Imagining	Stories:	Attitudes	and	Operators [forthcoming	in	Philosophical	Studies] Neil	Van	Leeuwen Department	of	Philosophy;	Neuroscience	Institute Georgia	State	University Abstract:	This	essay	argues	that	there	are	theoretical	benefits	to	keeping distinct-more	pervasively	than	the	literature	has	done	so	far-the psychological	states	of	imagining	that	p	versus	believing	that	in-the-story	p, when	it	comes	to	cognition	of	fiction	and	other	forms	of	narrative.	Positing both	in	the	minds	of	a	fiction's	audience	helps	explain	the	full	range	of reactions	characteristic	of	taking	in	a	story.	This	distinction	also	has interesting	conceptual	and	explanatory	dimensions	that	haven't	been carefully	observed,	and	the	two	mental	state	types	make	distinct contributions	to	generating	emotional	responses	to	fiction.	Finally,	the differences	between	the	mental	states	illuminate	how	a	given	story	can	be both	shared	with	others	and	at	the	same	time	experienced	as	personal. Introduction:	A	Puzzle	About	Story	Cognition Consuming	a	good	story	is,	on	the	one	hand,	a	personal	experience.	We	feel	emotions for	the	story	characters-excitement,	anxiety,	relief,	sadness,	triumph,	and	even	joy-as though	they	were	our	own	friends,	relatives,	and	enemies.1	At	a	deeper	level,	one	often	feels (or	I	feel)	as	though	a	certain	dramatic	work	is	special	to	me;	it	feels	like	the	work	and	I	are intimately	connected	in	a	way	that	is	hard	to	explain,	as	though	the	version	of	the	story	that lives	inside	my	head	and	resonates	with	such	power	is	in	some	strange	way	mine. But	stories,	on	the	other	hand,	are	shared.	A	story	can	be	communicated	to	anyone who	is	capable	of	understanding	it.	And	most	great	dramatic	works	have	been	shared	by thousands	of	people,	who	are	mostly	strangers	to	one	another.	From	this	perspective,	no 1	Walton	(1978,	1990)	famously	denies	that	the	emotions	one	experiences	in	response	to	fictional works	are	genuine	emotions;	rather	they,	as	mental	states,	constitute	props	on	the	basis	of	which	one is	prescribed	to	imagine	having	the	genuine	emotions. I	needn't	for	purposes	of	this	essay,	however, take	a	stand	on	the	correctness	of	Walton's	particular	position	on	this	matter,	since	it	is	obvious	that in	consuming	fictions	one	often	feels	something.	I	will	just	call	that	something	"emotion,"	while leaving	it	open	that	Walton	(at	the	end	of	the	day)	may	or	may	not	be	right	about	its	ontology. 2 one	owns	a	story	(not	even	the	author).	A	story	is	rather	the	shared	property	of	humanity- or	at	least	anyone	who	takes	an	interest	in	it.	A	story	is	ours. So	a	dramatic	story,	if	it	works	well,	gives	a	peculiar	sense	of	being	both	ours	and mine-shared	and	personal-in	a	way	that	has	yet	to	be	made	precise.	This	strange combination,	I	think,	is	part	of	what	makes	story	cognition	uniquely	exhilarating.	But	it	is also	something	of	a	puzzle,	for	it	is	not	obvious	how	that	which	feels	special	to	me	can	also be	conceived	by	me	as	the	shared	property	of	the	many.	We	can	transform	this	puzzle	into	a psychological	question:	what	is	story	cognition,	such	that	it	can	result	in	the	sense	that	the cognized	story	is	both	shared	and	personal?	The	aim	of	this	essay	is	to	present	an architecture	of	story	cognition	that	answers	this	question.	The	first	key	to	doing	this,	on	my view,	lies	in	dusting	off	an	old	distinction	and	putting	it	to	new	use.2 There	are,	to	begin,	two	main	ways	that	humans	psychologically	process	story contents.	First,	we	can	imagine	them.	That	is,	for	a	content	p,	we	can	have	a	non-belief cognitive	attitude	toward	it	and	thereby	mentally	treat	it	as	fictional	or	part	of	a	story.3 Second,	we	can	have	an	internal	representational	constituent	that	serves	as	a	story	operator. This	operator	combines	with	the	mental	representation	of	p	to	form	a	new	representation of	the	form	in-the-story	p.	One	can	take	various	attitudes	toward	this	new	representation. But	one	possibility	is	that	one	believes	it.4	So	the	second	main	way	to	process	story	contents 2	I	don't	undertake	to	argue	here	against	other	cognitive	architectures	that	might	be	presented	as	a solution	to	this	puzzle.	