Argumentation and Reasoned Action Proceedings of the 1st European Conference on Argumentation, Lisbon 2015 Volume I Edited by Dima Mohammed and Marcin Lewiński © Individual author and College Publications 2016 All rights reserved. ISBN 978-1-84890-211-4 College Publications Scientific Director: Dov Gabbay Managing Director: Jane Spurr http://www.collegepublications.co.uk Original cover design by Orchid Creative www.orchidcreative.co.uk Printed by Lightning Source, Milton Keynes, UK All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission, in writing, from the publisher. D.	Mohammed	&	M.	Lewiński	(eds.)	(2016).	Argumentation	and	Reasoned	Action:	Proceedings	of	the	1st European	Conference	on	Argumentation,	Lisbon,	2015.	Vol.	I,	615-630.	London:	College	Publications. 615 27 Argumentatively	Evil	Storytelling GILBERT	PLUMER Law	School	Admission	Council	(retired),	USA plumerge@gmail.com What can make storytelling "evil" in the sense that the storytelling	leads	to	accepting	a	view	for	no	good	reason,	thus allowing ill-reasoned action? I mean the storytelling can be argumentatively	evil,	not	trivially	that	(e.g.)	the	overt	speeches of	characters	can	include	bad	arguments.	My	thesis	is	that	for fictional	narratives, the shorter the	narrative, the	greater the potential for argumentative evil. In other argumentative contexts, length generally appears to make no comparable difference. KEYWORDS: advertisements, anecdotal arguments, believability, fables, narrative argument, parables, thought experiments,	transcendental	argument,	truth	in	fiction 1.	INTRODUCTION What	can	make	storytelling	"evil"	in	the	sense	that	the	storytelling	leads to accepting a view or	message for no good reason, thus allowing illreasoned	action?	The	general	idea	that	storytelling	can	have	pernicious effects on practical reasoning goes back, of course, at least as far as Plato.	My	point is that the	storytelling	can	be	argumentatively	evil,	not trivially that (e.g.) the overt speeches of characters can include bad arguments. The storytelling can be argumentatively evil in that it purveys false premises, or purveys reasoning that is formally or informally fallacious. The	main thesis of this paper is that there is an aspect involving the very form of fictional narratives, namely, their length, that can distinctively allow a narrative to be evil in the sense indicated.	As a rule, the shorter the fictional	narrative, the greater the potential for argumentative evil. Here, the notion of length is to be understood	such	that it is	generally	a	proxy for	more	abstract features such as how complex and nuanced the piece is. In argumentative contexts	other	than	those	involving	fictional	narrative,	length	generally Gilbert	Plumer 616 appears to make no comparable difference. This feature would put fictional narrative arguments in a special class beyond what is determined	by	obvious	features,	such	as	the	definitional	fact	that	they	in some way(s) collapse two of the four traditional types of discourse: exposition, description, narration, and argument. The nonobvious features that distinguish this class have been a source of puzzlement and	inquiry	(e.g.,	Schultz,	1979;	Plumer,	2011;	Govier	&	Ayers,	2012). 2.	SHORT	FICTIONS If you	place the	various	major	kinds	of fictional	narratives	on	a length continuum,	on	one	end	you	get	advertisements	and	jokes	that	include	a brief	fabricated	story,	as	well	as	short	fables	and	parables;	novels	lie	at the other end, with short stories, films, and plays somewhere more toward the middle. Storytelling poems can lie anywhere on the continuum, but they seem assimilable to other kinds of fictional narratives	with	respect	to	argumentative	potential.	However,	narrative "thought	experiments"	appear	to	be	in	a	class	by	themselves,	as	we	will see. A piece anywhere on the continuum is a "story" in the minimalist	sense	of	being	a	perspectival	or	selective	depiction	of	at	least two temporally-related events in a further nonlogical (e.g., causal) relationship (adapted from	Lamarque,	2004;	cf., e.g.,	Walton,	2012,	pp. 191	&	199).	A	piece anywhere	on the continuum is fictional in that at least some of what is depicted is not supposed to be true. A piece anywhere	on	the	continuum	can	have	affective	and	persuasive	force.	So, what distinguishes pieces on the short end of the stick, so to speak (other	than	their	word	count)? One feature that such ads, jokes, fables, and parables have in common is that they	have	a	point	or	message,	seemingly	by	definition, and	so	are	in	that	(possibly	weak)	way	argumentative.	Indeed,	it	is	hard to	see	what	their	raison	d'etre	would	be	without	a	point	or	message,	in contrast to longer fictional narratives, which instead typically have substantial plot and character development, and fine descriptions ("word	paintings")	of	the	natural	or	artificial	world.	Ads	try	to	influence you	to	buy	or	do	something.	To	"get"	a	joke	is	to	grasp	its	point.	There	is a	bit	of	contention	about	this	regarding	fables	and	parables,	but	it	only concerns	whether	the	point	or	message	has	to	be	implicit.	For	example, Govier & Ayers appear to be inclined to accept the view that in the western tradition, "a fable comes with 'the moral of the story' stated right there,	whereas...a	parable	must	have	an implicit	message" (2012, p.	173).	In	contrast,	Hunt	maintains,	"both	historically	and	conceptually, that explicitly stating the point of a story is not necessary to a story's Argumentatively	evil	storytelling. 617 being	a	fable"	(2009,	p.	381).	However,	it	does	seem	that	longer	fictional narratives	need	not	have	a	point,	whether	implicit	or	explicit-consider the	recent	U.S.	television	series	Lost	and	perhaps	James	Joyce's	Ulysses- and	even	that they	are less literary if they	do	have	a	point	or	moralize (cf.	Hunt,	p.	382).	"A	novel	or	theater	piece	need	not	reach	a	conclusion or even seem to approach one" (Velleman, 2003, p. 10). Currie (2010, pp.	34-35)	offers	a	kind	of	explanation	of	this	difference.	He	says	that	if you are distinguishing narrative from something on the order of mathematical physics, no doubt parables and the like count as narratives. But if you	have in	mind something on the order of a short story	or	novel,	you	might	distinguish	narratives from	parables	and	the like,	because	the	latter	"have	generalizing	tendencies	that	do	not	fit	well with	the	particularizing,	sequential	aspirations	of	narrative." Before	developing some	of these ideas further, let	us	put some illustrations	on	the	table.	