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 Accepting Fate

Fated to You Book One

J. Laine
Copyright © 2023 by J. Laine

ASIN: B0CBCY3GHX

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by

any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,
without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright
law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No
identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is
intended or should be inferred.

Cover Design: Yall. That. Graphic

Chapter Art: J. Laine

Editing: Jeri Marie

 Contents

Playlist:
Note to Reader
Dedication

Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four
Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty

Epilogue

Stay Tuned

American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

Acknowledgements

About the Author

 Playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0VlcYYF5X1CcZshMYjj8Ex?
si=fb66fda20daf429f

Use Somebody (Acoustic)- Lusaint

Invisible Battles- Carolina Rial
Iris- Kina Grannis
Complicated- Olivia O'Brien
The Scientist- Coldplay
Light Me Up- Ingrid Michaelson
Make You Feel My Love- Adele
Make it to Me- Sam Smith
Lifetime- Justin Bieber
Slow Hands- Niall Horan
Beautiful Soul- Jesse McCartney
Look After You- The Fray
Every Little Thing- Sleeping At Last
Love You Anyway- Luke Combs
 As Long As You Love Me- Backstreet Boys
Bye Bye Bye- *NSYNC
Say It First- Sam Smith
Dance Her Home- Cody Johnson
You Say- Lauren Daigle
Down-Jason Walker
Unsteady- X Ambassadors
Work Song- Hozier
Cover Me In Sunshine- P!nk & Willow Sage Hart
Decode- Paramore
Guess I’m in Love- Clinton Kane
I See The Light- Brent Morgan
Dancing In The Sky- Kristen Cruz
 Note to Reader

This book contains sensitive topics. Some of the events that occur
are not for everyone and may be hard for some to read.
Some of the major warnings include suicide, sexual assault, loss of
a parent, alcoholism, death, kidnapping of child and adult, parental
abuse, domestic violence (in a past form to the FMC, the MMC is not
involved), necrophilia (mentioned— not to any MCs) and heavy
mention of mental health disorders.
For a full list of trigger warnings and content warnings, please visit
the link below: (It's also linked in my bio on all my socials)
https://forms.gle/Fng4TiggXzB3HPjV8
All of the characters in this book love to swear, as do I. If that is
not your thing, this will not be for you.
I wrote this book to feel justice for my past. The dedication will
seem weird to some, and I understand without context how it may.
Just know that even though this book contains humor, spice, and so
much more, I am not making a joke of my past or the
diseases/disorders that are mentioned.
I wrote this based on some of the events that occurred in my life.
Most of this is fiction but some events are from firsthand knowledge
of what that event was like. Others are from secondhand
experiences due to living with a loved one with the
disorders/diseases. If you share any of these and your experience is
different than mine, please keep in mind I’m writing from what I
witnessed and lived with.
The diseases/disorders spoken about in this have impacted my life
in many ways. Some people have different ways of coping with
trauma, and this is how I'm choosing to deal with mine.
If you know me personally and disagree with how I chose to
rewrite my past, disrespectfully, Fuck off.
If you resonate with any piece of this story, please know I hear you
and my inbox is always open if you want/need to talk.
Happy Reading!
 “Mom, I know you did the best you could with the life you were
dealt. I miss you every day. This is me taking the power back into
our hands.”
 Prologue

JULY 1ST, MY 18TH birthday, was the second worst day of my life. It
was also the last time I would ever walk into my childhood home.
Looking back, I should have expected it. My life hadn’t been
sunshine and rainbows for years, so I should have seen the
catastrophic bomb making its way toward me, with its sole purpose
to make my life even shittier than it already was.
Walking into my house that day, I knew in my gut that things
weren’t right. But I was crossing my fingers that Mom was having a
good day, which was rare because her mood changed like the hours
on the clock.
I should have listened to the nagging voice in my head that was
telling me something was seriously fucking wrong. But I didn’t
because, like most eighteen-year-olds on their birthday, I was ready
to celebrate being an adult.
Instead, I was greeted by my mother laying down in the living
room. The same living room where we’d watched our favorite movie
the night before. She was on the same couch we snuggled up
together and watched way too much reality television when she was
happy. Except this time, she wasn’t laughing at something some
daytime television host was saying. This time, she was staring up at
the ceiling. Her piercing green eyes were the same shade as mine,
but the only difference was that mine were unable to grasp what
was in front of me and hers were hazy.
I can’t even remember how many nights I wished for her to wake
up and see what was going on around us. But unfortunately, she
never got the chance. Her eyes weren’t hazy because of the copious
amount of alcohol she consumed on a regular basis; it was because
all of the life had been drained out of her.
Her arm hung over the side of the couch, prominently displaying
her deeply cut wrist. The silence was so loud that my ears screamed
in pain as I listened to the slow drip of blood hitting the wood floor
beneath her.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
And then I saw the note she left me:
I’m sorry. Mike will take care of you now. I love you. –Mom
My blood ran cold and a shiver rolled up my spine as I read the
words over and over again. Apparently, my mom had left me alone
in this world with nothing but a note and my stepfather, Mike. We
were so close. Why couldn’t she just hold on a little bit longer?
The two weren’t shy about their love that turned to hatred. If it
wasn’t the screaming that gave it away, it was the bruises that
marked her pale skin like a checkerboard. I like to think that, while
lost in her own battles, her mind and body didn’t allow her to see
what he was also doing to me. And now she never will.
At the time, I didn’t see the full picture because she was gone. I
wanted answers but I knew I needed to be alive to get them. So, I
gathered what I could and never looked back. I’m what some would
call a runaway, I was barely a legal adult when I left my hometown.
Looking back on that awful day, I think the higher powers were
watching out for me. Because if I hadn’t just turned eighteen, I
wouldn't have been able to get away.
I can’t even think about what would have happened if I hadn’t
escaped. Just the thought of being trapped in that house with that
man sends me into a panic attack so bad that I have to take one of
those dreaded pills. The ones that make me feel like I'm outside of
my body and make my brain feel fuzzy. I hate them but they are
sometimes the only thing that helps me calm down.
Growing up in upstate New York with my family was no easy task.
It's not like I didn't have access to food or shelter. I always had the
basics. It was just my mom and the men she brought around that
made it miserable.
I like to pretend that I can somehow forget what happened that
awful day. But it's extremely hard to erase the image of walking into
your house, hoping your mom is having a good day, excited to
celebrate with you – only to find her dead on the living room couch.
Her wrist was cut and her blood dripping off the sides of the couch
onto the wooden floor, the sound of life draining out of her and
echoing throughout the deathly quiet house.
 That’s not something you can easily expunge from your memory,
unfortunately.
I’m still shocked when I think back to how I got out of there so
quickly, but after reading the note, my body went into immediate
survival mode. Something about it didn’t sit right and I wasn’t going
to stick around to find out.
I wish I could say Mom just had a bad radar when it came to men,
but I can’t. They all started out great and were experts at hiding
their true selves. Exhibit A: Me.
Mom met a guy one night while she was working at a tavern. He
sat with her all night and then they both decided to blow off some
steam. A couple of weeks later, she found out she was pregnant with
me. I don't know if she never found him or if he just didn't care to
show up. But any time I asked, she would brush it off and change
the subject. To this day, I still don't know who my dad is but with
her track record, I’d rather not.
I would have possibly stuck around to see that she had a proper
funeral, even if it was just me who would have been there, but that
one piece in the note had me running for the hills.
Mike will take care of you.
Not to speak ill of the dead, but that was a bunch of bullshit.
The only thing that man knew how to do was beat on people
smaller than him and make me feel really uncomfortable. I don’t
think that man had an ounce of love in his entire body.
Luckily, he wasn’t home so my escape was almost effortless.
After a few days on the road, I settled in Alabama. It wasn’t easy. I
lived in my car for months while working at a diner, until school
started and I was eligible for on-campus housing. I attended a year
of community college before I was accepted into the University of
Alabama nursing program. That’s where I met Allie, my roommate
turned best friend and someone that I will be eternally grateful for.
We bonded and became like sisters. Even her family took my
guarded, stubborn self into their home and didn’t think twice about
it. For the first time in a long time, I finally felt as normal as I could.
The demons of my past still lurked in the shadows, but I was
determined to not let my mother's death ruin my life.
Instead, I set out to have the full college experience. Because if
my life was going to end at any moment, I wanted to have at least
lived a somewhat happy life first.
I focused on classes, attended football games, and met more
friends along the way. Allie and I even started a t-shirt tradition to
document our time at college. We got each other a shirt whenever
we passed a test and after each football game we attended. And
then for our birthdays or basically any celebration, we got another
one. I have so many t-shirts now that I can’t even count.
School and time flew by and before I knew it, graduation was
closing in. I had to think about a more permanent place to land.
Despite my persistence to move forward, the danger was still there
and I needed peace of mind. I’d been taking various self-defense
courses so that if the time ever came, I could defend myself, but I
felt the need to be as far away from New York as possible. Alabama
just wasn’t far enough. Not to mention, I was missing cooler
weather and good hiking trails.
 According to Google, the west coast was my best bet. And when I
saw that Oregon and Washington were at the top of the list, I had a
memory flash through my mind.
It was of me and Mom. She was on the couch and I was on the
floor, sitting between her legs while she braided some intricate
weaving into my long brown hair and dialed in on her show.
The opening scene was a view of the Seattle Space Needle. That
show always made her laugh, or more times than not – made her
cry. Even when she had more bad days than good during the week,
she would always give me recaps of the newest episodes.
As the memory hit me, I felt like Mom was sitting right there
beside me. I could hear her sweet laugh that was so infectious and
distinct that I know I will never forget it. The feeling was bittersweet
because, although I love my mom, I found myself wishing she was
like that all the time. But life is too short to focus on all the negative
memories. I wanted to always remember the happy times.
After that moment, my mind was made up. I spent a week
researching hospitals in the Seattle area, as well as the town itself.
Mt Rainier Medical Center caught my attention not only because of
its name but the fact that it was a level one trauma center, which
was exactly what I was looking for post-graduation.
The last few days of college passed in a blur, due to Allie and I
religiously studying for the national exam. We didn't leave her
father's office for a month straight, but we passed with flying colors
on the first attempt. Both of us were so happy we cried for an hour
straight before her mom made us get all dressed up and took us out
to celebrate.
 A few days later, with my car packed to the brim, it was time to
drive the grueling forty hours to Seattle. I said a very heartbreaking
goodbye to Allie and her parents. The t-shirts we exchanged that
day are still my favorite. Since Allie was taking a job as a NICU nurse
in Florida, her shirt had a gator wearing a stethoscope while riding a
surfboard. Mine had a seahawk with a stethoscope around its neck,
riding on top of a ferry boat. I would miss that girl, but starting my
new life in Seattle was just what I needed.
The journey to get there was hard and some days, I wanted to
give up but as far as life goes, I was doing okay. The only problem
was, I knew I’d never be totally happy until my demons disappeared
for good.
Though I built my life as far away from those demons as possible,
the questions still lingered in the back of my mind and the worries I
took from that house were still with me. I told myself that it didn’t
matter anymore and tried to accept the fact that I may never know
if my gut feeling was right.
But then, almost eight years later, someone left a note on my car.
I knew what it meant, and I just hoped my mother and I didn't
share the same fate.
 Chapter One

