University of Oxford
Utilitarianism is a normative ethical theory which states that the morally right action is the one that maximises the balance of happiness over suffering. However, ‘action’ can be interpreted in two different ways: (i) a unique action in a given circumstance; (ii) a type of action, such as ‘lying.’ (i) produces act utilitarianism and (ii) produces rule utilitarianism.
Much confusion could be generated if we did not also distinguish between two types of act utilitarianism and two corresponding types of rule utilitarianism. Normative act utilitarianism (hereinafter denoted by AU-N) is the doctrine that the right action is the one that produces the most happiness in that particular situation, while normative rule utilitarianism (hereinafter denoted by RU-N) holds that the right action is the one which conforms to a rule which, if followed generally, would maximise happiness. Practical act utilitarianism (hereinafter denoted by AU-P), on the other hand, is a decision procedure whereby the agent is required to weigh up the predicted consequences of each and every moral act that he performs and to perform the action that seems to produce the most happiness overall in that given situation. Practical rule utilitarianism (hereinafter denoted by RU-P) is a decision procedure whereby the agent is required to judge each possible act by virtue of the consequences that that type of act tends to produce; thus, the act of murder is always the wrong action by the standards of RU-P because murder usually produces more unhappiness than happiness. RU-P states that we should follow those rules (such as ‘do not murder’) that contribute the most to happiness in the long run – the consequence of the rule being in place should be more happiness than if the rule wasn’t in place. These rules are learnt through experience and established and developed by society throughout history and they must be followed even on an occasion where good consequences would best be promoted by breaking the rule. Blackburn (2008) compares RU-P to a referee enforcing rules and not worrying about the particular consequences in that case, because he knows that generally the rules are good.
But which is preferable, act utilitarianism or rule utilitarianism? Unsurprisingly, I shall argue that neither single-level act utilitarianism (AU-N plus AU-P) nor single-level rule utilitarianism (RU-N plus RU-P) is preferable, but that elements of both need to be combined in order to produce the best outcome. Moreover, a split-level approach (AU-N plus RU-P, or RU-N plus AU-P is not enough – a more complex, multi-level approach is needed.
RU-N seems to have arisen in response to criticisms against AU-N, such as that AU-N fails to recognise the intrinsic value of enforcing justice, protecting the innocent and minorities and keeping promises; the moral force of these actions, it is argued, is not wholly reducible to the happiness/unhappiness balance. Is RU-N, then, a sensible modification or an ad hoc defence mechanism? It seems the latter, since there appears to be no rational grounding for the modification other than our basic initial intuitions in particular circumstances and this leads to superstitious ‘rule-worship’. As Smart says (as referenced in Rachels 1995), so what if RU-N better maps our intuitions? It is also widely-known that the human brain is incapable of comprehending large numbers, and so we naturally underestimate the total positive effects of breaking a rule, when this is the sum of many small positive effects. For example, we intuitively think that an innocent man should not be hung in order to make the public feel safer, no matter how many people are made happier as a result, but this is because our minds cannot properly grasp the scale of the happiness produced in total. RU-N should not really even be called ‘utilitarianism’, since the fundamental criterion of maximisation subordinated to our intuitions.
So AU-N seems the correct position. However, AU-P is not an ideal decision procedure, since the calculations are themselves an action, and lengthy calculation can often waste precious time and thus decrease the utility of an agent’s response to a situation. RU-P, then, appears superior.
But we can go one step better. Hare suggests a ‘two-level’ system in reference to decision procedures, whereby we follow RU-P unless the situation is complicated and it is not clear which rule to abide by because, for example, there is more than one rule that is considered to maximise utility. In these situations, we should resort to AU-P. In reference to Williams’ ‘Jim and the Indians’ thought-experiment, Hare claims that this two-level system explains both why Jim should feel repugnance at shooting the Indian and why he ought, nevertheless, to do it.
Sidgwick proposes a similar system with regard to decision procedures, which he calls ‘government-house utilitarianism.’ Under this system, a collection of intelligent and educated people follow AU-P and they rule over the rest of the people, who follow RU-P.
Both Hare’s and Sidgwick’s systems are multi-level systems with the following format: AU-N plus RU-P, but sometimes AU-P; in other words, act utilitarianism is the correct normative description of ethics and in practice we should follow utilitarian ‘rules of thumb’ unless it seems worth calculating the consequences of our actions. Both systems seem plausible and either way, it is clear that neither rule utilitarianism nor act utilitarianism is preferable in itself, but that a combination of both is necessary.