Here	is	an	example	of	an	ad	(from	television): Copy and gist from: Think small. The story of those Vehicle ads, by Frank Rowsome, Jr., 1970, pg. 116-7. The company name is changed here. Visual description more or less by: Shazam	(Suzanne). ___________________________________________________ [Dark snowy early morning in country, view is of outdoors through the front windshield of a car. The car's headlights illuminate the falling snow, and the drifts of it, along the untracked, winding, uphill way, and you can see, in passing, snow	laden	pine	and	fir	branches,	bent	under	the	weight	of	the snow. The only sound throughout: the purring of the car's engine.	This	trip	takes	some	time.] [Then the headlights hit and pass a...building, the driver turning the car	by it.	The car gets	parked: the	headlights are turned off. A big door of the building soon opens and a powerful snowplow rolls past our view as the ANNOUNCER begins.] ANNOUNCER Have you ever wondered how the man who drives the snowplow	drives	to	the	snowplow?	This	one	drives	a	Vehicle. So	you	can	stop	wondering. _____________________________________________________ Note:	This	commercial	was	so	popular	in	Florida	and	Southern California	that	some	stations	played	it	over	and	over	again	due to	audience	requests. Gilbert	Plumer 618 (http://reocities.com/tvtranscripts/comm/commcar.htm; accessed on 9 Feb.	2015).	Here	is	an	example	of	a	fable	(from	Aesop): The	Eagle	and	the	Arrow An	Eagle	was	soaring	through	the	air	when	suddenly	it	heard the	whizz	of	an	Arrow,	and	felt	itself	wounded	to	death.	Slowly it	fluttered	down	to	the	earth,	with	its	life-blood	pouring	out	of it. Looking down upon the Arrow with which it had been pierced, it found that the shaft of the Arrow had been feathered with one of its own plumes. "Alas!" it cried, as it died, "we often give our enemies the means for our own destruction." (http://www.aesopfables.com/cgi/aesop1.cgi?1&TheEagleandtheArrow2; accessed	on	15	Feb.	2015).	And	finally,	a	Ramakrishna	parable: WHAT	YOU	ARE	AFTER,	IS	WITHIN	YOURSELF A	MAN	wanted a smoke. He	went to a neighbour's house to light	his	charcoal. It	was	the	dead	of	night	and	the	household was	asleep.	After	he	had	knocked	a	great	deal,	someone	came down to	open the	door.	At sight	of the	man	he	asked, "Hello! What's the	matter?" The	man replied, "Can't you guess? You know	how	fond	I	am	of	smoking.	I	have	come	here	to	light	my charcoal." The neighbour said, "Ha! Ha! You are a fine man indeed!	You	took	the	trouble	to	come	and	do	all	this	knocking at	the	door!	Why,	you	have	a	lighted	lantern	in	your	hand!" What a man seeks is very near him. Still he wanders about from	place	to	place. (p.	350	of	a	PDF	book,	Tales	and	Parables	of	Sri	Ramakrishna,	at: http://www.archive.org/details/TalesAndParablesOfSriRamakrishna; accessed	on	9	Feb.	2015.) Velleman (2003) develops the minimalist sense of a story or narrative mentioned above in such a way that it leads to one explanation of how storytelling can be argumentatively evil. As a necessary	condition	for	being	a	story,	he	adds:	"reliably	producing	in	the audience some emotional resolution" (p. 7, cf. 17). Some examples he gives	of	such	resolution	are	anxiety	relieved,	hope	dashed,	and	laughter (for	jokes)	(p.	7). He	uses	this	theoretical	addition	to	good	effect	(pp.	34)	to	explain	how	Aristotle's	case	of	Mitys	at	Argos	can	be	regarded	as	a story, even though the relationship between the events is not causal. Mitys	was	murdered.	Later,	while	attending	a	"public	spectacle,"	Mitys' murderer	was	killed	when	a statue	of	Mitys	happened to fall	down	on him (Poetics 9.1452). Aristotle struggled to elucidate how this case Argumentatively	evil	storytelling. 619 could be a story; Velleman proposes that it is notably because "the sequence	of	events	completes	an	emotional	cadence	in	the	audience"	of "indignation	gratified."	Velleman	argues	that	the	trouble	is	that	through experiencing a story's emotional resolution, events become understandable to an audience not through assimilation to "familiar patterns of how things happen, but rather to familiar patterns of how things feel"	(p.	19).	The latter,	subjective	understanding	can	easily	give us	a	false	sense	of	objective	understanding,	so	skepticism	about	what	a story	claims	or	about	its	message	might	be	mistakenly	dispelled.	Hence, "telling	a	story	is	often	a	means	to	being	believed	for	no	good	reason"	(p. 22),	thereby	introducing	argumentative	evil. Velleman's theory appears to apply nicely to the examples quoted above. Certainly, at least curiosity satisfied plays a role in the vivid "Vehicle" commercial by the time the announcer's voiceover is reached and suggests a generalization.	The	Aesop fable closes	with an explanation/generalization	that	is	a	surprise	ending	to	a life-and-death tale. The Ramakrishna parable involves a breathtaking generalization leap, as well as some humor. However, it is not at all clear that the theory	applies	to	longer	literary	genres	where	the	piece	does	not	have	a succinct	point,	message,	moral,	or	conclusion-for	these	are	what	pack the punch or drive the "emotional resolution." One may of course engage	emotionally	with	the	meaning	of	a	piece	of	substantial	literature such	as	a	play	or	novel,	but	to	the	extent	that	its	meaning	is	complex	or nuanced, it is unlikely that there will be any definitive-let alone global-emotional	resolution	(hence	there	may	be	a	sequel	that	simply continues	the	story).	About	such	genres	Velleman	says	"they	tend	to	be described as genres of narrative by extension" (p. 17; cf. 10), but it is more plausible to hold that as a theory of all narrative, his theory overreaches.	If	anything,	it	is	the	shortest	genres	that	are	narratives	by extension,	as	Currie	suggests	above.	So,	I	think	we	see	here	one	way	in which	shorter	narratives	have	a	greater	potential	for	argumentative	evil than	longer	ones. In his discussion, Velleman does not distinguish between fictional and nonfictional narration, but on his own theory you	would think that the potential for argumentative evil is less for nonfictional narration since by definition it aims at veracity or telling how things actually happened. The proper purpose of any nonfictional narrative argument is to be sound in the respect of having true premises, in contrast	to	the	generalizing	ad,	fable,	and	parable	fictions	quoted	above, for	example. Gilbert	Plumer 620 3.	