The Impersonal Life

by Joseph Sieber Benner

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The Inner Life 1933

monastery in Syria, where he had once spent a period of retirement.

When we light our cigarettes he touches on the subject which was mentioned at the bookshop. But it is evident that he desires to talk of other things, for he soon leads the way to larger issues, and broaches the subject of India’s ancient wisdom.

“Some of the doctrines of our sages have already reached the West,” he remarks impressively, “but in most cases the real teachings have been misunderstood; in a few instances they have somehow been falsified. However, it is not for me to complain. What is India today? She is no longer representative of the lofty culture of her past. The greatness has gone out of her. It is sad, very sad. The masses hold on to a few ideals at the cost of being enmeshed in a fussy tangle of pseudo-religious fetters and unwise customs.”

“What is the cause of this degeneration?” I ask him.

My host is silent. A minute slowly passes. I watch him while his eyes begin to narrow until they are half-closed; then he quietly breaks the silence.

“Alas, my friend! Once there were great seers in my land, who had penetrated the mysteries of life. Their advice was sought by king and commoner. Under their inspiration Indian civilization reached its zenith. To-day, where are they to be found? Two or three may remain—unknown, unrecorded and far from the main stream of modern life. When those great sages—Rishis, we call them—began to withdraw from society, then our own decline also began.”

His head droops till the chest must support his chin. A sorrowful note has entered his voice with the last sentence. For a while he seems withdrawn from me, his soul wrapped in melancholy meditation.

His personality impresses me again as being provocatively interesting and decidedly attractive. Eyes dark and flashing, reveal a keen mentality; voice, soft and sympathetic, reflects a kindly heart. I feel anew that I like him.

The servant noiselessly enters the room and approaches the lacquered table. He lights a joss stick and a blue haze rises to the


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