Kant’s first two ‘Critiques,’ The Critique of Pure Reason (1981) and The Critique of Practical Reason (1988) helped secure his place as the cornerstone of modern Western philosophy. However, the two did face a serious issue. The former looks into the debate of epistemology, and gives birth to his renowned theory of the phenomenal world (that which appears to us) and the normative one (that which actually is), and he appears to us to believe the world to be causally determined. His second Critique, on the other hand, looks at ethics, and gives rise to his ideas of categorical imperatives and the Kingdom of Ends (how people should be treated as intrinsically valuable rather than as means to an individual end). It seems complex to bridge the gap between causal determinism and a firm ethical standpoint, for how can ethics be relevant in a causally determined world? It is this which Kant seeks to answer in The Critique of Judgement (1990), and what ultimately leads him to his discussion of art and the concept of beauty. It is in this discussion that he comes to the notion that ‘beauty is the form of finality in an object, so far as perceived in it apart from the representation of an end.’ In this essay I shall examine the meaning of the quote, as well as its relevance to bridging the gap between Kant’s scientific ideas and his ethical ideals. I will then go on to evaluate the quote’s adequacy as an account of beauty, concluding that while it is a robust concept of beauty and art, the questions that follow from it render it, at best incomplete.
Kant discusses how we tend to look at the world teleological way. When we look at something, such as a hammer, we look at how it is designed to fulfil a particular end, and judge it based on how efficient its design is. However, this is not always the situation when we consider items we deem to be beautiful. When, for example we look at a flower, whilst scientists may regard it from the point of view of its purpose of attracting insects and consequent pollination, many will simply appreciate its design simply because of the design itself, which we deem to be ‘beautiful’. The same can be said of a well-constructed painting. When the lines and colours are put together in a pleasing way we deem the painting ‘beautiful,’ even though we cannot pinpoint exactly why the painting is beautiful or why it has the value we place upon it. This leads Kant to suppose that art is ‘purposefulness without a purpose.’ It seems that we judge the art in a teleological way (based on its design), such as the science discussed in The Critique of Pure Reason, but not in a way that requires it to achieve any ends, which harks back to the Kingdom of Ends discussed in The Critique of Practical Reason, where Kant states we should respect other human beings for their intrinsic value, and ends within themselves, rather than means. We can therefore see how this conception of art can help bridge the gap between Kant’s first two critiques.
It is the notion of purposefulness without a purpose which stirs Kant to claim ‘beauty is the form of finality in an object, so far as perceived in it apart from the representation of an end.’ So, as discussed above, Kant is claiming that art should be respected for its intrinsic value, and has no purpose other than to be art. He is resolute in distinguishing art from craft, for when one crafts something for a specific purpose, one instantly judges it on its ability to serve that purpose, rather than its own beauty, and therefore, he believes, it cannot be classified as art. He is also eager to distinguish art from entertainment, claiming that the latter is merely agreeable, with the former providing pleasure simply from viewing it.
Several interesting questions arise from this concept of art. Many items, it could be claimed without too much controversy, could be viewed as both beautiful as well as practical, such as ornate china plates. One particularly interesting example is that of propaganda: art with the specific purpose of conveying political ideals and coercing others into adopting similar values. Such a specific purpose clearly implies that Kant would consider propaganda paintings, film etc. to be craft, rather than art. This perhaps seems peculiar, as many would be tempted to argue that paintings that show artistic skill are art. Indeed, Leni Riefenstahl’s Nazi propaganda film, Triumph of the Will, has been frequently cited by critics as one of the best films of all time, due to its innovative lighting and cinematography. Aside from propaganda, we can look at the paintings of Thomas Jones, which varied from the ‘mainstream’ landscapes that were painted to be commercial, and the paintings of more unusual scenes, such as those focusing on unremarkable brick buildings (‘Building in Naples’). Surely Kant would only deem the latter of these art, for they were painted just for the sake of being painted, whereas the former were painted for the purpose of profit, thus could not be considered to be art?
