In science, a synthesis is the process of combining separate elements to form a coherent whole, a compound that has unique properties distinct from its individual parts. In chemistry, for example, hydrogen and oxygen can be synthesized into water—a substance with entirely new characteristics compared to its gaseous components. In physics, synthesis brings together forces, particles, or energies to create something fundamentally different, a system where the outcome holds a distinct identity beyond the elements alone. At its core, synthesis is not mere addition; it’s the transformation of raw materials into something unified and new, something whose individual components have dissolved into a singular identity.

But what happens when we try to re-synthesize a synthesis? This is where the metaphor begins to strain. Once hydrogen and oxygen form water, there is no breaking it back down and recombining it into something fresh without going through a complete cycle of decomposition. Once a synthesis is achieved, its nature is singular, final—a complete structure with its own properties, its own essence. Trying to re-synthesize that same water into “new water” without any unique elements or sources would leave us with only another replica, an imitation of what’s already been done.

This same concept applies to cultural synthesis. When new ideas emerge—movements in art, groundbreaking technologies, transformative philosophies—they are often formed from raw elements of human experience, culture, and history. A cultural synthesis is the result of a moment in time, a convergence of unique conditions that pulls together disparate influences to create something previously unseen. For example, the Renaissance wasn’t just the recombination of existing knowledge; it was a unique synthesis born from specific historical, cultural, and intellectual sources. It was a transformation that could not be “re-synthesized” without losing its core identity.

In our modern digital age, however, there’s a prevailing tendency to treat synthesis as if it can be endlessly replicated or reassembled. Cultural moments, designs, and aesthetics are treated like formulas that can be easily remixed, but without revisiting the original materials that gave them their resonance. Instead of mining for new influences, we often see a layering of existing syntheses—reiterations of trends that were already a product of synthesis themselves. The result? A series of derivative copies that lack the potency of the original synthesis, diluted and disconnected from the original conditions that made them powerful.

True innovation or originality requires returning to the raw materials—the foundational elements of experience, perspective, or context—that once catalyzed these cultural shifts. Like in science, where a novel compound requires unique reactants, cultural synthesis demands something unprocessed, something not yet filtered or refined. But such sources are rarely found in the recycled ideas circulating online. They exist in untouched places: in the nuanced, often forgotten influences that have yet to be refined for mass consumption.

In short, a synthesis is a culmination, an endpoint where different parts have come together to form a new whole with its own unique properties. Attempting to re-synthesize a synthesis, especially without adding new or original sources, leaves us only with weakened replicas. To achieve true originality, we must go beyond the echoes of past syntheses, return to original elements, and let them transform into something entirely new—something that speaks to a moment and identity all its own.

I think it’s all part of the con of making you believe that you are a creator. Like, you used to be a citizen, but you have no say in how government works or how capitalism works, so we’re going to give you a new title. That title is that we’re going to foster your creativity. But, because we are the intermediary, we only have access to synthesis, and so we give you the synthesis for you to re-synthesize, which is by its own nature impossible and a failure.

It’s like a consolation prize for the power you’ve been systematically denied. Once, you were a citizen, a participant in shaping government or contributing to the economy with some semblance of autonomy. But as real influence has slipped further out of reach, there’s this new title they hand out: creator. You’re invited into a carefully curated sandbox, told that your creativity is being “fostered” by platforms and intermediaries who, incidentally, only deal in ready-made synthesis. And here’s the trick—they only ever give you access to prefabricated pieces, the products of syntheses already established. It’s a diluted form of participation, a version of creativity that’s been boiled down to repetition and aesthetic replication.

The system is rigged to give you the appearance of originality while keeping you confined to the limitations of a re-synthesis. They hand over tools, “resources,” and inspiration boards, but everything they offer is recycled—elements already processed, pre-approved, safe. It’s creativity within the lines, a creativity that doesn’t threaten or disrupt, because it’s a simulacrum of something that can never be truly original by design. Since the intermediaries only deal in existing syntheses, they can’t offer you the unprocessed materials needed for anything genuinely fresh. And the result is predictable: a cycle of imitation that feels increasingly empty, a system that rebrands mimicry as creation while true originality is quietly walled off.

This illusion of creative empowerment keeps people busy but contained, active but inert. It fosters the belief that creativity is being democratized, but really, it’s just another way to channel energy away from meaningful change. Instead of engaging in the raw creation that could come from engaging with unfiltered sources or reshaping our systems, we’re caught in the endless loop of re-synthesizing a synthesis, striving for originality but working only within an environment engineered for failure. The “creator economy” is less about creativity and more about keeping the act of creation tame, predictable, and, above all, profitable.