture of the Soul]—a book series by the Carabba press dedicated to philosophical and spiritual texts, edited by his friend Giovanni Papini. Though written in a didactic style, Puini’s works reflect the evolving Italian intellectual engagement with Daoism, crystallizing two enduring interpretive frameworks.

First, Puini (1878, p. 453) introduced a tripartite taxonomy of Daoist traditions: (1) magical–alchemical practices, (2) philosophical–metaphysical doctrines, and (3) popular superstition. By elevating the second category—exemplified by Laozi, Zhuangzi, and Liezi—as the sole focus of serious study, he reinforced a Eurocentric bias that segregated “pure” Daoist philosophy from its so-called “degenerate” religious manifestations. This approach mirrored broader 19th-century European efforts to isolate a “philosophical” Daoism from what was perceived as its “degenerate” religious or popular forms (see Clarke 2000, pp. 37–49).

Second, Puini’s quietistic reading of wuwei 無為 (non-action) profoundly shaped Italian perceptions of Daoism. He framed the Daoist sage as an ascetic figure who renounces desire and political engagement, likening this ideal to Buddhist nirvana and Hindu renunciatory traditions. In his 1878 formulation, he wrote the following:

Absolute quietism, produced by the destruction of desires and by the suppression of all activity of the mind and heart—this state, so similar to Buddhist Nirvana, and advocated as the highest degree of human perfection—would seem to have led the followers of the Dao to lead a solitary life in hermitages, like the followers of Śākyamuni.

(Puini 1878, p. 486)

The doctrine of wuwei thus became one of the principal lenses through which Italian scholars and intellectuals interpreted Daoism. This quietistic reading—promoted not only by Puini, but also by Giuseppe Tucci (1924) and later by Siao (1941)—shaped both academic and popular receptions of Daoist thought.

Giuseppe Tucci, though later celebrated for his groundbreaking work in Indian philosophy and Tibetan Buddhism, played a pivotal role in shaping Italy’s engagement with Daoism during his early career. Drawn to Daoism’s perceived individualism and libertarian ethos, Tucci found in its teachings a resonant counterpoint to the rigid social structures of both Confucianism and Western modernity. As Lionello Lanciotti (1998) notes, Tucci was captivated by Daoism’s “individualistic—if not libertarian—yearning,” which aligned with his intellectual sympathies (Lanciotti 1998, p. 298).

Tucci’s early scholarship—including Il Tao e il Wu-wei di Lao-tzu [The Tao and the wuwei of Lao-tzu] (Tucci 1914), Dispute filosofiche nella Cina antica [Philosophical Disputes in Ancient China] (Tucci 1915), and Apologia del taoismo [Apology of Taoism] (Tucci 1924)—positioned Daoism as a cohesive philosophical system worthy of rigorous academic and spiritual inquiry. Rejecting both theosophical mystification and dry philology, he pioneered a “mystical hermeneutics” that balanced textual precision with intuitive engagement. For Tucci, the Laozi was neither a relic of superstition nor an esoteric puzzle, but a living articulation of ethical philosophy. His interpretation of wuwei (non-action) departed from passive quietism, reframing it as a dynamic practice of non-coercive action: a spiritual discipline fostering self-mastery and cosmic harmony. Daoism, in this view, offered a “moral therapy” capable of liberating individuals from modernity’s materialist constraints—a stark alternative to Confucian social rigidity and Western industrial pragmatism (Tucci 1924, p. 21).

Within this context of fragmented reception and evolving interpretations, the 1920s witnessed two original Italian translations of the Laozi—Julius Evola’s Il libro della Via e della Virtù (1923) and Alberto Castellani’s La regola celeste (1927). Though both sought to mediate the text’s relevance to modernity’s existential crises, their methodologies diverged sharply. Evola, channeling Daoism through German idealism and avant-garde radicalism, refashioned the Laozi into a manifesto for transcendental individualism, positioning the sage as a sovereign “Absolute I” transcending empirical constraints. Castellani, by contrast, anchored his translation in classical Chinese sources and comparative philosophy, framing Daoism as a naturalistic monism whose sage harmonizes with cosmic indifference.