Since	I'm	the	first	(as	far	as	I	know)	to	explore	this	puzzle,	the	main	work	here lies	in	my	developing	my	own	solution	to	it.	I	do	suspect,	however,	that	any	good	architectural solution	to	it	will	have	structural	features	that	resemble	the	distinction	I	work	through	here. 3	I	use	"fictional"	in	a	general	way	throughout.	I	don't	use	it	in	the	technical	sense	developed	by Walton	(1990)	and	others,	according	to	which	"it	is	fictional	that	p"	means	it	is	true-in-a-certainwork-of-fiction	that	p.	That	is	a	fine	usage,	but	mine	is	broader	(mine	encompasses	the	technical	use but	isn't	limited	to	it).	When	I	say	"humans	process	some	contents	as	fictional,"	I	mean	we	mentally deal	with	those	contents	in	a	more	or	less	playful	way	that	doesn't	involve	(though	it	also	doesn't exclude	the	possibility	of)	believing	they	describe	reality. 4	A	terminological	note	on	"believe"	and	"belief."	In	my	writings	on	religious	cognitive	attitudes (2014a,	2017),	I	use	terms	of	art	to	distinguish	religious	credence	from	factual	belief,	since	in	the context	of	that	discussion,	the	word	"belief"	(or	cognates)	by	itself	would	run	those	two	very different	mental	states	together.	Here,	however,	I	see	no	such	risk,	so	I	just	use	"believe"	and	"belief" 3 is	to	believe	that	in-the-story	p.	To	take	an	example	from	Dickens,	I	can	imagine	that Magwitch	is	a	criminal,	or	I	can	believe	that	in-the-Great	Expectations-story	Magwitch	is	a criminal.	And	I	can	do	either	or	both.5 To	have	convenient	notations,	let	"Ia" and	"Ba"	be	attitude	operators,	as	usual,	which say	that	agent	a	imagines	or	believes,	respectively. Let	"<s-i>"	be	an	in-the-story	operator, where	the	"i"	is	an	index	to	whatever	story	the	particular	operator	is	linked	to	(so	one operator	would	be	"<s-Great	Expectations	novel>").	These	operators	are	unary	connectives that	can	be	appended	to	propositional	expressions	to	form	new	propositional	expressions.6 So	I	notate	the	two	mental	states	types	just	distinguished	like	this: Ia	p Ba	<s-i>p Read	these	as	follows:	"a	imagines	that	p"	and	"a	believes	that	in-the-story-i	p." I	wish	to	argue	that	humans	regularly	use	both	kinds	of	mental	state	in	the processing,	storing,	and	recalling	of	fiction	and	that	the	roles	they	play	are	different	and interestingly	so.	Elucidating	these	different	roles	ultimately	feeds	into	solving	the	sharedpersonal	puzzle	with	which	we	started,	but	it	also	leads	to	independently	interesting	theses and	expands	our	explanatory	power	in	ways	that	have	not	been	appreciated	so	far	in	the literature	on	imagination	in	philosophy	of	mind	and	aesthetics. as	most	philosophers	of	mind	and	epistemologists	do,	which	corresponds	fairly	well	to	the	phrases "factually	believe"	and	"factual	belief"	in	those	other	works	on	religious	psychology;	it	is	the	same basic	attitude	to	which	I'm	referring	using	slightly	different	terminologies.	In	any	case,	the terminology	I	use	here	corresponds	exactly	to	my	terminology	in	other	works	that	are	more	explicitly on	imagining	(2009,	2011,	2013,	and	2014b) 5	As	indicated,	this	distinction	is	not	new	to	me,	but	many	of	the	ways	I	develop	it	here	are	new. Currie	and	Ravenscroft	(2002:	8),	for	example,	make	the	distinction,	but	they	don't	go	on	to	develop it	as	I	do. 6	Some	externalists	about	content,	like	K.	Taylor	(2000),	say	that	mental	(and	other	representations) that	deploy	fictional	(or	"empty")	names	don't	actually	have	propositional	content,	even	if	they	are sentential	in	representational	structure.	I	don't	hold	this	view,	so	I	still	refer	to	story	contents	as propositions.	But	note	that	the	main	psychological	points	of	this	essay	could	be	translated	into	terms that	Taylor	would	find	germane.	That	is,	differences	in	attitude	type	(belief	versus	imagining)	toward story	contents	whatever	those	are,	along	with	the	presence	of	the	in-the-story	operator,	will	still make	differences	in	downstream	processing	of	the	sort	I	discuss	here. 4 To	be	precise,	I	argue	for	four	theses.	