Logan

"LOLO, REMIND ME AGAIN why the hell we are using our only day
off and the hottest day of the year to move you into this house that
looks straight out of Twilight?” Harper yells from the front door.
I shake my head and laugh as I walk up the last few steps to the
loft. Harper is very much a Pacific Northwest girl. After going to
school in Alabama, a sunny 40° day is nothing to me.
Leaning over the railing in the loft, I yell down to her, "Because I’m
sick of paying a stupid amount of money for that tiny ass apartment
that I only see from the inside of my eyelids!”
I hear her mumble what I’m sure is cursing me a thousand ways to
Sunday. I don’t expect anything less from her. Harper’s personality is
just as dominating as her flaming red hair.
Harper took me by surprise when I first met her. I was walking into
my first shift in the emergency room at Mt Rainier Medical Center
and saw, more like heard, a girl yelling. I walked around the corner
and I expected to see a wife yelling at her husband. But it was
Harper.
She stood there, a tad bit taller than me with her hair in a high
ponytail that extended down the middle of her back, in black scrubs
and black Nikes. She was staring straight up at a very tall older man,
her green eyes full of fire, pointing her finger in his face and cursing
him with every name in the English dictionary.
I was so shocked that I stopped right in my tracks. The moment I
saw the man place a hand on her arm and aggressively push her
away, followed by Harper’s fist connecting with his face, my trance
was broken. I ran up behind the asshole, who was still standing
despite Harper’s amazing left hook, and tapped him on the shoulder.
As he whipped around, I punched him right in the crotch. The
douche canoe doubled over in pain and I put both hands on his
shoulders, sending my knee straight up into his nose as hard as I
could. Blood gushed from his face, and he fell to the floor. I quickly
jumped out of the way, so he didn't crush me.
For such a big man, he was a baby when it came to pain.
Once the guy was down, I pulled his arm behind his back and sat
on him. I folded my arms over my chest and when I looked up at
Harper, she was smiling like a kid in a candy store and plopped down
next to me on the asshole's back. We sat in silence waiting for
security and since then we have been inseparable.
I still don’t know to this day what that guy did to deserve the
wrath of Harper Olivia Masen, but it secured a bond in us that has
been strong for over three years now. She may be a pain in my ass
with all that sass. And she will never replace Allie, but I don’t know
what I’d do without her.
I break out of my memory of that unforgettable first day to get
back to the task at hand. It doesn't take us long to move all my
belongings into my new two-story cabin in Cliff Haven, a small town
that is located thirty minutes from the hospital in Seattle.
After I put down the last box and Harper leaves with me promising
to buy her coffee every day for the next month, I sit down and take
it all in.
The quiet and serenity is what I have been craving. I was stuck in
a studio apartment in downtown Seattle paying an obscene amount
of money per month. I hated it so much that I would pick up extra
shifts so I could spend as little time there as possible.
I found out about this place purely by luck. I was talking to Harper
at the nurses' station about my hatred of the apartment, when a
little old lady, whose name I learned later to be Mrs. Wanda, with
hair white as snow, came up to the desk. Her husband's door had
been open, and she overheard us. On the spot, she offered me this
place for half of what I was paying for the apartment.
I was very skeptical because who offers their home to a complete
stranger? I think she could tell I wasn’t believing a word she was
saying. She took her phone out and showed me an Airbnb listing,
and I was shocked. Mrs. Wanda explained that she used to rent out
her cabin home to tourists while she and her husband stayed in the
south during the summer months. Unfortunately, her husband was
diagnosed with cancer late last year and his condition was quickly
deteriorating. Due to them needing to be close to the hospital, they
moved into the city and had to take the listing off since she can’t get
out there to keep the maintenance up.
Mrs. Wanda offered to meet me up here the next day and see if it
was what I was looking for. I probably should have been more
careful because she could have been leading me to my death in the
woods, but I was desperate.
I was ready to sign on the dotted line the minute I drove through
the heart of Cliff Haven. The main road is lined with a few shops, a
bar, a tattoo shop, and a convenience store. I drove slowly and
looked down the small roads that branched off and saw a tiny
grocery store and a diner. I wanted to stop and explore but I was
desperate to see the house.
A long driveway opened up to a small clearing where a small A-
framed deep oak cabin sat. The bottom floor of the house was made
up of two giant windows that are separated by stone that extends
into a chimney. The windows allow the light coming from inside to
illuminate the driveway. You could see straight to the back of the
house where a small screen door provided a view of a small deck
facing the expansive forest behind the house.
The night before, Mrs. Wanda told me to bring the first month’s
rent in case I loved it, which I did. The minute she opened the door,
I handed her the money and asked for the rental agreement. She
shook her head and said she knew I would. Twenty minutes later,
she dropped the keys on the small table and left.
Before heading back to the city, I explored the house to see what I
would need to bring with me from the apartment. The entire place
was furnished which made me happy knowing I wouldn’t have to
rent a U-Haul and could donate the small amount of furniture I had
to a shelter.
The kitchen was small but had all the necessities, with light wood
cabinets and a granite island that separated it from the rest of the
first floor. In the living room, two identical gray suede couches
mirrored the windows with a coffee table in the middle and the focal
point was a gorgeous gray stone fireplace. A flat-screen TV was on
the wall above the mantel. I imagined myself curled up on the couch
with a book and a fire going on my nights off.
A staircase led off to the loft above, where the only bedroom in the
entire house is found. From the top, there was a perfect view of the
living room below, and a large picture window framed the king-sized
bed on the back wall. I was surprised to see a large master
bathroom with a sparkling white clawfoot tub sitting below a
skylight. I could see myself soaking and looking up at the stars on
clear nights after a long shift. Next to the bathtub was a waterfall
shower that I knew would be used to wash off all the mud I would
be covered in after my hikes.
Harper would have a heart attack if she had to live here because
although this place was perfect, the closet was very tiny. That girl
owns so many clothes she could open a department store.
I don’t have an expansive wardrobe like my best friend, but I
needed more than the space provided. My wardrobe consisted of too
many pairs of scrubs to count and an extensive graphic tee
collection. Also, a stupid number of Nikes, a few pairs of hiking
boots, rain boots and a few going out shoes that Harper forced me
to buy. Thankfully, there were drawers lining underneath the bed
that I could shove clothes and underwear in. Before I left the house
that night, I rush ordered a small dresser.
Now I’m here and I can’t wait to finish settling in. I think if
someone had told me almost eight years ago this would be my life, I
would have laughed in their face. Although I made a promise to
myself that day to keep going and never give up, I certainly didn’t
think I would have made it this far.
My work as a nurse has brought me more than I ever could have
imagined. I have a stable income. I love my job. I have two amazing
best friends.
I just really hope this new town and new place will give me the
peace I’ve been so desperately seeking. I know that’s near
impossible with the living threat over my head that haunts my
nightmares. It’s been so long, but I still feel like the danger is slowly
closing in on me. I just hope that if or when it comes, all the work
I’ve done to prepare is enough.
 Chapter Two