BELIEVABILITY On the continuum of fictional narrative, if you move in the direction from ads to novels, an interesting feature seems to be that-not immediately but somewhere fairly early on-believability becomes a central	criterion	of	assessment. Is the	piece	successful "make-believe"? This question hardly pertains to shorter fictional narratives; it is not really the "game" in play or an appropriate standard to apply. Rather, such narratives aim at being charming or arresting, and especially at being	moving	through	the	emotional	resolution	packed	by	their	point	or message. But whatever they aim at, it seems that the question of believability must be bracketed or suspended for shorter fictional narratives	essentially	because	there	is	too	little	room	provided	in	such	a piece	to	adequately	test	out	the	hypothesis	that	it	is	believable. I don't	mean "believability" in the sense that artifices of	magic such as talking animals or objects, as are common in fables, would preclude it. For short genres, these are established conventions of expedience and other purposes (see Olmos, 2014); there is no presumption	that	the	author	should	even	acknowledge	deviations	from accepted science, let alone try to explain or invent any underlying physics. In contrast, there is this presumption for extended science fiction or fantasy narratives, and if they do not conform to our most fundamental shared assumptions about physical reality, their believability in the intended sense is indeed called into question (a possible	example is	H.	P.	Lovecraft's	novella	The	Call	of	Cthulhu).	More generally,	believability	seems	to	be	determined	mostly	by	what	can	be called	the	"internal"	and	"external"	coherence	of	the	event	complex	of	an extended fictional narrative. I take Schultz (1979, p. 233) to be succinctly explicating internal coherence where he says: "the events must	be	motivated	in	terms	of	one	another...either	one	event	is	a	causal (or otherwise probable) consequence of another; or some event's happening provides a character with a reason or motive for making another	event	happen"	(cf.,	e.g.,	Cebik,	1971,	p.	16).	The	narrative	is	not believable	if	in	it	things	keep	happening	for	no	apparent	reason	or	in	a way that is inadequately connected with the other events in the narrative.	Certainly, this	applies to	some	degree to	William	Burroughs' Naked	Lunch,	for	example.	Such	"real"	connections	of	efficient,	final,	and material causes (using Aristotle's terminology), and any probabilistic counterparts,	are	required.	You	could	not	construct	a	coherent	novel	or play	from	a	random	series	of	events	or	even	from	bolts	of	cosmic	justice, like	the	one	we	saw	in	the	pithy	Mitys	story. But even if the events of a narrative are fully connected, the narrative	may	still	not	be	believable	because those	connections	do	not Argumentatively	evil	storytelling. 621 cohere well with our widely shared basic assumptions about how human	psychology	and	society	not	only	actually,	but	necessarily	work. This is the	main	component	of	external	coherence.	The	believability	of an	extended	fictional	narrative	requires	that	its	plot,	characters,	and	fine description be developed in ways that generally conform to our fundamental shared assumptions about human nature (Max Beerbohm's	Zuleika	Dobson	seems	to	fully	recognize	this	requirement	in its intentional violation of it1), and secondarily, about physical nature (as	noted). Of course, the believability of an extended fictional narrative does not involve believing that its event complex is true; rather, it involves believing that the event complex could have been true in a strong	sense	of	"could"-much	stronger,	for	example,	than	that	of	mere logical	possibility.	The	possibilities that the	narrative	evokes, if it is to be believable,	must be grounded in "real" event relations and in basic perceived facts of human nature. And as the narrative progresses in developing	a theme(s), the	possibilities evoked	must	be salient in that they are thematically relevant. But the shorter the fictional narrative, the closer the possibilities come to being	mere logical possibilities. In the shortest, there is almost	no	plot	or character	development, or fine description. So there is no way to tell if the narrative is significantly internally	or	externally	coherent.2 It seems that generally, believability is experienced by the audience as a simple, unanalyzed datum or	measure of the narrative, continuously	updated	as	the	audience	progresses	through	the	work	and imaginatively engages	with it. And, as	Aristotle said about judging the 1Consider this description of the novel: "...an ironic fantasy of Oxford undergraduate life	a	100	or	so	years	ago.	The	characters'	speech	and	motives are	absurd	in	about	equal	measure,	but	one	would	be	missing	the	point	to	hold this against the work. For the author is plainly not seeking psychological verisimilitude...The interest of the	work is essentially that of a tour de force: how long can the author retain our interest while so consciously eschewing psychological	plausibility?"	(Currie,	2012,	p.	29	&	n.	7). 2Being	believable	does	not	mean	that	something	is	on	its	way	to	being	believed, for	that	path	is	never	taken	for	something	you	know	to	be	fiction.	With	respect to fictional	stories, internal	and	external	coherence	constitute	more	or less	all there is to	believability;	with	respect	to	nonfictional	stories,	belief	may	be	the only	thing	there	is	to	believability	(possibility	is	logically	implied	by	actuality). Hence, it is problematic to analyze "believability" ("credibility," "plausibility") indifferently	as	it	pertains	to	these	two	story	domains,	as	do	Fisher	(1987)	and Olmos	(2013;	2015). Gilbert	Plumer 622 happiness	of	a	person,	you	do	not	know	for	sure	about	believability	until you	reach	the	narrative's	end. Just as we can always ask about an extended fictional narrative-is	it	successful	"make-believe"?