Creativity,Artificial Intelligence,and God

Abstract

This article offers a theological account of creativity in light of recent developments in artificial intelligence (AI), especially large language models. Drawing on scripture and the philosophical work of Margaret Boden, it argues that creativity—whether divine, human, or computational—is best understood as a moral category. After introducing theologically appropriate forms of analogy, the essay distinguishes between two kinds of divine creativity: creativity ex nihilo (creating from nothing) and creativity in imago (creating in the image of God). These serve as interpretive lenses for assessing human and computational creativity. While AI systems like ChatGPT can produce outputs that are novel, surprising, and valuable, they cannot create ex nihilo or bear the divine image. Their creativity is real but limited, acquiring moral significance only when guided by human agents acting in imago. The final section explores how morally responsible creativity involves accountability, self-formation, and questioning—traits exemplified (in varying degrees of success) in scripture by figures such as Adam, Eve, and Mary, the mother of Jesus. The article concludes that divine creativity is not only the origin but also the ethical standard by which all creativity, including our engagement with AI, should be measured.

Introduction

The fourth version of OpenAI's Generative Pre-trained Transformer (GPT-4) can do an impressive range of creative tasks—from the cute and innocent (‘[e]xplain the plot of Cinderella in a sentence where each word has to begin with the next letter in the alphabet’) to the grave and serious ('scan inbound communications, identifying coordinated [fraud] activity from malicious actors’). ¹ As commentators note, such creativity enamors those who are optimistic about its market potential. But it terrifies many, as well. Critics wonder: what harms might computational creativity cause if regulated poorly or left unaccountable to human values? ²

In this article, I offer my own commentary on computational creativity, approaching the phenomenon from neither economics nor policy, but from the moral wisdom of scripture. In particular, I propose a theological paradigm that treats creativity—in divine, human, and computational forms—as fundamentally moral. From this perspective, I suggest how computational creativity might be used and developed ethically, with particular emphasis on the moral significance of questioning—an ability that scriptural exemplars exercise when confronted by astonishing non-human ‘intelligence’. Why might this commentary and its specific emphases be needed?

This is a valid question, after all, since theological commentary on technology is in no short supply. And this is increasingly the case with artificial intelligence (AI) since the closer technology mimics human capabilities, the more it behooves theologians to distinguish the human and the sacred from the merely computational. My commentary participates in this effort to draw such distinctions. But unlike many theological commentaries on technology, my discussion does not start with the human person per se, as if the human person is the ultimate standard by which to judge technological advances. ³ Instead, my discussion centers around the complex phenomenon of creativity itself—when principally understood as a theocentric term.

This focus does three things. First, it anchors theological reflection in the incarnate God. Creativity is thus defined with reference to Christ, the divine exemplar. Insofar as this is done with reference to scripture, there are obvious ecumenical advantages. Moreover, a scriptural outlook is non-reductive: emphasizing Christ's moral and salvific missions, it offers an antidote to those who tacitly assume that creativity is nothing more than a technical ability to create.

Second, a focus on creativity produces a useful touchpoint with secular philosophies, particularly the work of Margaret Boden, one of the world's leading philosophers of computational creativity. As I discuss below, Boden investigates creativity using analogy. While this approach stands firmly on its own terms, its application in theological contexts raises distinct challenges that necessitate careful use and reflection. Such reflection can advance theological understandings. And so, Boden, I suggest, is an ideal interlocutor for theological engagement with AI.

Finally, I focus on creativity because I think it is often more helpful to investigate a discrete aspect of AI than to address the full range of AI abilities (e.g., perception, reasoning, problem solving, and learning). ⁴ Creativity is complex enough. And the full range of AI abilities typically leads to heated debates over the possibility that some computers are conscious or may gain consciousness before long. I do not think that we need to enter these debates to better understand computational creativity from a theological perspective. In fact, since scripture begins and ends in creation (Gen. 1:1; Rev. 21:1), there appears to be good scriptural warrant for focusing on creativity in my discussion below.