Kant attempts to circumvent this issue by bringing in the matter of ‘dependent beauty.’ This is distinguished from the kind of free beauty already considered, that with which the object has no easily identified, specific purpose, whereas dependent beauty ‘presuppose(s) such a concept [of what an object should be] and, with it, an answering perfection of the object.’ So under this conception, perhaps the propaganda as listed above could be considered to have dependent beauty, even if it lacks the free beauty that Kant holds in higher esteem. However I still consider this problematic. Kant fails to give us a defined rule as to what can or can’t have dependent beauty (for example, could an intricately carved hammer be considered art, even if its carving were designed for practicality?). Furthermore, Kant’s assertion that flowers have free beauty is confusing, as we have already seen that these do indeed have a specific purpose in nature, the colour and scent attract insects, and therefore beauty and purpose are inextricably related. Kant explains this by saying that only botanists would be interested in or observant of such a purpose. However, this, in my opinion, doesn’t align with Kant’s overall concept of beauty, in which he claims ‘that which, apart from a concept, pleases universally’. If beauty is universal, then why do most see the free beauty in a flower whereas a botanist would only be capable of admiring its dependent beauty, bound as it is by its need to be efficient at fulfilling the task it was designed for? These notions call into question the adequacy of Kant’s account of beauty.
Closely related to Kant’s conception of purposefulness without purpose is his proposal that art must be ‘disinterested’ that is when examining art, we expect no additional desire or benefit from it other than that of the natural pleasure art provides. For example, one may look at a painting of a forest and think of how much money the various woods or land could make. Clearly, this is not a disinterested standpoint, and to see the art’s beauty, one must instead look at the painting in a ‘merely contemplative’ fashion. This notion, too, conjures several issues, as pointed out by Cooper. He refers to Bell’s concern that to have the kind of ‘pure aesthetic experience’ that Kant seems to reason as proper, we must examine a piece of artwork as though ‘it were not representative of anything’, as well as having ‘no concern for content and meaning’, as it can easily be argued that such values contradict the kind of disinterest that Kant is asking of us, even if our interest is only that of viewing a sensible landscape. This is quite clearly an issue with many paintings and novels, both of which generally strive to resemble reality in some way. Under Kant’s conception, it seems that such artwork cannot be considered beautiful, at least by the majority. Similarly, Cooper claims that, according to Kant’s conception, ‘art should not aim to be expressive of emotion.’ Again, this would require that the audience have a certain interest in the painting, or that the artist is seeking to convey such an emotion, both of which deviate from Kant’s conception of disinterest, a problem with many modern works of art which quite clearly convey and evoke emotions for many people.
It is possible to imagine certain arguments that Kant may have put across in response to these criticisms, such as, Cooper imagines, stating that ‘the feeling of the sublime – itself an aesthetic one – is an ‘outflow of vital powers’ and may be ‘regarded as emotion’. While I find this argument weak to being with (for it seems that much art raises specifically identifiable emotions in people, which don’t appear to be confused with the ‘outflow of vital powers’), Kant’s desired disinterest and ‘indifference to its objects’ actual existence’ is perhaps the more pressing flaw. This is because, while examining a cathedral, for example, one may admire its masterly crafted architecture, its inner peacefulness, or its age-old stone. Clearly, were one to find out that this is in fact a cardboard replica, the admiration for such things, and their perceived beauty, would vanish. It therefore seems that Kant’s idea of disinterestedness when examining art is, at best, incomplete, and must be adjusted if we are to continue to consider his conception of art.
Cooper suggests, and I believe somewhat effectively, that rather than ‘disinterestedly’, a more effective way to consider art and its beauty would be through examining ‘an object ‘for its own sake.’ This would seemingly fall in line with Kant’s idea that we shouldn’t look for material benefits from a piece of art, or what practical use we can gain from it, while at the same time permitting us to still consider representation and emotion as plausible, and arguably crucial, components of various works of art. I don’t believe this to be a complete explanation of how we should view art, for it still remains questionable as to where my interest in the object ‘for its own sake’ becomes a kind of interest that Kant would disapprove of such as in the case of propaganda – surely we can appreciate the art for its own sake while simultaneously appreciating its effectiveness in conveying certain political ideals. However, it does demonstrate how Kant’s theory can be edited to perhaps make a more robust conception of beauty.
To conclude, Kant’s conception that ‘beauty is the form of finality in an object’ conjures an interesting take on the value of art, and how it should be evaluated. Perhaps in times, when one could argue there was less pressure for art to be commercially successful or fulfil a given purpose such as in the case of propaganda, this would be an effective way to evaluate an objects beauty. However, in modern times, when art is so varied and with so many different purposes and forms, it seems as though we cannot conclusively claim that only objects with purposefulness without a purpose are the only beautiful things, and I believe that this is what causes Kant’s conception of beauty to be inadequate.
