Genes determine part of our starting point, but they are not the complete script of our lives. Talent requires effort to be transformed into ability, and genetic risks are also influenced by lifestyle. We cannot choose the cards we are dealt, but we can decide how to play them.
Many years ago, I watched a movie—Gattaca.
The film is set in a future with highly developed genetic technology. Before a person is even born, healthier and superior offspring can be chosen through genetic screening; after a person is born, society can even predict their health, abilities, and future in advance based on their genes.
The protagonist, Vincent, is a child conceived naturally, with poor innate conditions and a risk of heart disease. His younger brother, on the other hand, went through genetic screening, has excellent physical conditions, and seems to outdo his older brother in every way since childhood.
But Vincent has one thing that genetic testing cannot detect—he refuses to accept his fate.
To realize his dream of going to space, he assumed the identity of a “genetically superior” person to enter the aerospace agency. Ultimately, the man who was “not excellent enough” in a genetic sense stepped step by step into a place that was originally thought not to belong to him.
This movie is, of course, fictional, but it raises a very interesting question:
Can genes really determine a person’s entire life?
I. Among humans, 99.6% of the genome is identical
There is a number well worth remembering:
The genomes of any two random people are, on average, about 99.6% identical.
In other words, the vast majority of genetic information among human beings is actually shared.
Of course, we look different, have different heights, different physical constitutions, different learning abilities, and our own unique strengths. But we are all the same species, after all; there is no massive biological divide between human beings like there is between two different species.
More importantly, a child will not automatically become a mathematician, pianist, or Olympic champion just because they have some “good genes” and do nothing after birth.
Talent is only a starting point, not a finished product.
A person with a high IQ cannot become a scientist out of thin air without systematic mathematical and scientific training.
A person with great musical talent cannot automatically become a pianist if they have never practiced the piano.
A person with excellent physical conditions will likewise not automatically possess the competitive level of a professional athlete without long-term training.
So-called talent mostly means that some people might learn faster, have a higher starting point, and possess greater potential.
But talent can only truly be transformed into ability through learning, training, and long-term accumulation.
A person with talent who never trains could very well end up inferior to a person with average talent who trains seriously over the long term.
Therefore, acknowledging the existence of talent and believing in the value of effort are never contradictory.
II. Ordinary people don’t need to compare themselves with the world’s best
When it comes to “whether effort is useful,” people easily go to extremes.
Some will say:
“Yao Ming can play in the NBA; no matter how hard you try, can you play in the NBA?”
“Usain Bolt can win the Olympic championship; if you train every day, can you outrun him?”
Of course, most people cannot.
But the question is:
Why must ordinary people make it to the NBA or win an Olympic gold medal for their effort to be considered meaningful?
If we are discussing NBA players, Olympic champions, world-class scientists, or top-tier musicians, then in that minuscule range of the very peak of human ability, talent is of course incredibly important.
Because at this level, the competition is inherently between a group of people who have excellent innate conditions and have simultaneously undergone years of rigorous training. To stand out even further among these people, the role of talent naturally becomes increasingly apparent.
But the reverse is also true.
If Yao Ming hadn’t had long-term, systematic basketball training, he wouldn’t have automatically become an NBA player solely due to his height and excellent physical condition.
If Usain Bolt had never undergone professional training, he wouldn’t have naturally possessed the competitive level of a world champion just because he had excellent athletic talent.
Talent determines part of the conditions and potential; training is the process of translating that potential into actual ability.
And for the vast majority of ordinary people, our lives are not about competing to be number one in the world at all.
The problems we truly face are usually:
Can I make my body stronger than it is now?
Can I acquire more knowledge than I have now?
Can I continuously improve my cognitive and judgmental abilities?
Can I master a language, a skill, or a musical instrument?
These things do not require us to possess the most outstanding talent in all of humanity.
Not being able to play in the NBA doesn’t mean playing basketball is meaningless; not being able to win an Olympic gold doesn’t mean exercising is meaningless; not being able to become a top scientist doesn’t mean studying science is meaningless; not being able to become a piano master doesn’t mean practicing the piano has no value.
For ordinary people, the greatest meaning of effort is not to defeat the few most talented people in the world.
Rather, it is to fulfill our existing potential as much as possible and continuously expand the boundaries of our abilities.
III. Genes are the starting point, but not necessarily the destination
In recent years, a concept has become increasingly familiar to everyone: epigenetics.
Simply put, after we are born, our DNA sequence is essentially fixed, but when, in what tissues, and to what extent genes are expressed is not entirely set in stone.
Environment, diet, exercise, and various external factors can all influence the regulation and expression of genes through complex biological mechanisms.
Where this truly deserves the attention of ordinary people is:
Having a certain genetic risk does not mean that this risk will definitely turn into the final health outcome in the exact same way.
For example, if a person is born with a higher genetic risk for certain diseases but maintains a balanced diet, exercises regularly, doesn’t smoke, and controls their weight over a long period, they can still reduce the actual risk of those diseases occurring.
Conversely, even if a person has good innate conditions, if they chronically smoke, abuse alcohol, are obese, and lack exercise, they can entirely deplete their health advantages bit by bit.
