Creative Evolution opens not with biology but with the self. Bergson asks what it means to exist, and finds in inner experience a constant flow rather than a string of separate states. Each moment carries the whole past forward and adds something to it, like a snowball rolling on snow. This lived, irreversible flow is what he calls duration, and he argues that real time, unlike the measurable time of science, is creative: it brings forth the genuinely new.
From the duration we know within ourselves Bergson moves outward to all of life. The universe endures, he says, and evolution is the visible history of that endurance. Against the picture of life as a machine assembling itself from parts, he proposes a single original impulse, the vital impetus, that passes through the generations and splits into divergent lines. Life is less a thing than a movement, a current that introduces indetermination and freedom into the matter it works upon.
He then tests the two reigning explanations of evolution and finds both wanting. Radical mechanism holds that the same causes always produce the same effects, so the living being is fully determined by its physical parts and nothing is ever truly invented. Radical finalism reverses this: it makes evolution the realization of a plan settled in advance. Bergson shows that finalism so understood is only inverted mechanism, since both suppose that all is given and so make real time, and real creation, an illusion.
To show why no fixed scheme can capture life, Bergson studies a hard case, the eye. The same complex organ has appeared along independent lines of descent, as in the vertebrate and the mollusc. Neither accidental variation accumulated by chance nor a preset goal explains this convergence well. What the example reveals, he argues, is a single impetus working in similar conditions, creating likeness without copying a blueprint. Life invents along the way; its forms are unforeseeable, not deduced.
The book closes on a theory of knowledge tied to this theory of life. The intellect was formed to act on inert matter, so it thinks naturally in solids, spaces, and clear-cut concepts, and it triumphs in geometry. That same skill makes it misrepresent life, whose flowing interpenetration cracks every rigid mold. Bergson sets beside the intellect another faculty, intuition, which he defines as instinct become disinterested and self-aware. Turned upon life from within by a kind of sympathy, intuition grasps movement and duration directly, completing what analysis alone can never give.