Julius Broomfield

This writing is currently under construction.

The modern internet is too vast to be browsed raw. To make it navigable, we rely on feed algorithms, search rankings, and personalized recommenders. In doing so, we delegate our attention to code.

Jean Baudrillard defined hyperreality as a condition in which what is real and what is fiction are seamlessly blended together so that there is no clear distinction for the spectator. Recommender systems do not simply sort information; they curate a hyperreal copy of human interest.

The Sensorimotor Feedback Loop of the Web

We act on the web, and the web responds. But the feedback loop is increasingly cybernetic:

1. Selection: The algorithm projects a personalized set of options.
2. Interaction: The user clicks, hovers, or scrolls, emitting signals.
3. Optimization: The algorithm refines its state to maximize engagement.

“The map has preceded the territory.” — Jean Baudrillard

In a traditional sense, a map is a representation of a physical space. For the internet, the algorithmic recommendation is the territory. There is no “raw” internet behind your feed. The feed is generated dynamically at the moment of request—it exists solely for the observer, and disappears the moment they close the tab.

Implications for Epistemology

When recommenders construct our reality:

• Aesthetic Convergence: Content creator optimization forces videos, essays, and music to converge toward the medium expected by the model.
• Epistemic Fragmentation: If there is no shared public square, consensus becomes structurally impossible. We reside in custom-tailored simulation bubbles.

As we move toward agentic recommenders and generative search, we will no longer retrieve documents; we will retrieve synthesized explanations designed to satisfy our specific cognitive biases. The project of modern hermeneutics must therefore expand to decode the machine’s model of the human observer.

Can computers create? The immediate answer depends entirely on how we define “create.” Historically, human creativity has been mystified—attributed to divine inspiration, subconscious genius, or sudden neuro-chemical leaps.

When we evaluate computational systems (such as GANs, Transformers, or diffusion models), we often find ourselves moving the goalposts. If an AI writes a sonnet, we argue it lacks “intent” or “feeling.” If it paints, we claim it is merely interpolating a high-dimensional manifold of training data.

Defining Creativity: The Margaret Boden Model

Margaret Boden distinguishes three forms of creativity:

1. Combinational: Combining familiar ideas in unfamiliar ways (e.g., poetry, collage).
2. Exploratory: Exploring structured conceptual spaces to generate novel outputs within limits (e.g., writing a jazz solo).
3. Transformational: Mutating the conceptual rules themselves to create something that was previously impossible within the original framework (e.g., cubism, non-Euclidean geometry).

Comparison of Human and Machine Dimensions

Holding machines to the human standard of transformational creativity misses the point. The computer’s value lies not in mimicking human intuition, but in uncovering connections in conceptual spaces too large for a human to hold in working memory.

In The World as Will and Representation, Arthur Schopenhauer describes the “Will” as an aimless, insatiable force that drives all of existence. Because we are expressions of this Will, we are trapped in a cycle of wanting, briefly satisfying a desire, feeling boredom, and desiring again. For Schopenhauer, life is a pendulum swinging between pain and boredom.

He offered only a few escapes:

• Aesthetic Contemplation: Looking at art, particularly music, where we perceive the “pure Ideas” of the world and forget our individual desires.
• Asceticism: Denying the Will altogether.

However, I want to argue for a third, highly accessible refuge: Memory.

The Epistemic Separation of Memory

When we experience a moment in real-time, the Will is active. We are concerned with outcomes, judgments, and future desires.

In memory, the moment is static. We look at the past as an observer. The pain of the past is no longer painful in the same way; it is represented. We can contemplate a past sorrow or joy with the same aesthetic detachment that Schopenhauer reserved for viewing a Dutch landscape painting.

“A memory is a work of art we paint without knowing it, using our own life as the canvas.”

Memory removes the immediate pressure of the Will. It allows us to view our own history as pure representation, transforming the random noise of lived experience into a structured, meaningful narrative.