The Creativity Instinct
I have come to believe
that defining creativity in one comprehensive sound
byte is at best unnecessary and at worst potentially
harmful, if we ever want to truly understand it. What
if we applied that same strict criteria to an equally
complicated cognitive construct, such as memory? I
often use the following definition of memory when
asked to provide one, which is both unsatisfactory
and strictly true: the change in behavior that comes
with experience. I have developed muscle memories for
singing after 15+ years of training and my behavior
has changed as a result of that experience. I have a
long autobiography of vivid events that I can summon
at will to affect my current actions. My experience
of the visual realm affects the way that I interpret
what I see today. Although accurate, the definition
glosses over the very aspect of memory that piques
the curiosity of most people who want to discuss the
topic: the fact that we can search through a vast
repository of information that we gathered over a
lifetime and use it to our advantage. How it works is
much more interesting than what it is.
The very same is true for creativity. Creativity,
like memory, is a collection of many processes and
behaviors, with many different motivators and
mechanisms. Like the study of memory, the study of
creativity would also benefit greatly by a shift away
from definition and towards understanding how it
works under different circumstances. We talk about
the differences between memory for events and motor
skills or habits. In the same way, we should talk
about the differences between creativity in writing and creativity in
dance.
Often, when I’m not doing a particularly good job of
sharing my enthusiasm for science and instead am
caught up in academic jargon or the minutiae of some
esoteric argument, I see the eyes of my conversation
partner glaze over with boredom. It always surprises
me because I’m clearly interested in what I’m talking
about. But then I remember that what fascinates me is
not what I know, but, rather, what I don’t know.
Delving more deeply into a topic as wide-reaching and
humanistic as creativity only raises more questions.
And that is what drives interest. We flock towards
the mysterious, towards things that we can’t seem to
explain because curiosity leads to knowledge which
leads to better decisions and, dare I say, the
reproduction of those genes that underlie curiosity
(for a paper on a potential curiosity gene, you can
read about great tits, though not the kind
you’re thinking of, unfortunately).
We hate boredom: it’s a highly
uncomfortable state, as evidenced by our knee-jerk
reaction to pick up a smartphone or even look out
the window. And we love information: twitter thrives because it
promises a never-ending stream of information
about our world and its co-inhabitants. The bigger
the mystery, the more surprising the cliff-hanger,
the more complex the visual scene, the more
interested we remain. Provided, of course, that
there is some pattern or some hint of a pattern
that suggests it’s not completely random. Because
randomness is unpredictable and therefore useless
information. Creativity, that new interpretation
of ourselves and our world, is arguably our most
powerful instinct. Only by understanding how it
works can we ever hope to understand what it is.