First,	we	have: Separability:	In	the	course	of	story	cognition,	people	commonly	have,	for some	p,	Ia	p	without	Ba	<s-i>p,	even	when	that	imagining	is	prompted	by experiences	of	a	canonical	work	that	portrays	a	story	i,	and	even	when	one's imagining	is	in	some	sense	about	story	entities	from	the	work	itself. In	other	words,	people	often	imagine	things	in	consuming	a	story	that	they	do	not	also believe	hold	true	in	the	official	story,	and	even	though	the	imaginings	themselves	are	about story	entities.	The	two	mental	states	come	apart.7 The	second	thesis	both	helps	explain	the	truth	of	the	first	and	sets	the	stage	for	the third.	It	goes: Conceptual	Differences:	There	are	(at	least)	five	significant	conceptual differences	between	Ia	p	and	Ba	<s-i>p,	which	I	label	Architecture,	Iteration, Epistemic	Correctness,	Selection,	and	Inference	Rules. These	conceptual	differences	should	be	independently	interesting	to	philosophers	of	mind who,	like	David	Hume,	wish	to	know	what	makes	believing	and	imagining	distinct.8 The	third	thesis	follows	from	the	second.	It	encapsulates	the	idea	that	the	two	types of	mental	state	play	different	roles	in	the	psychological	explanation	of	thought	and	behavior. Explanatory	Differences:	People's	Ba	<s-i>p	states	and	their	Ia	p	states explain	different	downstream	thoughts	and	behaviors,	with	the	former contributing	more	to	the	serious	side	of	consuming	stories	and	the	latter more	to	the	playful	side. The	phrases	"serious	side"	and	"playful	side"	are	terms	of	art	(which	will	become clear	in	due	course)	for	clusters	of	mental	and	behavioral	phenomena	that	regularly accompany	story	consumption	and	ought	to	be	explained	(at	least	in	part)	by	any 7	Gendler	(2000:	58	[footnote])	basically	denies	that	they	come	apart	in	normal	story	cognition.	I	take up	her	view	in	Section	3. 8	I	am,	of	course,	thinking	of	this	great	passage	from	the	Enquiry,	Section	V,	Part	II:	"Wherein, therefore,	consists	the	difference	between	such	a	fiction	and	belief?	It	lies	not	merely	in	any	peculiar idea,	which	is	annexed	to	such	a	conception	as	commands	our	assent,	and	which	is	wanting	to	every known	fiction.	For	as	the	mind	has	authority	over	all	its	ideas,	it	could	voluntarily	annex	this particular	idea	to	any	fiction,	and	consequently	be	able	to	believe	whatever	it	pleases;	contrary	to what	we	find	by	daily	experience."	I	take	the	work	in	Section	2	of	this	paper	to	address	Hume's puzzle,	which	I	also	address	more	directly	in	(2014b). 5 psychological	theory	of	story	cognition.	I	thus	also	hope	that	regimenting	the	serious	and playful	explananda	as	I	do	will	also	prove	useful	for	other	theorists	going	forward. Next,	though	the	explanatory	roles	that	Ia	p	and	Ba	<s-i>p	play	are	different,	they	are both	(in	distinct	ways)	involved	in	generating	the	emotional	responses	that	people	have	to stories.	Furthermore,	for	some	emotional	responses,	one's	beliefs	about	the	story	work together	with	one's	imaginings	of	elements	of	the	story	to	generate	characteristic	emotional responses.	This	gives	us	my	fourth	thesis: Emotions:	Both	Ba	<s-i>p	and	Ia	p	states	help	generate	emotional	responses to	stories,	and	they	play	distinct	and	complementary	roles	in	doing	this. My	outline	is	this.	Sections	1,	2,	3,	and	4	argue	for	Separability,	Conceptual Differences,	Explanatory	Differences,	and	Emotions,	respectively.	Once	these	theses	have been	established,	we	will	be	in	a	position	to	solve	our	initial	shared-personal	puzzle,	which is	what	I	do	explicitly	in	the	Conclusion.	I	also	highlight	in	an	Appendix	how	the	theoretical work	of	this	paper	highlights	open	research	questions	for	philosophers	of	imagination. Section	1:	Separability Let's	return	to	Magwitch,	the	criminal	that	Pip	(the	hero)	helps	as	a	boy	in	Great Expectations,	who	later	returns	as	Pip's	mysterious	benefactor.	