I structure this article as follows. The first section introduces the method of analogical reasoning and argues, with reference to Margaret Boden's work, that the analogy of one-to-another is theologically appropriate for exploring divine, human, and computational creativity. The second section offers a scriptural account of divine creativity, distinguishing between creativity ex nihilo and creativity in imago, and shows how human creativity participates in the latter. Section three summarizes Boden's view of computational creativity as the production of artefacts that are new, surprising, and valuable. The fourth section interprets Boden's idea of ‘transformation’ ⁵ within a theological register and argues that while AI cannot create in imago, its outputs may serve morally transformative ends when guided by human agents. Section 5 explores how creativity in imago should inform our moral engagement with AI, highlighting three interrelated features: the demand for personal responsibility, the self-constituting nature of creative action, and the theological significance of questioning. The sixth section concludes.

1. Understanding Creativity through Analogy

According to Boden, creativity is ‘the ability to come up with ideas or artefacts that are new, surprising, and valuable’. ⁶ Boden arrives at this definition through empirical study of what computers can presently do. ⁷ Then, moving analogously from computers to humans, she suggests that the definition is applicable to any agent capable of creative activity. Again, she has in mind humans and computers. But we might add God to this list since God presumably creates things that are new, surprising, and valuable, as well.

Why add God to Boden's list or, more specifically, to her exercise in analogical reasoning? To understand divine creativity better. But incorporating God into Boden's analogical framework is not straightforward. In fact, it may verge on theological error. The challenge here pertains to the type of analogical reasoning involved.

Indeed, analogical reasoning comes in many forms. ⁸ And a type that may pose an especially acute theological problem (to be explained below) is known as the analogy of many-to-one. ⁹ This type highlights an analogous relationship between many things (e.g., an elephant, truck, and the Colosseum) given their relation to something that is conceptually prior or more basic (e.g., largeness). This analogy helps us understand something about the nature of the many things. And if those things are especially difficult to understand (like creativity), then the analogy of many-to-one offers welcome clarification.

However, this type of analogy can risk theological confusion. If God—or an aspect of the divine nature—is just one of many things to comprehend, then the analogy of many-to-one presupposes that something more fundamental exists apart from God. This presupposition undermines divine omniscience, omnipotence, transcendence, etc. ¹⁰ Take goodness as an example. If we seek to understand goodness in animals, humans, and God (the ‘many’), and if we do so in relation to goodness (the ‘one’), then we suggest that goodness is separate from, or more fundamental than, God. But God is goodness (as Augustine says, God is ‘most high, utterly good’ ¹¹ ); and so, the analogy is mistaken. At the very least, it confuses our theological understanding. The same holds for other divine attributes, among which I here include—as a tentative proposal—creativity. ¹² Were we to treat Boden's notion of creativity as the ‘one’, and computational, human, and divine creativities as the ‘many’, we would suggest that creativity exists over and above God. Yet God is, in a certain sense, all-creative.

So, divine creativity cannot be one of many things that is understood in relation to something more ultimate such as a free-floating conception of creativity. Of course, Boden's definition may be used to establish an analogy of many-to-one, restricted exclusively to relationships between human, computational, and other non-divine forms of creativity (should they exist). ¹³ Doing this would not deny God's ultimacy, and the theological problem described above would be avoided.

Alternatively, we might set aside Boden's definition altogether and simply use the form of an analogy of many-to-one to understand different types of creativity in relation to divine creativity, our new ultimate referent (the ‘one’). This type of analogy is where my discussion will go. But, to make a simpler start, I suggest using a more straightforward kind of analogy—one that makes clear the primacy of divine creativity—and then build from there.

That simpler type of analogy is called the analogy of one-to-another. According to its logic, one thing is directly compared to another thing, and no third or more ultimate thing is required to establish the analogical relation. ¹⁴ This type of analogy is especially appropriate for theological inquiry. For instance, in an analogy of one-to-another, we can view human goodness in direct relation to the goodness of God. One conclusion that we may draw from this relation concerns theological participation: human goodness is seen to participate in, or be derived from, the absolute goodness of God.