Grayson

I SHOULD HAVE PICKED a different profession. I’ve been staring at

this damn pirate inspired piece for three hours and all I’ve
accomplished is the outline of a compass.
I stare at my sketchpad for another twenty minutes before I give it
a rest for the day. The guy getting the tattoo isn’t coming in for a
month, so I’ve got time.
Standing up from my desk at the back of my shop, I look out at
the place that I built from rubble.
I opened The Needle about three years ago, right after my twenty-
fifth birthday. I would have opened it sooner if the old bastard that
owned the building had sold it to me when I first put my offer in
almost five years prior. He was a greedy dick that was determined to
try and milk every cent out of me. I could have given up and bought
another building, but this place had special meaning.
It’s in the same town I have lived in my entire life, Cliff Haven. I
didn’t want to start my own tattoo shop anywhere but here. The
most important part is that it’s directly across the street from The
Handle, which is the bar that has been in the Hayes family since my
grandpa opened it over fifty years ago. My youngest brother, Noah,
now runs it since Gramps is too old to deal with all the bullshit that
comes with owning a bar.
I knew what the building was valued at, so I was content working
at my construction job until the asshole gave me what I wanted. His
wife eventually caught on to his games and called me and told me
we had a deal. I wish I could say it was smooth sailing after that,
but it wasn’t. The bastard got so pissed that his wife sold it behind
his back, he went in the night before the keys were mine and
trashed the place with a sledgehammer. He told the police it was a
break-in and since there were no cameras, there wasn’t anything the
cops could do.
I don’t know who the fuck would believe someone would break
into an empty shop that didn’t have anything but built-in shelves and
tables. And in a town this small, everybody knows everybody, so I
doubt the cops really believed it and just didn’t want to deal with the
town dickhead.
I was left with a pile of rubble and a short amount of time to start
making a profit, but I got to work. His temper tantrum set me back
six months of time and money. But I’ll give it to the guy, for such an
old dude, he did a number with that sledgehammer.
Using the skills I picked up in my years working in construction, I
was able to do most of the renovation myself. From the dark cedar
wood planked flooring to the light gray walls, this is the perfect place
for artists to work in a clean and safe environment. Artwork from
various artists around the Seattle area line the walls, plus a few of
my own and some from the artists I employ.
The entire shop is one big open concept. I didn’t want the clients
or the artist to feel closed in. Living in a place where it rains more
than half the year can be suffocating. I don’t want anyone to feel
like that coming to The Needle.
A half wall separates the workstations of the three artists I employ
along with myself from the desk and couches in the front of the
shop.
The Needle is so much more than a tattoo shop, it’s an outlet for
me to escape my emotionally taxing second job. This place allows
me to be creative and express my anger, sadness, or happiness in
my art. The strokes of pen on paper and the vibration of my tattoo
gun somehow release all that emotion that harbors inside me every
time we go on a job. I know I could see someone to help me when
my mind goes too far into the darkness. Or I could always quit going
to the places where that darkness seems to be found. But I’d never
leave my brothers to do this shit alone since I’m one of the reasons
it started in the first place.
My lunch threatens to come back up as I even imagine the idea of
stopping.
I snap out of my thoughts when the bell from the front door
chimes. I expect to see my client, but it's my brother Landon.
Landon is the second oldest of the four Hayes brothers. He is also
the shortest out of all of us but that doesn’t mean much because
he’s still six-one. My poor mother had all giants, which isn’t
surprising because my grandfather was almost six-five.
 With his dark jeans, brown boots, and tan checkered flannel with a
white shirt underneath, Landon looks like every other thirty-year-old
man in Washington state. His beard is trimmed close to his face. His
light brown hair is cut short on the sides and longer on the top.
Looking at him you would think he's an ex-marine or army.
The minute I meet the signature ocean blue Hayes men eyes, I
know he isn’t here to hang out. The way he is looking at me right
now tells me the quiet night at home I was looking forward to is out
the window.
"We need to talk,” Landon says as he sits down in my chair at my
desk and makes himself comfortable. Landon has a very no-bullshit
personality. In his line of work, he doesn’t have time to fuck around.
He is a former cop turned private investigator and the brains behind
the second job I run with my brothers, Noah and Wesley.
I wipe a hand down my face and sink into the chair opposite of
him. "Does it have to be right now? I have a client in…” I pause to
look at the black watch on my wrist and then add, “thirty minutes.”
He looks up to the ceiling. It’s clear whatever is going through that
head of his isn’t good. This must be a big one because he is rarely
ever this insistent. If we have a job, it's normally planned days in
advance or we have at least a few hours to prepare.
I stare at him and after a few minutes of no response, I ask while
looking down at my clasped hands in my lap to allow him some
semblance of privacy to collect himself. “Lan? You good?”
My parents taught us that emotions are not a weakness. Some of
us choose to express ourselves in a more subtle way like myself,
Landon, my oldest brother, Wesley, and our quiet father. My
youngest brother, Noah, is more like my no-filter mother. They let
everyone know what they are thinking and feeling without a care in
the world what someone will think. Even though we have different
ways of displaying our emotions, my parents told us to never hold
anything in. The more you keep all that negativity inside, the more it
will affect your everyday life.
We all have mutual trust in each other. Although the age gap from
youngest to oldest is seven years, we are all each other's best
friends.
Landon clears his throat and I focus my attention on him, "Sorry. Is
it possible for Cassie to take the client?”
The client coming in is a repeat. She has had tattoos from all of us
at one point. I know she wouldn’t mind.
This wouldn’t be the first time one of us has had to pass a client
onto another for emergencies or sickness. Just last week, Travis
asked me to take one of his because he was stuck at home with the
stomach flu.
We all make our own schedules. Travis and Sebastian are both
night owls, so chances are if they have a client, they won’t be
coming in until sometime after five pm. We cross paths if I have a
late client but most of the time, they don't come in until I’m gone for
the day. I have a log of everyone’s schedule, but I rarely look at it
unless someone needs me to. It’s only there for payroll reasons or
swaps.
Checking the schedule on my phone I see Cassie doesn’t have
anyone until tomorrow morning.
 Cass and I are much more day people, so she is the best bet to call
on.
My family pops in so much and has befriended all my artists so it’s
not surprising that Landon knows who I need to call to cover for
me.
Sighing, I shake my head and mutter, "I’ll call her and see if she
can come in. But are you going to tell me what is going on or are
you just going to let me go into this blind?”
Landon’s stone expression remains, and he nods his head to my
phone. I love this dude but sometimes I want to punch that
expression right off his face.
I press Cassie’s contact and she answers on the third ring. “Hey
boss, what's up?”
Cassie is my favorite out of all my artists. She is dependable, kind,
and an absolute sweetheart when it comes to her clients. Where
some artists would get pissed at clients constantly changing their
minds or rude as hell people, Cass just smiles and continues
completely unbothered. She’s great at making the clients feel
welcome and safe, which is nice when we have clients coming in for
work that is inspired by something traumatic.
"Hey Cass, can you take a client for me that's coming in now for a
daisy on her forearm? I have the design drawn up and it's pretty
simple or you can do your own thing.”
Almost immediately she responds, “Absolutely. I can be there in a
few minutes. Everything okay?” I can hear shuffling around on the
phone and I know she's getting ready to sprint out the door.
 Cass loves her job and The Needle. I feel good knowing if I needed
to take off for a while or something went wrong with my brothers,
she would take over and not run the place into the ground.
"Thanks, Cass. Everything is good. Landon needs help moving
some stuff around up at Dad’s and this is the only night he can do it
before he goes out of town for work.”
It's easy coming up with lies when it comes to my second job. We
have been doing it for so long now that it's second nature.
I hear an engine rumble to life. "Okie dokie. On my way now! Wait,
who is the client? Repeat?” she asks before hanging up.
"Yup, it's Alexa.”
Alexa loves everyone here and I know she isn’t going to have a
problem with the last-minute switch. She will probably like Cass’s
design better anyway.
"Cool. See ya soon!”
I hang up and look at Landon. Tossing the phone onto my desk, I
motion for him to talk. "Done. Now stop with the bullshit and tell me
what the fuck is going on.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth he says, "I found them.”
"Found who, Landon? Your job description is to find people,” I
angrily spit out.
Damn for someone that doesn’t fuck around, he sure is dancing
around the damn topic today.
Landon’s eyes narrow and it's like the ocean blues catch fire.
Suddenly everything clicks and a shiver runs up my back when I
finally clue into what he’s talking about. Or in this instance, not
talking about.
 I sit up and lean towards him, my voice shaking as I say, "You
found the Carsons?”
Landon nods his head, "I’ll explain more when we get with Wes
and Noah.” Pausing to scrub his hands down his face, I can’t tell if
it’s exhaustion or defeat that has him so worked up.
Before I can ask, he continues, "Gray, I love my job but this one
really made me question if I was capable of this work. Man-”
I cut him off, "Landon, you are kickass at your job. We wouldn’t be
able to do this without you.”
Urgency fills his voice, “I fucking found them after months of dead
ends and now we need to hurry up and get them before that fucker
catches on that someone ratted his ass out.”
He’s right. This has been the longest we have had to wait for him
to find someone. I understand his mood now and I’m ready to go
help these two poor souls.
At that moment, Cass walks into the shop. I stand and gather my
wallet and keys to my bike and meet her at the front desk.
I find her looking at the sketch of the flower in Alexa’s file. “I’m
out,” I say to her. “Lock up when you’re done.”
She salutes without looking up from the sketch, “Got it, boss man.”
I meet Landon on the sidewalk next to our bikes. Landon’s is an
all-black Harley. I look across the street to see Noah’s bike parked
out front of the bar but I don’t see his Jeep so he must be off doing
a supply run or some chick from last night.
Noah’s bike and mine are identical but different colors. I have a
black and tan XRS Yamaha and Noah’s is white and tan.
 Noah is a pain in my ass with his wild antics, but he has good taste
in bikes, so I let his dumbass get away with a lot of shit.
“I’m going to grab my truck and I’ll meet you guys at The Hideout
in about twenty minutes. Do they know?” I ask.
Landon looks up from his phone and waves it, “Just texted them.
Told them to get their asses to The Hideout as soon as possible.
Hurry up with the truck. I want to explain thoroughly before it's go
time, so nothing gets fucked up. This is our only shot.”
I nod and swing my leg over my bike. The engine comes to life and
my muscles instantly relax. As I drive down the road that cuts
through the heart of Cliff Haven, I sometimes wish I could go back
to being a kid. Growing up in this small town, even though there
wasn't much to do, my brothers and I always found some way to get
into trouble. We never did anything that would completely piss off
the cops. Driving our dirt bikes down Main Street at midnight or
putting bubbles in the school fountain was the extent of our trouble.
However, after too many times of us messing up the driveway and
yard with our bikes, Mom had enough. There was a property down
the road from our house that had been in the Hayes family for
generations. Dad’s plan was to keep it as is. He said whoever got
married and had kids first would get it. But things shifted when
Noah accidentally ran over Mom's brand new rose bush. I still
remember the day like it was yesterday.
I was fifteen and Mom came barreling into the house on a mission.
Dad, Wes, and I were sitting at the table playing cards. She stopped
right in front of Dad and waved her finger in his face.
 “Conrad! Your sons have ruined my flowers for the last time. Do
something now or every single one of you is going to pay.”
Mom didn’t yell or get angry. Anytime someone messed up, she
addressed it and moved on quickly, but this time she meant
business. Which is probably why Dad flew out of his seat like his ass
was on fire and ran outside.
A few minutes later, he came in, Noah and Landon following him,
and sat down across from her. “Sweetheart, I know we planned on
the property being for the first wife and grandkid of the family, but
how about we make it into the boys,” he held up both hands and
made air quotes, “playground. We can put a building out there and
they can ride their bikes. We make it their responsibility and if they
destroy it, it's on them. What do you say, love?”
Mom looked at all of us boys and then back to Dad, “Sounds like a
great idea. You can even make it like a clubhouse. Just make sure
there are beds and bathrooms so it can double as a safe place to
land for them later on.”
And so, The Hideout was born.
My dad’s family had opened up an autobody shop that specialized
in classics and motorcycles. It was very successful and brought in
enough income for Mom to stay home, which she didn't do, and for
us boys to do anything we wanted. It became a tradition that each
boy start working on their own bike and when we got our licenses,
the bike was ours.
So, a few months later, The Hideout was built and became exactly
what Mom wanted, a safe place to land. It also doubled as a garage
to work on our bikes. Except now instead of it being used as a place
to ride our dirt bikes or have parties, it’s used as a place to have
meetings, fix our motorcycles, and store them in the winter months
for those who don’t have a place to, and storage for whatever we
need for jobs. Every month, we all get together for a cookout or just
to have a beer or get in the hot tub when no one wants to go to
Noah’s bar.
Mom was right about the beds though. While I was working
construction, I didn’t want to pay for an apartment while I was
saving for the shop, so The Hideout was my home for a few years.
After the shop gained some credibility and business became
consistent, I was able to purchase some land of my own and build
my own hideaway in the woods.
Pulling into my driveway, I make quick work of changing from my
shop attire of jeans, black t-shirt, jacket, and boots to something I
can move easily in. I rummage through my drawers until I find a
faded pair of loose jeans, a long sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, and black
running shoes. I sweep the hair off my forehead and tuck it back
into a baseball hat.
Grabbing my truck keys off the island, I run out the door and head
to The Hideout, saying a silent prayer that we all make it out alive
tonight. No matter what we find.
 Chapter Three