3. Julius Evola’s Reading of the Laozi

Julius Evola’s 1923 translation of the Laozi represents a pivotal, albeit contentious, moment in the reception of Daoism in interwar Italy.5 Despite his lack of formal sinological training and his unconventional hermeneutic methods, Evola—better known for his controversial relationship with fascism—appropriated the text to further his broader philosophical project. He situated Daoism within a sweeping critique of modernity, which he saw as dominated by materialism and spiritual decline. His highly idiosyncratic interpretation, shaped by avant-garde aesthetics, esoteric networks, and German idealism, reveals a uniquely ideological channel of Daoism’s European appropriation—one marked more by ideological synthesis than scholarly fidelity.

Evola’s engagement with Daoist thought emerged from the esoteric and spiritualist circles flourishing in early 20th-century Italy. Groups such as the Independent Theosophical League of Rome and the UR Group,6 along with various avant-garde movements, reflected a widespread dissatisfaction with modernity’s emphasis on rationalism and material progress. As Evola later recounted in his autobiography, Il cammino del cinabro [The Path of Cinnabar], these milieus were less significant for their actual engagement with Asian philosophies than for their role in catalyzing his own intellectual awakening (Evola 1963, p. 75). Through these networks, he encountered figures like Giovanni Papini, who introduced him to Meister Eckhart and Eastern traditions; Arturo Reghini, a key proponent of Western esotericism and alchemical thought; Decio Calvari, general secretary of the Italian section of the Theosophical Society, and the avant-gardist poet Arturo Onofri, among others. These associations reinforced Evola’s belief in a “primordial wisdom” shared across ancient traditions—an archetypal spiritual knowledge he believed could counter the decay of the modern world (ibid.).

By the 1920s, Evola had become a prominent figure within Italy’s esoteric and intellectual underground. As a founding member of the UR Group, he championed an initiatory, anti-modern vision that rejected materialism in favor of a transcendent spiritual order. This critique of modernity also informed his artistic evolution. Initially drawn to Futurism for its break with classical forms, he soon rejected “its sensualism, lack of inwardness, and its noisy and exhibitionistic aspects” (Evola 1963, p. 9), finding greater affinity in Dadaists’ radicalism, particularly in its negation of meaning and purpose in art. Evola viewed art as absolute interiority, a movement of the self toward absolute freedom and independence from intentionality and external communication.7 True art, for him, was a form of therapy or self-cultivation aimed at awakening the divine (or antihuman) dimension of the self (Chiantera-Stutte 2001, p. 14).

In this inner dimension of art, and in its aim to transcend the dichotomy between subject and object (artist and artwork), Evola saw a connection between Dadaism and Daoism, particularly in Daoist metaphysics and in the concept of wuwei (Bramble 2015). In his correspondence with Dada leader Tristan Tzara, Evola first argued that the Laozi anticipated Dada’s “transcendental presuppositions” (Valento 1991, p. 54), especially its view of reality as an “unending process based on the creative flux of the universe and the laws of chance,” (in Bramble 2015, p. 77) which echoes the creative process of Dao.

However, perhaps the most important connection between Daoism and Dadaism for Evola was the liberating element of the ultimate artistic action from external intentionality and external communication, which is in tune with Daoist wuwei.8 This conceptual alignment motivated his 1922 decision to translate the Laozi, positioning the text as a conceptual bridge between his avant-garde experimentation and his later philosophical formulation. As he reflects in his autobiography, the Laozi’s “calmness of thought, free from emotional contamination” anticipated core elements of his emerging worldview, serving as a “connecting link” between creative and philosophical phases (in de Turris 1996, p. 33).

3.1. Il Libro della Via e della Virtù

Julius Evola’s engagement with the Laozi was marked by a clear prioritization of ideological objectives over philological precision. Lacking the ability to read classical Chinese, Evola relied exclusively on Alexandre Ular’s 1903 German translation—a version that reinterpreted Daoism as a mystical, anti-modern, and anarchic philosophy, largely detached from its original historical and textual context (Reiter 1996; Marino 2024; Tadd 2022). Ular’s interpretive framework profoundly influenced Evola, leading him to reject established scholarly methodologies in favor of seeking the text’s purportedly “authentic” and concealed meaning (Ular 1903).9 In this vein, Evola dismissed professional sinologists as “mere grammarians” lacking philosophical insight (in de Turris 1996, p. 28), an attitude that closely echoes Ular’s own claim to have discerned the Laozi’s “true” essence.

