Paul took that up. "Born, hell! Made. You have the urge to study something. You happen to get going on math. In the end, you're a physicist."
I argued that. I thought an argument would change the subject from Marcia—on whom he'd concentrated ever since he'd brought up her name on Thursday. "Aptitude's hereditary. You can't take ten kids—even with high IQs—and turn out ten mathematicians."
"I say you can!"
"So does the Soviet. Marx, Lenin, Stalin. Communism depends on the theory that, given the right environment, people will turn out the way you want—since they start with equal possibilities. If that isn't so—communism doesn't make sense."
"It's silly on the face of it," Yvonne said.
"The geneticists think the communist idea is silly," I agreed. "In fact, they know so."
Paul said, "Nuts."
"Do you," I asked, "know anything about genetics? Are you au courant in this particular affair?"
"No. But—"
"Then stay out of it. Good God! Isn't that like a damned scientist?" I turned to Yvonne. "He'd laugh at me if I tried to argue with him about mesons. He's been briefed to the eyeballs on that. But he'll argue with anybody about genes and chromosomes and heredity—because he hasn't bothered to learn the known facts!"