-it	seems	we	can	ask	about any believable plot/character development complex-what principles or generalizations	would have to operate in the real	world (of human psychology, action, and society), as we conceive it, in order for the fictional	complex	to	be	believable?	With	this	question,	a	transcendental argument scheme is generated that is "ambitious" (vs. "modest"-see Stern,	2007)	if	we	presume	that	our	fundamental	shared	conceptions	of human	nature	are	generally	true: (1)	This	story	is	believable. (2)	This story is	believable	only if such	and	such	principles	operate in the	real	world	(of	human	psychology,	action,	and	society). (3)	Therefore,	such	and	such	principles	operate	in	the	real	world. I have argued elsewhere (2015), on both philosophical and empirical grounds,	that	our	fundamental	shared	conceptions	of	human	nature	are generally true. Let	me just summarize the philosophical reasons here. No doubt in certain cases I may find a work of extended fictional narration	believable,	whereas	you	do	not.	But it	seems	that	there is	no wholesale relativity of believability because there is such a thing as human nature, which we all share and to which we have significant introspective or "privileged" access, or at least psychological attunement.3	The	believable	narrative	taps	into	and	relies	on	these	facts, bringing	operant	principles	to	the	fore-which	allows	it	to	function	as	a perfectly effective psychological "trigger" (cf. Gaiman, 2015, p. xiii). If this	general	idea	were	not	true,	then	it	would	be	pretty	inexplicable	that there	is	widespread	agreement	about	which	novels	are	good	novels,	for example. Being believable is a central necessary condition for an extended fictional narrative to be good. So in the transcendental argument, the leap from the inner to outer worlds is limited and facilitated.	The	leap	is	from	our	psychological	experience	of	believability of the narrative to the real world of human psychology, action, and society-which is the primary subject	matter of all extended fictional 3A recent influential article on introspection (Schwitzgebel, 2008)	poses little threat	to	my	points	here	concerning	human	nature	and	its	operant	principles, because	the	focus	of	the	article	is	on	the	untrustworthiness	of	introspection	of immediate conscious experience.	Differences among readers in the perceived believability of a novel may be largely attributable to relatively extraneous factors, such as the setting of the novel. For example, if I could get past the fantastic details of Tolkein's trilogy, I think I could better appreciate these novels	as	implicating	truths	of	human	nature. Argumentatively	evil	storytelling. 623 narratives.	This	subject	matter is	basically	human	nature, I take	it.	The inner	and	outer	worlds	of the	narrative	argument	are significantly the same; it	is	not	as	if	the	worlds	are	distinct	as,	for	example,	thought	and	a brain in a vat, as in Putnam's memorable transcendental argument (1981, Ch. 1). And, as Nagel (1979, Ch. 12) forcefully argued, because after	all	we	are	human,	we	know	what	it	is	like	to	be	human	in	a	way	we do	not	know	what	it	is	like	to	have	a	different	nature,	such	as	a	bat's	(and perceive	the	world	primarily	through	echolocation,	be	capable	of	flying, etc.). Such philosophical considerations indicate that the principles evoked in the narrative argument resonate in believability largely because	they	are	true	of	human	nature. As	we've seen, storytelling ads and jokes, and short fables and parables, may be charming or arresting. But this affective appeal especially allows them also to be seductive and possibly misleading since	they	have	a	point	or	message.	One	can	be	seduced	into	accepting the	message	for	no	good	reason	and	acting	on	it, for	instance,	buying	a "Vehicle" even though you live in Florida. My key point is that such perniciousness does not apply to longer fictional narratives that are believable, insofar as believability implicates truths of human nature, even though longer fictional	narratives in	some	ways	have	as	much	or more affective appeal. Only fictional narratives that are believable exhibit (indirectly, and as wholes) the distinctive narrative argument form	outlined	above.	This	form	is	not	only	valid	but	is	in	a	certain	way probabilistically sound. (1)-(3) constitute a schematic meta-level representation of the (transcendental) argument of a believable story, which, at the object level, is only indirectly expressed	by the story.	At the	object	level,	given	that	premise	(1)	is	true	and	that	our	fundamental shared	conceptions	of	human	nature	are	generally	true, the	conclusion (3) is	unlikely to	be	mistaken.	However,	at the interpretive	meta-level, perhaps especially where the literary critic attempts to directly state which specific truths of human nature are implicated (i.e., flesh out premise (2)), no doubt errors may be committed. Nevertheless, this interpretive	enterprise	is	worth	pursuing,	for	it	articulates,	insofar	as	it is	successful,	the	narrative's	contribution	to	human	knowledge.	Through the	transcendental	argument	and	the	"work"	of	progressing	through	the narrative, true	assumptions	or	conceptions	held	by	the	audience	about human	nature	become	justified	true	beliefs. Thus, as compared to shorter fictional narratives, longer ones that are believable have less potential for argumentative evil in the respect that their believability generates a good transcendental argument. This is not to deny that there are other respects in which extended fictional narratives, whether believable or not, may be evil. Some of these respects have nothing to do with argument, and some Gilbert	Plumer 624 arise	because	the	overt	speeches	of	characters	include	bad	arguments- which,	recall, is	not	a	concern	of	this	paper.	Consider	the	novels	of	The Marquis de Sade or Ayn Rand. But it is not my intention that my believability cum transcendental-argument theory be immune to possible	counterexample.	Take,	for	instance,	the	1940	Nazi	propaganda film	Jud	Süss	or	even	perhaps	Sinclair	Lewis'	Babbitt.	Both	succeeded	in turning	large	numbers	against	certain	classes	of	people	(Jews	and	smalltown businessmen, respectively). A case strong enough to raise questions can be	made that these	works are believable. Yet there are possible answers. One is that their objectionable stances themselves (anti	Semitism,	anti	small-town	businessmen)	are	far	too	specific	to	be fundamental	principles	of	human	nature,	and	another	is	that	there	is	no guarantee that fundamental principles of human nature	will be pretty (e.g., if	we	have	an	innate	proclivity	to	violence).	