Grayson

DRIVING THIS MASSIVE TRUCK on a warm January day like this

should be illegal.
When we started this venture, all of us decided that everyone
needed alternative vehicles to our bikes. The main reason being
transportation of someone other than ourselves. I started the chain
by buying a lifted black Ram 2500. There was no way in hell I was
buying some tiny ass car.
Mom was happy when we all got alternative vehicles. I can’t say I
blame her because, unbeknownst to her, we have all had a few scary
moments due to riding in the rain.
Pulling onto the long driveway of The Hideout, I park next to
Noah’s white Jeep Wrangler. As I’m getting out, Wes pulls up beside
me in his gray Ford Raptor.
Wes works as a fire pilot for Washington and California. When it’s
not prime time fire season, he is the pilot for the helicopters that go
on major incidents in the area contracted out of Mount Rainier
Medical Center.
As I get out of the truck, Landon opens the front door of The
Hideout and yells, “Stop dicking around and get inside. We got to
move!”
I shut the door and join Wes on the gravel path. “I see he’s still in
alpha mode,” I joke. Wes shakes his head and goes inside.
Wes is a man of few words but when he feels like he can trust you,
he opens up. I wouldn’t call him shy. I would say he’s more
observant. He speaks up when he feels it's needed. A lot of people
think he’s being rude. He opens up around us and our parents but
other than that he keeps to himself.
Wes is the oldest at thirty-two. Sometimes I feel like Wes
understands me the most out of everyone. I don’t know if it’s
because we both hold things to the point it becomes so dark. Or
because our roles require us to see the darkest most disturbing parts
of a job.
Walking in, I see Lan and Noah sitting at the table in the middle of
the open room. The bottom floor is a big open concept with a
kitchen, lounge area, conference table, and work area for our bikes.
There is a big room that is filled floor to ceiling with supplies for our
missions. The entire top floor has bedrooms and bathrooms, one for
each brother and a few extras. And a basement that is for storage
but is the main passageway to a place I fucking hate visiting.
I join my brothers at the table and look to Landon for him to start
the meeting.
 “Alright,” Landon begins. “Sorry for the late notice, but I found the
Carsons.”
Now he gets straight to the point.
Why couldn’t you fucking have done that when you met me
earlier.
Noah cuts him off before he can explain more, “You fucking found
them? We have been looking for them for months!”
Landon gives him a nod and continues, “Yes. So, tonight has to be
perfect. We cannot let this fucking asshole get away. The victims
have been locked in a fucking shed for six months so there’s no
telling what condition they will be in. I need everyone to prepare
themselves for the worst.”
Landon focuses his attention on Noah, “I know you will want to go
in there guns blazing, but we need a calm approach to this guy. He’s
calculated and has done everything in his power to keep this hidden
for a long time. You will have your time to go all ninja assassin mode
but we need to secure him first. I promise you can have your fun
before Wes tortures the shit out of him for however long he wants.”
Wes and Noah nod before Landon continues, “Gray, man,” he looks
at me with sympathy in his eyes, “this is going to be a hard one for
you. I have no idea if the victims are even alive but if they are, they
are going to need to get to the hospital as soon as possible. I know
we normally all attack at once and then go to the captives, but not
this time. Noah, Wes, and I will handle him, you focus on the
victims. Don’t worry about us at all, just go get to them. Before we
head out, I will help you pack the truck with everything you think
will be necessary.”
 Fucking shit. I knew this one was going to be bad. If Landon is
stressing about it this much, I’m assuming this is going to fucking
suck.
A shiver runs down my spine and I shake it off. I need to get into
game mode. These two women’s lives are in my hands. They have
been through hell; I just hope we aren’t too late.
“Alright,” Lan continues, “Driving arrangements are, Noah and I will
be in the Jeep. Wes and Gray will go in the truck. Wes, in case Gray
needs to take off immediately you will have to go back with us which
might be better anyways because I’m sure we will need help
restraining this dickhead. We will wait until later on tonight when
traffic dies down since they are located on the other side of the city.
That gives us plenty of time to get ready and get our heads on
straight. That is about it, any questions?”
I used to hate it when he went all cop mode on us, but it doesn’t
allow for any stupid mistakes, so I ignore it.
All of us nod and stand. We know what we need to do and now it's
time to execute.
Noah has a thing for naming shit so one day when we were on an
impossible rescue, he tried to make light of the situation calling it
mission impossible. The name caught on and we have referred to
our rescues as missions ever since.
Each one of us has different roles in the missions. We also each
have a ritual before we go. Wes’s includes sharpening his tools to
ensure maximum torture. The idea of being on the receiving end of
that man's knife makes me fucking nauseous. Wes is the
executioner. Noah has hands in the physical torture of the abusers,
but Wes has a more methodical approach. Depending on how long
and hard the captor tortured the victims plays a major factor in how
long Wes delivers his torture. I hate watching him deliver his
punishments, but it gives me satisfaction that the assholes are
receiving the punishment they deserve.
As I walk to the storage room to gather supplies, I see Noah
starting his ritual of punching the hell out of a dummy. Noah is our
punisher. That dude will go in without a care in the world. The
abuser could have a gun pointing at his head and Noah still goes at
him like a linebacker. Noah could be fatal, but his main objective is
to stun them enough for me to get the victims. He knows he is
mainly a distraction for me to get to my task, but he loves it. Noah’s
weapon is his body, every piece of himself he can use to take down
the assholes he will. He never had an interest in joining Wes, but I
have a feeling this time he will.
As I gather the car seat, blankets, clothes, and anything these
women may need, I go through my plan for tonight. Get them out
and to a hospital as quickly as possible. This is my ritual, standing in
the storage room and making sure I have every item to make these
poor souls as comfortable as possible.
My brothers call me the healer. I disagree since I’m not the one
providing medical attention. I just provide transportation and
sometimes temporary medical aid. They may be referring to the
victims feeling safe to talk to me. I listen to anything they will share,
whether that’s something happy to distract them from the trauma
they just faced or the unfortunate torture they just endured. I think
this is why I have to use my art and ride my bike. Because after
years of seeing and hearing the torture placed on these individuals,
it gets to me sometimes. I could go see a therapist but designing a
tattoo, riding for hours through the trees, or hiking for miles up
grueling inclines gives me the same release a therapist would.
I walk out of the room and hand Landon the car seat. He has
become a professional at installing them. I could do it, but part of
Landon’s ritual is ensuring everything is perfect. To anyone else,
installing a car seat would be a menial task, but to him, it's a step in
knowing this mission will be a success. Landon is the seeker. His job
as a PI and previous career allows him to have connections
everywhere and makes finding the victims a lot easier. His specialty
is missing persons cases but sometimes he has other jobs that take
him away for a few days. The friends he made at the police
department and in the surrounding areas know of Landon and give
him tips. No one thinks twice when he starts digging around for
information. To my knowledge, they don’t know about my brothers
and me. If they do, they aren’t saying anything.
We have been doing this since Noah turned seventeen. The police
don’t ask questions and the families are reunited with their missing
loved ones. If the case is in our hands, the families that contacted
Landon know what type of outcome the abuser will be receiving,
which is why they come to us in the first place.
I load up the rest of my supplies and wait by my truck for Landon
to give us the go-ahead. A few minutes later, they all come out and
have their game faces on. We gather in a circle and wrap our arms
around each other. No one says anything but we all send up a silent
plea that tonight everyone will come home safe, and the victims get
the help they need. Once we are done, we step back and wait for
Landon.
“Stay safe, stick to the plan, once the task is complete, we will
meet here. Keep your radios on and your weapons on you at all
times. If things go south, don't try to be the hero. If that means you
leave someone other than your brother behind, don’t hesitate, just
go. Mom would kill me if anyone got hurt. I texted the address to
everyone. The house sits off of the road a little bit so kill the lights
on the vehicles about a mile out. Noah and Wes wait for my call to
approach the abuser, I want to ensure Gray finds the victims before
Noah’s fists fly. Gray, once Noah gets his hands on the asshat, get
the victims and go. If you need help, press your signal and someone
will come. Love you guys.”
Landon pats each one of us on the back and gets in the Jeep. I do
the same to Noah and Wes before getting behind the wheel of the
truck.