This sort of conclusion does two things. First, it preserves the ultimacy of God, in whom all creation participates in being. (Indeed, given a participatory theology, according to which creation derives its being from God, the analogy of one-to-another may be rightfully conceived as an analogy of one-from-another: creation-from-God.) Second, while it acknowledges the imminence of human goodness (which, unlike divine goodness, typically comes first in human knowing), it nevertheless speaks to a bilateral (to–from) relationship between a natural knowledge of human goodness and supernatural knowledge of divine goodness. ¹⁵ Such a relationship suggests that we may bring a human conception of creativity—for example, Boden's—into conversation with a divine archetype. Indeed, we can allow Boden's definition of creativity to inform, and be informed by, a scriptural understanding of divine creativity. The analogy of one-to-another permits this worthwhile engagement—something I do in sections three and four below.

Having identified a theologically appropriate form of analogy, we can use it to deepen our understanding of divine, human, and computational creativities. In particular, we can construct various analogies of one-to-another, in which we treat divine creativity as the ultimate ontological referent, even if it is not our first referent in terms of human knowing (specifically when unaided by revelation). Allow me, then, in the next section, to analogize divine and human creativity, and attempt to discern the similarities and differences between them.

2. Creativity ex Nihilo, Creativity in Imago

Scripture speaks to the absolute uniqueness of divine creativity. ¹⁶ In fact, since the Old Testament reserves the Hebrew word ‘create’ (בָּרָא, bārā’) exclusively for God, we acknowledge that God alone is truly creative. ¹⁷ Divine creativity thus becomes the ultimate standard—the one by which we may understand other types of creativity through analogous reasoning.

But what is divine creativity? I discern at least two kinds. The first and most familiar case of divine creativity is creativity ex nihilo: ‘in the beginning, God created [bārā’] the heavens and the earth’ (Gen. 1:1). While the notion that God made all things out of nothing was a contested idea for much of Christian history, we need not repeat the contours of the debate here. ¹⁸ Sufficient instead is the recognition that divine omnipotence, omniscience, and so on are preserved when we acknowledge that God can—to our astonishment—create something out of nothing. Divine creativity is thus marked by a profoundly mysterious quality. As the prophet Isaiah says, ‘the Creator of the ends of the earth … is unsearchable [in his understanding]’ (Isa. 40:28). We may go on to say that God is also unsearchable—though not unknown, thanks to scripture—in his creativity ex nihilo.

Scripture speaks to yet another type of divine creativity which we may describe as creativity in imago: ‘God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them’ (Gen. 1:27). An important feature of this kind of creativity is its explicit reliance upon a prototype. In contrast to creation ex nihilo which involves no prior referent, creation in imago relies upon a pre-existing model—God's own self. This difference underscores two things. First, it emphasizes the radical nature of creativity ex nihilo (it sets a standard for true novelty, since things created ex nihilo are absolutely new). Second, it emphasizes the relational and participatory dimension of creativity in imago: it ties together the human person with God, the divine prototype.

Focusing on the divine prototype, I discern in the Old Testament at least three qualities of creativity in imago. It entails:

A wise ordering—for instance, God creates (bārā’) and immediately orders by separating light from darkness, the waters from heaven (Gen. 1:4-7), etc. As Aquinas notes, such ordering reflects the divine nature—that is, the three persons of the Holy Trinity, to ‘which belongs … a kind of order’ that informs creation. ¹⁹

A loving care for all creation, especially humankind—for instance, God creates (bārā’) man in his image and, out of love, ensures that man is not alone (Gen. 1:26; 2:18).

A radical transformation—creativity in imago cleans hearts: ‘create [bārā’] in me a clean heart, O God; and put a new and right spirit within me’ (Ps. 51:10). It renews the face of the earth: ‘when thou sendest forth thy Spirit, they are created [bārā’]; and thou renewest the face of the ground’ (Ps. 104:30). It even creates (bārā’) ‘new heavens’ so that Jerusalem may rejoice (Isa. 65:17-18).

From initial creation, to loving concern, to a radical transformation—creativity in imago displays God's wise ordering and best intentions for all things created. ²⁰ Hence, we can say that this type of creativity features a moral dimension, one that points to the absolute goodness of God (the divine prototype) which is reflected not only in the goodness of creation, but also in the care that is characteristic of divine creativity.