My	theory	(if	correct) would	show	that	a	believable	narrative	must	be	right	about	most	of	the principles it depends on, but it does not preclude that the aim of the narrative nevertheless could be to lead people to false and harmful conclusions	about	whole	classes	of	people,	albeit	conclusions	that	do	not rise to the level of principles. Perhaps a more intractable kind of criticism	would	be	constituted	by	an	accumulation	of	putative	empirical counterexamples to my subsidiary thesis that our basic shared conceptions of human nature are generally true, though I have addressed	this	issue	elsewhere	(2015). In	any	case,	some	of	the	preceding	ideas	have	been	delightfully, although less formally, expressed by Doody (2009, pp. 155-157). It is worth	giving	her	some	room: Fiction knows that fable packs the punch, has the charge it wants.	At	the	same	time,	the	prose	fiction	novel	knows	that	the fable lacks what the Novel always wants to offer-full characterization	and	length...	"This	is	all	you	need	to	know,	for my	point," says the	philosopher,	brusquely finishing	his fable so he can get on with the job. "Wait, wait," cries the Novel. "This	is	the	job!	I	want	to	know	more	and	I	don't	care	so	much about	your	point.	For	your	point	might	not	be	true	if	we	knew more. Let us test it by amplifcatio."...No parable is safe...We know the story of the Prodigal Son... "But," says the Novel, "that's	a	great	story,	but I	want to	know	more.	What	was the father like? Was there something about him that made the second	son	want	to	leave?	Suppose	the	first	son's	jealousy	had existed for a long time,	not just at the	homecoming. Suppose that son had turned the father against his brother, so the brother lit out and sought affection among the prostitutes?" And so Henry Fielding writes the whole story anew in Tom Argumentatively	evil	storytelling. 625 Jones,	the	story	of	the	wronged	Prodigious	Son	and	the	father who	must	in	the	end	seek	forgiveness. 4.	OTHER	(IL)LOGIC	OF	SHORT	FICTIONS In contrast to believable fictions, storytelling ads, jokes, fables, and parables, to the extent that they are argumentative, do not exhibit a distinctive	narrative	argument form,	but	rather	exhibit	standard forms such as argument from analogy and inductive generalization. At least partly because of the heavy reliance of such arguments on affective appeal when expressed by such fictional narratives, unsurprisingly, Govier	&	Ayers (2012, p. 188) found that these "arguments are rarely cogent,"	and	(echoing	Velleman)	"the	form	and	interest	of	the	story	will often distract us from attempting any task of logical assessment." For example, they	point	out that the	parable	above,	What	You	are	After, is Within Yourself, taken as an argument, involves "hastily generalizing from	the	highly	specific	situation	of	a	man	wandering	about	in	the	dark, with a lighted lantern, to a universal human quest" (p. 178). Not to mention, let us not forget, the single instance on which the generalization	is	based	is	fictional. Similarly, the conclusion in The Eagle and the Arrow that "we often	give	our	enemies the	means for	our	own	destruction," taking	the fable	as	an	argument,	is	an	unjustified	leap,	although	it	is	more	guarded. Understood as an argument, the fable seems best understood as an argument from analogy. Certainly, the source and target domains are distinct but parallel4-the fabulous world of talking and reasoning animals, and the human world, respectively. The use of an eagle in particular, might allude to a human type or stereotype (a smart and successful	but	overly	trusting	"high-flyer")	particularly	subject	to	such	a plight. The case seems to fit Hunt's (2009) analysis of fabulous arguments	from	analogy:	they	have	a	"first	case/principle/second	case" structure,	where	the	principle	is	in	Peircean	fashion	"abduced"	from	the first	case	(the	eagle's	plight)-the	principle	"is	supported	to	the	extent that	it	is	a	good	explanation	of	the	first	case."	The	second	case,	however, is deduced from the principle (p. 373); it is how readers apply the principle "to guide their own moral conduct or persuade others" (p. 379)-as	one	might	think,	"I	better	be	careful	or	there is	a	real	chance that	I	could	inadvertently	help	my	rivals	by..." 4For	the	importance	in	drawing	an	analogy	of	having	two	such	domains	and	not merely a similarity relationship, see Perelman & Olbrechts-Tyteca (1958, p. 502),	Beardsley	(1975,	p.	111),	and	Olmos	(2014). Gilbert	Plumer 626 Literally and technically, such analyses indicating the specific illogic of short fictions appear to be correct. However, it must be acknowledged that audiences often take these fictions to be merely suggestive,	and	not	dispositive,	of	their	generalizations	or	explanations. In other	words, audiences often do not take them to be arguments. It nevertheless remains that when they are understood as arguments, their potential for argumentative evil is generally greater than for believable fictions. And this potential is perhaps greatest for children and	mentally	challenged	adults. 5.	NARRATIVE	THOUGHT	EXPERIMENTS Thought experiments are designed to yield insight. There are many kinds of thought experiments. In perhaps the simplest of taxonomies, Popper	(1959,	p.	443)	identifies	three	uses	of	"imaginary	experiments"; they	may	be	used	to	illustrate,	support,	or	undermine	a	theory	(what	he calls their "heuristic...apologetic...critical" uses). Thought experiments are all fictional in that a hypothetical or counterfactual situation is visualized or somehow imagined in experience. However, in many thought experiments, storytelling or narrative is not prominent; they are not especially perspectival and "particularizing, sequential" depictions of events. Scientific thought experiments are characteristically in this way non-narrative, for example, Galileo's famous	Pisa-type	one	where	he	disproves	the	Aristotelian	view	that	the heavier the object, the faster it falls. On the other hand, narrative thought experiments, like all fictional narratives, are ultimately about human	psychology,	action,	and	society. How do narrative thought experiments otherwise compare to other	fictional	narratives?	