Decades later, Evola himself would reflect critically on this approach in his autobiography, acknowledging its limitations:

The translation drew heavily on A. Ular’s version and remained deeply flawed. What merits attention here, however, are the interpretive dimensions I imposed on the text, whereas my earlier attempt to valorize it ‘critically’ through the lens of ‘modern thought’—often resorting to common tropes of Western idealist philosophy—should be dismissed as frivolous.

(Evola 1963, pp. 17–18)

Julius Evola engaged with the Laozi not as an object of dispassionate academic study, but as a vehicle to address what he identified as a pivotal flaw in Western philosophy: its isolation within institutional walls and detachment from meaningful, real-world change. This approach resonated with a wider intellectual movement among early 20th-century European thinkers, who increasingly used non-Western traditions to critique modernity’s shortcomings (see Clarke 2000, pp. 194–201). In his reading of the Laozi, Evola emphasized inner transcendence, self-sovereignty, and the reclamation of philosophy’s capacity to enact radical transformation. His ultimate aim was to revitalize philosophy as a catalytic force that could awaken the individual to higher existential possibilities and then reshape society itself through this awakening.10 Evola firmly believed that the Laozi offered a unique remedy for the spiritual and intellectual stagnation characteristic of Western modernity, seeing Daoist philosophy as a means to overcome the prevailing malaise of his era (Evola 1963, p. 20).

In the introduction of his work, he states the following:

Man today appears as a castaway clinging to a Self he still cannot comprehend without tainting, yet which he intuits as his only certainty. In light of such a state of affairs, I feel the enduring relevance of Laozi’s theories. It can be said that Laozi’s entire philosophy converges on a single focus: the absolute individual, the perfected being. It is for this ideal that he purified the divine of the mists of transcendence and the leprosies of sentiment, analyzed its rhythm, and derived a morality through which the Individual may grasp creation at its deepest root and realize the grandeur of his nature.

(in de Turris 1996, p. 38)

The actuality of Laozi’s teaching pointed toward the self-cultivation of the sage—a sovereign being who transcends empirical limitations through spiritual detachment. This individual does not assert control by opposing the world, but rather harmonizes with its natural unfolding, acting without being acted upon. True freedom, in this view, lies not in dominance but in inner sovereignty, in a realization that authentic knowledge arises not from the external world, but from the underlying Root of all things: the One, or the Dao.

3.2. Dao as Absolute and Pure Act

Evola’s interpretation of the Laozi hinges on two interconnected pillars: the Dao, reinterpreted as an immanent metaphysical principle, and the “Perfect One” (shengren 聖人), both filtered through the prism of European idealist thought. Drawing on Fichte’s concept of the “Absolute I” (a self-determining, autonomous consciousness), Hegel’s dialectical framework (thesis–antithesis–synthesis), and Giovanni Gentile’s actualism (the primacy of “act” over abstract being), Evola reframes Daoist philosophy as a system of transcendental individualism—a synthesis of Eastern metaphysics and Western idealism.11

Evola’s conception of the Dao as an “absolute and pure Act” is central to this reinterpretation, a dynamic force that transcends static essence. In his unorthodox reading of chapter 4, he asserts “The Way is (has) not an essence, it is an inexhaustible act” (in de Turris 1996, p. 42). Then he elaborates as follows:

[D]ao is as absolute act, so it is not unless it places itself, but by placing itself it creates, that is, it transcends into concrete things. Therefore, the [D]ao, by placing itself, denies itself, but also, since only the fact acts, it demonstrates the act, by denying itself it places itself.

(ibid., p. 31)

Evola’s analysis posits that the Dao, alternatively framed as “non-being,” “the unreal,” or “void,” generates the phenomenal world through a dialectical process of self-alienation. By differentiating itself from its own essence (being, reality), the Dao gives rise to existence while simultaneously negating its primordial unity. Phenomenal reality thus emerges from the dynamic interplay between the nameable (particularity) and the unnamable (universality), a tension sustained by the Dao’s indeterminate potentiality, which transcends all specific forms. This indefinable generative principle, Evola argues, resists reduction to any fixed ontological category (ibid., p. 30).