Katja A. Behrens
Oxford Brookes University
The following essay examines a subject debated in early modern philosophy, namely the question of what constitutes persistence over time with a special focus on human nature, personhood, and the self. The main problem is centred on the concept of personal identity and how we come to identify with it. A crucial detail hereby is the definition and perspective on this concept of identity. Different approaches are significantly shaping the outlines of this debate, offering diverse solution-statements to its puzzles. One approach suggests that a separate, mental substance is the key to personal persistence; where the other introduces memory as being the persisting connection between spatio-temporal states of person. A third account – and core theory focussed in the essay on hand – assumes that identity as it is used in common terms is a misleading conceptualisation of what is in reality a succession of individual perceptions.
This work will particularly deal with the latter theory initiated by English philosopher David Hume. It will analyse the question of whether or not Hume’s account is plausible, whilst using the alternative approaches to present and support the essay’s central thesis: Hume’s account on personal identity is plausible. But this does not mean the thesis on hand necessarily considers Hume’s suggestion to be justifiable, infallible, or philosophically borne out; but rather that it is embracing Hume’s outlook and search for natural underlying patterns of subscribing identity to extremely changing objects; persons respectively. Hume’s thoughts about personal identity try to first trace and consecutively explain psychological processes (such as beliefs, sentiments, etc.) which are causes for people to ascribe sameness to a person based on an alleged uninterrupted and unchanging entity: the self. Hume rejects the concept of the self as a substantial entity on the basis of metaphysical factors of the concept of identity, but does not try to reduce the confusion to a merely linguistic problem either. In contrast to memory as a key factor of personal identity, Hume’s attempt at explanation introduces the ‘bundle theory of the self,’ reconciling characteristics of metaphysical identity with qualities of mental processes.
Methodologically, the paper will begin by defining key terms such as ‘plausible’ and ‘identity’ as these are crucial parts of answering the essay question. Further, it will briefly introduce opponent views on personal identity and their limitations, before outlining differences between Hume’s account and other analysed approaches. It will deal with Hume’s self-made and externally-claimed criticisms before summarising these arguments in favour of the stated thesis.
To answer the question of whether Hume’s account on personal identity is plausible it is necessary to define of what the concept of ‘plausibility’ comprises. A claim is plausible if subjectively believing in it is intelligible regardless of objective reasoning. Plausibility is mainly contrasted by probability insofar as the latter includes existence and consideration of alternatives. This in turn entails that a plausible thought could – after investigation – turn out to be false. Consequently, the concept of plausibility allows acceptance of an intelligible and intuitive claim until the opposite is proven.
Avoiding ambiguities concerning the definition of ‘identity,’ this essay will predominantly deal with numerical identity rather than qualitative identity. Hence, the view that sameness equals numerical identity, which is in turn characterised by unchanging and uninterrupted stableness. Views on Hume being confused by qualitative and quantitative meanings of identity will therefore be neglected whilst accounts taking Hume’s theory to be centred on numerical identity as a starting point.
The main questions in the debate regarding personal identity are those facing what constitutes persistence of personhood over time, i. e. what does it mean to identify someone to be ‘the same’ person as he used to be as a child, or as the person we met who was wearing different clothes? Participants in this debate discuss also which criterion of evidence we can plausibly employ in this consideration. But the debate is a matter to various variables shifting attention from one characteristic to the other. Unlike other approaches this paper will not deal with narratives or personhood, but centre persistence in greater detail and incidentally engage with epistemic concerns investigating criterions of identity. It will also approach the subject in examining motif origins of participating theories, as this perspective makes the most obvious distinctions.
Descartes’ philosophical account gives a solution according to his dualistic view on human nature in which mind and body are distinct from one another – mental and physical substances respectively. According to him, the personal identity or ‘self’ is a mental substance added to a physical or bodily substance constituting the so-called ‘entire self.’ Descartes’ view embraces changes as long as the non-physical substance remains the same. Hence his account of a persisting self does not involve any problems with change going hand-in-hand with sameness. Hume criticises this view in presenting the self as a fiction created by philosophers in attempt to bridge the gaps such theories leave behind. Descartes’ process of finding a resolution to the problem of personal identity is classified as being a rationalist’s approach, as he is convinced that knowledge about the external world can be gained through rational reasoning.
