AI and the Myth of Creativity 2/4: Creativity Under the Microscope
The Lovelace-Turing duel goes in circles because it rests on a mystical vision of creativity. What if, to break the deadlock, we had to commit a sacrilege: put creativity itself on the dissection table?
In our first article, we witnessed the foundational duel between Ada Lovelace, the guardian of human originality, and Alan Turing, the prophet of the learning machine. This debate, however stimulating, goes in circles. Why? Because both camps unknowingly share a romantic, almost mystical vision of creativity as a "spark of genius" fallen from the sky.
What if, to break the deadlock, we had to commit a sacrilege? What if we put creativity itself on the dissection table? Instead of judging AI, we're going to analyze what we're really looking at when we qualify something as "creative." Prepare to deconstruct one of our most cherished myths.
Walking the Razor's Edge: Creativity as Proximal Distance from the Known
Our first bias is to believe that creativity is a total rupture, absolute freedom. This is false. Try to create a totally original work, with no connection to what exists. The result will not be a work of genius but unintelligible noise.
For a human to qualify something as creative, that thing must have enough structure to be recognizable but enough novelty to be surprising. Creativity is walking a tightrope. On one side, the abyss of banality (too familiar, too predictable). On the other, the abyss of incomprehension (too foreign, too random). The creative act consists of finding the perfect balance on this rope.
A piece of pop music using only three known chords is boring. A completely atonal serial composition may be perceived as unpleasant noise by the uninitiated. The song that captivates us is often one that uses familiar harmonies but arranges them in a slightly unexpected way. Creativity is a subtle game of respecting and betraying the rules.
Studies in the psychology of aesthetics show that our maximum pleasure when faced with a work (musical, visual) is reached when the work is at an optimal point of balance between predictability and surprise. Too predictable, we get bored. Too surprising, our brain disconnects. Creativity is a science of "controlled surprise."
Intention Doesn't Make Genius: Creativity is a Social Judgment
"Fair enough," one might object, "but the artist has the intention to create this balance! AI has no intention." This is the second myth to deconstruct.
The intention to create is totally insufficient. Art history is a graveyard of failed works full of the best intentions in the world. What makes a work judged "creative" is not the mental state of its author, but the effect it produces on an audience.
We must distinguish two terms here: new and original. New is anything that has never existed identically before. An industrial machine produces thousands of "new" cars, but none is the original. Original is what is perceived by a community as introducing a significant difference from what existed before.
Marcel Duchamp, by exhibiting a urinal in 1917, did not "manufacture" a new object. Through an act of recontextualization, he forced the art world to perceive it as "original." The creativity was not in the object but in the relationship between the object, the artist, and the public. The creator proposes, but it is culture that disposes.
The Myth of the Blank Page: Every Revolution Has Roots
Even the "geniuses" who broke the rules, like Picasso or Stravinsky, did not start from nothing. Their genius was not to create ex nihilo but to engage in a conflictual dialogue with tradition. Picasso's Cubism is a direct response to perspective and Cézanne's art. Stravinsky's Rite of Spring is a deconstruction of the rules of classical harmony.
Every revolution builds on pre-existing "seeds." It defines itself against an established order. Without knowledge of tradition, there can be no creative transgression. This is an idea that historian of science Thomas Kuhn brilliantly developed with his theory of "scientific revolutions."
A New Definition for a New Age
If we assemble the pieces, a new definition of creativity emerges, far more sober and far more powerful than the myth of the divine spark: creativity is the production of new forms that are perceived by a community as having both originality and elements sufficiently familiar to be connected and compared to the known.
This definition has an immense consequence: it presupposes neither intention nor consciousness. It is purely functional and relational. It opens the door to the idea that a non-conscious entity, like an AI, could be a legitimate actor in the game of creativity.
Now that we have dared to look creativity in the eye, we are ready for the next step: examining our own mind. Because if we want to understand what differentiates humans from machines, we must first have the courage to look at our own functioning. That is precisely what we will explore in the next article AI and the Myth of Creativity 3/4: Is Creativity Algorithmic?
Article by Matthieu Ferry, clinical psychologist, published in French in Intelligences Plurielles on 20 July 2025, adapted in English for Copryce Lab in December 2025.
Copryce Perspective
Redefining Value Beyond Intention
This deconstruction of creativity as a social phenomenon rather than a “divine spark” radically transforms the way designers can think about their professional value.
If creativity is not a question of pure intention but of effect produced on an audience, then a designer’s value resides in their ability to consciously navigate this “razor’s edge” between familiarity and surprise. It's a skill that is cultivated, refined, and nourished by experience. A designer’s journey progressively enriches this fine sensitivity to cultural context, to the implicit codes of their domain, to what will resonate with their audience. This sensitivity is precisely what can be monetized.
The idea that creativity is a social judgment rather than an intrinsic quality also reminds us that designers never work alone in their heads. They work in constant dialogue with their clients, their users, market trends, and the history of their medium. Their value is not only in “what they create” but in their ability to create what will be recognized as relevant by the right community at the right time.
Finally, the observation that every revolution has roots validates the importance of accumulated expertise. A designer who masters the codes of their domain, who knows its history, who has internalized the “rules of the game,” is the one who can then transgress them productively. This mastery doesn’t come from a sudden stroke of genius; it builds over time.
Isn’t creativity ultimately less a question of “who can create?” than of “who knows how to create what will resonate?” And doesn’t this second question point directly to expertise, to experience, and therefore to the legitimate economic value of the professional designer?