Having identified two kinds of divine creativity, we can now appreciate the nature and theological significance of its human counterpart. To start, we see clearly in scripture that human creativity is not equivalent to its divine source. While humans may create something seemingly out of nothing (with the created thing being new to them or new historically), ²¹ no human can create in the same way as God. As scripture insists, bārā’ is reserved for God alone. Instead, humans are said to ‘make’ (עָשה, āśâ) things in the broadest sense of the term. ²² And so, human creativity pertains to the mundane: Abigail, for example, makes ready (āśâ) the sheep (1 Sam. 25:18). And human creativity is implicated in sin: for example, ‘mak[ing] [āśâ] a name for ourselves’ in the building of Babel (Gen. 11:4) or the great sin involved in ‘ma[king] [āśâ] … gods of gold’ (Exod. 32:31).

Yet, all is not so mundane or grim for human creativity. Its divine source endows human creativity with divine qualities. As God's image-bearers, humans participate in the primary qualities of creativity in imago. Humans engage in:

A wise ordering—for instance, once created [bārā’], man ‘gave names [קָרָא, qārā’] … to the birds of the air and … every beast of the field’ (Gen. 2:20). God models this creative work earlier when God ‘call[s] [qārā’] the light Day, and the darkness … Night’ (Gen. 1:5).

A loving care for all creation—for instance, Noah ‘make[s] [āśâ] … an ark of gopher wood’ to ‘keep … alive … two of every sort’ of living thing (Gen. 6:14; 6:19-20). Noah's creative action thus expresses a new covenant of friendship between God and man.

A radical transformation—for instance, the ‘prince … provide[s] [āśâ] the sin offerings … to make atonement for the house of Israel’ (Ezek. 45:17). While the prince's act follows divine instruction, it participates in the radically transformative work of atonement. Here, human creativity lies not in inventing a ritual but in faithfully enacting it to mediate God's transformative work. As with Lev. 5:16—‘the priest shall make atonement for him …, and he shall be forgiven [by God]’—the human role is indispensable to effecting this radical transformation of spiritual death into life. The creativity here is covenantal and participatory. (Moreover, it anticipates the new creation, involving a singular atonement of sins, as promised in the New Testament, e.g., see Heb. 10:10 and section 4 below.)

Notably, God is also described as one who ‘makes’: ‘let us make [āśâ] man in our image, after our likeness’ (Gen. 1:26). Perhaps this semantic overlap corroborates the claim that humans participate in God's creative acts. Whatever the case, the substantive content of scripture strongly suggests that human creativity shares in divine ordering (creativity in imago), in part through a participatory ability to create novel things (creativity ex nihilo). An analogy of one-from-another helps us appreciate this fact.

3. Computational Creativity According to Boden

Having discussed an analogous connection between divine and human creativities, I now turn to computational creativity. I here outline its basic features—the ‘new’, ‘surprising’, and especially the ‘valuable’ ²³ —so that, in section 4, I might interpret it analogically with reference to scripture. To begin, allow me to briefly describe a simple example of computational creativity: Google's first-ever, AI-powered Doodle. ²⁴

The ‘Auto Bach’, as I will call it here, is an interactive Doodle that uses machine learning to harmonize short melodies composed by users. ‘With a press of a button’, writes Google, ‘the Doodle … [creates a harmonization in] Bach's signature music style.’ ²⁵ Beneath the hood, two key elements drive Auto Bach's creativity. First, machine learning. As Google explains, ‘[m]achine learning is the process of teaching a computer to come up with its own answers by showing it a lot of examples, instead of giving it a set of rules to follow as is done in traditional computer programming.’ ²⁶ Even this process, we might say, involves a kind of creativity—a flexible method for generating responses. Second, Auto Bach employs a machine learning model, a program trained to perform a specific task. In this case, the model was trained on over 300 Bach harmonizations, enabling it to harmonize user melodies in that distinctive style. ²⁷ In a certain sense, Auto Bach creates. ²⁸

With Auto Bach in mind, we return to the central features of computational creativity as defined by Boden. Auto Bach's outputs are creative, we might say, because they are:

New—according to Boden, an artefact is new if it is (i) new for the person who came up with it, or (ii) new historically speaking, that is, it has ‘arisen for the first time in human history’. ²⁹ For Auto Bach users, and even for Auto Bach itself, some or many of the harmonizations created may meet one or both criteria.

