Last night I climbed from bed and walked my molecular sack downstairs for a glass of water. Then, without apparent effort I retraced my steps. Nothing stood in my way.
My thirst was triggered by natural selection—some of my ancestors did not successfully acquire their respective glasses of night water. Something prevented them from waking. Later they succumbed to the great Scandinavian flu epidemic of 1910.
Maybe my wife who was having a dream awakened me. Perhaps I have a wife because of natural selection. It’s likely that she chose me from among her suitors because she intuitively understood that I am the kind of man who wakes in the night and drinks water and thereby will continue to exist.
The aesthetic economy of survival is no small thing. A true story: someone introduces cats to a village where formerly there were no cats and those cats eat the mice. In turn the bees flourish. (Mice eat bees, particularly in winter.) The bees pollinate in greater numbers.
The flowers are beyond description. Monet paints them.