Within this framework, Evola identifies a structural parallel to Hegelian dialectics: the Dao (as the One) initiates creation by positing itself, thereby establishing opposition. From this binary arises a synthetic triadic movement that crystallizes into determinate forms.12 Crucially, however, Evola stresses that Daoist metaphysics diverges from Western models by maintaining the productive principle’s immanence within becoming. Every apparent duality, he contends, masks the foundational “void”—the formless non-being that undergirds and animates all phenomena (ibid.). Unlike classical Western transcendence, which positions the divine or absolute beyond the material world, the Daoist void permeates immanence: being and non-being co-emerge as mutually constitutive forces. For Daoism, Evola observes, the “beyond” is not external but intrinsic to the present moment (ibid., p. 31).13

This leads to Evola’s provocative formulation: the Dao, as an atemporal absolute act, enacts its own “death” by manifesting in temporality. Through self-negation, it sacrifices its unity to actualize its creative essence—“the death of the One in the birth of the world” (ibid., p. 33).14 Here, the Dao’s creative power lies precisely in its capacity to empty itself into finitude while remaining the unmanifest ground of all becoming.

The concept of a constant presence of the One in the world of beings is further illustrated in the metaphor of mother and child found in chapter 51:

The original principle appears as the Mother of man; recognizing the Mother means knowing oneself as her child; knowing oneself as a child means recognizing oneself as a continuation of the Mother’s life, and this means overcoming all corruption of human life.

(ibid., p. 59)

Evola elaborates that to see oneself as a child is to also recognize oneself as a mother; the essence of the mother exists within the child, just as the child’s existence reflects the mother’s life. In Evola’s view, Daoism does not assign the absolute to a separate or transcendent realm; instead, it acknowledges transcendence through immanence. This implies that it is not cast into a fantastical or distant domain, as is typical in Western religions, but is realized in the continuous process of becoming, thereby residing within the individual as the locus of all possibilities (see Laozi 25 in de Turris 1996, pp. 49–50).

The Dao, as the divine source of all becoming, resides at the core of all things—an insight that compels the individual to return, in solitude, to this primordial ground. Evola clarifies that this return is not solipsistic, for the Dao is neither a negation of the world nor others. Rather, it is the eternal “I” that strips away egoic illusions to experience the unity of all existence. Here, Evola reaffirms a central theme of his philosophical project: the imperative to restore philosophy’s operative and transformative potential by rooting it in the Individual. The “I” must assume responsibility for becoming in all its existential possibilities. To achieve this, it must realize itself as the Absolute I—self-sufficient, autarchic, and sovereign; in other words, as the Perfect One, the Daoist sage (shengren).

3.3. The Daoist Sage as Prototype of the Absolute Individual

Julius Evola’s interpretation of the Daoist sage in the Laozi positions this figure as the archetypal embodiment of the “Absolute Individual”—a concept he first explored through the lens of Dadaist transgression and later systematized in his metaphysical works of the 1920s.15 Throughout his translation and commentary, Evola frames the sage (or “Perfect One”) as achieving a synthesis of cosmic and human principles through the unconditioned “I am,” a self-sufficient ontological foundation distinct from the contingent empirical ego.

For Evola, the significance of the Laozi’s metaphysics lies in its radical assertion of the “I” as the convergence point where cosmic order and human existence unite. By anchoring oneself in the primordial source (the Dao), the individual accesses “inner knowledge” (see Laozi 47 in de Turris 1996, p. 58)—an intuitive certainty beyond empirical observation or rational discourse. Unlike the ordinary person, who remains bound to the unstable, contingent ego, the Daoist path begins with the unconditioned “I am”—a self-sufficient principle rooted in the autarky of the inner self. In chapter 21, Evola states the following:

The law16 is the phenomenal (nameable) form of the Way: but the in-itself of the Way is inexplicable and incomprehensible […] Inexplicable, incomprehensible, it contains spiritual essentiality: as such, it is the Absolute; as such, it is the Human. It will never fade: the Being has its original principle from it. What is the foundation of this knowledge?—[the] I am.

(see Laozi 21 in de Turris 1996, p. 48)

For Evola, the superior form of knowledge arises not from external inquiry but from an inward turn, where the “I” reclaims its primordial unity with the Dao. The Perfect One (shengren) embodies this realization, attaining insight “without venturing outward” and arriving “without traversing distance” (see Laozi 47, ibid., p. 58)—a proof of the self-sufficiency of inner transcendence. This process of self-realization requires dismantling the conditioned ego to actualize the “Absolute I,” a sovereign subjectivity that engages the world while remaining detached from its determinations.