Surprising—an artefact is surprising if it is (i) ‘unfamiliar … go[ing] against statistics’, or (ii) ‘unexpected … but “fit[s]” into a style of thinking that you already had’, or (iii) ‘apparently impossible … it just couldn’t have entered anyone's head’. ³⁰ I will say more about this three-part criterion in section 4 below. For now, note that Auto Bach's creations sit nicely within the ‘unexpected’.

Valuable—a creative artefact must also have value. But in what sense, and to whom exactly? Boden does not specify. Instead, she acknowledges a conundrum: ‘because creativity by definition involves not only novelty but value, and because values are highly variable, it follows that many arguments about creativity are rooted in disagreements about value. This applies to human activities no less than to computer performance.’ ³¹ Hence, Auto Bach's harmonizations may hold little value for trained musicians and thus may not be perceived as creative. For the average listener, however, they may be quite valuable—and therefore deemed creative. As a result, the former group may regard Auto Bach's computational creativity with less esteem than the latter. Some may even conclude that Auto Bach is not creative at all.

At this point, it is important to note that the intention behind Boden's definition is to aid in the recognition of creativity and, more specifically, to assess whether something appears to be creative. Her larger project, she stresses, is not to engage in the controversial philosophical dispute of whether a computer can actually be creative. ³² Determining this, she says, would involve establishing whether a computer can reach a human-level artificial general intelligence or experience various forms of consciousness. ³³ Given her project, this caveat is prudent. Moreover, given our investigation, it is theologically humble. Indirectly, it seems to acknowledge that only God creates (bārā’).

I more fully connect Boden to scripture below. Before getting there, however, let us briefly consider the distinctly human and tacitly moral dimension of Boden's view on computational creativity—the requirement that creative artefacts are valuable. I agree with Boden that the value of created things will be deeply contested—not only by different persons, but also by computers themselves as they adopt various standards to accomplish goals. ³⁴ Such standards may be aesthetic, based on rules from music theory, for example. They may also be moral, as when AI is guided by ethical dos and don’ts in the marketing of products to consumers. ³⁵ While it is possible that computers may now make their own values-based decisions (and may do so with increasing autonomy in the future), ³⁶ Boden's understanding of computational creativity presupposes the ongoing influence of human judgement. She especially singles out the ‘valuation’ of ‘social group[s]’: using ‘judgements of relevance’, their members will determine whether creative artefacts are ultimately valuable. ³⁷ Boden thus invites us to interpret valuation, as well as creativity itself, from a decidedly moral perspective. Of course, this perspective need not be merely human. As the next section shows, it may be theologically informed.

4. Transformation as a Path to Creativity

Responding to those who deny the existence of creativity and to those who think creativity is impervious to reason, Boden affirms that creativity can be studied scientifically. ³⁸ Human creativity, she says, can be explained by certain ‘thought-processes and mental structures’ which point to ‘how creativity happens’. ³⁹ This ‘how’ is captured by the ‘surprising’ (see section 3 above) and, in particular, through that feature's three dimensions which Boden conceptualizes as three ‘paths’ to creativity. ⁴⁰ Concisely named, these paths are:

Combination—creating something that is ‘unfamiliar’, that goes ‘against statistics’; ⁴¹

Exploration—creating something ‘unexpected’, but that ‘“fit[s]” into a style of thinking that you already had’; ⁴² and

Transformation—creating something that is ‘apparently impossible’, something that ‘just couldn’t have entered anyone's head’. ⁴³

Boden goes on to say that computers tread these paths to varying degrees of success. With regard to combination, computational creativity is technically capable but lacks the human judgement required to discern what combinations are valuable. ⁴⁴ As for exploration, computers are especially well-equipped: the Auto Bach example showcases a successful attempt. With regard to transformation, computers—it seems—can now perform astonishingly well. ⁴⁵

It is this final path to creativity—transformation—that draws theological attention. Consider the following remarks by Boden:

The deepest cases of creativity [i.e., those resulting from transformation] involve someone's thinking something which, with respect to the conceptual spaces in their minds, they couldn’t have thought before. The supposedly impossible idea can come about only if the creator changes the pre-existing style in some way. It must be tweaked, or even radically transformed, so that thoughts are now possible which previously (within the untransformed space) were literally inconceivable. ⁴⁶

Do these points—concerning limited conceptual spaces and inconceivable thoughts—apply to divine creativity? And, with regards to transformation more generally, how might computational, divine, and human creativities compare?