I	first	saw	Magwitch	played by	Robert	De	Niro	in	a	movie	adaptation.9	Later,	encountering	Magwitch	as	I	read	the	novel, I	constantly	visualized	him	with	a	De	Niro	face. As	I	read	the	novel,	I	believed	(and	still	do)	that	in	the	novel	Great	Expectations Magwitch	is	a	criminal.	I	feel	certain	of	this.	I	also	imagined	Magwitch's	having	a	De	Niro face.	But	I	did	not	believe	(nor	do	I	now)	that	in	the	novel	Great	Expectations	Magwitch	has	a De	Niro	face.	The	story	is	not	that	specific-few	verbal	stories	are-and	Dickens	was writing	over	a	century	before	De	Niro	appeared	on	the	scene.	So	our	distinction	emerges. One	can	have	imaginings	along	with	the	processing	of	a	story	that	concern	fictional	entities 9	Cuarón's	(1998)	adaptation. 6 from	the	story	(e.g.,	Magwitch	has	a	De	Niro	face)	whose	contents	are	not	also	incorporated into	states	of	the	form	Ba	<s-i>p. To	notate	the	point	precisely: ~(Ia	Magwitch	has	a	De	Niro	face	à	Ba	<s-Great	Expectations	Novel> Magwitch	has	a	De	Niro	face) Furthermore,	this	denial	of	implication	does	not	only	hold	when	we	give	the	arrow	a	logical reading.	The	denial	also	holds	when	we	give	it	a	causal	reading.	That	is,	it	is	not	generally true	that	imagining	Magwitch	has	a	De	Niro	face	characteristically	causes	me	to	believe	that he	does	in	the	novel,	and	nor	would	it	be	correct	for	me	to	believe	that	in	virtue	of	my imagining.	That	transition	would	only	be	likely	or	correct,	if	I	also	had	other	beliefs	about the	story	and	Magwitch	that	I	do	not	have.	It	would,	in	fact,	be	an	epistemic	failing	if	I formed	that	belief,	for	I	would	have	formed	a	highly	specific	belief	without	good	evidence. But	it	was	not	inappropriate	(aesthetically	speaking)	for	me	to	imagine	details	as	I	read	that I	wouldn't	believe	as	holding	true	in	the	story:	we	often	imagine	characters'	voices,	faces, postures,	etc.	in	ways	that	haven't	been	specified	by	whatever	fiction	we're	consuming. Examples	can	be	multiplied.	When	reading	the	Hobbit,	you	might	imagine	Gandalf	as holding	his	pipe	in	his	left	hand	or	in	his	right	hand,	without	having	a	belief	to	the	effect	that whatever	hand	you	imagine	him	holding	it	in	is	determined	in	the	story.	You	just	were imagining	as	you	read	and	imagined	it	one	way	or	another.	So	there	is	plenty	of	(perfectly appropriate)	imagining	that	goes	on	in	the	consumption	of	stories	that	doesn't	yield corresponding	Ba	<s-i>p	states	and	isn't	required	by	them	either.	Most	of	these	imaginings will	be	consistent	with	what	the	consumer	of	the	story	believes	about	it	without	being entailed	by	it.	Modifying	Walton's	(1990)	way	of	talking,	let's	call	these	unprescribed-yetappropriate	imaginings. The	existence	of	unprescribed-yet-appropriate	imaginings,	in	absence	of	Ba	<s-i>p states	with	corresponding	contents,	establishes	Separability. 7 Three	points	deserve	mention	here. First,	though	mental	imagery	is	one	way	to	imagine,	it	is	not	the	only	way	to	imagine things	one	doesn't	also	believe	to	be	the	case	in	a	story.	To	give	another	Middle	Earth example,	I	can	imagine	Galadriel	is	just	slightly	smarter	than	Elrond	without	actually believing	it's	so	in	the	official	story	either	way.	But	the	proposition	(Galadriel	is	just	slightly smarter	than	Elrond)	cannot	be	captured	in	mental	imagery,	so	discursive	imagining	is needed:	that	is,	imagining	with	an	abstract/symbolic	representational	format.	So, importantly,	Separability	can	also	be	shown	through	examples	that	don't	rest	on	mental imagery.10 Second,	in	addition	to	imagining	things	one	does	not	believe	in	a	story	either	way, one	can	imagine	things	one	believes	are	not	true	in	a	story,	simply	because	one	likes	to.	And this	could	still	be	a	part	of	processing	the	same	story.	For	example,	I	know	(and	believe)	that in	the	novel	Sideways,	Miles	Raymond	is	tall,	but	I	imagine	him	being	short	as	I	read,	since	I like	the	story	better	that	way-it	seems	to	me	to	fit	his	character	more.	I	then	go	on	to imagine	the	other	events	of	the	story	with	this	one	adjustment	made	to	imaginings	that implicate	Miles	Raymond.	