Albert generally feels superior to the plants. After all, they have no consciousness, they can’t plan ahead, their potential for debate and discussion is limited. Name the last great plant novelist. Exactly. And you’d be waiting a long time for a cactus to make an important scientific discovery.
But then Albert thinks about questions of judgement. Plants seem to know exactly when to sit tight and when to branch out, usually in the right directions. Albert reckons that if he was a plant he’d have his roots embarrassingly exposed to the air and his leaves redundantly fumbling in the undergrowth.