To start, we note that a simple analogy of one-to-another, between computational and divine creativity, reveals the complete otherness of God. Recall that God's creativity is expansive and manifested in two ways: creativity ex nihilo, entailing God's making of the entire created order, and creativity in imago, involving God's governance of that order. As suggested by this creative purview, nothing escapes the conceptual spaces of God's mind. We cannot say, then, that divine creativity is accompanied by a transformation in the way God thinks (for God, all paths have already been trod), and so ‘transformation’ as applied to computers is not a term that we can use to accurately describe divine creativity. In this case, an analogy which suggests that ‘God creates through transformation as computers do’ would be theologically misleading.

Still, Boden's notion of transformation is by no means theologically useless. Inspired by Boden, and indeed going beyond her, ⁴⁷ we could say with confidence that while divine creativity is not transformed, it can transform things that are external to God's mind, including the minds of human persons. Thus, transformation may happen to human creativity through God's creative action. (Indeed, human creativity is uniquely open to such transformation—not only because the conceptual spaces of the human mind are changeable, but because humans alone are moral agents and participants in divine creativity.)

With these theological data in hand, we can affirm a different and narrowly circumscribed analogy of one-to-another: namely, that ‘humans create through transformation as computers do’. Both types of agent undergo a transformation in ‘the conceptual spaces in their minds’: humans through divine action, computers through sophisticated programming. ⁴⁸ Yet while computational transformation is descriptive and mechanistic, human transformation—when understood theologically—can be ethically salient. This analogy does nothing to offend divine omnipotence, omniscience, and so on. It even invites us to explore human creativity in relation to God, as well.

Indeed, if human creativity participates in the divine, then its transformation could look quite different from that of computational creativity—similarities notwithstanding. I propose that human transformation features something more: it is not merely a path of surprise that creates new ideas and artefacts. Rather, the kind of transformation that human creativity achieves combines features of creativity ex nihilo and creativity in imago: human creativity creates to morally transform; it may even create ideas and artefacts to renew the face of the earth (Ps. 104:30).

In section 2, I described how human creativity does this work through participation in divine creativity, as found in the Old Testament. But more must be said, considering the fullness of scripture. Thus, we finally reach the New Testament where we encounter these remarkable words:

I am the way [ὁδός, hodós], and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but by me. (Jn 14:6) ⁴⁹

Here, Christ's words are no mere metaphor. He is the definitive hodós—the way that leads to eternal life—and those who walk this path are transformed. Crucially, Christ's way is not abstract or undefined: he offers concrete acts of love, in which we, through our human creativity, are invited to participate. Preaching, for instance, is both a gift Christ gives and a practice he entrusts to his image-bearers. He supplies the grace to carry it out, particularly through the Holy Spirit: ‘it is not you who speak, but the Holy Spirit’ (Mk 13:11). The Lord's Supper, or Eucharist, is another such manifestation of creativity in imago. Like preaching, it reflects God's wise ordering, loving care, and transforming power—uniting us in love as one mystical body. As Christ says, again without metaphor, ‘I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever’ (Jn 6:51). ‘In remembrance of [him]’, we repeat this sacrament with divine creativity working upon and through us (1 Cor. 11:24). This is the gift of life-giving transformation—offered uniquely to those made in imago.