Evola traces the embryonic form of this ideal to the Dadaist artist, whose rejection of utilitarian and communicative art prefigures the sage’s radical autonomy. In the Laozi, the shengren achieves this sovereignty by withdrawing from external distractions, consolidating inner vitality, and transcending empirical constraints to actualize the “I”’s pure potential.17 Mastery over sensory impulses (see Laozi 10) and the practice of “acting without being acted upon” (wuwei) become the means to embody the Dao’s detached immanence—a state of being that engages with the world while remaining unshackled by its contingencies.

In stark contrast, Evola diagnoses the empirical individual as mired in modernity’s “hysteria”: a condition of frenetic attachment to phenomena, where one becomes ensnared by their own creations—much like an artist fixated on their work. This obsession reduces the self to a mere “fact” among facts, alienating it from its essence.18 For Evola, such alienation epitomizes modern unfreedom, rooted in the ego’s subjugation to outcomes. True autonomy, he argues, demands a rupture from this cycle—a return to the Dao’s paradigm of immanent detachment, where action flows spontaneously, unburdened by desire or expectation. The translation of chapter 2 exemplifies this idea:

The Perfect One lives without purpose, leads without commanding, acts without impulse, creates without giving form, conceives disinterestedly, and accomplishes without acting. Essentially, the source of original strength lies outside the differentiation of human consciousness.

(ibid., p. 42)

The sage, by rejecting phenomena through non-action and instead focusing on the singular and absolute act, remains steadfast in its integrity behind all things, regardless of their perishability and limitations. Thus, liberation is found not in fleeing the world, but in mastering the ability to exist within it as the Absolute I—a self-aware being reflecting the Dao’s calm dynamism, unbound yet deeply involved.

4. Alberto Castellani’s Reading of the Laozi

Alberto Castellani emerged from a generation of early 20th-century Italian sinologists who, although largely self-taught and lacking direct experience in China, made substantial contributions to the study of Chinese thought. Their scholarship was marked by a humanistic and intellectually rigorous approach, relatively unburdened by ideological preconceptions.

Castellani’s engagement with Daoism was deeply informed by the foundational work of Carlo Puini, Italy’s preeminent authority on Chinese thought. Puini’s comprehensive surveys of Daoism (Puini 1878, 1917) reflected the prevailing sinological currents of his era, which were shaped by Jesuit-influenced biases that dismissed later Daoist religious practices as “corruptions” tainted by Buddhism. Like many European scholars of his time, Puini focused instead on reconstructing a “primordial” Daoist philosophy—a pre-Confucian intellectual tradition he traced to 5th–4th century BCE thinkers, positioning it as a counterweight to Confucian orthodoxy.

Building upon Puini’s initial yet incomplete forays into Daoist translation, Castellani undertook a far more ambitious project. While Puini had provided selective translations and general overviews for a broader audience, Castellani sought to produce a comprehensive and authoritative rendering. Following his translation of the Analects of Confucius (Castellani 1924a), he turned to the Laozi, culminating in the publication of La regola celeste in 1927. This work stands as Castellani’s magnum opus and a landmark in the Italian reception of Daoism. Although not the first Italian version of the Laozi, it was the first to offer a complete translation directly from the classical Chinese, drawing on the authoritative editions transmitted through Wang Bi’s commentary and Jiao Hong’s Laozi yi 老子翼.19

Distinct from earlier partial translations and ideologically influenced interpretations, Castellani’s version of the Laozi stands out for its meticulous philological precision and philosophical depth. His work critically engages with contemporary European sinological scholarship, establishing a new benchmark for academic rigor in the field. Castellani’s approach features a scrupulous methodology and is accompanied by a comprehensive commentary, serving a dual purpose: enriching scholarly discourse with a scientifically robust edition while making the Laozi accessible to a wider non-specialist audience readership.20

The paratextual elements of Castellani’s La regola celeste underscore its scholarly ambitions. The cover is elegantly understated, featuring the Chinese title in calligraphic script alongside the Italian title and a prominent subtitle that signals the work’s foundational importance: “First complete Italian translation from the Chinese text, with introduction, transcription, and commentary by Alberto Castellani.” This presentation immediately situates the volume as a landmark contribution to Italian sinology.