So	in	addition	to	combined	mental	states	of	the	form	(Ia	p	&	~Ba <s-i>p),	we	can	have	ones	of	the	form	(Ia	p	&	~Ba	<s-i>p	&	Ba	<s-i>~p).	Imagining,	though	it	is constrained	in	default	story	cognition	by	beliefs	about	the	story,	can	also	depart	from	that default	and	hence	be	free	from	such	beliefs	at	least	to	some	extent. Third,	one	might	wonder	whether	the	interplays	I	discuss	between	the	two psychological	structures	in	question-their	combinations	and	divergences-are	unique	to cognition	of	fiction	or	also	arise	in	cognition	of	other	narrative	forms,	such	as documentaries	or	bibliographies	that	have	a	narrative	story	arc.	Derek	Matravers	(2014),	in 10	Several	thinkers,	myself	included,	have	argued	that	mental	imagery	can	be	incorporated	into	larger representational	structures	that	have	propositional	contents.	Hence,	it	can	make	sense	to	talk	of imagining	that	such-and-such	is	the	case	also	when	some	of	the	constituents	of	the	representation	are imagistic.	See	Kaplan	(1986),	my	(2013),	and	Langland-Hassan	(2015). 8 particular,	argues	that	the	notion	of	imagining	cannot	be	made	to	work	to	distinguish fictional	from	non-fictional	narratives	(or	their	cognitive	uptake),	since	(on	his	view)	the sort	of	mental	models	consumers	utilize	in	comprehending	the	former	are	the	same	in nature	as	those	they	use	in	comprehending	the	latter.	I	do	not	agree	with	Matravers	on	his negative	point	(that	appeal	to	imagining	cannot	be	made	to	work	in	characterizing	fiction), since	I	am	not	convinced	that	his	arguments	are	effective	at	refuting	what	I	see	as	the	more promising	proposals	along	these	lines	(e.g.,	Walton,	1990;	Stock,	2017).	Yet	I	needn't	take	a stand	on	this	here,	since	drawing	the	distinction	between	fiction	and	non-fiction	is	not	part of	my	present	enterprise.	However,	the	point	I	am	making	about	Separability	is	compatible with	Matravers's	positive	point,	namely,	his	view	that	cognition	of	non-fictional	narratives has	much	in	common	with	(I	think	his	"same	as"	is	too	strong)	cognition	of	fictional narratives.	To	be	more	exact,	the	Separability	thesis	applies	in	modified	form	to	cognition	of non-fictional	narratives	as	well.	On	reading	a	Lincoln	biography,	for	example,	I	may	imagine very	specific	things	that	theatre-goers	cried	out	when	they	saw	the	president	was	shot	(and ones	not	mentioned	in	the	biography),	without	believing	these	exact	things	were	cried	out. Of	course,	I	do	form	the	belief	that	he	was	shot,	but	not	everything	I	imagine	as	part	of	my "mental	model"	goes	on	to	being	believed.11	In	the	usual	case,	the	beliefs	I	form	in	cognizing non-fictional	narratives	will	be	less	likely	to	have	an	in-the-story	operator	among	their constituents	than	the	beliefs	I	form	in	cognizing	fiction,	but	there	are	a	range	of complications	to	that	overall	picture,	as	Stacie	Friend	(2008)	documents:	for	example, ancient	historians	like	Tacitus	and	Thucydides	often	include	detailed	speeches	that	they couldn't	have	witnessed	as	a	way	of	conveying	the	character	of	a	certain	diplomatic	envoy, so	we	end	up	with	something	like	a	story	world	(which	would	require	an	operator)	that emerges	from	what	is	(mostly)	non-fiction.	Such	complications,	however,	provide	more 11	Thanks	to	an	anonymous	referee	for	this	suggestion. 9 explanatory	work	for	the	psychological	distinctions	I	draw	to	do,	not	less:	analogues	of	all the	arguments	made	in	this	section	could	go	through	for	cognition	of	Thucydides's	quasifictional	speeches	in	his	History	of	the	Peloponnesian	War.	