Deep in the thorny, tented heart of Mordor, the Professor took a swig of his gin & tonic and pointed to the mismatched wrestlers. ”See that, right there? That’s where the nature versus nurture debate will finally be proved irrelevant. This is where inevitability and inexorability cast care aside and meet predestination.”
The Professor often said things like that. I ignored him.
A large crowd had gathered around the outdoor wrestling ring that had been set up in the general camping area at Oppikoppi, and it was fairly clear which of the two tag-teaming duos they favoured. It wasn’t the twin electropop stars.
”Wait, what do you mean?” the Princess asked the Professor, who should have known better. But she was wearing a Locnville T-shirt, so perhaps she wasn’t feeling well.
”Those two,” exclaimed the Professor, ”are direct descendants of the greatest exemplar of physical comedy ever to grace stage or screen, and they’ve been groomed for success. Nature and nurture all packed into two identical pop star packages. But look, they’re being shown up by, well, by them!”
”Them” were Corné and Twakkie. Twakkie was doing something inappropriate to one of the twins’ legs.
”They’re not Charlie Chaplin’s direct descendants, they’re once removed and four generations down or something,” I said.
”Close enough,” said the Professor. ”My point, however, is that Chaplin will live forever. Will they — as their nature and nurture demand, do the same? If so, they must win this match.”
”Says who?” said I.
”Says me,” said he.
”That’s a bit mean — they’re musicians, not actors or wrestlers; it’s a false comparison,” said the Princess.
”But did you know Chaplin was a musician too? A composer, as it happens. Not half bad either. And have you seen the film of Chaplin in the boxing ring? Pure genius. This lot? Well, it remains to be seen. They have his genes, supposedly, but that’s bollocks. Even the identical genetics these two share between them is no guarantee of an equal legacy, or similarly long lives, let alone immortality. It’s true on a species level too. Look at apes and humans. Almost identical genetic code and humans are far superi …”
There was a sudden yelp. We glanced back at the wrestlers. Twakkie wasn’t so much on the ropes as in the ropes, entangled and upside down.
”OK, bad example. What’s another example of similar genetics but vastly different manifestations?”
”Dassies and elephants?” suggested the Princess. ”I think I saw one earlier.”
”An elephant? At Oppikoppi?”
”No man, a dassie.”
”Ah yes, the common rock hyrax. Common as in it is commonly thought that its closest living relative is the elephant …” said the Professor.
”I saw it written on a sign at the Pretoria Botanical Gardens,” I offered. ”Must be true.”
”True … but not entirely accurate,” continued the Professor. ”Which is to say, it is true enough, for a given value of ‘true’, but there’s more to it. The elephant can be traced back to the dassie, sure enough, but then so can sirenia. You know, dugongs and manatees. Steller’s sea cows.”
”Are you sure,” I asked, doubtfully. I liked manatees. They seemed nice. And I liked elephants, I supposed. Dassies, however, were another story.
”Yes, yes. Common ancestor and so on. But really the only thing they really have in common, apart from their undescended testicles, is that they all seem to live a relatively long time.”
”Except for dassies,” I said. ”My cousin had one as a pet once. It bit me. He said they only lived about 10 years.”
”Your cousin has a …”
”Had … we think the lion got it.”
”The lion? No, wait, I don’t want to know. Well, yes, 10 to 12 years . But here’s an interesting nugget: Did you know that dassie colonies which exhibit socialist tendencies and have relatively flat hierarchies live for significantly longer than those that are less egalitarian? On average, I mean. Correcting for accident and injury, of course.”
”Yeah?”
”Yes. I read it in Wired magazine.”
”That bastion of biological research.”
”Be that as it may, it just goes to show that when it comes to a fundamental aspect of a creature’s life — namely, its death — nature takes a back seat to nurture — genetics is trumped by politics!”
”Here we go …” I muttered.
”Those two young chaps up there, now, they’ve got the genes, yes, but their nurturing? They’re part of a corporate hierarchical machine converting so-called music into money! Probably the only reason they’re here is because their sponsors insisted. Look at them, they’re fish out of water here. They’re miserable!”
”I thought you said nurture was going to be irrelevant?” I said. ”Besides, I thought they were self-made. Success via YouTube. Like Justin Bieber?”
”Initially, maybe,” said the Professor. ”But tell me Justin bloody Bieber isn’t part of a machine.”
”Wait, so you’re saying that because Charlie Chaplin was a socialist … that’s why he’s going to live forever, and they’re not?” said the Princess, rolling her eyes. ”You’re reaching, Professor. They’re just kids. Besides, Chaplin’s so-called immortality is not biological longevity. Categorical error, I’m afraid. And your nature/nurture argument falls flat for your dassies’ cousins too. Steller’s sea cows were egalitarian. More than egalitarian, they were all-for-one, one-for-all-ish. For all their 70-year lifespan, when those sailors rocked up on their island and started hacking the herds up for dinner, instead of running away the sea cows milled round trying to protect each other, and were extinctified for their trouble.”
”External stresses,” muttered the Professor.
”Well, then,” said the Princess, ”Look at the naked mole rat.”
”Must we?” I asked.
”Sure, it looks like a four-legged sabre-toothed penis, but it lives a bloody long time,” said the Princess.
”Um, yes, 28 years or so I believe,” stammered the Professor, who had read something about it in Sports Illustrated.
”Exactly, the longest-living of all rodents — and its colonies are pretty much the same as a hive — complete with a queen, drones and sterile female workers.”
”What, like bees and ants? Are you sure?” said the Professor, who didn’t recall Sports Illustrated mentioning any such thing.
”Yes, it’s called a eusocial commune — they’re one of only two mammal species that do it. The other one’s also a kind of mole rat. And it also lives for yonks. So your egalitarian theory falls a bit flat,” said the Princess, who had a science degree.
”Er, oh.” said the Professor, who hadn’t.
Corné was up. He seemed to be struggling. He looked kind of woes.
”Wait, so what are you two arguing about again?” I asked.
”Over whether Charlie Chaplin achieved artistic immortality because egalitarian dassies live longer than libertarian ones,” said the Princess. ”The answer’s no. I just shredded his argument through cunning use of the naked mole rat.”
”Don’t know about shredded,” said the Professor, indignantly.
”I thought you said this wrestling was going to prove the nature, nurture debate irrelevant?”
”I did!” said the Professor. ”And it will, just watch …”
In the ring, the two opponents were motionless, trapped in a nervous deadlock. Everyone around us fell silent as the tension ratcheted up. Then, the Locnville twin twisted slightly, and Corne buckled, falling to his knees — the bout was over.
Corné leapt up and lifted the singer’s arm above their heads. ”The winner!” He shouted, ”A victory for pop stars everywhere!” (or unprintable words to that effect). Twakkie bounded into the ring to congratulate the Locnville pair in his own special way.
”Well there you go,” I said to the Professor. ”They won, and according to your logic, they will live forever. Good for them. But tell me this: Was it nature or nurture that earned the scions of the Chaplin dynasty that particular gesture of appreciation from Twakkie?”
”Proving my ACTUAL point, it was neither.” said the Professor, happily. ”That was neither their nature at work, nor their nurture. Being dry-humped by Twakkie, my friends, that was their DESTINY!”
Follow Matthew Du Plessis on Twitter @MattDuPlessis