This is not just a comforting platitude.
A large medical study involving over 50,000 people found that even among populations with a high genetic risk for coronary heart disease, those who maintained a good lifestyle—such as not smoking, not being obese, exercising regularly, and eating a healthy diet—had a significantly lower relative risk of coronary heart disease events.
In other words, high genetic risk does not mean acquired effort is useless; good genetic conditions do not mean they can be squandered at will.
This is where epigenetics and the interaction between genes and the environment truly warrant the attention of ordinary people:
Genes give us a set of innate conditions and risks, and how we live our lives afterward will play a part in determining how these risks ultimately manifest.
The most meaningless reaction when a person discovers they have a “bad gene” is to say:
“Anyway, it’s genetic, so nothing I do will make a difference.”
On the contrary, knowing our genetic risks should make us pay even more attention to the factors that we can still change.
And a person who believes they have “good family genes” has no reason to recklessly abuse their body because of it.
Good genes are not a get-out-of-jail-free card for smoking, alcoholism, obesity, and long-term physical inactivity; less-than-ideal genes are not an excuse to give up on a healthy lifestyle.
We cannot choose our innate conditions.
But the same genetic conditions, under different lifestyles, may lead to entirely different health outcomes.
This is where acquired effort can truly play a role.
IV. What does “some people smoke and drink yet still live to ninety” prove?
Every time health is discussed, someone always brings up an example like this:
“I know an old man who smoked and drank his whole life, and still lived into his nineties.”
And thus they conclude:
“So none of these things matter; how long you live mostly depends on fate and genes.”
But there is a very simple logical flaw here.
This old man living to ninety can only prove that:
A person who smokes and drinks long-term can also potentially live to ninety.
It cannot prove that smoking and drinking did not harm him.
If he inherently had relatively good genetic conditions, then is there another possibility:
If he hadn’t smoked or chronically drank heavily, perhaps his health would have been even better, and he might have lived even longer?
We can never make the same person live their life over again, so we cannot know what their alternate life would actually be like.
The reverse is also true.
If a person who consistently exercises and lives a disciplined life dies in their sixties or seventies, it cannot be used to prove that their efforts were completely meaningless.
Perhaps without those healthy habits, their physical condition would have been worse and disease would have struck earlier; or perhaps they encountered an illness that a healthy lifestyle could not prevent.
Therefore, what should truly be compared is not:
“Who lives longer, me or someone else?”
But rather:
“For myself, which lifestyle choice will result in lower risks?”
A vast amount of medical research has long proven that smoking increases the risk of multiple diseases and premature death, and quitting smoking can lower these risks.
This is probability.
A healthy lifestyle has never promised to make everyone live to a hundred.
It merely places you on the side of more favorable odds.
So, do not use a person who smokes, drinks, yet lives a long life to prove that tobacco and alcohol are harmless; nor use someone who lives healthily but unfortunately dies young to prove that a healthy lifestyle is meaningless.
Individual cases tell stories; probabilities tell us about risks.
V. Genes are not omnipotent, and effort certainly isn’t either
Of course, I also do not believe that:
“As long as you try hard, you will definitely be able to change your fate.”
Some severe genetic diseases cannot be solved by exercise, going to bed early, or willpower alone.
Some people’s innate physical conditions do indeed dictate that it is very difficult for them to reach world-class levels in certain fields highly dependent on specific physical traits.
Effort is not magic.
However, genes are likewise not the complete script of destiny.
We have never been able to truly control everything.
What family we are born into, what genes we inherit, what diseases we encounter, what accidents happen in life—we cannot decide many of these things.
But we can still decide some things:
Whether I study.
Whether I exercise.
Whether I chronically smoke and abuse alcohol.
Whether I am willing to continuously update my knowledge.
Whether I keep trying after failure.
Whether I am willing to change some of my habits today for the sake of myself ten years from now.
These choices may not be able to change everything.
But they can indeed change many things.
VI. My understanding of “my fate is in my hands”
Therefore, looking back at Gattaca years later, I increasingly appreciate what it truly wanted to express.
It is not telling us:
“As long as you try hard, anyone can become anyone.”
What truly moves me about it is:
Don’t prematurely declare your own ending just because you know your limitations.
Genes are like a hand of cards life deals us.
Some people indeed get better cards, and some get worse ones.
There is no need for us to deny this.
But the truly interesting part of life lies precisely in this:
What cards we get is not entirely up to us; but how we play this hand is, to a significant extent, in our own hands.
So my understanding of “my fate is in my hands” has never been the phrase:
“I can definitely defeat everyone.”
Instead, it is:
I know there are parts of myself I cannot change, but I will not, because of that, give up on the parts that I still can change.
We don’t need to believe that effort can change everything in order to be willing to try.
Nor do we need to believe that a healthy lifestyle guarantees longevity to be willing to seriously take care of our bodies.
Even less do we need to have the best talent to make learning, exercising, and growing worthwhile.
Genes determine part of our starting point, but they do not walk through this life for us.
We cannot choose all our cards.
But as long as the game isn’t over, there is no need to fold early.