In	any	case,	going	forward,	I	will continue	to	use	fictional	stories	as	my	examples,	so	just	keep	in	mind	that	many	of	my views,	suitably	adjusted,	will	apply	to	cognition	of	non-fictional	narratives	as	well. To	summarize	these	points	and	foreshadow	my	solution	to	the	shared-personal puzzle,	we	can	say	that	detailed	imaginings	of	story	entities	personalize	a	story	in	one's mind	in	ways	that	beliefs	about	the	story	do	not:	my	beliefs	about	a	given	story	are	more	or less	the	same	as	the	beliefs	that	other	intelligent	readers	would	have	about	it	(setting	aside disagreements	of	interpretation	and	differences	in	what	people	forget	over	time),	but	the imaginings	I	have	about	a	story,	if	I'm	imaginative	in	detail	at	all,	are	personal. Section	2:	Conceptual	Differences With	Separability	established,	let's	explore	systematically	what	makes	Ba	<s-i>p	and Ia	p	different. First,	imagining,	as	a	cognitive	attitude,	is	a	way	of	relating	to	representations	and thereby	contents.	It	is	a	manner	of	processing.	It	is	not	constituted	by	a	component	of	any representation,	as	Nichols	(2004)	emphasizes	and	Hume	(1777/1993)	implies.12	So	in	"Ia	p", no	representational	constituent	in	the	mind	is	picked	out	by	the	"Ia";	imagining,	rather,	is something	you	do	with	a	representation.	The	in-the-story	operator	<s-i>,	however,	is	a constituent	of	representation	and	thereby	a	difference	maker	in	the	content	of	thought. When	I	internally	represent	that	in-the-story	Harry	is	in	Hogwarts,	the	operator	is	a component	of	internal	representation.	In	"Ba	<s-i>p",	the	"<s-i>"	refers	to	this	internal operator,	which	keeps	agents	from	confusing	p	for	being	true	of	reality,	even	when	the 12	See	the	passage	quoted	in	footnote	7.	I	am	thinking	specifically	of	this	sentence:	"It	lies	not	merely in	any	peculiar	idea,	which	is	annexed	to	such	a	conception	as	commands	our	assent,	and	which	is wanting	to	every	known	fiction." 10 attitude	of	belief	is	present.	So	the	most	basic	difference	between	imagining	p	and	believing in-the-story	p	is	at	the	architectural	level.	They	are	different	representational	structures,	in addition	to	being	different	attitudes.	Let's	call	this	difference	Architecture. Second,	iteration	of	<s-i>,	in	our	formal	notation,	describes	something	different	from iteration	of	Ia.	And	the	corresponding	differences	in	described	psychology	are	worth	noting. Iteration	of	in-the-story	operators	means	that	what	follows	describes	a	story	within	a	story. Ba	<s-i>	<s-i'>p	is	a	belief	that	story	i	contains	a	story	i',	where	i'	has	p	as	part	of	its	content (Hayaki,	2009).13	Anyone	who	has	beliefs	about	the	play-within-the-play	in	Hamlet,	as	I	do, has	beliefs	of	this	form.	That	means	iteration	of	the	in-the-story	operator	refers	to	thought that	is,	in	a	sense,	deeper	in	the	world	of	stories.	But	iteration	of	Ia	describes	a	mental	state that	represents	in	the	first	instance	a	state	of	a	mind	itself	(it	is	not	about	a	story	within	a story,	or	at	least	not	necessarily	so).	That	is,	it	describes	a	second-order	mental	state:	Ia	Ia'	p is	an	imagining	about	a	mental	state	of	imagining	in	the	same	or	another	agent	(who	may	or may	not	be	fictional).	Read	it	as	follows:	"a	imagines	that	a'	imagines	that	p."	We	can	see	this point	another	way	too.	Ba	<s-i>p	is	a	belief	about	a	story	that	has	p	among	its	contents;	Ba	Ia' p	is	a	belief	about	a	mind	that	is	imagining	that	p	(and	that	mind	may	be	fictional	or	not),	so Ia	Ia'	p	is	an	imagining	about	a	mind	that	is	imagining	that	p.	Call	this	difference	Iteration. Iteration	shows	that	the	differences	of	representational	structure	highlighted	by Architecture	make	non-trivial	differences	to	how	further	thoughts	are	composed.14 13	As	an	anonymous	referee	has	pointed	out,	the	notation	"Ba	<s-i>	<s-i'>p"	(along	with	the corresponding	mental	state)	does	not	involve	an	iteration	of	the	exact	same	operator,	since	the	index is	different.	A	similar	point	can	obtain	for	"Ia	Ia'	p"	and	the	mental	state	it	represents,	if	a	and	a'	are different.	One	might	therefore	object	to	calling	this	"iteration."	I	note,	however,	that	both	Nichols (2003)	and	Hayaki	(2009)-among	others-use	iteration	in	this	non-strict	way	for	repetition	of	like but	not	identical	components	of	pretense/imaginative	states	(broadly	construed),	so	I	follow	their usage	and	trust	that	my	notation	makes	it	clear	what	I'm	talking	about	more	precisely. 14	There	is	one	wrinkle	worth	noting	here,	though	it	doesn't	make	a	difference	to	anything	I	say.	