ROBERT A. HEINLEIN. BEYOND THIS HORIZON

The citizen had thought of that. Rather a dilemma, wasn’t it?

“How would you like to combat him physically-punish him the way he damaged you, only more so?”

“Really, my dear sir!”

“Just an idea,” said Hamilton. “You might think about it. May we have three days grace?”

“More, if you like. I told you I was not anxious to push it to a duel. I simply want to curb his manners. One might run into him anywhere.”

Hamilton let it go, and called Mordan, a common thing when he was puzzled. “What do you think I ought to do, Claude?”

“Well, there is no real reason why you should not let him go ahead and get himself killed. Individually, it’s his life; socially, he’s no loss.”

“You forget that I am using him as a translator. Besides, I rather like him. He is pathetically gallant in the face of a world he does not understand.”

“Mmm…well, in that case, we’ll try to find a solution.”

“Do you know, Claude,” Felix said seriously, “I am beginning to have my doubts about this whole custom. Maybe I’m getting old, but, while it’s lots of fun for a bachelor to go swaggering around town, it looks a little different to me now. I’ve even thought of assuming the brassard.”

“Oh, no, Felix, you mustn’t do that!”

“Why not? A lot of people do.”

“It’s not for you. The brassard is an admission of defeat, an acknowledgement of inferiority.”

“What of it? I’d still be myself. I don’t care what people think.”

“You’re mistaken, son. To believe that you can live free of your cultural matrix is one of the easiest fallacies and has some of the worst consequences. You are part of your group whether you like it or not, and you are bound by its customs.”

“But they’re only customs!”

“Don’t belittle customs. It is easier to change Mendelian characteristics than it is to change customs. If you try to ignore them, they bind you when you least expect it.”

“But dammit! How can there be any progress if we don’t break customs?”

“Don’t break them-avoid them. Take them into your considerations, examine how they work, and make them serve you. You don’t need to disarm yourself to stay out of fights. If you did you would get into fights-I know you! — the way Smith did. An armed man need not fight. I haven’t drawn my gun for more years than I can remember.”

“Come to think about it, I haven’t pulled mine in four years or more.”

“That’s the idea. But don’t assume that the custom of going armed is useless. Customs always have a reason behind them, sometimes good, sometimes bad. This is a good one.”

“Why do you say that? I used to think so, but I have my doubts now.”

“Well, in the first place an armed society is a polite society. Manners are good when one may have to back up his acts with his life. For me, politeness is a sine qua non of civilization. That’s a personal evaluation only. But gun-fighting has a strong biological use. We do not have enough things to kill off the weak and the stupid these days. But to stay alive as an armed citizen a man has to be either quick with his wits or with his hands, preferably both. It’s a good thing.

“Of course,” he continued, “our combativeness has to do with our ancestry and our history.” Hamilton nodded; he knew that Mordan referred to the Second Genetic War. “But we have preserved that inheritance intentionally. The Planners would not stop the wearing of arms if they could.”

“Maybe so,” Felix answered slowly, “but it does seem like there ought to be a better way to do it. This way is pretty sloppy. Sometimes the bystanders get burned.”

“The alert ones don’t,” Mordan pointed out. “But don’t expect human institutions to be efficient. They never have been; it is a mistake to think that they can be made so-in this millennium or the next.”

“Why not?”

“Because we are sloppy, individually-and therefore collectively. Look at a cageful of monkeys, at your next opportunity. Watch how they do things and listen to them chatter. You’ll find it instructive. You’ll understand humans better.”

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