Chap­ter VI opens by chal­leng­ing one of the most entrenched views in clas­si­cal phi­los­o­phy: that per­cep­tion is inter­nal and sub­jec­tive. Hen­ri Berg­son revers­es this assump­tion, assert­ing that per­cep­tion aris­es at the inter­sec­tion between sub­ject and object. Rather than treat­ing it as some­thing con­fined with­in the observ­er, he empha­sizes its out­ward-direct­ed nature. Accord­ing to this view, what we per­ceive is not an inter­nal recon­struc­tion but a direct con­nec­tion to real­i­ty. This changes the entire frame­work of knowl­edge, sug­gest­ing that expe­ri­ence is more ground­ed in the real world than tra­di­tion­al­ly believed. Berg­son labels the idea of per­cep­tion as “sub­jec­tive” a lin­guis­tic illusion—a mis­un­der­stand­ing root­ed in how we speak rather than how we think.

From this foun­da­tion, the chap­ter explores the roots of con­scious­ness and its con­nec­tion to bio­log­i­cal life. Berg­son argues that lib­er­ty begins not at the lev­el of thought but at the very first stir­rings of sen­sa­tion in prim­i­tive life. This is a pow­er­ful shift—it means even the sim­plest forms of life express an ele­ment of choice. With sen­sa­tion comes vari­abil­i­ty, and with vari­abil­i­ty, the pos­si­bil­i­ty of free­dom. The flow of life is not pas­sive; it responds, adapts, and rede­fines its direc­tion over time. This out­look leads Berg­son to pro­pose that biol­o­gy, more than math­e­mat­ics, should guide our under­stand­ing of real­i­ty. While math­e­mat­ics cap­tures form and order, biol­o­gy reflects move­ment, change, and nov­el­ty.

In cri­tiquing Her­bert Spencer, Berg­son iden­ti­fies a major short­fall in ear­li­er the­o­ries of evo­lu­tion. Spencer’s inter­pre­ta­tion, he says, lacks any true sense of duration—it treats life as a machine pro­gress­ing from one sta­t­ic point to anoth­er. This mechan­i­cal read­ing leaves no room for spon­tane­ity or inven­tion. But Berg­son sees life dif­fer­ent­ly. It is not pre-pro­grammed or auto­mat­ic; it is cre­ative. Each moment of growth, from cell to organ­ism, reflects a new choice, a new unfold­ing of form. The embryo, for instance, is not sim­ply fol­low­ing instruc­tions but is reveal­ing a his­to­ry of deci­sions lay­ered into its being. Evo­lu­tion, there­fore, is not a chain of causes—it is a con­tin­u­ous act of becom­ing.

The empha­sis on real dura­tion becomes cen­tral to Bergson’s phi­los­o­phy. Dura­tion, unlike clock time, can­not be divid­ed with­out dis­tor­tion. It flows like a melody, each note shaped by the last and influ­enc­ing the next. This under­stand­ing allows for the pres­ence of novelty—something tru­ly new that was­n’t already embed­ded in the past. For Berg­son, this is where life gains its rich­ness. Evo­lu­tion is not sim­ply sur­vival but expres­sion. It is the free­dom to explore new forms, new paths, new con­fig­u­ra­tions. In this sense, the uni­verse itself becomes a field of ongo­ing cre­ation rather than fixed laws.

Cre­ative evo­lu­tion, as Berg­son defines it, is more than theory—it’s a method for under­stand­ing both nature and our­selves. Lib­er­ty is not an illu­sion but a foun­da­tion­al fea­ture of life. Wher­ev­er there is aware­ness, there is choice, and wher­ev­er there is choice, there is cre­ativ­i­ty. This refram­ing invites us to rethink what it means to be con­scious. No longer must life be viewed through deter­min­is­tic sys­tems; it can instead be rec­og­nized as a dance of spon­ta­neous, mean­ing­ful acts. With this comes a renewed appre­ci­a­tion for indi­vid­u­al­i­ty, not as a byprod­uct of chance, but as a nat­ur­al result of evo­lu­tion­ary free­dom.

The chap­ter ulti­mate­ly posi­tions Bergson’s view of life as one of con­tin­u­al emer­gence. His is a phi­los­o­phy of openness—a refusal to close real­i­ty into fixed cat­e­gories. Instead of life being dri­ven by exter­nal pres­sures alone, it is shown to be shaped from with­in, by an inner push toward expres­sion. This cre­ative push can­not be reduced to physics or chem­istry; it tran­scends them while still work­ing through their forms. Berg­son sees this inner dri­ve as the force behind all growth, all orga­ni­za­tion, and all self-direct­ed move­ment. To under­stand life, then, is to fol­low its rhythm—not to dis­sect it into frozen parts.

This per­spec­tive holds deep impli­ca­tions not just for sci­ence and phi­los­o­phy, but also for ethics and cul­ture. If life is ground­ed in lib­er­ty and cre­ativ­i­ty, then human soci­ety should reflect that real­i­ty. Social sys­tems, edu­ca­tion, and gov­er­nance must hon­or the dynam­ic, ever-evolv­ing nature of con­scious­ness. Con­for­mi­ty and mech­a­niza­tion threat­en to sti­fle the very free­dom that makes progress pos­si­ble. Bergson’s mes­sage is clear: true knowl­edge comes not from con­trol, but from par­tic­i­pat­ing in life’s cre­ative motion. It is through intu­ition, open­ness, and respon­sive­ness that we meet real­i­ty on its own terms.

In sum, this chap­ter makes a pro­found case for re-cen­ter­ing life in our under­stand­ing of the world—not as a mechan­i­cal process, but as an unfold­ing act of cre­ative expres­sion. By merg­ing sen­sa­tion with lib­er­ty and evo­lu­tion with inven­tion, Berg­son rede­fines how we view our­selves and the uni­verse we inhab­it. His vision offers not cer­tain­ty but pos­si­bil­i­ty, not for­mu­las but free­dom. And in that free­dom, he sees the real pulse of life.