Again,	length	appears	to	play	a	critical	role	in allowing	a	cogent	argument,	but	in	a	different	way.	The	most	successful narrative thought experiments appear to present an extended and relevant point-by-point analogue of whatever problem is at issue. Thomson's violinist in her paper "A Defense of Abortion" (1971) is paradigmatic.	Walton	(2012,	p.	199)	presents	a	convenient	summary	of her	core	source	and	target	"stories": 1.	Person	finds	himself	attached	to	famous	violinist. 2.	Person	had	no	choice	about	this	arrangement. 3.	Having	violinist	attached	is	an	encumbrance	to	person. 4.	Having	violinist	attached	will	hinder	person's	daily activities. 5.	Violinist	will	die	if	removed	from	person. Argumentatively	evil	storytelling. 627 6.	Violinist	can	only	survive	if	attached	to	person	for	nine months. 7.	Person	can	make	a	choice	about	removing	violinist... 1.	Woman	who	has	been	raped	finds	herself	pregnant. 2.	Woman	had	no	choice	about	becoming	pregnant. 3.	Being	pregnant	is	an	encumbrance	to	woman. 4.	Being	pregnant	will	hinder	woman's	daily	activities. 5.	Fetus	will	die	if	removed	from	woman. 6.	Fetus	can	only	survive	if	carried	to	term	of	approximately nine	months. 7.	Woman	can	make	a	choice	about	removing	fetus. Thomson	develops	this	analogy	in	different	directions	during	the	course of	her	paper,	exhibiting its	plasticity	and	depth. Indeed, the	power	and cogency	of	her	essay	derives	from	its	being	a	good	analogical	argument, but not from any embedded fictional narrative being believable like a novel,	play,	or	short	story.	As	with	other	such	thought	experiments,	her violinist story is	weak	on	both external and internal coherence, and it would be astonishing if it were even intended to be believable. As Peijenburg & Atkins say, these are "outlandish stories," even "grotesque"; "ones like Jackson, Searle and	Putnam	do	not eschew the most	bizarre	accounts	of	zombies,	swapped	brains,	exact	Doppelgänger, and famous violinists who are plugged into another body" (2003, p. 305). Walton too, allows that Thomson's violinist's story is only "something	that	could	conceivably	happen"	(2012,	p.	200). 6.	ANECDOTAL	AND	OTHER	NONFICTIONAL	ARGUMENTS Finally, rounding out the consideration of argumentatively evil storytelling	and	bringing	the	preceding	into	sharper	focus	are	so-called "anecdotal arguments" and the possibilities they furnish, perhaps notably	to	politicians.	Similarly	to	Johnson	&	Blair	(2006,	p.	70),	Govier &	Jansen	(2011,	p.	86)	concluded	that	"anecdotal	arguments	are	bound to	be	logically	and	dialectically	inadequate	if,	as	is	usual,	we	define	them as	asking	the	audience	to	shift	from	acceptance	of	a	particular	narrative to	a	general	claim	about	the	world."	However,	to	the	extent	that	the	term 'anecdote' connotes that the narrative is nonfictional, such narratives differ from the kinds of narratives considered thus far. Unlike for extended pieces of storytelling such as plays and novels, the actual anecdote	in	an	anecdotal	argument	cannot	itself furnish	any	argument. This is because, by definition, the point of nonfictional narration (cf. history or biography) involves veracity-sticking to the facts, telling what	happened-so	there is	no	theoretical	room	for	the	creativity	that Gilbert	Plumer 628 is	needed to invent	what	happens	and thereby	construct	an	argument. Simard-Smith	&	Moldovan, for	example,	advance	a	view	of "arguments as	abstract	objects"	that	"understands	arguments	to	be	objects	that	can be	expressed	in	different	points	of	space	at	the	same	time,	and	that	are creations of human intellectual activity... We often make statements such	as	'Searle	developed	the	Chinese	room	argument'"	(2011,	pp.	259, 248). Not surprisingly then, the length of the anecdote embedded in an argument seems to make little or no difference to the cogency potential	of	the	argument.	Consider	this	case	presented	as	an	anecdote in Hillary Clinton's speech at the 2008 US Democratic National Convention	endorsing	Barack	Obama	(cited	by	Oldenburg	&	Leff,	2009, p.	2): I	will always remember that single	mother	who	had	adopted two kids with autism. She didn't have any health insurance; and she	discovered that she	had cancer.	But she greeted	me, her bald head painted	with	my	name on it, and asked	me to fight	for	health	care	for	her	and	her	children. I	do	not	see	how	the	cogency	of	Clinton's	argument	for	rallying	behind Obama	could	have	been	significantly	affected	one	way	or	another	if	she had presented more or fewer details of the unfortunate woman's situation	(or	presented	more	such	incidents	as	anecdotes,	which	she	in fact did). This is mainly because we would still not be told how representative the case(s) cited is, a question that an anecdotal argument	in	its	usual	form	leaves	unanswered. So	it	appears	that	for	anecdotal	arguments,	whatever	difference length makes to the potential for argumentative evil, it is not comparable to the difference length makes for fictional narrative arguments. Anecdotal argument seems similar to (nonfictional) induction by enumeration on this score. No number of enumerated black crows identified by ordinary means will get you firmly to the conclusion that all crows are black, though a single perfectly representative	one	would.	I	think	nonfictional	arguments	from	analogy constitute an exception in that the best present an extended and relevant point-by-point comparison between things in distinct but parallel	domains;	if	you	shortchange	this,	there	is	no	end	to	the	potential for argumentative evil. On the other hand, for deductive arguments, there is simply no case at all to be	made that length could	make any difference	to	their	validity	or	soundness. Argumentatively	evil	storytelling. 629 7.	CONCLUSION In summary, it seems that there are reasons to hold that in fictional narrative	the	potential	for	argumentative	evil	is	greatest	if	the	approach taken is "hit and run," so to speak, whereas in other argumentative contexts, length generally appears to	make no comparable difference. This	is	a	feature	that	distinguishes	fictional	narrative	arguments. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:	I	am	grateful	to	Jason	Dickenson,	Trudy	Govier, Lyra	Hostetter,	Kenneth	Olson,	and	Teresa	Plumer	for	helpful	comments on	an	earlier	draft. REFERENCES Beardsley, M. C. (1975). Thinking straight. Principles of reasoning for readers and	writers	(4th	ed).	Englewood	Cliffs,	NJ:	Prentice-Hall. Cebik,	L.	B.	(1971).	Narratives	and	arguments.	CLIO,	1(1),	7-25. Currie, G. (2010). Narratives and narrators. A philosophy of stories. Oxford: Oxford	University	Press. Currie, G. (2012). Literature and truthfulness. In J. Maclaurin (Ed.), Rationis defensor. Essays in honour of Colin Cheyne (pp. 23-31). Dordrecht: Springer. Doody,	M.	(2009).	Philosophy	of	the	novel.	Revue	Internationale	de	Philosophie, 63(2),	153-163. Fisher,	W.	R.	(1987).	Human	communication	as	narration.	Toward	a	philosophy of reason, value, and action. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press. Gaiman,	N.	(2015).	Trigger	warnings.	Short	fictions	and	disturbances.	New	York: HarperCollins. Govier, T., & Ayers, L. (2012). Logic, parables, and argument. Informal Logic, 32(2),	161-189. Govier, T., & Jansen, H. (2011). Anecdotes and arguments. In E. T. Feteris, B. Garssen & A. F. Snoeck Henkemans (Eds.), Keeping in touch with pragma-dialectics. In honor of Frans H. van Eemeren (pp. 75-88). Amsterdam:	John	Benjamins. Hunt, L. H. (2009). Literature as fable, fable as argument. Philosophy and Literature,	33(2),	369-385. Johnson,	R.	H.,	&	Blair,	J.	A.	(2006).	Logical	self-defense.	New	York:	International Debate	Education	Association. Lamarque, P. (2004). On not expecting too much from narrative. Mind & Language,	19(4),	393-408. Nagel,	T.	(1979).	Mortal	questions.	Cambridge:	Cambridge	University	Press. Gilbert	Plumer 630 Oldenburg, C., & Leff, M. (2009). Argument by anecdote. In: J. Ritola (Ed.), Argument cultures. Proceedings of 8th international conference of the Ontario	Society for the	Study	of	Argumentation (pp.	1-8).	Windsor,	ON (CD	ROM). Olmos, P. (2013). Narration as argument. In D. Mohammed & M. Lewinski (Eds.),	Virtues	of argumentation.	Proceedings	of the	10th international conference	of	the	Ontario	Society	for	the	Study	of	Argumentation	(pp.	114).	Windsor,	ON	(CD	ROM). Olmos,	P.	(2014).	Classical	fables	as	arguments:	Narration	and	analogy.	In	H.	J. Ribeiro	(Ed.),	Systematic	approaches	to	argument	by	analogy	(pp.	189208).	Cham:	Springer. Olmos, P. (2015). Story credibility in narrative arguments. In B. Garssen, D. Godden, G.	Mitchell & A. F. Snoeck	Henkemans (Eds.),	Proceedings of the eight international conference of the International Society for the Study of Argumentation (pp. 1058-1069). Amsterdam: Sic Sat (CD ROM). Peijenburg, J.,	&	Atkins,	D. (2003).	When	are thought	experiments	poor	ones? Journal	for	General	Philosophy	of	Science,	34(2),	305-322. Perelman, C., & Olbrechts-Tyteca, L. (1958). Traité de l'argumentation. La nouvelle	rhétorique.	Paris:	PUF. Plumer, G. (2011).	Novels as arguments. In F.	H. van	Eemeren, B. Garssen,	D. Godden & G. Mitchell (Eds.), Proceedings of the seventh international conference of the International Society for the Study of	Argumentation (pp.	1547-1558).	Amsterdam:	Rozenberg	/	Sic	Sat	(CD	ROM). Plumer,	G.	(2015).	A	defense	of	taking	some	novels	as	arguments.	In	B.	Garssen, D.	Godden,	G.	Mitchell	&	A.	F.	Snoeck	Henkemans	(Eds.),	Proceedings	of the eight international conference of the International Society for the Study of Argumentation (pp. 1169-1177). Amsterdam: Sic Sat (CD ROM). Popper,	K.	R.	(1959).	The	logic	of	scientific	discovery.	New	York:	Harper	&	Row. Putnam,	H.	(1981).	Reason,	truth	and	history.	Cambridge:	Cambridge	University Press. Schultz, R.A. (1979). Analogues of argument in fictional narrative. Poetics, 8(1/2),	231-244. Schwitzgebel,	E. (2008).	The	unreliability	of	naive introspection.	Philosophical Review,	117(2),	245-273. Simard Smith, P. L., & Moldovan, A. (2011). Arguments as abstract objects. Informal	Logic,	31(3),	230-261. Stern, R. (2007). Transcendental arguments: A plea for modesty. Grazer Philosophische	Studien,	74(1),	143-161. Thomson,	J.	J.	(1971).	A	defense	of	abortion.	Philosophy	and	Public	Affairs,	1(1), 47-66. Velleman,	J.	D.	(2003).	Narrative	explanation.	The	Philosophical	Review,	112(1), 1-25. Walton,	D.	(2012).	Story	similarity	in	arguments	from	analogy.	Informal	Logic, 32(2),	190-221. D.	Mohammed	&	M.	Lewiński	(eds.)	(2016).	Argumentation	and	Reasoned	Action:	Proceedings	of	the	1st European	Conference	on	Argumentation,	Lisbon,	2015.	Vol.	I,	631-634.	London:	College	Publications. 631 Commentary	on	Plumer's Argumentatively	Evil	Storytelling PAULA	OLMOS Universidad	Autónoma	de	Madrid paula.olmos@uam.es In this	paper,	Gilbert	Plumer	continues,	as	has	been	his focus	on	other recent	contributions,	to	explore	certain	aspects	of	narrative	arguments. In	this	case,	he	is	explicitly	looking	for	assessment	criteria	and	claims	to have	found	one	that	applies	to	fiction	narratives:	the	shorter	the	story, the less it	will justify certain inferences based on it and therefore the greater the	potential for	an ill-founded	argumentation to	be	presented through	it. As	Plumer	uses	the	term,	"short" is, in fact,	short for schematic, stylized	and	unrealistic	(as in fables,	classical	and	oriental,	or	ads)	and explicitly	opposed	to	the	nuanced,	complex	and	rich-in-detail	weave	and plot of (realistic) novels	which are the adequate basis for the kind of argument scheme described by Plumer in his paper which he has presented	and	used	in	other	contributions.	Namely: (1)	This	story	is	believable. (2) This story is believable only if such and such principles operate in the real world (of human psychology, action, and society). (3) Therefore, such and such principles operate in the real world. At the end of the paper, Plumer explores other kinds of narratives, as "thought	experiments"	and	"anecdotes".	The	latter	are	non-fictional	and are usually advanced as premises for an inductive-like "anecdotal argument", based on the assumed veracity and actuality (not the believability)	of the	anecdote;	and	the former,	claims	Plumer,	although fictions, are	neither	usually embedded in a kind	of argument in	which the believability of the story	would really	make any difference for its assessment	(this	point	I	think	is	just	suggested	and	would	need	further exploration). Paula	Olmos 632 So, although one has to finish the paper to locate and put in order	all	these	pieces,	Plumer's	position	is,	in	my	opinion	finally	clear.	