John Locke, in contrast, offers an empiricist point of view. Observation and experience reconciled in consciousness and self-consciousness are the foundations for knowledge in his philosophy. He introduces memory as being the key criterion to manifest persistence of a person over time. Locke’s theory is therefore summarised in an analogy of a flux ‘stream of consciousness,’ uniting experiences and memory in a continuous self-awareness. Various criticisms have been contrasted to this view. The simplest, but most striking counter-argument is how human dispositions of forgetfulness are combinable with such an approach. What impact would a lack of memory have, even if it is only a certain period of time one cannot remember? Would this inevitably lead to a loss of personal identity? Such questions reduce the plausibility of Locke’s account and expose inconsistencies in his ideas.
It seems as if what fundamentally distinguishes the abovementioned approaches to personal identity is the philosophical stance from which they emerge: their mutual belief in personal identity and its persistence over time. Problematic of each account is their undeniable refutability.
Hume and Locke, in contrast to Descartes, investigate human nature from an ant’s or empiricist’s point of view – and both of them reject the self as being a distinct substance persisting over time. But Hume’s account of personal identity seems to approach the subject in a more naïve, or ‘observing’ manner than does Locke’s. In contrast to Locke, Hume tries to follow and understand psychological habits of human beings before trying to resolve them. In this connection he is predominantly interested in analysing what he calls ‘the vulgar,’ meaning the ‘non-philosophical’ people. Hume claims linguistic consent to be flawed in calling persons ‘the same’ who are inevitably subject to essential changes in body and mind over time. He therefore does not take ascription of identity to persons for granted, but rather suspects a ‘metaphysical-cum-semantic’ issue in doing so. He nevertheless acknowledges that non-philosophical people seem to be aware of the fact that those habits are not accurate (viz. not justifiable) in relation to the concept of numerical identity. Hence, even in the common view, the concept of numerical identity or sameness excluded changes and is constituted by unchanging, uninterrupted, and stable characteristics. Hume argues, regardless to how complex a possible solution to the notion of a persisting identity might be, that this distinct substance of the ‘self’ is a gap-filling fiction.
Hume suggests the self is ‘nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement.’ Hume compares the mind to a theatre upon whose stage we are observing perceptions and experiences like scenery and actors. Our imagination, nevertheless, fools us into conceiving a single entity, despite having no perception from which we might draw onto the mind or the self. Explicitly stressed in this notion of a ‘succession of related objects’ is the significance of sentiments as being the cause for calling things identical. Hume attends to this matter because he finds that sensations towards an imagination of identity are similar to those perceived towards a succession of objects. He considers memories to take over an essential part in creating personal identity, but avoids the problem of forgetfulness in declaring causality to be the connection allowing us to ‘extend identity beyond memory.’
Similar to the other presented theories, Hume’s account on personal identity is subject to criticism. What is special about his argument is that he himself feels the need to acknowledge a contradiction for which he can provide no answer: the origin of his idea that each perception is a distinct entity. One response to this issue is that Hume cannot help but espouse the common belief that there are connections between distinct experiences which are neither traceable nor tangible through introspection. This would explain his usage of words describing instances beyond mere perceptions such as ‘mind’, ‘self’, and ‘soul’. It seems as though concepts of these entities serve to construct an idea of connections between perceptions regarding identity where, according to Hume’s original notion, there are none. Pike offers an apology to this criticism in claiming Hume’s theory is an analysis of the mind. Despite opponent interpretations of Hume entirely denying the notion of mind, Pike argues that Hume bundle of perceptions constitutes a conceptual mind. On this notion, what Hume denies is the philosophical idea of the mind as a mental substance; and this in turn would be in accordance with his use of such terms as ‘mind’ and ‘self’.
So far provided insight in the debate about personal identity exposes the problem of reconciling variables in the criterion for existence, psychological fundaments, and continuity of personal identity. What distinguishes Hume’s account is his high level of naivety with which he begins his inquiry. The subject of personal identity (as well as his other investigations into human nature) changes Hume’s stance noticeably from a naturalist origin to a rather sceptical outlook. Though starting his exploration with a tendency to argue in favour of accepting and trusting one’s natural intuitions, Hume finishes in acknowledging that he does not feel that he should trust his own senses. Although these doubts may have been cornerstones in presenting personal identity over time as irresolvable, Hume changes sway towards the end of his inquiry in establishing ‘a system or set of opinions, which if not true (for that, perhaps, is too much to be hoped for), might at least be satisfactory to the human mind, and might stand the test of the most critical examination.’ In other words – returning to the original question – he is appealing to a consistent and plausible account for what constitutes persistence in personal identity over time, based in ‘vulgar’ or ‘common’ notions. This essay forwards the thesis that he succeeds in observing and plausibly describing underlying patterns of attributing identity to individual persons. Doubts concerning his account could be seen as capitulations to the belief in personal persistence regardless of rational commitments elsewhere. Finally, he allows common intuitions and linguistic practices to suffice as justification in the belief in personal identity over time, when saying that he allows himself to follow his natural inclination even in philosophical investigation.