I pointed	out	above	that	in	"Ia	p"	the	""Ia"	refers	to	a	manner	of	processing	and	not	to	a	thought constituent.	However,	that	point	applies	without	qualification	only	to	the	outermost	attitude	operator in	iterated	expressions.	For	example,	in	"Ia	Ia'	p",	the	second	imagining	operator	(for	a')	in	fact	does describe	a	thought	constituent	of	the	mental	state	of	a	(though	not	of	a'),	since	a	is	taking	an 11 Third,	Ba	<s-i>p	can	be	epistemically	correct	or	incorrect	in	a	way	that	Ia	p	cannot	be. A	belief	with	false	or	inaccurate	contents	is	in	and	of	itself	an	epistemic	failing,	whereas	just imagining	inaccurate	things	(though	it	may	be	aesthetically	inappropriate	or	contrary	to	the rules	of	a	Waltonian	game)	is	not	in	and	of	itself	an	epistemic	failing.	Imagining	falsely becomes	an	epistemic	flaw	only	when	it	leads	to	believing	falsely-and	then	only	because	it so	leads.	We	often,	in	fact,	imagine	false	things	just	for	the	fun	of	it,	without	epistemic	fault, and	that	point	carries	over	to	story	cognition.	If	I	just	imagine	Miles	Raymond	is	short	as	I read	(even	though	he's	tall	in	the	novel),	I	do	not	have	a	mental	state	that	is	incorrect	in	the epistemic	way	that	a	belief	that	he's	short	would	be,	for	imagining	falsely	is	not	in	and	of itself	contrary	to	knowledge,	whereas	believing	falsely	is.	If	I	actually	believe	that	in	the novel	Miles	is	short,	my	belief	is	simply	wrong	and	hence	an	epistemic	failing.	So	the	states distinguished	by	Separability	have	normative	differences,	in	addition	to	architectural	ones. Falsity	of	content	makes	beliefs	epistemically	incorrect,	but	it	does	not	make	imaginings epistemically	incorrect.15	This	difference	is	also	why	there	was	nothing	wrong	with	my imagining,	as	I	read	the	novel,	that	Magwitch	had	a	De	Niro	face,	even	though	it	was	not	true in	the	novel	story	that	he	had	a	De	Niro	face;	by	way	of	contrast,	if	I	believed	that	in	the novel	Magwitch	had	a	De	Niro	face,	I	would	be	mistaken	/	incorrect.	Let's	call	this	difference Epistemic	Correctness. Epistemic	Correctness,	importantly,	does	not	mean	that	normativity	and	imagining are	alien	to	one	another.	Rather,	one	significant	kind	of	normativity	that	obtains	for	belief does	not	obtain	for	imagining,	even	if	other	kinds	of	normativity	do	obtain	for	imagining. imaginative	attitude	toward	a	representation	of	the	form	<a'	imagines	that	p>.	Thus,	what	the operator	in	the	formal	notation	refers	to	is	not	exactly	the	same	in	each	case.	I	do	not	see	any problem	with	this,	though	it	may	strike	one	as	peculiar.	The	issue	is,	in	any	case,	endemic	to epistemic	logics	that	use	attitude	operators	and	embed	them,	and	it	seems	endemic	to	attitude reports	in	natural	languages	as	well.	I	thank	an	anonymous	referee	for	calling	this	to	my	attention. 15	Note	that	the	contents	of	imaginings	can	still	be	true	or	false.	But	imagining	something	false	is	not normatively	incorrect	in	the	way	that	believing	something	false	is. 12 We	can,	if	we	like,	play	various	games	in	which	specific	imaginings	are	called	for	and	others are	inappropriate.	Relative	to	the	rules	such	games,	certain	imaginings	may	then	be	correct or	incorrect,	and	in	this	sense,	normativity	(I	would	say	aesthetic	normativity)	can	also apply	to	imagining.	Imagining,	as	I	put	it	elsewhere	(2013),	is	exploratory	constraint satisfaction,	and	so	there	may	be	better	and	worse	satisfaction	of	constraints	of	various sorts.	So	if	I	have	agreed	to	play	a	game	in	which	certain	principles	of	generation,	as	Walton (1990)	would	put	it,	prescribe	certain	imaginings,	then	I	may	end	up	imagining	rightly	or wrongly	relative	to	that	game.	But	if	a	belief	is	false,	it	is	wrong	in	the	sense	of	being	an epistemic	failing	regardless	of	what	context	one	is	in	(Bratman,	1992)	and	not	just	a	failing relative	to	a	certain	game.	