It seems	he	is	contemplating	only	one	possible	argument	scheme	(the	one he originally developed for novels in his 2011 paper: "Novels as arguments") for which he takes narrative fictions (leaving aside just philosophical thought experiments) would be candidate sources or basis. And he finds that such a scheme is only liable to yield sound arguments only in case the story involved has certain characteristics and actually aims at depicting, in a realistic	manner, "the real	world". This	is	not	possible	if	the	story	is	schematic,	stylized	and	unrealistic,	and the	subsequent	reconstructed	argument	remains	ill-founded. For me, the most valuable contribution of this paper is this attempt to start clarifying a complex	panorama	by introducing certain distinctions that may be useful for future works. Depending on our analytic aims, I agree that taking in account the fictive or factual character of the stories we use as part of our argumentative efforts might	be important (and I therefore	assume the criticism	he	makes to one	of	my	contributions	in	his	paper). Nevertheless	my	own	view	about	narrative	arguments	(which	I have presented in other recent contributions: 2014, 2014b, 2015) is that narratives, in general (that is, fictive or factual), may be used to construe	very	different	kinds	of	arguments	and	even, that	one	and the same	particular	story	(a	classical	fable,	for	example)	might	be	variously used	as	basis	for	construing	arguments	according	to	different	argument schemes	in	different	contexts	(some	examples	in	Olmos,	2014b).	So	we have to analyze and assess each real case as pertaining to its own argumentative	aims	in	its	own	context. Moreover,	I	find	Plumer's	kind	of	"transcendental	argumentative scheme for fiction" a somewhat abstract model that probably works better for, let's say, the extraction	of very general	principles	or	usable warrants from acknowledged complex fictions than as a genuinely operational form of argument or inference scheme for concrete conclusions.	In	most	real	cases,	it	would	be	part	of	a	more	complex	and, at the same time, more concrete argumentation (of a practical, evaluative or theoretical character) and in each case it	would support our final conclusions in a somewhat receded	way, i.e. as founding the backing	of	the	warrants	of	our	actually	operative	reasons.	That	is	why,	I think,	it's	called	"transcendental":	it	mostly	describes	the	"conditions	of possibility"	of	the	use	of	certain	kinds	of	arguments	than	describe	those arguments	themselves. In	the	particular	case	of	the	three	examples	offered	by	Plumer	as support for his thesis (i.e.: the shorter the story, the greater the potential	for	argumentative	evilness),	Plumer	assumes	that	they	do	not Commentary	on	Plumer 633 offer	good	enough	reasons	to	support	the	generalizations	they	seem	to support.	My	point is that it	depends	on	what	you	are	going	to	use	those generalizations	for (they	might	be	in	need	of further	support,	or	not	so much),	for,	in	most	cases,	one's	argumentation,	most	typically	a	practical one (taking in account that the theme of stories is usually human action), would be much more concrete and referenced to particular circumstances in which those generalizations would either appear as easily	applicable	or	not. The two fables, I think, do not even aim at "supporting" such generalizations	(as	even	Plumer	admits)	but	only	try	to	"illustrate"	and "explain" them (that is, their workings), or just "fix" them in the imagination. Both present and represent, in fact, ideas and warrants that	are	already	assumed	as	rather	usable	(prima	facie	good	enough)	in our societies for advising certain behaviour or attitude: "what a man seeks is	very	near	him", "we	often	give	our	enemies the	means for	our own	destruction".	These fables are just	means to teach	or recall them. That they are accepted by the interlocutor as supporting a certain conclusion	will	mainly	depend	on the	circumstances	expressed in, and the further	objectives	of, that	particular conclusion.	This is so	because such warrants are more "(usefully) applicable or inapplicable" to particular cases than "true or false". In any case, the fables do not exactly	try	to	show	that	they	are	simply	"true". In	the	case	of	the	"Vehicle	ad",	I	agree	that	it	certainly	creates	an atmosphere,	emotions,	something	to	remember	etc.	but	what	argument it	is	supposed	to	support	in	a	direct	or	receded	manner	is	yet	something rather open. So, in	my opinion, it cannot be yet assessed as better or worst founded.	Most ads	merely support the "good name" of a brand, using different reasons and warrants (even their "good taste in publicity").	They	might	finally	aim	at	advising	a	purchase,	but	the	steps (argumentative steps) are yet too many. If we assume that this ad (through the story told in it) just shows and conveys the information that the makers of the car have thought about snow conditions and designed	their	vehicle	for	better	facing	them,	and	this	encourages	you	to visit their store,	with the	memorable	ad in	your	mind, to	ask for	more details,	I	see	no	evil	in	it. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: This contribution has been	made possible by funds provided by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness:	Research	Project	FFI2011-23125. Paula	Olmos 634 REFERENCES Olmos, P. (2014). Narration as argument. In D. Mohammed & M. Lewiński (Eds.),	Virtues	of	Argumentation.	Proceedings	of the	10th International Conference	of	the	Ontario	Society	for	the	Study	of	Argumentation	(OSSA), 22-26	May	2013,	CD	edition.	Windsor:	University	of	Windsor. Olmos,	P.	(2014b).	Classical	Fables	as	Arguments:	Narration	and	Analogy.	In	H. Jales	Ribeiro	(Ed.),	Systematic	Approaches	to	Argument	by	Analogy	(pp. 189-208).	Amsterdam:	Springer. Olmos,	P.	(2015).	Story	Credibility	in	Narrative	Arguments.	In	F.H.	van	Eemeren &	B.	Garssen,	(Eds.),	Reflections	on	Theoretical	Issues	in	Argumentation Theory	(pp.	155-167).	Amsterdam:	Springer. Plumer,	G.	(2011).	Novels	as	Arguments.	In	van	F.H.	van	Eemeren	et	al.	(Eds.), Proceedings of the 7th Conference of the International Society for the Study	of	Argumentation	(ISSA	2010) (pp.	1547-1558).	Amsterdam:	Sic Sat.