*“In modern civilisation everything tends to suffocate the heroic sense of life. Everything is more or less mechanised, spiritually impoverished, and reduced to a prudent and regulated association of beings who are needy and have lost their self-sufficiency.”*
— Julius Evola, *Meditations on the Peaks*, p.4
If you are new to training, then the last thing you need is pre-workout, protein powder, pump covers and a commercial gym membership. In fact, these things are just as likely to be an anathema to your goals as they are to accelerate them. As an average grunt, you should give them as wide a birth as possible, lest you risk falling into the trap of cosplaying as a ‘health conscious person’, instead of earnestly striving for the summit of your potential.
Under the reign of quantity, the ‘fitness industry’ has been so thoroughly commercialised that one must discriminate ruthlessly when searching for advice of any kind. This same scrutiny should also be applied to personal trainers, who, although well intentioned, are often the very thing that prevents people from achieving their goals.
How do they do this? By giving their client licence to skirt accountability, and thereby circumvent what is arguably the most vital by-product of physical training. But more on that later, since I’m not done grieving over the corpse of physical culture just yet.
Contrary to popular belief, the answers beginners seek aren’t in magazines, Instagram posts, 12 week plans, or fucking peptides. What the supplement companies and fitness mags don’t want you to know, is that worthwhile training principles for a novice can be written on one side of a napkin. Even advanced trainees are be better off deriving their principles from personal experimentation than PubMed studies or ‘scientific consensus’.
However, big pharma and big food aren’t the only ones contributing to this money driven deception. Gym chains are just as complicit, since they also depend on your perpetual ignorance. In their ideal world, everyone would remain a hapless slave to images of authority, and so feel it necessary to waste time and money on things like a commercial gym membership.
As I write this, the word robotnic (meaning slave) comes to mind, since it so aptly describes the fallen state of the modern fitness industry. Not only are people seemingly allergic to experimenting for themslves, but they are also obsessed with how to do things the easiest or fastest way. The victory of rational materialism has been so overwhelming that people are happy to give up their agency and self-sufficiency in the name of ease and convenience. If the rise of personal trainers and self-serving fitness personalities wasn’t disappointing enough, I dare say that the growing obsession with exercise machinery is even more disheartening.
For proof of this obsession, you need only look at how people fight for smith machines, lat pull-down stations and plate loaded equipment. Just last month at the Arnold Classic people were gushing over the Panatta Total Back machine; a labyrinthine monstrosity that allows someone to train their back through multiple plains of motion without moving from their seat. Such an extravagant contraption perfectly demonstrates how profuse convenience has become in spaces that are supposed to be uncomfortable.
Don’t get me wrong, a gym doesn’t need to be booby-trapped or sport moats of lava, but there is something to be said for the merits of rugged simplicity. I say as much, since the embrace of simplicity functions as a protective membrane against the temptation to deviate from the original form of a given pursuit, and thusly stops any potential perversions from taking shape.
Sadly, mankind has little to no talent for this sort of self-restraint, so rugged simplicity is hard to come by these days. However, its absence is especially apparent in the world of fitness, where rational materialism has so comprehensively blinded modern man to the inner subtleties of his being.
That said, we shouldn’t give rational materialism too much credit in this particular case, since the inner aspect of physical training is easily overlooked at the best of times.
Believe it or not, a person can undergo a profound physical transformation, and yet be totally ignorant of the inner developments that made said transformation possible. Point being, without contemplation, action can quickly become mechanical, and bereft of meaning, which is all the more reason for us to reject the commercialisation of physical training, which would have us disregard its true multi-layered nature altogether.
Obviously, if your goal is simply to build muscle or get stronger, then you can disregard this article as the self-serious ramblings of a deracinated young man. After all, these machines are technical marvels, are they not? Feats of engineering that will allow people to build more muscle with less effort. But, for those who think as I do, therein lies the deeper problem.
What do we really gain by making this process easier? Are we not denigrating the deeper aspects of physical training? What of mastery? What of excellence? What of unblemished hierarchy and distinction? But I digress.
My point here, is that the rise of complex machinery is indicative of modernity at large. We have become so accustomed to answering questions of character with convenience, that our ability to exercise restraint has atrophied. So much so, that the very practices which once served as a way out of the ever-expanding machine have themselves been compromised. Instead of meditating authentically in natural isolation, we would rather download a guided mediation app. Instead of mastering our bodies, we happily utilise machines that do a portion of the work for us.
You might say that the help provided by these technologies is inconsequential, and not worth all this fuss. And, were we simply talking about bodybuilding, you’d be right. After all, you still have to move the weight yourself when using these monstrosities (for the time being at least). However, such objections become less valid when we discuss the deeper purpose of physical training.
In brief, an excessive reliance on compensatory machines prevents us from having an immanent encounter with the limits of our own mind and body. By removing risk and reducing the need for precise execution, the machine obscures the self and becomes a barrier to entry; transforming a once demanding discipline into a domesticated experience that anyone can have.