I pull onto the secluded mountaintop road and kill my lights.

Noah and Landon went up the other side to ensure if this fucker
tries to escape, he will run into one of us on his way down. This guy
really knew where to go to hide. The closest house is about five
miles down the road in both directions. The main road is just the
start of his efforts to have total seclusion. Landon said the house sits
about three-quarters of a mile up a gravel driveway.
The victims were last spotted at their home in Seattle about six
months ago. The drive here took us over an hour, and I know
Landon is probably beating himself up for not extending the search
field beyond the typical fifty-mile radius around the city. In his
defense, typically the captives are found relatively close to their last
known location or close to the city.
This guy just really didn’t want to be found.
I roll down my window. It’s pitch black, the only light coming from
the full moon in the sky. I take a deep breath and listen for any signs
of movement from the driveway or house in the distance. Besides
the wind whipping through the trees and the various animals
running in the woods, I hear nothing which is a good sign or a signal
of danger to come.
Even if an all-out war breaks out, these women will be in this truck
and headed to safety and that fucker will be receiving the wrath of
Wesley.
I don’t like to think of alternate outcomes for the victims. In the
years we have been doing this I can recount every time we were too
late and every single one haunts my nightmares.
Noah and Landon pull up opposite of me. Landon gives the signal
for us to get out. I roll up my window and press the lock button on
the inside of the truck. The last thing we need is my damn monster
of a truck alarm giving us away.
We all meet in front of Noah’s Jeep.
 “We will all go up beside the driveway. Stay in the tree line and out
of sight. Chances are he has motion detectors set up and we want to
give the element of surprise. Once we find the asshole, depending
on the level of difficulty, Gray will take off to the victims. If you two,”
pointing at Wesley and Noah, “have it under control, I will go help
Gray. Everyone have their phones on silent and radios on?” Landon
asks.
We all nod and make our way up the driveway. I take in my
surroundings formulating a plan of exit. The easiest way will be to
sprint down the driveway, but that's the obvious route and if
something goes wrong, I'll be in plain sight with two very vulnerable
souls. I see a dirt path weaving around trees down towards the road
that has been made by some ATV.
Great, this asshole kidnaps these poor women, locks them in a
shed for months, but has the time to joyride around in the woods.
“Fucking douchebag”, I whisper to myself.
The house comes to view and the lights from the inside illuminate
a small area in its surrounding. I immediately begin looking for the
shed.
Who in their right mind keeps a woman and her four-year-old
daughter in a shed for months?
I guess this dude does or we wouldn’t be here.
Judging by his extravagant home, I assume he has money and a
god complex. This guy is probably the kind of asshole who preys on
women because he thinks he's got a magic dick that no one would
turn down. I've seen the type so often in this line of work, especially
when it comes to female victims.
Another random document with
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ciencia que han contradicho y que los contradice, usufructúan la
teoría de la selección y atribuyen á la lucha biológica la aterradora
ruina de las mil sociedades que en todos los grados de razón y de
cultura ha destruído con perseverante brutalidad el egoísmo
nacional.
Pero el sofisma no prevalecerá contra la moral. Si la ley de
evolución es una ley de la naturaleza física, tiene que ser una ley de la
naturaleza moral, y no ha sido ni ha podido ser instituída para el
mal; ha sido instituída, necesariamente ha tenido que ser instituída
para el bien. El mal que de ella se haya deducido, culpa de los
hombres será, obra de la torpeza de los hombres habrá sido.
Culpa ha sido, torpeza ha sido de los hombres que se tienen por
civilizados, el estrago de sociedades y civilizaciones incipientes. El
continente americano y el australiano, en donde más
implacablemente ha consumado su obra de exterminio la civilización
occidental, no tenían población proporcional á su extensión; no
opusieron resistencia sino después de instigados por la ferocidad y la
sensualidad de los usurpadores; no entablaron competencia de
territorio porque lo cedían, ni de productos porque les sobraban, ni
de trabajo porque lo prestaban de buen grado, ni de creencias porque
fácilmente conciliaban con las suyas las imbuídas por los pocos
invasores que se ocupaban de creencias. El único punto de la tierra
reclamado por la civilización en donde se ha entablado la
competencia por la vida, y no al principio de la ocupación, sino en los
días de poderosas corrientes migratorias y de tremendo empuje de la
Industria, ha sido aquel punto geográfico de los Estados Unidos de
América, conocido con el sobrenombre nacional de Far-West
(Lejano Oeste), especie de tierra de promisión de los milenarios del
progreso material, que la buscan como el cumplimiento de las
profecías que el deseo de bienestar les ha hecho.
En esa tierra de promisión, única que hasta ahora ha realizado en
la Historia sus promesas, se planteó el problema darwiniano; los
pocos autóctonos de la América del Norte que aún quedaban han ido
siendo, terruño tras terruño, despojados de los que, según pactos
previos, ocupaban; pero ahí se puede decir que fueron despojados,
porque era necesario que los más fuertes despojaran á los más
débiles, pues efectivamente era y es formidable el impulso del trabajo
en esas comarcas positivas y realmente reclamadas por el desarrollo
de las fuerzas civilizadoras. Pues ni aun ahí ha sido la lucha biológica,
sino la torpeza sociológica, quien ha hecho el mal. Para evitarlo
habría bastado que los constituyentes hubieran incluído entre los
casos de intervención los de notoria violación del derecho de los
indígenas, según lo fijaban los tratados que, antes que violables á
necesidad y conveniencia de los Estados federados por el hecho de
ser pactos con salvajes, debieron por eso mismo ser sagrados é
inviolables. Mas como las naciones sedicentes civilizadas no han
seguido, en sus relaciones con las que consideran razas inferiores,
otra que la conducta ignominiosa de los bandoleros de mar, para
quienes el dolo, el engaño y la violencia son medios necesarios en
cada arribo á territorio de salvajes, el Gobierno federal de los Estados
Unidos ha obtemperado fríamente con los brutales despojos de
derecho consumados por cada Estado de la Unión cada vez que han
necesitado de territorios ocupados por los indios. No es la moral
romántica, moral empapada en las exageraciones de los varios
dogmas religiosos que piden al hombre lo que el hombre no debe
dar, la que vitupera y condena ese innoble uso de la civilización; es la
moral racional, la fundada en principios necesarios de la naturaleza
humana, quien, poniéndose en el mismo punto de vista de los que
cohonestan esas atrocidades del progreso con la necesidad de que se
hagan y con la fatalidad de la ley biológica á que vidas individuales y
colectivas están sujetas en su evolución del ser al más ser, en nombre
de esa ley declara que la ley de competencia biológica no fué
respetada en ninguno de esos casos.
Pero concedamos que las fuerzas ciegas debieran prevalecer sobre
las fuerzas inteligentes de la civilización. ¿Es civilización la que así se
deja vencer por las brutalidades naturales? ¿La civilización no es, al
contrario, vencimiento de la fatalidad por la libertad, dominio de la
fuerza por la inteligencia, apropiación de agentes naturales por
agentes científicos y económicos, aprovechamiento de todo para
mayor bien de todos, desarrollo tal de razón que cada vez haga más
dueño de sí mismo al hombre, lo cual es hacerlo más consciente? Y
hacerlo más consciente, ¿no es hacerlo más moral? Y ser más moral,
¿qué es sino ser más bueno, sino es evolucionar de mal á bien, sino
es entablar la lucha por el bien, sino es realizar, cumplir, vivir la ley
de competencia de la vida, que así como transforma los organismos
por natural desarrollo y adaptación de lo superior á lo inferior, así
transforma las civilizaciones en virtud del desarrollo natural de la
razón, por el esfuerzo continuo para ser más racional y por la
adaptación del mayor bien al menor bien?
Desolan, y ya han civilizado. Pero, seres de razón, civilizar no es
desolar; civilizar no es sustituir la población de un territorio con los
advenedizos que ponemos en lugar de ella. Civilizar es proceder con
alta razón, con entera y benévola conciencia, con dominio completo
de los recursos y el objeto del progreso, y transmitir, para bien de
ellos y para nuestro bien, atrayéndolos á la vida civilizada, que es
vida de razón y de conciencia, á los seres que llamamos inferiores por
sólo ser más novicios en el uso de los recursos de la asociación.
 II

