Generative artificial intelligence is all the rage these days. We’re using it at work to guide our coding, writing and researching. We’re conjuring AI videos and songs. We’re enhancing old family photos. We’re getting AI-powered therapy, advice and even romance. It sure looks and sounds like AI can create, and the output is remarkable.
But what we recognize as creativity in AI is actually coming from a source we’re intimately familiar with: human imagination. Human training data, human programming and human prompting all work together to allow our AI-powered devices to converse and share information with us. It’s an impressive way to interact with ourselves and our collective knowledge in the digital age. And while it certainly has a place today, it’s crucial we understand why AI cannot create and why we are uniquely designed among living things to satisfy a creative urge.
A century ago, Russian philosopher Nikolai Berdyaev argued that human creativity springs from freedom — the capacity to bring forth what wasn’t there before. He considered creativeness the deepest mark of the humanness in a person, a spark that reflects the divine image in us. “The creative act is a free and independent force immanently inherent only in a person,” Berdyaev wrote in his 1916 book “The Meaning of the Creative Act.” He called creativity “an original act of personalities in the world” and held that only living beings have the capacity to tap into fathomless freedom to draw out creative power.
Ancient wisdom attests to this powerful creative spirit. One of humanity’s oldest stories begins with a creative task: naming the animals of the world. It’s a hint that we’re meant to do more than just survive. We have the power to imagine. Much later, the early Christian writer Paul, whose letters shaped much of Western moral thought, affirms this view when he describes people as a living masterpiece, made with intention, and capable of our own good works.
But without freedom, Berdyaev writes, creativeness is impossible. Outside the inner world of freedom lies a world of necessity, where “nothing is created—everything is merely rearranged and passes from one state to another.” Here, materialism is the expression of obedience to necessity, where matter only changes states, meaning is relative and adaptation to the given world takes the place of creative freedom.
AI belongs to this world of necessity. It is bound by the inputs we give it: code, training data, prompts. It has no imagination. It needs our imagination to function. And what does it give us in return? Based on vast training datasets and lots of trial-and-error practice, it analyzes what we ask it letter by letter, using conditional if-then protocols and the statistical power of prediction to serve up an amalgamation of data in a pattern we recognize and understand. AI is necessity by definition, wholly lacking in the freedom from which true creativity emerges.
Hellbound and Down 