(An excerpt from the philosophy of Henri Bergson)

The philosophers who have reflected on the meaning of life and the destiny of humanity have not given sufficient consideration to the fact that nature itself has taken care to enlighten us on these matters. It offers us a clear sign that tells us when we have fulfilled our purpose. That sign is joy. To be precise, joy, not pleasure.

Pleasure is merely a device invented by nature to ensure the survival of living beings. It does not, however, indicate the direction in which life is moving. Joy, by contrast, always announces that life has succeeded, that it has gained ground, that it has achieved a victory. Every great joy carries a note of triumph.

If, then, we take this sign into account and follow this new line of reasoning, we discover that wherever there is joy, there is creation. The richer the creation, the deeper the joy. A mother looking at her child feels joy because she is aware that she has brought the child into being, both physically and morally. Is a merchant who expands his business, or a factory manager who watches his enterprise prosper, truly happy simply because he earns money and gains a reputation?

Wealth and social recognition undoubtedly contribute to their satisfaction. Yet they offer pleasure rather than joy. Their genuine joy arises from the feeling that they have created something, founded a thriving enterprise, and breathed life into a work of their own.

Let us consider exceptional forms of joy, such as that experienced by an artist who has succeeded in bringing an imagined creation to life, or by a scientist who has made a discovery or an invention. We may hear people say that such individuals work for glory and derive their greatest pleasure from the admiration they inspire. This is a serious mistake! We seek praise and honours precisely to the extent that we are uncertain of our success. In the depths of vanity lies insecurity. We seek approval to strengthen our self-confidence. We also want others to regard our work with deep appreciation, hoping to sustain its vitality when it may not yet be strong enough to stand on its own, much as we tenderly care for a prematurely born child.

Someone who is absolutely certain of having created a work that will endure through time, however, has no need of praise and feels above the pursuit of glory. Such a person is a creator, knows it, and experiences a joy that is almost divine.

If, then, creation is the triumph of life in every sphere, should we not suppose that the purpose of human existence is itself a form of creation—one that, unlike the creation of the artist or the scientist, can continue uninterrupted in every human being? It is the creation of ourselves by ourselves, the development of our personality through an effort that draws much from little, something from nothing, and continually adds to the world's existing richness.

Seen from the outside, nature resembles an immense flowering of unpredictable originality. The force that animates it seems to create lovingly, with no other purpose than creation itself, producing the endless variety of plant and animal species. It bestows upon each one the absolute value of a great work of art. One might say that it devotes equal attention to the first species that appeared and to those that followed, including humanity.

The form of a living being, once established, is endlessly repeated. Its actions, once performed, also tend to repeat themselves and resume automatically. The automatism and repetition that prevail everywhere except in human beings should alert us to the fact that these are temporary stopping points, and that the stagnation we observe is not identical with the movement of life itself.

The artist's perspective, therefore, is important, but it is not conclusive. The richness and originality of forms undoubtedly testify to an outpouring of life. Yet within this flowering, whose beauty expresses strength, life also reveals a temporary slowing of its impetus and a momentary inability to develop further. It is like a child completing the final stage of a slide with a graceful tumble. The perspective of the moral teacher, however, offers a deeper insight.

Only in human beings, especially in the finest among us, does the vital movement continue unhindered. Through the work of art that is the human body, which it has fashioned along the way, life releases the boundlessly creative current of moral existence.

Human beings, continually called upon to draw upon their entire past in order to influence the future as fully as possible, represent one of life's greatest achievements. The true creator, however, is someone whose own activity, already intense in itself, can intensify the activity of others and, through its generosity, inspire new sources of generosity.

The great moral figures of humanity, especially those whose inventive and unassuming heroism opened new paths to virtue, reveal a metaphysical truth. Although they stand at the summit of evolution, they are also remarkably close to its beginnings. Through them, we can sense the impetus rising from the depths of life itself.

Let us observe them carefully and try, through sympathy, to feel what they feel. If we wish to penetrate, through an act of intuition, to the very source of life, we must approach their inner world. To unravel the deepest mysteries, we sometimes need to turn our gaze towards the heights. The fire burning at the centre of the Earth becomes visible only at the summits of volcanoes.

We have said that the vital impetus encountered two great paths: one followed by the arthropods and the other by the vertebrates. Along these two evolutionary paths, instinct and intelligence, initially confused and intertwined, developed in different directions.

At the summit of the first evolutionary path stand the hymenopteran insects, while at the end of the second stands the human being. Despite the fundamental differences between the forms they ultimately assumed, and despite the ever-widening distance between their respective paths, both evolutionary trajectories lead towards social life. It is as though the need for society had been felt from the very beginning—or, rather, as though a primordial and essential aspiration of life could find its complete fulfilment only within society.

Society, as a union of individual forces, benefits from everyone's efforts and makes each person's efforts easier. It can survive only if the individual submits to it, yet it can progress only if it allows the individual to act freely. These are two conflicting demands that must somehow be reconciled.

Among insects, only the first demand is fulfilled. The societies of ants and bees are remarkably disciplined and united, yet they remain trapped in an unchanging routine. When the individual loses awareness of its place within this routine, society itself loses its sense of direction. Both, as though caught in a state of sleepwalking, endlessly trace the same circle instead of moving forward towards greater social effectiveness and fuller individual freedom.

Human societies alone strive to achieve both