When I’m unhappy, I feel like I’m doing life wrong. I’d rather be happy. But is happiness the point of life, or is there more to it? If I pursue happiness, mine first then for those around me, is that selfish? But if there’s a bigger purpose, then what about people with Alzheimer’s or dementia who can’t recall recent experiences or make plans?
That’s not my purpose; it’s my genes’ purpose.
(Similarly, any one of my somatic cells could “decide” to “pursue the goal” of spreading its own genes instead of cooperating with the other tissues and organs around it. We call that “cancer”.)