La inmoralidad total que resalta en la vida de relación de las

naciones y en la de cada pueblo culto, causa por una parte, por otra
parte es efecto de la inmoralidad de los grupos inferiores y de la
moralidad pasiva, negativa ó pervertida del individuo social. Es
causa, porque el ejemplo del todo trasciende, en forma de hechos
persuasivos, á las partes. Es efecto, porque la acción de las ideas
individuales asciende, de componente en componente, al compuesto
general.
De ese modo, y por una continua y simultánea acción y reacción de
los hechos sobre las ideas y de las ideas sobre los hechos, toda vida
social está contaminada de la misma indiferencia moral, que es
mucho más peligrosa que la indiferencia religiosa, porque ésta se
refiere tan sólo á interpretaciones de lo absoluto por los relativos, en
tanto que aquélla se refiere á la torpe concepción de sus relaciones
por el sér llamado á conocerlas, acatarlas y aplicarlas á su vida
esencialmente relativa.
En síntesis extrema, el problema de la vida social es éste:
desarrollar toda la fuerza de razón que corresponda al período
biológico, lógico y sociológico en que se vive, para desarrollar toda la
fuerza de conciencia equivalente al desarrollo de razón, con el fin de
conocer la cantidad de bien ya realizado y los medios del bien por
realizar.
Sólo á ese precio se es Humanidad, sólo para eso se es humano. Si
ese no fuera el fin real de toda vida particular y total, no valdría la
pena de vivirse, porque no sería una vida digna. Tanto valdría ser
individuos de tipos inferiores; valdría más, porque la indiferencia
moral de los tipos inferiores es una característica y no una
responsabilidad, un ser lo que se puede ser, y no un dejar de ser lo
que se debe.
 Ya la razón humana es adulta, puesto que puede plantear el
problema de la vida; ya la conciencia tiene edad suficiente para
reprobar los desvíos del problema y para inducir á reformar el plan
de conducta irracional é inmoral que sigue el hombre civilizado en el
desarrollo de su vida.
Tan adulta es la razón, tan adulta la conciencia humana, que se
puede probar exactamente la superioridad moral del hombre
contemporáneo con respecto al hombre antepasado. Pero si es
superior al pasado, no es igual á sí mismo; es decir, no es igual á lo
que debe ser, á lo que su actual desarrollo de razón y de conciencia
exige de él que sea.
El problema de la Moral consiste en eso: en hacer que el hombre
de esta civilización sea tan digno y tan bueno, tan racional y tan
consciente como de la íntima correlación de la razón con la
conciencia y de la conciencia con el bien, resulta que debe ser y
puede hoy ser.
Por no serlo es por lo que se puede decir y decimos que es más
malo cuanto más conoce el mal, pues claro es que si el conocimiento
del bien es proporcional al desarrollo de conciencia, y el de
conciencia al de razón, y ésta ha llegado ya al dominio de las fuerzas
naturales conocidas, de donde se ha derivado la civilización superior
en que vivimos, ya debiera practicar el bien, no por acaso, no por
incidente, no como acción consecuencial de la fuerza que ha
adquirido la verdad, sino como efecto buscado, como consecuencia
premeditada, como palpitante expresión del aumento de dignidad y
del conocimiento de ese aumento de dignidad humana en cada
hombre.
Mas para resolver su problema y conseguir que el hombre sea tan
bueno cuanto ya es consciente, tan moral cuanto ya es racional, ¿qué
ha de hacer la ciencia de las costumbres y de los deberes?
Respondiendo de una vez: convertir los deberes en costumbres.
Acostumbrar á la idea del deber; demostrar que el deber no es tan
austero ni tan repulsivo ni tan incompatible como se cree con la
abundancia y fecundidad de recursos que están á disposición del
hombre, según su capacidad para conocerlos y emplearlos; presentar
en la idea del deber la fuente más pura de moralidad; hacer de la
práctica del deber el modo normal de desarrollo individual y
colectivo, la norma, pauta, regla, y si es lícito ennoblecer este
vocablo, el comodín de nuestra vida práctica; hacer ver con los ojos
de la cara, palpar con los dedos de las manos, sentir con los nervios
de la sensibilidad orgánica, que es más fácil, más útil, más
conveniente, más grato, más bello, más bueno, más verdadero, más
justo el ser hombre de su deber en todo caso que el no serlo en caso
alguno; patentizar que el hombre es más hombre cuanto más hace lo
que debe, porque así prueba que ha llegado á mayor conciencia de su
racionalidad, y porque, probándolo, es más digno; probar, en fin, que
ser civilizado y ser moral es ser lo mismo; que civilización y
moralización de la Humanidad debe ser el mismo propósito, y que
para cumplirlo el modo más sencillo es atenerse al cumplimiento del
deber en cada una de las relaciones sociales; tal ha de ser la idea de la
moral.
Tal es la que aquí desenvolvemos.
Se presenta incompletamente desenvuelta, porque la moral social
supone conocidos los fundamentos científicos de la Moral, y el por
qué funciona en ella el deber como elemento que naturalmente la
organiza, y como el único verdadero elemento capaz de organizarla.
Pero cuando se sigue el curso de la idea aún incompletamente
desarrollada, como se presenta en la moral social aislada, basta para
vivificarla como vivifica la moral universal.
¿Qué otra idea puede tanto? Sin examinarla, para rehuir ociosas
discusiones, basta hacer pensar que el deber reune, abarca y contiene
cuantas ideas parciales se han supuesto ó pueden suponerse fuente
de moral y origen de moralidad.
El mismo deber, concebido como ha sido, y presentado como ha
sido presentado, concepto artificial deducido de ideas à priori y de
principios también artificiales, no tiene tampoco la virtud orgánica
que aquí le suponemos. Su fuerza de organización moral resulta de
hechos positivos, y su fuerza científica dimana de ser el resultado de
una inducción exacta. Los hechos en que se basa la inducción son
estos dos: 1.º Que la conciencia, una realidad orgánica en nuestro
organismo moral, y no una palabra, una idea ó un concepto, es
susceptible de un crecimiento proporcional al de la razón. 2.º Que las
relaciones del individuo con la sociedad y de los grupos con los
grupos sociales y con la Humanidad de todos los tiempos, son
naturales, efectivas y patentes en todos y cuantos motivos ó
estímulos tiene la existencia colectiva.
 Partiendo de estos dos hechos se llega á este principio: El
conocimiento y acatamiento de nuestras relaciones con la Naturaleza
en general, y con la sociedad en particular, es condición de desarrollo
para la conciencia, puesto que, reflejándose en ella toda la actividad
psíquica, y especialmente la intelectiva, cuanto más activos sean los
órganos más activo es el organismo.
Ahora, como el conocimiento reflejo de una ley lleva á quien lo
adquiere, que es la conciencia, á someterse á los preceptos de la ley, y
el deber no es más que sumisión de conciencia á las leyes y
principios, preceptos y reglas, mandatos y ordenanzas de la
Naturaleza en cualquiera de sus manifestaciones y en cualesquiera
fines y propósitos de vida, el deber es una deducción espontánea de
todas y cuantas relaciones nos ligan con el mundo externo, con el
mundo interno y con el mundo social.
Este, que es el mundo en que directamente se aplica la moral
social, relaciona y liga al individuo y á las entidades sociales con
relaciones tan claras y positivas, y de ellas se derivan tan sesgamente
los deberes del hombre social, que es imposible confundir esta
noción del deber con la que suele entrar como una concausa de
moralidad en la moral dependiente de otras ideas.
Pero aunque importe precisar los límites propios de la idea
fundamental de un libro para así darle la fuerza lógica que ha de
manifestar, lo que más importa aquí es obtener que se reconozca el
poder constructivo del deber, para hacer de la Moral el complemento
de la ciencia del derecho, la última ciencia, la ciencia final, la que
podría llamarse la ciencia de todas las finalidades, puesto que no hay
fin de vida, derecho, ciencia, arte, industria que no sea necesario
realizar por medio del deber, en los cuales no entre el deber como un
medio esencial de todos ellos.
 PRIMERA PARTE