To summarise, then, the essay on hand presents an argumentation in favour of the plausibility of Hume’s account on personal identity. Plausibility appeals to the degree of intelligibility of a claim rather than its infallibility and unfailing justification. Hume approaches the preliminary human phenomenon of personal identity on what he considers to be the very basis of its appearance: common linguistic habits and notions. His account establishes itself in contrast to views that proffer the self as a mental substance, or those which place memory as a key factor in persistence, in not giving a definite answer. On the basis of his inspection he describes his findings and subsequently reconciles them with other facts regarding individuals. This results in his argument considering only the metaphysical criterion of identity, though this is nevertheless plausible if not justified in being commonly accepted. His self-criticism is accounted here to emphasise the authenticity of his theory, as it confronts natural human inclination with philosophical accuracy. The essay on hand has dealt with perniciousness and probable ambiguities of the subject, as well as contemporary views on Descartes and Locke and their respective limitations. Restrictions to Hume’s theory are sustainably annihilated and moreover reverted to strengthen the goal of his mission. Hume’s theory is intuitive and intelligible, and restricted only in his natural identification with human nature.
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Kjetil K. Haugen
Molde University College
Let us imagine the following experiment. All modern computers, phones and tablets are equipped with a graphics card and a screen. Such a screen consists of thousands of pixels, each of which assumes one of the millions of colors in the color spectrum to create an image. If, as most are, the device is equipped also with an operating system (OS), a programmer may control the screen’s color output. Given this setup, assume we write the following simple computer program: For each pixel the screen, loop through all possible color combinations of all available colors for all pixels. In other words, Produce every possible combination of pixels.
This should be a relatively easy program to write. Even with my programming skills having long left me, I am sure that I would be able to achieve it. I have not done it, however. Why? Because I have not the time; such a program would have to present trillions upon trillions of combinations before it was finished. Thinking on the output and consequences, however, is more feasible. Even for a lazy old professor like myself.
What would happen as a result of this program’s execution is simple to foresee. Suppose a further program has enhanced the human mind to sort through all the possible pixel combinations in a blink of an eye, allowing us to eliminate the issue of time. As we performed a full enumeration, we would soon come to the realisation that the program has produced every possible, imaginable image conceivable to the human eye. Somewhere among the program’s immeasurable combinations you would catch images of your own birth, of Hitler using the bathroom, and even those of Jesus and Abraham, though you would of course have problems identifying them.
If we were to take the experiment one step further and add another out loop, collecting all possible sequences of still images and merging them to make movies, the reality runs as previously: with all possible moving images being generated. You could witness the Battle of Hastings in sparking 4K resolution.
Of course the problem with this is that the program would produce all possible images, not only images that have or have yet to occur. The program would generate every feasible occurrence, every slight nuance of reality, from the perspective of any simulated agent around the universe. Any images portraying true events would be a grain of truth buried beneath a world of falsehood. Or would they? This thought experiment raises the important question of what would make these images ‘truthful.’ Could the qualification be that they portray images of events that have actually happened, and if so how could we verify this? If we were to witness a scene of Marie Antoinette sipping at a glass of wine, could we claim any sort of truth about the image? It is unlikely that it would correspond with any visual data received by an agent alive at the time, but—even then—what if it did? Even if we were able to liken the present images to those experienced by real-life witnesses, the said agent’s memories would have long passed into nothing, into nonexistence. How could we regard these images with any notion of truth? It would be interesting to view images of familiar objects performing unfamiliar tasks, but what uses could such a gargantuan archive of visual date have?
These considerations are still somewhat obviated by the aforementioned time constraints. Even though modern computing devices are astonishingly fast and consistently getting faster, the time needed on a single computer would be entirely intractable. But if we were able to utilise all available computing power, that of all the billions of computers in existence, we must at very least be able to create a few images of interest. So, why not? I am sure some youngster out there could write the program and arrange some efficient distribution mechanism making us all a part of this great experiment. I leave it to you.