As the subtitle suggests, Castellani’s translation is preceded by an extensive preface in which he critically reviews previous Western interpretations of the Laozi and articulates his own understanding of its doctrines, with particular attention to cosmology, ethics, and political philosophy. Each chapter of the translation is introduced by a thematic title and a commentary elaborating on the chapter’s general meaning. While Castellani concedes that these titles may not always clarify the full significance of each chapter, he includes them for their historical and interpretive value (Castellani 1927a, p. 40).

Castellani’s approach to Daoism, and to the Laozi in particular, is defined by three principal tendencies. First, he adopts the conventional Western dichotomy that casts Laozi and Confucius as ideological antagonists. In his 1927 work, La dottrina del Tao [The Doctrine of the Tao], published concurrently with his translation, Castellani portrays Laozi as a mystic “consumed by the absolute”—an intrepid seeker of ultimate truths and a rebellious spirit who challenges the constraints of his era. By contrast, Confucius is depicted as a philosopher firmly anchored in the contingent realities of his time, intent on preserving the fragile structures of society that, while adaptable, remain fundamentally transient (Castellani 1927b).

Second, Castellani elevates the Laozi as the pinnacle of Chinese mystical thought, a tradition oriented toward the absolute. He describes the text as inhabiting a “luminous atmosphere of the Ideal,” where human fulfillment demands transcendence of the ephemeral and liberation from the mundane (ibid.). He elaborates as follows:

The Dao De Jing is a book of mystical inspiration, dictated by the sentiment of the infinite, suffused with the tremor of the Unknown, resonant with metallic echoes, and flashing with the untouched peaks of the inaccessible.

(Castellani 1927b, p. 4)

Rejecting Jesuit missionary frameworks that reduced Daoism to “superstition,” Castellani joins sinologists like Julien and De Harlez, among others, in advocating a strictly philological and philosophical reading.21 He argues that the Laozi articulates a coherent system encompassing metaphysics (the nature of the Dao), ethics (wuwei as cosmic alignment), and political theory (governance through non-interference). These strands, he contends, intertwine to reveal the Dao as the immutable Principle underlying all existence (Castellani 1927a, p. 58).

4.1. The Concept of Dao and Laozi’s Philosophical System

In Castellani’s interpretation, Laozi’s philosophical system is fundamentally anchored in the concept of Dao, which he considers the transcendent axis around which all ethical and existential aspirations revolve. Castellani is keenly aware of the challenge this poses for Western readers, particularly the difficulty of translating Dao’s full semantic range. He observes a lack of consensus through a critical survey of various European translations of the text: while many sinologists render Dao as “Way,” Castellani contends that this translation fails to capture the term’s profound depth and scope. As he (Castellani 1927a, pp. 58–59) asserts, “In Laozi’s conception, the Dao holds a higher meaning, equivalent to: Principle, Monad, Absolute […] the name of the modality through which the ‘Principle’ unfolds.”

While scholars like Julien (1842) have adhered to the literal translation (Way), Castellani, aligning with de Harlez (1891), Legge (1879), von Strauss (1870), and Puini (1917), chooses to leave the word Dao untranslated, thereby preserving its philosophical ambiguity and depth (ibid.). In his commentary on the famous opening of the text—“The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao”—Castellani defines the Dao as the “uncreated and eternal force” that precedes all existence (ibid., p. 76).

Castellani further draws explicit parallels between Dao and Western philosophical traditions to bridge the conceptual gap for European audiences. He likens it to Anaximander’s ἄπειρον (apeiron)—the indefinite, boundless origin of all things—and Spinoza’s “Substance”—an immanent, self-sustaining totality. Similarly, he aligns the Dao’s omnipresence with the Western mysticism of Meister Eckhart and Johannes Tauler, whose visions of divine immanence resonate, he suggests, with Daoist spirituality. These thinkers, Castellani posits, might be regarded as “Daoists in spirit”—a bold claim underscoring his comparative approach (ibid., p. 59).