RELACIONES Y DEBERES
 CAPÍTULO PRIMERO

LA SOCIEDAD Y SUS ÓRGANOS

Definición de sociedad.—Órganos del organismo social.—

Descripción de los órganos sociales: El individuo. La familia. El
municipio. La región. La nación. La familia de naciones.
El fundamento de los deberes que la Moral impone está en el
conocimiento de las relaciones que ligan al hombre con la Naturaleza
general ó con algunos de los aspectos particulares de la Naturaleza. Y
como la sociedad es un aspecto particular de la Naturaleza, el
conocimiento de los deberes sociales se funda en el conocimiento de
las relaciones del individuo con la sociedad.
Ante todo es necesario saber qué es sociedad y cuál es el objeto de
la moral social; mas para saber cuál es el objeto de la moral social,
hay que saber primero qué es la sociedad.
Sociedad es una reunión espontánea y natural de individuos, con
el objeto de satisfacer todas las necesidades de su vida física, moral é
intelectual, que no podrían satisfacerse aisladamente por ninguno de
los seres organizados para esa triple vida.
Claro está que no pudiendo el individuo aislado satisfacer las
necesidades de su vida, y siendo la sociedad el medio necesario para
que el individuo realice fines de su vida, la sociedad es un medio que
corresponde á un fin, y, por lo tanto, siendo natural el medio, es claro
también que la sociedad está en el orden de la Naturaleza, es por sí
misma un aspecto de la Naturaleza, es un verdadero fenómeno
natural, un conjunto de hechos relacionados entre sí que constituyen
una parte de la Naturaleza y que están, como los hechos del orden
físico, constituyendo un orden, y resultando de leyes inmutables.
No es ése, sin embargo, el único modo positivo de considerar la
sociedad. Además de ser y presentársenos como una ley de
procedimiento de la Naturaleza, se nos presenta como una entidad
biológica que vive por sí misma y realiza por sí misma los fines de su
existencia. Con efecto: tan pronto como tratamos de sumar las
actividades del vivir individual, hallamos en todas ellas, tanto en su
motivo como en su objetivo, una relación de dependencia ó una
relación de referencia á un sér más universal ó menos efímero que
nosotros y que se nos presenta como un conjunto vivo de seres que,
viviendo cada uno para sí, contribuye á la actividad del todo social.
Ese todo social, compuesto de esas partes individuales, manifiesta
una vida y una actividad, que aunque dependiente de la vida y
actividad de las partes, tiene por sí misma operaciones y funciones
propias. Bien se ve, pues, que la sociedad es un todo orgánico ó un
organismo compuesto de órganos varios, de funciones varias y de
una multitud de operaciones, como sucede con cualesquiera otros
organismos. Ahora bien: siendo la sociedad un organismo natural,
evidentemente es una vida; y bien podemos decir, sin que la
apariencia nos engañe, que toda sociedad es un ser viviente, por más
que no sea un ser individual, sino colectivo.
Órganos del organismo social.—Siendo la sociedad un organismo,
ya se sabe que ha de tener órganos. Y los tiene. Son: 1.º, el individuo;
2.º, la familia; 3.º, el municipio; 4.º, la región; 5.º, la nación ó
sociedad particular; 6.º, la familia de naciones ó sociedad
internacional.
El conjunto de todos estos órganos es lo que llamamos sociedad
general ó universal, y la suma de todas las sociedades en todos los
tiempos de la Historia, pasados, presentes y futuros, es lo que
constituye la Humanidad. Cuando las ciencias sociales, como las
morales, hablan de sociedad, se sobreentiende Humanidad.
Descripción de los órganos sociales.—El primer órgano es el
individuo. Es un ser viviente, compuesto de los órganos ya descriptos
(en la moral individual)[5], que compone por sí solo un organismo de
organismos. El individuo es á la vez causa y efecto de la sociedad;
causa, porque sin él no existiría ella; efecto, porque sin ella no podría
él cumplir sus fines. Esta íntima correlación entre individuos y
sociedad, que es la fuente de los deberes sociales, es también la razón
de la inutilidad de aquellos sistemas de filosofía política ó moral que
pretenden prescindir de uno de los dos términos de la relación.
5. Segunda parte del Tratado de Moral, inédito.—(N. del E.)
El segundo órgano es la familia. La familia es la primera evolución
del individuo unido á otros individuos por la Naturaleza, por los
afectos, por la ley y por intereses del orden económico y moral;
forma con sus congéneres la primera sociedad: de modo que puede
decirse que si la familia es la primera evolución del individuo en su
procedimiento hacia los fines de su vida, es también la sociedad
elemental.
El tercer órgano es el municipio. Conjunto reflexivo de individuos
y familias reunidos para auxiliarse mutuamente en la satisfacción de
las necesidades materiales, morales é intelectuales, el municipio
continúa la evolución de la familia.
El municipio es la segunda forma natural de sociedad. Así como el
individuo es una realidad viviente que resulta de fuerzas combinadas
de la Naturaleza; y así como la familia es una reunión necesaria de
individuos, así el municipio es una sociedad natural necesaria, que
no resulta de artificio alguno, sino de la fuerza natural del principio
de asociación y del reflexivo aprovechamiento del principio de
asociación.
La región es el cuarto órgano del organismo social. La región,
comarca, departamento ó provincia es una sociedad natural,
compuesta de municipios, familias é individuos. Como el individuo
se une al individuo para cumplir los fines de su especie, y forma la
familia; y como la familia se une á la familia y constituye el
municipio, el municipio, unido al municipio con las familias y los
individuos que lo componen, forma la región, comarca,
departamento ó provincia. Es una sociedad no menos natural que las
anteriores, pues está fundada en las mismas necesidades, aunque,
por más extensas y por lo mismo menos intensas, son menos
inmediatamente percibidas.
La nación, sociedad particular, es el quinto órgano de la sociedad.
La provincia se funda en necesidades mucho más extensas que las
del municipio, la familia y el individuo, por ser también un órgano
más extenso de sociabilidad: por la misma causa, la nación ó
sociedad particular de una porción de hombres reunidos en
determinados límites geográficos, se funda en la mayor extensión
que toman las necesidades del individuo y de los grupos anteriores,
dentro del espacio que abarca un territorio poseído.
La nación es una sociedad general con respecto á los grupos
sociales ya descriptos, pero es una sociedad particular con respecto á
los grupos que faltan por describir. La nación, que en su territorio
determinado abarca los seres y grupos de seres racionales, asociados
para fines más vastos, es un individuo colectivo en el conjunto de
sociedades que forman la Humanidad.
Familia de naciones, ó sociedad internacional es el sexto órgano
social. Como hemos visto en los grupos anteriores, cada uno de ellos
es más extenso en su actividad que el anterior, y según vimos que la
familia es la primera evolución del individuo, así podemos ver que la
sociedad internacional es, con respecto á los grupos anteriores,
mucho más extensa en su actividad que todos ellos, y es comienzo de
una evolución superior en que cada grupo nacional evoluciona hacia
fines cada vez menos concretos ó egoístas, y por lo mismo más
humanos: una reunión de sociedades equivale á una familia de
naciones. Por eso podemos comparar la sociedad internacional á la
familia, y decir de ella que es, con respecto á una sociedad particular
cualquiera, lo que la familia natural es con respecto al individuo.
 CAPÍTULO II

OBJETO DE LA MORAL SOCIAL.—EN QUÉ SE FUNDA

Según acabamos de ver, la sociedad es un organismo viviente, que

forma todo un aspecto de la Naturaleza real, que es exponente de un
orden real, y que está sujeto á las leyes naturales. Por lo tanto, si la
Moral por sí misma es una ciencia, y si la sociedad es el sujeto de otra
ciencia, es indudable que la moral social será también una ciencia, y
que su objeto no puede ser otro que el de aplicar de un modo
concreto las verdades abstractas de las dos ciencias en que está
fundada.
Ahora bien: como la Moral estudia aquel orden fundado en leyes
invariables que, aunque integrante del orden universal de la
Naturaleza, afecta de una manera más directa á nuestra actividad
psíquica, y como las ciencias sociales estudian el orden natural de las
sociedades, el objeto de la moral social no es otro que la aplicación de
las leyes morales á la producción y conservación del bien social. En
otros términos: el objeto de la moral social es aplicar al bien de las
sociedades todas aquellas leyes naturales que han producido el
orden moral.
Hablar de un orden moral es distinguirlo de un orden físico, é
implícitamente considerarlo determinado ó producido por leyes
distintas de las que rigen el mundo físico, puesto que no pudiendo
existir orden sin leyes, debe haber y puede haber leyes peculiares, de
orden peculiar, que distinguimos del orden general de la naturaleza.
Aunque esa, en el fondo, es una distinción de mero método, pues
siendo una la Naturaleza, uno es el orden en que se manifiesta,
importa sostener la distinción, para, tomando como punto de partida
la diferencia establecida por el método entre la que se llama
naturaleza física y la que se nos presenta ó tomamos como no física ó
como totalmente independiente y distinta de ella, fundar en esa
afirmación de que hay una naturaleza moral, las relaciones que
necesariamente han de unir á cuantos seres participan de ella.
Ciencia como es, la Moral no se funda más que en realidades
naturales, y no se nos impone, ni gobierna la conciencia, sino en
cuanto sus preceptos se fundan en relaciones naturales. Estamos
ligados por nuestro organismo corporal con la naturaleza de que es
parte, y de ese vínculo natural entre todo y parte se derivan las
relaciones de la moral natural. Nos relaciona de un modo más
inmaterial con nuestros organismos intelectivo, volitivo y afectivo la
que llamamos naturaleza moral ó humana, y en todas las relaciones
de ese orden se funda la moral individual. Pues de una serie de
relaciones con la naturaleza social nace la rama de la Moral que tiene
por objeto patentizar y hacer amables los deberes que hacen efectivo
el bien social.
Esas relaciones del hombre individual con el social, de cada
individuo con el grupo y del grupo con la sociedad, son tan
manifiestas como las que ligan cada organismo corporal con la
naturaleza física y cada conciencia con la naturaleza moral de que
depende. Sería bueno exponerlas y enumerarlas, y lo haremos; pero
es ocioso establecerlas por razonamiento: son hechos de la misma
naturaleza á que se refieren, y eso basta para que se imponga á la
Ciencia. Lo importante es fundar la Ciencia en ellas, y demostrar que
no hay moral social sino en cuanto hay relaciones necesarias entre
individuo y sociedad, entre las fracciones y el todo social, entre la
Humanidad y sus fracciones.
En cierto modo, hasta esa demostración es innecesaria, pues la
crisis moral continua patentiza la insuficiencia de los motivos que
teólogos, metafísicos y moralistas han atribuído á todas y cada una
de las ramas de la Moral. Patentizar esa insuficiencia es demostrar la
realidad de motivos diferentes. Como esos motivos morales
corresponden en toda la serie histórica á relaciones efectivas, basta
evidenciar la insuficiencia de las unas para evidenciar la suficiencia
de las otras.
Y efectivamente: con estar por naturaleza relacionado á la sociedad
y á la humanidad le basta al hombre para ser moral. Como esa es una
realidad patente en la historia de los tiempos, basta á la Ciencia. No
sólo basta, sino que limita. La ciencia moral, para ser ciencia, no
puede salir de ahí: sus límites están precisamente dentro de las
relaciones que enlazan la vida orgánica, psíquica y social del hombre
con el orden cósmico, moral y social. Por tanto, si la Moral general
está fundada en las relaciones del hombre con la Naturaleza general,
la moral social se funda en las relaciones particulares del hombre con
la sociedad.
Toda otra concepción del fundamento de la Moral nos parece
artificio indigno del grado de desarrollo á que han llegado la razón y
la conciencia humanas. Ni una ni otra necesitan para la práctica del
deber y para la busca reflexiva del bien, de otros estímulos que la
excelsa dignidad del bien y del deber. Y si necesitaren de otros,
prueba será de que no han llegado en su desarrollo al grado en que
toda moral es consecuencia del conocimiento de nuestras relaciones
positivas con la Naturaleza, con nuestro propio sér y con el sér social.
 CAPÍTULO III