And make no mistake, this is all by design. Those with a vested interest in the fitness industry want nothing more than for this process of denigration to continue, since it will democratise physical training to the point that everyone becomes a customer. What they don’t want you to know, however, is that an exceptional physique can be built with the most rudimentary set up imaginable (provided you have a vigorous spirit).
Truth be told, I have seen more physical prowess in calisthenics parks and grungy basement gyms than I ever have in commercial spaces. Why? Because the bare bones environment impresses an intensity upon you that is difficult to inhabit by choice, especially within the overwhelming convenience of a commercial gym. Though you may have access to all the equipment you could possibly dream of in the latter, at the same time, you have very limited access to the most crucial ingredient:
Resolve.
There’s no amount of optimisation that can make up for a lack of this all important trait. No calibre of equipment that can account for the absence of inner quality. If you really want to move the needle, then you need a sufficient appetite for transformation, as well as the will to see it satiated.
Mind you, this is not to say that people can’t excel within a commercial setting, but rather that most people lack the disposition to do so.
Don’t believe me? Go to any commercial gym in your neighbourhood and I’ll bet that you find yourself surrounded by mediocrity. The vast majority of those in attendance won’t have changed a lick since they started, and, in all likelihood, they won’t change at all going forward either (that is, if they even remain consistent in the first place). Now, while this isn’t entirely the fault of the space itself, I still hold it partially accountable, since it doesn’t provoke the kind of inner intensity required for genuine self-destruction and rebirth.
The problem is not that it’s communal, but that it’s overwhelmingly commercial (and therefore averse to excellence). Training with others isn’t a problem. In fact, in many cases communal exercise proves to be superior to the solo approach, especially so in the realm of martial training.
The sobering caveat to this, however, is that most people in commercial settings will become content with the appearance of pursuing fitness. They’ll buy the polyester clothes, get the monthly membership and wear the fitness tracker, but they’ll never tap into the obsessive energy that actually results in remarkable change. Instead, they’ll happily consume content and listen to advice ad nauseam, until they’ve tricked themselves into feeling fit (even though their form and capabilities remain largely unchanged).
That’s why, if the beginner wants to go beyond mediocrity, they would be better off with a bare bones approach.
Even a bedroom is preferable to the oppressive mediocrity that you’ll find in most gyms. Again, this is because the absence of convenience puts the responsibility for an intense session in your hands alone. Anyone who started out doing push-up challenges in their bedroom will tell you that the intensity of these sessions is not to underestimated.
At the end of the day, the environment is only valuable insofar as it is able to inspire a sufficient degree of discipline.
Hence, why the minimalist approach repeatedly proves to be fruitful for so many people (at least at the outset of their training). Though this may sound dramatic, I sincerely believe that if you fail to embrace a minimalist mode of training as a beginner, then the likelihood of you going on to cultivate enough inner resolve to train consistently and with sufficient intensity is slim to none.
Fact is, modern people, who already suffer from some avoidable affliction or other, need all the help they can get in enacting a revival of their inner and outer vitality, which is why the training environment, though secondary to their will, is still significant. Think of it this way: the place where you train can either serve as an enemy or an ally; a hinderance or an accelerant. The choice is yours.
This is where the concept of the Temple comes into play. If your ambitions extend beyond aesthetics and performance (as I believe they should), then you would do well to approach training as Julius Evola did mountaineering.
Instead of relying on siege tactics and technical gear, Evola advocated for a more ascetic and heroic form of climbing, where the climber is “free from all machines” (p.5) and clothed only in his own strength. Mind you, this was not for the sake of thrill seeking, but rather to initiate an “inner elevation” (p.61) that could parallel the outward ascent. By removing the many buffers between man and mountain, the climber’s “direct and absolute relationship with things” (p.5) is restored, which adjoins a psychic element to the physical ordeal.
With this species of mountaineering as inspiration, we can apply these same principles to our training. By removing commercial comforts, we can convert a basement or garage into a place of mountainous spirit, free from the stultifying convenience epitomised by Planet Fitness or The Gym Group.
Practically speaking, it should goes without saying that a Temple must be antiquated and non-decorative. It must take on the primordial character of a cave or the solemnity of an abandoned church as best it can. As such, it cannot be fitted with speakers, TVs, cable machines, leg presses or any of the other trappings of commercial spaces. Ideally, it would be unfurnished and lit by clusters of watchful candles (for the 40k aesthetic); devoid of all decoration, save for a single poster or icon on an unpainted wall. In short, it should be entirely inhospitable to any activity besides contemplative training.
Within such a hallowed space, only the crudest of implements should be permitted, since these tools will only ever get you so far, and thereby demand that you take yourself the rest of the way. By providing you with limited avenues of attack, the very space itself demands your best; exacting from you the kind of energy, ingenuity, and desire for mastery that is so often absent from commercial settings.
This way, the temple functions as a proving ground for your will; allowing you to engage with and cultivate a pure heroism that serves no immediate purpose beyond the pursuit of inner victory. Though it is true that physical training will provide you with many material boons along the way, you would be wise to remember that this inner triumph transcends them all. After all, what could be sweeter than attaining certainty of self? Than becoming suzerain of your own soul?
