Power is beyond us. Either it is given us from the unknown, or we have not got it. And better to touch it in another, than never to know it. Better be a Russian and shoot oneself out of sheer terror of Peter the Great’s displeasure, than to live like a well-to-do American, and never know the mystery of Power at all. Live in blank sterility. For Power is the first and greatest of all mysteries. It is the mystery that is behind all our being, even behind all our existence. Even the Phallic erection is a first blind movement of power. Love is said to call the power into motion: but it is probably the reverse: that the slumbering _power_ calls love into being. Power is manifold. There is physical strength, like Samson’s. There is racial power, like David’s or Mahomet’s. There is mental power, like that of Socrates, and ethical power, like that of Moses, and spiritual power, like Jesus’ or like Buddha’s, and mechanical power, like that of Stephenson, or military power, like Napoleon’s, or political power, like Pitt’s. These are all true manifestations of power, coming out of the unknown. Unlike the millionaire power, which comes out of the known forces of human greed and envy. Power puts something new into the world. It may be Edison’s gramaphone, or Newton’s Law or Cæsar’s Rome or Jesus’ Christianity, or even Attila’s charred ruins and emptied spaces. Something new displaces something old, and sometimes room has to be cleared beforehand. Then power is obvious. Power is much more obvious in its destructive than in its constructive activity. A tree falls with a crash. It grew without a sound. Yet true destructive power is power just the same as constructive. Even Attila, the Scourge of God, who helped to scourge the Roman world out of existence, was great with power. He was the scourge of _God_: not the scourge of the League of Nations, hired and paid in cash. If it must be a scourge, let it be a scourge of God. But let it be power, the old divine power. The moment the divine power manifests itself, it is right: whether it be Attila or Napoleon or George Washington. But Lloyd George, and Woodrow Wilson, and Lenin, they never had the right smell. They never even roused real fear: no real passion. Whereas a manifestation of real power arouses passion, and always will. Time it should again. Blessed are the powerful, for theirs is the kingdom of earth. ... LOVE WAS ONCE A LITTLE BOY ... LOVE WAS ONCE A LITTLE BOY Collapse, as often as not, is the result of persisting in an old attitude towards some important relationship, which, in the course of time, has changed its nature. Love itself is a relationship, which changes as all things change, save abstractions. If you want something really more durable than diamonds you must be content with eternal truths like “twice two are four”.