Beyond these means by which Christ transforms human creativity, he is also the end toward which divine creativity is directed. In short, he is both path and destination. As Ephesians puts it, Christ ‘create[s] [κτίζω, ktízō] in himself one new man’ from Jew and Gentile alike (Eph. 2:15); he is the goal. He gives us a ‘new nature’ (Eph. 4:24), one that ‘is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator [ktízō]’ (Col. 3:10)—restoring in us the divine image, in himself. And scripture calls us God's ‘workmanship, created [ktízō] in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them’ (Eph. 2:10). Christ, then, is the one in whom we are made, in whom we are continually remade, and in whom we find our true end. ⁵⁰

5. ‘How Shall This Be … ?’ (Luke 1:34)

Thus far, I have distinguished divine, human, and computational forms of creativity. In this final section of the article, I turn to how creativity in imago should shape our engagement with emerging artificial intelligences. What kind of moral posture should guide us as we create, prompt, or collaborate with AI? I explore this question by highlighting three additional and interrelated features of creativity in imago: first, the demand for moral accountability in human creative action; second, the formative, character-shaping nature of our technological decisions; and third, the theological significance of questioning as an act of discernment. A selection of biblical exemplars will help underscore this final point.

The first is moral accountability. As God is responsible for his creative actions, so too are humans responsible for their own creativity. Indeed, humans must be responsible for their acts if they are to reflect, and participate in, the moral goodness that constitutes divine activity. ⁵¹ Joseph Ratzinger speaks to this theological norm in his reflections on technological progress: ‘We can control the problem of progress’, he writes, ‘only when … the tension between risk and responsibility … becomes the fundamental rule of our [technological] activity.’ ⁵² In other words, Ratzinger suggests that technological progress must be subject to interrogation. This is not an interrogation that merely balances risk and responsibility. Rather, it is informed by the loving care of creativity in imago. It questions. And, as it does so, it recognizes that responsibility is a constitutive part of what it means to have care for the created world.

In industry contexts, the moral requirement of ‘explainability’ (the need for transparency in the origins of computer-generated artefacts) serves as a concrete instantiation of Ratzinger's point. Consider the following: if a Large Language Model (LLM) cannot substantiate its claim that treatment x is popular among physicians (by pointing to specific journal articles that would corroborate that claim, for instance), then the model as well as its human creators have failed in data transparency. ⁵³ The issue here is not that the model and its creators have intentionally withheld ethically salient information. Instead, the moral challenge rests upon (i) a possible inability to explain what the technology did and (ii) a possible inability to fix the model—especially if treatment x is, in fact, not popular (and not recommended) among physicians. ⁵⁴ As this scenario illustrates, human creativity fails in moral responsibility once we permit computers to act in humanly inexplicable ways.

While many current uses of generative AI do operate inexplicably, we should move forward in hope. ⁵⁵ As recent guidance from the US Department of Defense suggests, AI systems can be designed to meet explainability norms. ⁵⁶ Imagine, then, the reward gained when explainability challenges are overcome: we may benefit from better medical, military, and financial knowledge; we may also claim moral responsibility for our achievements via the explainability of our computational creations. More of our technological activity may yet become ‘good works’, the responsible works of those created in Christ (Eph. 2:10).

A second feature of creativity in imago is its self-constituting nature. Creative acts not only shape the world around us—through the creation of new medical treatments, for example—they also shape the one who creates. Or, as Stanley Hauerwas might say, they form our personal ‘character’. ⁵⁷ Recognizing this point is vital, as it underscores the intrinsic relationship between creativity ex nihilo and creativity in imago. Indeed, one does not exist without the other. And so, we should not become distracted by creativity's ex nihilo dimension, especially when human abilities are compared (often unfavorably) against computational counterparts.

An LLM can read a 75,000-word novel in one minute. Impressive, but so what? What does this ability have to say about people who carefully read those same words, or who use their time in other positive ways? And what does this ability have to say about the programmers who designed the model? What does it tell us about their ethical intentions or ways of working? These are not merely speculative concerns; they are morally relevant, bearing directly on the kind of people we become through the technologies we use.

This leads to the third and final feature: the act of questioning. Today's AI models must be prompted. They do not act independently but rely on human initiation to generate anything at all. ⁵⁸ Prompting, then, is not merely a technical step—it is a moment of decision, and at its moral best, a reflection on personal agency. Human interaction with AI is not passive reception but a morally weighty exercise in intention: an extension of creativity in imago that demands critical self-awareness. Theologically, prompting becomes a symbol of discernment—of what it means to begin rightly and shape the world through morally attuned choices. Creativity in imago thus proves essential to understanding creativity ex nihilo in practice: it fills a moral gap. And it reminds us to ask how technology shapes not just outcomes, but character. Will technology x make me a better person, a better neighbor, a better follower of Christ? These are vital characterological questions for those created in the image of God.