Make no mistake, you are unlikely to achieve enlightenment simply by working out. That said, exercise can, if executed properly, furnish you with abilities that might allow you to work toward enlightenment elsewhere. Viewed as such, it becomes a supplemental, but by no means insignificant, process.
As experience shows, it is supremely easy to go through the motions in any circumstance. It’s one thing to regularly attend classes or complete workouts, but quite another to be truly enriched by physical training, with respect to your mind, body, and soul. So, where possible, why shouldn’t we use the pressures of necessity to draw out our true strength? If this requires that we train in a dungeon with brutish equipment, then so be it. It’s a small price to pay for an encounter with our true colours.
Ultimately, our goal is to create a space that excites the kind of practice which, although concerned with “the energies of the body” (p.4), does not “begin and end with them but will become instead the means to awakening a living and organic spirituality”.
Thus, in our temples, we should try to replicate the primordial ruggedness of the mountains, and thereby invite a sense of inner isolation that cries out to be vanquished by an indomitable spirit. That way, by standing opposed to us so unflinchingly, the space comes to inversely support our ultimate goal. Like an austere master, it is harsh for the purposes of awakening something within the student. In so doing, it gives us the chance to achieve vitality at every level of our being, instead of restricting our adaptations to the physical realm alone.
If this approach appeals to you, then I’d recommend that you get your hands on some variation of the following:
- A squat rack (preferably with a built-in pull-up bar)
- Dip bars or paralletes
- An Olympic barbell
- An adjustable bench
- And some weight plates (preferably made of iron for the glorious sound they make)
(Olympic rings are also a fantastic option, since they can be used for pull-ups, dips and many other movements).
It’s literally that simple, and, provided you’re smart about it, most of these items won’t even break the bank.
Once you’ve acquired this set-up, all you need do is get strong at simple movements, and enter each session with dual intentions. On the one hand, you should seek strength and physical mastery. You want to gain control over your body, and strengthen it as you do so; mastering the pull-up, the dip, the back squat, the bent row, the military press and so on. And, as you do so, you should also seek to sharpen your mind as the warriors of antiquity would tend to their weapons and armour. Pay attention to your thoughts as you would during meditation, and endeavour to direct all your inner and outer energy into a single pursuit.
After all, as a practitioner of physical culture, you’re not just there to achieve a material outcome. In defiance of rational materialism, your physical training is as much a means to inner vitality, as it is a means to muscle gain or strength increase. As we outlined above, the Temple is designed to ensure that you don’t fixate so exclusively on performance or aesthetic changes that you ignore the equally important inner work.
That said, there is room for joy and gratification in this mode of training. We are not trying to become so ascetically austere that we lose touch with the chthonic energies that likely brought us to the gym in the first place. Our intention is not to punish the body in hopes that we can escape the world of forms, but rather to hone our ability to engage with the world more meaningfully. By all means, take pleasure in your many becomings, pride in your newfound form, and exhaust your flourishing strength. Just remember that there is another, more conspicuous process at play within you. A kind of soul-surgery, that sees your spiritual core becoming smaller, harder and more serrated as your flesh grows into more space and power.
If you ever feel lost as you undertake this enterprise, then simply address the quote below, and allow it to restore to you the proper orientation:
“The body is proof of the spirit” — Yukio Mishima
If you can make this style of training a lifelong staple of your existence, then the aforementioned spiritual and physical effects will compound, and eventually result in a succession of truly radical transformations, from both within and without.
So, by all means strive, but don’t tell a soul.
Resist the urge to make fitness another badge to sow onto your bourgeois personality, and instead use it as a means to a more imperishable end. Be relentless with your limited equipment, yet remain anti-mimetic; seeking applause from nothing but the iron at your feet.
To paraphrase the philosophy of Jack Westerheide:
‘Train well. Tell no one’
Remember, you aren’t doing this for outward approval (though there’s no need for you to scorn it, if and when it should come your way). Your foremost concern, should be with becoming capable of self-command and necessary action. Improved aesthetics and metabolic health are merely symptoms of this greater endeavour. Welcome symptoms, no doubt, but symptoms nonetheless.
Hence, why I’d suggest you keep your designs to yourself. By publicly expressing your intent to others, your first step is taken in the wrong direction. You don’t need to be secretive, just self-possessed. It’s not about being a dark horse or having a privately inflated opinion of yourself. It’s about using arduous activity to get close to the unvarnished core of your being. It’s about suffering at your own hand until you learn how to subsist on your own “self-made credit” (Nietzsche, Ecce Homo). It’s about sequestering the manifold drives of instinct so that they can be placed in service of something greater. Something worthy of ceaseless toil and internal strife.
Given time, these forceful impulses will act like flashes of nitrous in a V8 engine — propelling you forward through moments of doubt, though never replacing your central motivation.
Thus, I call you to construct your own Temple, and create a refuge from a world marred by endless deception and falsehood. A consecrated space, that only tolerates hard truths. By doing so, you can not only trust in the certainty of your becoming, but also take comfort in the fact that, no matter how fake and gay things become:
*“The iron never lies.”*
— Henry Rollins
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