Castellani presents Laozi’s cosmology as a naturalistic monism: the cosmos, perpetually cyclical, experiences continuous transformation as forms appear and disappear, governed by the Dao’s unchanging rhythm. The Dao, referencing the Yijing, thus signifies the name for the operations of yin and yang, the “underlying, immutable law of reality” (ibid., p. 61). In the commentary on Laozi 5’s famous bellows metaphor, he writes the following:

The Principle can be likened to a bellows, with its upper axis representing Heaven (Yang) and its lower axis representing Earth (Yin). The elastic space between them—Qi—serves as the true stage for universal genesis, that is, the activity of the “Principle.” Just as a bellows is inexhaustible in its breath, so too is the Principle inexhaustible in imparting life to all beings (ibid., pp. 61–62).

This framework leads Castellani to reject anthropocentric notions of an afterlife as “childish projections born of egocentrism”—a direct challenge to Jesuit interpretations that recoiled at the Laozi’s perceived amorality. Unlike Western conceptions of deity, the Dao is indifferent to its creation; it neither protects nor loves (ibid., p. 63). Reflecting on the famous opening of the same chapter 5—“Heaven and earth have no humanity. They treat all things like straw dogs,” Castellani remarks:

This chapter, which merely draws a consequence from Laozi’s naturalistic conception of the cosmos already expressed earlier, has alarmed some devout Western interpreters, who cannot fathom, bless them, that a force might exist without serving as a providence. Consequently, they have deviated from the true interpretation, almost preoccupied with the perceived satanic content of the first four chapters.

(ibid., p. 83)

For Castellani, Dao’s indifference is not nihilistic but profoundly liberating: it embodies a self-sustaining cosmic order, unburdened by divine caprice or human anxiety. Castellani’s interpretation—shaped by anticlerical skepticism and positivist rigor—presents the Dao as an impersonal and eternal principle. All things emerge from and ultimately return to it in an endless, purposeless cycle, a vision that rejects teleological narratives in favor of natural law. In critiquing Western theological assumptions, Castellani redefines Daoism as a philosophy of immanent transcendence, where meaning arises not from divine will but from attunement to the cosmos’s inexorable rhythm.

4.2. The Daoist Sage as the Superhuman

The Daoist sage occupies a central role in Castellani’s exegesis of the Laozi, epitomizing the pinnacle of human potential. In La dottrina del Tao, Castellani describes this figure as a “dehumanized superhuman”22—not stripped of humanity, but liberated from its limitations—a being who has awakened to the Dao and dissolved into its totality (Castellani 1927b). This sage, crystallized in sovereign stillness, dwells within the “vast void” (xu 虛), embodying the Dao’s immanent presence (see Laozi 16, Castellani 1927a, p. 99). Castellani’s portrayal starkly critiques modern humanity, mired in desire, ambition, and emotional chaos, contrasting it with the sage’s detached serenity, indifference to trivialities, and freedom from existential clutter. In governance, the sage reigns “motionless, acquiescent, Olympian” (Castellani 1927a, p. 74), achieving perfection through xu—the inner emptiness that mirrors the Dao’s boundless, uncluttered nature.

Ethically, Castellani locates the essence of Daoist wisdom in the theory of wuwei (non-action), which he redefines not as quietism, as Puini did, but as an active harmonious alignment with the cosmos’s “perfect economy.” He argues that human endeavors divorced from this natural rhythm are inherently self-defeating. Humanity, perpetually “being made,” should not “do”; in the universe’s flawless order, there is no room for superfluous action (ibid., p. 65). In a 1924 article in the journal Il Marzocco, he clarifies as follows:

Wu wei! Non-action! This magical formula, the golden key to all possible happiness in the world […] the supreme law […] does not exclude a higher form of action on our part. It does not preach, as some have mistakenly believed, idle passivity, but illuminates the method of our action so that it does not become futile […] It is a higher sense—not of not acting, but of obeying, of adhering perfectly to the cosmos, of merging with universal life, of being grandchildren to God.

(Castellani 1924b, p. 2)

For Castellani, Laozi’s wuwei is the art of effortless participation—a discipline of attuning to the Dao’s rhythms rather than imposing human will. True fulfillment, he contends, arises not from reshaping the world but from recognizing oneself as a living branch of the Dao: a transient yet integral manifestation of the infinite principle. This realization, cultivated through introspection and austerity, liberates the individual from attachment to societal illusions and transient phenomena. The sage, embodying this wisdom, becomes a conduit for the Dao’s unforced efficacy—a testament to the transformative power of aligning with, rather than opposing, the cosmos.

