Civilised man has done his utmost to mitigate Life’s natural “injustices”--to use these people’s language--but since in order to survive he is bound to allow Nature a certain modicum of free-play within his societies, a certain modicum of so-called “injustice” cannot be removed from even the most ideal and perfect community.[9] Thus, far from this “injustice” of the stupid sentimentalists _à la_ Gambetta, etc., etc., being man-made, or man-contrived, it is man who has done, and still does, his utmost to mitigate its asperities. But because he cannot sweep it away without also sweeping away Life itself, or without tampering with a very sacred function of his fellows, it is preposterous to hold him responsible for it. Apart from the creation and administration of law in an organised society, therefore, and the accepted rules which control the treatment of one man by another, or of a child by its parents, or _vice versâ_, justice has no genuine existence at all. To complain about the absence of a purely fantastic conception, therefore, is an absurdity. As well might you complain that your son is born without wings, or that you yourself do not possess seven-league boots. In its essence, however, this act of setting up an impossible ideal, which is supposed to belong to the very scheme of the universe, amounts to an attitude of hostility to life, because it is tantamount to a refusal to accept life as she is--that is to say, amoral. It is equivalent to setting up a false scale of measurement, in order to depreciate human society and its value. When once these people are convinced that the “injustices” about which they complain really are rooted in Life and Nature, they cry out desperately: Look how dreadful Life is, she is unjust! But it is only in their benighted brains that the ideal of justice was ever conceived as inherent in phenomena, as a possible attribute of life Life is amoral; therefore she is essentially beyond or beneath justice. You can only [p59] love her or loathe her as she is. And it is a proof of degeneracy to loathe her as she is. Hence degenerates invariably clothe her with false attributes, and talk about a “_justice immanente_”; they are not brave enough, or proud enough, to love her without trying to paint her in the light of their back-parlour morality. All Life’s light and shade, all her excitement, all her incitement to man to compete with energy and spirit in her game, depends for more than half its charm precisely on the fact that she is amoral--that is to say, that she produces inequalities, contrasts and divergent types, indifferently, lavishly, without taking thought, without mercy. Her call is to the brave, to the stout of heart, and to the adventurous and spirited. Those who in the midst of this great adventure cry out “Injustice!” either misunderstand, or wilfully misrepresent the whole scheme.