EXPOSICIÓN DE LAS RELACIONES

El individuo humano está tan íntimamente relacionado con todos y

cada uno de los órganos sociales que integra, y con la humanidad que
personifica, como el átomo con las moléculas, las partículas, las
masas y los mundos. Todo en él, vida física, vida moral, actividad de
voluntad y de razón, sensibilidad psíquica y física, animalidad y
conciencia, el sér entero, es una relación.
Depende de otros individuos en cuanto la ley de la generación, de
la herencia y de los medios sociales lo sujetan á la influencia
biológica, fisiológica y sociológica de sus generadores, de sus
antepasados y de sus contemporáneos.
Depende de la familia en cuanto á ella lo llaman el instinto de
reproducción y el de conservación, el egoísmo y el altruísmo, las
pasiones más perturbadoras y las más ordenadoras, las fuerzas más
indisciplinadas de su naturaleza y las facultades á que más
inmediatamente encomendado está el cumplimiento del destino
individual.
Depende del municipio cuanto más capaz es de apreciar en su
valor propio la fuerza orgánica de esa entidad social, con la cual está
relacionado como individuo aislado, como individuo en la familia,
como factor de producción y de consumo, como elemento jurídico y
moral, como hombre de su derecho y como hombre de su deber.
Depende de la provincia porque el individuo está ligado á la
provincia por cuantas relaciones nacen del interés individual, del
egoísmo de familia y de la vanidad local. La provincia es el primer
escenario de la actividad social del provinciano, y su propio interés le
dicta su conducta; la provincia es un Estado en que el derecho de
familia entra por mucho, y el egoísmo de estirpe y de procedencia
liga al provinciano; la provincia es por sí misma una entidad pareada
por la vida y por la ley á otras entidades provinciales dentro del todo
nacional, y el provinciano se liga á ella por vanidad y por orgullo, con
toda la fuerza de su personalidad: cuanto más provincial, más
provinciano. Eso en cuanto á las relaciones por defecto; que en
cuanto á las relaciones por conocimiento suficiente de la potencia
integral de la provincia en el desarrollo general de la sociedad, no
hay móvil honesto, desinteresado y puro que no sea un lazo de unión
entre el provinciano y su provincia.
Las relaciones de dependencia entre el individuo y la nación son
todavía más numerosas y más poderosas: más numerosas, porque la
sociedad nacional es generalmente, para la inmensa pluralidad de los
individuos, el último término de la evolución social, y en él agotan
cuanta individualidad nativa y adquirida pueden y les es dable
consumir.
Los individuos que pueden pasar de ese último término de la
primera evolución, y están capacitados por su fuerza de humanidad ó
de cultura para entrar en la segunda evolución, se hallan
inmediatamente ligados á la sociedad internacional por cuantos
vínculos inmateriales tiene la razón en el espectáculo de la vida de la
sociedad universal en un momento dado de la Historia, y por cuantos
estímulos comerciales é industriales tiene la actividad física en un
momento dado de la civilización.
El hombre, ante todo, es ser humano. Orden de un tipo, individuo
de una especie, está ligado con los indestructibles eslabones de la
cadena fisiológica á todos los individuos de la especie entera.
Cualquiera sea el lugar de nacimiento, la tradición de la raza, la
influencia de la familia, el carácter de la nación, el sello de la
civilización, está indudablemente ligado por su naturaleza á todo
hombre, porque todo hombre es la misma viviente expresión que él
es de las mismas necesidades biológicas y sociológicas.
De tal modo es esa relación necesaria entre los seres humanos un
hecho regular y normal, que en él está basada por lo que respecta al
pasado, la historia de la Humanidad, y en él se basan la sociología y
la moral, por lo que respecta al porvenir. La antropología está de tal
modo segura de este hecho, que todas sus inducciones,
especialmente las á veces formidables de la antropología ante
histórica, no tienen otro fundamento substancial. El hombre es
hombre, y como tal, humanidad; hombre de ayer, de hoy, de
mañana, del viejo y del nuevo mundo, de la vieja tierra que produjo
el último período glacial, de la tierra nueva que producirá la venidera
marea polar, siempre idéntico á sí mismo en necesidades de vida y de
conciencia.
 CAPÍTULO IV

CLASIFICACIÓN DE RELACIONES

En esta indagación de las relaciones que ligan al hombre con el

hombre en todos los grupos y órganos de la sociedad, lo difícil no es
descubrir los vínculos: son tantos cuantos son patentes. Lo difícil es
establecer una clasificación sólida y sobria, precisa y efectiva, que
presente del modo más obvio los grupos de relaciones reales que
actúan de continuo en la asociación natural de los conscientes y de la
cual se deriven espontáneamente los grupos de deberes que ellas
incluyan.
Esa, como cualquiera otra clasificación, ha de fundarse en un
análisis, y el análisis ha de referirse puntualmente á las propiedades
del objeto analizado.
El hombre social es aquí el objetivo del análisis. ¿Cuáles son las
propiedades de ese todo? Las de un compuesto de cinco elementos
invariables de sociabilidad.
Para que esta fuera una ley de la Naturaleza, era preciso que el sér
sometido á ella se sometiera por la misma eficacia de sus condiciones
naturales de existencia y por el secreto ascendiente de los propios
fines de su vida. La ley, de otro modo, no hubiera sido ley, no habría
podido ser ley de la naturaleza humana. Si lo es, no por imposición lo
es, sino porque las condiciones absolutas de la ley natural
concuerdan exactamente con las condiciones del sér á quien rige, ó
porque las condiciones del sér regido por la ley de sociabilidad son
tales cuales convienen y conciertan con el orden universal á que él
concurre.
El hombre social es un sér de necesidad, y la ley de sociabilidad es
un medio propuesto por la Naturaleza al hombre para que,
realizando ese fin, cumpla con una de las condiciones de su vida.
El hombre social es un sér de gratitud, y la ley primordial que lo
rige, al cumplimiento de esa condición coadyuva.
El hombre es un sér de utilidad, y la ley de asociación universal
promueve la realización de ese fin individual y colectivo.
 El hombre es un sér de derecho, y la sociabilidad es ley natural de
las sociedades para determinar, desarrollar y concurrir á realizar esa
altísima condición de la dignidad de nuestra especie.
El hombre es sér de deber, y la sociabilidad es una ley natural de la
sociedad para hacer posible ese enaltecimiento de la personalidad,
ese triunfo de la naturaleza humana, esa solución del problema de la
vida individual y colectiva por el más poderoso factor de la
naturaleza humana: la conciencia.
En términos directos, el hombre, en cuanto sér social, es un
compuesto de esos cinco elementos infalibles: la necesidad, la
gratitud, la utilidad, el derecho, el deber.
La necesidad lo obliga con las tres fuerzas de su triple naturaleza,
física, racional, consciente, á utilizar y cumplir la ley de asociación.
La gratitud lo persuade, con todas las impulsiones de su sensibilidad
y con todos los resplandores de su imaginación, á someterse á una
ley de la Naturaleza, tan eficaz en su propósito y tan armoniosa con
el objetivo de la Humanidad, que sin ella no podría el individuo
identificarse con la especie y reconocer en ella su eterno bienhechor.
La utilidad lo induce, con todos los impulsos de su egoísmo y con
todos los atractivos de su cálculo y su ingenio, á aprovecharse, en
beneficio propio, y si es posible en beneficio ajeno, de una ley natural
que, sorprendiéndolo en una de las realidades de su sér, se le
muestra como menos vergonzosa de lo que él temía, y lo solicita á
emplearla en bien de todos. El derecho y el deber, inseparables
resplandores de la conciencia, no brillan nunca en la conciencia que
no lucha; brillan con el más puro, con el único puro destello de la
personalidad humana, cuando ésta se exalta con el combate por el
derecho y el deber, y se eleva por la dulce, benévola y apacible
conciencia de sí misma, hasta el grado extremo y supremo de
humanidad, de racionalidad y de conciencia en que la relación de los
medios y los fines es patente, y en que todas las relaciones que nos
ligan con los hombres se reducen á la más noble, más pura, más
desinteresada, y, por lo mismo, á la más penosa: la relación de deber.
Ahora, ¿de qué procedimiento más eficaz hubiera podido valerse la
Naturaleza para exaltar la del hombre hasta ese altísimo grado de
humanidad, si no hubiera aplicado á su objeto la ley de sociabilidad?
Solicitado, instado, urgido por ella, el individuo satisface
necesidades, paga beneficios con agradecimientos, enlaza con la suya
la utilidad general, combate como héroe por su derecho y se sacrifica
como mártir al deber; pero lo hace, no tanto porque la ley natural á
eso lo llama, cuanto porque su propia naturaleza encuentra en los
procedimientos de la asociación los medios relativos á sus fines de
existencia. Existencia que transciende involuntariamente del
individuo á la especie, consta de esos cinco medios, instrumentos ó
recursos naturales que, conjunta y separadamente, constituyen cinco
elementos de sociabilidad.
Siendo, pues, propiedades distintivas del sér sociable la necesidad,
la gratitud, la utilidad, el derecho y el deber, todas las relaciones que
ligan entre sí á los hombres de cada época histórica y á los de
tiempos actuales con tiempos venideros ó pasados, tienen
lógicamente que agruparse, según la dependencia en que están, de
alguna de las propiedades naturales del sér social. Fuera de la
necesidad, de la gratitud, de la utilidad, del derecho y del deber,
ningún otro medio propio de la naturaleza humana tiene la virtud de
cooperar al propósito de asociación universal y omnímoda á que
aspira la ley de sociabilidad. Por lo tanto, si hay relaciones naturales
entre el individuo y la sociedad, y todas ellas se manifiestan en actos
de necesidad, de gratitud, de utilidad, de derecho ó de deber, es
evidente que todas las relaciones que ligan á los hombres entre sí, á
los grupos con los grupos sociales, á los órganos con el organismo
social, el individuo humano con la especie humana, se han de
clasificar según las propiedades del sér social.
En consecuencia, sobre ese análisis se basa esta clasificación de las
relaciones que ligan el individuo á la sociedad:

Relación de necesidad;
Relación de gratitud;
Relación de utilidad;
Relación de derecho;
Relación de deber.