5. Conclusions

The interwar Italian reception of the Laozi, as exemplified by Julius Evola’s 1923 interpretation and Alberto Castellani’s 1927 translation, embodies two distinct hermeneutical paradigms. While both authors framed Daoism as a philosophy of radical alterity capable of destabilizing Western metaphysical assumptions, their readings reveal profoundly divergent intellectual and ideological commitments.

Methodologically, the two works diverge sharply. Evola’s engagement with the text, mediated almost entirely through Alexander Ular’s German translation, prioritizes speculative synthesis over philological rigor, yielding a philosophically provocative but historically ungrounded interpretation. Castellani, by contrast, engages directly with classical Chinese sources—including classical Chinese works such as Wang Bi’s commentary and Jiao Hong’s Laozi yi—while dialoguing critically with contemporary sinological scholarship. This reflects their divergent aims: Evola appropriates Laozi’s thought to critique modernity and advance his own transcendental individualism, forging an anachronistic dialogue with European neo-idealism. Castellani, however, seeks to establish a scientifically rigorous foundation for Italian sinology, balancing comparative analysis with philological precision.

A comparative examination of their hermeneutical keys—Dao and the sage—illuminates these contrasts. For Evola, Dao functions as a dialectical principle reminiscent of German idealism: a dynamic, immanent force that generates reality through the interplay of infinite possibility and self-determining spirit. He frames Dao as a metaphysical “void” that transcends existence, yet paradoxically serves as the ground for the “Absolute Individual” to reclaim creative agency. As Evola asserts,

This mystical need for an absolute spirit, which remains irreducibly indeterminate due to its infinite possibilities, exists alongside a spirit that, through self-determination, manifests the world. Modern thought has yet to recognize this necessity, remaining fixated on addressing the world through the empty, inadequate self-sufficiency of purely speculative thought.

(de Turris 1996, p. 30)

Here, for Evola, Daoism becomes a tool to revitalize philosophy’s “operative role,” enabling the sovereign self to activate latent possibilities within the phenomenal world.

Castellani’s Dao, conversely, emerges as a naturalistic, impersonal principle akin to Anaximander’s apeiron or Spinoza’s Substance—an “uncreated and eternal” cosmic rhythm governing cyclical transformation. Stripped of theological projections, his Dao is blind, unconscious, and indifferent to human concerns, reflecting a kind of monistic materialism. For Castellani, Dao is not a metaphysical challenge to be mastered, but a cosmic law to be humbly observed.

These ontological divergences extend to their interpretations of the sage. Evola’s shengren epitomizes the “Absolute Individual”—a heroic figure who achieves ontological self-mastery through detachment from external determinants. Shaped by avant-garde radicalism and esoteric traditions, this sage embodies “action without attachment” (wuwei), wielding inner sovereignty to dominate becoming itself. The Evolian sage is a metaphysical warrior, actualizing the self’s absolute potential through disciplined inner training.

Castellani’s sage, however, resembles a “depersonalized mystic” who dissolves the ego into cosmic harmony. Serene and ethically minimalist, this figure withdraws from worldly engagement to align with natural necessity. Wuwei, in Castellani’s reading, signifies not heroic assertion but acquiescence to the Dao’s impersonal order—a sublimation of action into contemplative stillness.

These contrasting approaches crystallize the dual forces shaping early 20th-century European engagements with non-Western thought: ideological appropriation versus scholarly systematization. Evola’s Laozi became a mirror for interwar anxieties, refracting Daoism through the prism of German idealism to forge a philosophy of existential renewal. Castellani’s translation, meanwhile, served as a window into Chinese thought, prioritizing philological precision and cross-cultural dialogue.

This duality mirrors broader tensions in interwar intellectual history, where non-Western philosophies were simultaneously exoticized and systematized (see Clarke 2000). Evola’s ideological appropriation and Castellani’s disciplined sinology, though methodologically antithetical, collectively demonstrate how the Laozi became a contested site for reimagining philosophy’s role in an age of crisis. Their translations endure not merely as historical artifacts, but as testaments to the text’s irreducible plurality—its capacity to refract the translator’s worldview while preserving the Dao’s enduring mystery.