Chap­ter III begins by inves­ti­gat­ing how per­cep­tion evolves from raw expe­ri­ence into struc­tured thought, reveal­ing a spec­trum that moves from the imme­di­a­cy of sen­sa­tion to con­struct­ed con­cepts. Hen­ri Berg­son does not view expe­ri­ence as sta­t­ic or neat­ly divid­ed; instead, he explains that what we often call facts are not final, but moments with­in a con­tin­u­um. Each moment serves both as a foun­da­tion for what fol­lows and as a result of what pre­ced­ed. This flow cre­ates a lay­ered under­stand­ing of real­i­ty, where knowl­edge is not an end­point but a liv­ing process. For Berg­son, the goal is not to ana­lyze end­less­ly but to reach some­thing sim­ple and immediate—a direct con­tact with the real. His view dis­rupts the assump­tion that clar­i­ty lies in dis­sect­ing com­plex­i­ty; instead, it lies in over­com­ing that com­plex­i­ty to recon­nect with the puri­ty of per­cep­tion.

Per­cep­tion, in Bergson’s view, is not mere­ly a sub­jec­tive impres­sion but an event that joins observ­er and world. It is in this meet­ing point where gen­uine knowl­edge takes shape—not through detached think­ing, but through immer­sion and open­ness. Berg­son crit­i­cizes the Kant­ian tra­di­tion for plac­ing knowl­edge beyond expe­ri­ence, requir­ing abstract tran­scen­dence to grasp ulti­mate truths. He argues that such dis­tance sep­a­rates us from real­i­ty rather than brings us clos­er. Instead, phi­los­o­phy should refine and expand our nat­ur­al per­cep­tions, not escape from them. By engag­ing more deeply with what is already present in dai­ly life, thought becomes rich­er, not shal­low­er. This is where he draws a con­nec­tion between phi­los­o­phy and art: both push against the lim­its of util­i­tar­i­an think­ing to unlock a deep­er aware­ness of real­i­ty.

This chap­ter also clar­i­fies the role of per­cep­tion as fun­da­men­tal­ly prac­ti­cal, designed to sup­port action rather than objec­tive insight. Berg­son believes that what we com­mon­ly per­ceive is fil­tered through usefulness—what serves sur­vival, com­mu­ni­ca­tion, and effi­cien­cy is what reach­es con­scious­ness. Vision, hear­ing, and espe­cial­ly touch are direct­ed by these needs. As a result, per­cep­tion becomes a tool, not a mir­ror. But this prac­ti­cal­i­ty also blinds us. It sim­pli­fies the world into dis­crete, man­age­able units, often ignor­ing the rich­er flow of what tru­ly is. This, Berg­son claims, is why ordi­nary expe­ri­ence often feels thin and dis­con­nect­ed from deep­er truth.

Pure per­cep­tion, then, becomes more than a the­o­ret­i­cal concept—it is a philo­soph­i­cal base­line. It rep­re­sents per­cep­tion stripped of per­son­al bias, mem­o­ry, or imme­di­ate action. Though abstract, it points to a mode of expe­ri­enc­ing that is recep­tive rather than selec­tive. Berg­son does not sug­gest that we live in this state, but rather that we can aim toward it in thought. Our com­mon per­cep­tion con­stant­ly blends mem­o­ry and util­i­ty, but by rec­og­niz­ing that blend, we begin to loosen its grip. This return to imme­di­a­cy does not reject intel­li­gence but refines it, allow­ing intu­ition to sur­face. Intu­ition, for Berg­son, is not vague—it is clar­i­ty of a deep­er kind, a direct know­ing untouched by the frag­men­ta­tion of sym­bols.

He fur­ther explains how lan­guage, while nec­es­sary, con­tributes to this frag­men­ta­tion. Words divide con­tin­u­ous expe­ri­ence into names and forms that remain fixed. But life does not oper­ate in sta­t­ic forms—it flows, trans­forms, and exceeds the names we give it. In every­day inter­ac­tion, this nam­ing is effi­cient; for deep­er under­stand­ing, it is lim­it­ing. Berg­son sug­gests that when we rely too heav­i­ly on con­cepts, we begin to think in images of real­i­ty rather than in real­i­ty itself. To counter this, we must learn to think in movement—to fol­low the shift­ing con­tours of expe­ri­ence rather than fram­ing them pre­ma­ture­ly.

The cul­mi­na­tion of this reflec­tion is a plea for a phi­los­o­phy ground­ed not in sym­bols but in vision. A vision that does not sep­a­rate observ­er from observed, but acknowl­edges their uni­ty. This is not a mys­ti­cal claim, but a call to realign thought with life as it is actu­al­ly lived. Per­cep­tion must be under­stood as some­thing active and evolv­ing, shaped by both what is seen and why it is seen. As we begin to notice how our prac­ti­cal lives fil­ter expe­ri­ence, we can start to peel back those lay­ers. What lies beneath is not less real but more real—more com­plex, but also more con­nect­ed. Through this aware­ness, Berg­son offers a method for reawak­en­ing the mind to the full­ness of the world.

His goal is not to dis­card rea­son but to broad­en its reach—to include with­in knowl­edge the liv­ing pulse of time, sen­sa­tion, and pres­ence. When per­cep­tion is freed from its util­i­tar­i­an roots, it opens the way to a deep­er form of know­ing. And it is through this deep­ened per­cep­tion that phi­los­o­phy, like art, becomes a path not just to truth, but to expe­ri­ence itself. Bergson’s chap­ter makes clear that under­stand­ing must begin not in abstrac­tion, but in contact—with the world, with time, and with our­selves as beings shaped by both.