To conclude, I return to Genesis where we see that neither Adam nor Eve poses such questions to the serpent. In fact, the serpent, being ‘more subtle than any other … creature [חַי, ḥay]’, ⁵⁹ is the only figure between them to pose a question.

[The serpent] said to the woman, ‘Did God say, “You shall not eat of any tree of the garden”?’ And the woman said to the serpent, ‘We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden; but God said, “You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.”’ But the serpent said to the woman, ‘You will not die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’ So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise [שָׂכַל, śāḵal], she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, and he ate. (Gen. 3:1-6)

One wonders what may have happened if Eve had questioned what she had heard. Would she have asked for more information from the serpent, for Adam's perspective, for permission or further explanation from God?

I read in this passage a moral lesson and see a scriptural analogue to our emerging tendency to rely blindly upon inexplicable AI. Conveniently, Python—one of the most popular programming languages—shares an obvious resemblance to the biblical serpent. ⁶⁰ But before I am accused of vilifying technology, it is worth noting that the serpent, as R.N. Whybray opines, is ‘neither a supernatural enemy threatening God's creation from outside nor some kind of inner voice within the woman urging her disobedience’. ⁶¹ The serpent is merely more subtle or ‘craftier’ (עָרוּם, ʿārûm) than other creatures. This trait is by no means evil. It is morally ambiguous. ⁶²

Analogously speaking, generative AI is both morally neutral in theory and is, in many respects, ‘craftier’ than us in practice. Yet the difference now is that we are the ones called to prompt—not only AI models, but also our very selves. We must learn to ask the right questions, to discern wisely, and to direct the artificial tools we use with care. Perhaps, then, we might learn from Adam and Eve's mistake by taking time to question the more ‘subtle’ among us so that we might become truly wise.

We may even look to a more positive example—to Mary, the mother of Jesus and the new Eve—who did just this. After she was greeted by the angel Gabriel and told the name of her unborn child, Mary asked a question: ‘How shall this be, since I have no husband?’ (Lk. 1:34). There is no issue of impertinence here. Instead, we see a uniquely graced individual whose participation in God's divine plan involves a simple question. ⁶³ What's more, that divine plan is not unrelated to creativity: although Christ himself is uncreated, it has been said that the Holy Spirit's overshadowing (ἐπισκιάζω, episkiazō) of Mary's womb features a ‘creative energy’. ⁶⁴ It seems, then, that questions go hand-in-hand with creativity divinely conceived. Scripture invites us to apply this practical insight to creativity in its various forms. This is the responsibility—and hope—of those created in imago.

6. Conclusion

In this article, I argued that creativity—whether divine, human, or computational—is best understood as a moral phenomenon. Drawing on scriptural insights and the philosophical work of Margaret Boden, I proposed a theological paradigm in which divine creativity serves as the ultimate moral referent for interpreting and guiding all creative activity. Boden's empirically grounded model of creativity, though not in need of theological correction itself, offers a productive resource for constructing analogies that illuminate theologically significant differences between divine, human, and artificial creativity (section 1).

Central to this paradigm is the distinction between creativity ex nihilo and creativity in imago (section 2). Human creativity participates in imago, reflecting a moral orientation toward wise ordering, loving care, and transformation. Computational creativity, as Boden describes it (section 3), can produce artefacts that are new, surprising, and valuable—but it cannot create ex nihilo, nor does it bear the divine image. Nevertheless, it operates analogously to human creativity and may be morally valuable when directed toward good, including salvific, ends (section 4).

As section 5 explored, such direction requires responsibility and discernment. Creativity in imago is not merely about what we make, but about how we make it—and who we become in the process. Prompting and engaging with artificial intelligences thus becomes a moment of moral agency, an act of participation in God's creative purposes. In this light, divine creativity is not only the origin of all that is made; it remains the measure—the ultimate referent—for all creative endeavors.