So	the	normative	profiles	of	the	two	attitudes	are	different,	and this	is	the	point	of	the	Epistemic	Correctness	conceptual	difference. Fourth,	because	Ba	<s-i>p	states	can	be	correct	or	incorrect	in	the	sense	specified, and	because	they	are	not	about	the	actual	world,	the	in-the-story	operator	must	link	those beliefs	to	something	besides	portions	of	reality	to	which	p	would	otherwise	pertain.	In	fact, the	<s-i>	operator	brings	about	two	linkages.	Let's	distinguish	the	generating representations	of	a	story	from	the	world	of	the	story.	The	generating	representations	are	the text,	stage	performance,	film,	sculpture,	or	whatever	it	is	in	the	actual	world	that	delivers	the story.	The	world	of	the	story	is	the	totality	of	its	fictional/story	characters,	places,	and events	(I	need	no	more	metaphysics	than	that	for	the	present	point).	The	in-the-story operator	makes	the	generating	representations	the	proprietary	source	of	evidence	for	the correctness	or	incorrectness	of	beliefs	in	which	it	is	embedded.	And	it	makes	the	world	of the	story	itself	the	semantic	source	of	correctness	or	incorrectness	of	the	beliefs.16	By	way of	contrast,	imagining	on	its	own	does	not	bring	about	either	linkage.	Say	someone	has	the mental	state	Ia	p.	The	generating	representations	of	a	story	may	have	prompted	or	even 16	To	see	how	source	of	evidence	about	a	story	and	source	of	correctness	about	a	story	come	apart, consider	an	unreliable	narrator,	such	as	the	self-deceived	butler	in	Remains	of	the	Day. 13 prescribed	that	imagining,	but	they	do	not	provide	evidence	for	its	correctness	or incorrectness	in	the	sense	in	question,	because	that	sense	only	applies	to	belief.	Nor	does the	world	of	the	story,	as	we've	seen,	make	imaginings	correct	or	incorrect	in	the	way	it makes	beliefs	about	the	story	correct	or	incorrect,	regardless	of	whether	one's	imaginings match	that	story	world	or	not.	So	the	imagining	attitude	lacks	the	semantic	and	evidenceselecting	functions	of	the	in-the-story	operator.	Call	this	difference	Selection. Fifth,	there	are	inference	patterns	that	normatively	govern	Ba	<s-i>p	states	that	don't govern	imaginings.	Lewis	(1978:	39)	points	out	that	truth	in	a	given	fiction	is	closed	under implication.	For	example,	if	"In	the	fiction	f,	p"	and	"In	the	fiction	f,	q"	are	both	true,	then	"In the	fiction	f,	p	and	q"	is	also	true	(and	so	on).	This	logical	point	about	"In	the	fiction	f	.	.	."	also applies	to	our	internal	mental	in-the-story	operator,	<s-i>,	and	to	beliefs	in	which	it	is embedded,	when	these	mental	states	are	functioning	well.	So	we	get	the	following inferential	rule:	if	Ba	<s-i>p	and	Ba	<s-i>q,	then	Ba	<s-i>p&q.	This	is	a	normative	rule	about how	one	ought	to	form	further	beliefs	about	stories.17	But	if	we	substitute	in	Ia	for	one	of	the instances	of	Ba	<s-i>	in	the	antecedent,	we	no	longer	have	a	good	rule.	Thus,	the	following	is not	a	normative	rule	for	proper	story	cognition:	if	Ba	<s-i>p	and	Ia	q,	then	Ba	<s-i>p&q.	The reason	this	not	a	rule	is	that	I	may	just	happen	to	imagine	some	silly	thing	while	processing a	story,	such	as	Sherlock	Holmes	rides	a	Vespa,	but	I	wouldn't	thereby	be	required	to integrate	that	into	my	beliefs	about	the	story.	My	imagining	of	Magwitch's	De	Niro	face	is also	a	(non-silly)	counterexample	to	the	mooted	rule.	Furthermore,	if	we	substitute	Ia	for every	Ba	<s-i>	in	the	first	rule	above	(the	mental	analogue	of	Lewis's	rule),	we	also	don't	get a	good	rule.	I	could,	for	fun,	alternately	imagine	things	going	two	contradictory	ways	as	I process	a	story,	without	thereby	being	obligated	to	imagine	things	going	both	contradictory ways.	It	might	in	some	sense	be	mentally	mischievous	to	imagine	in	this	way,	but	there	are 17	Inconsistent	fictions	of	course	challenge	such	constraints.	But	here	I	characterize	the	general pattern,	the	challenging	of	which	is	precisely	what	makes	inconsistent	fictions	interesting. 14 not	general	inferential	rules	for	imagining,	analogous	to	the	ones	that	hold	for	belief,	that would	make	such	imagining	an	inferential	failing.	So	the	present	point	is	an	instance	of	a broader	one:	inferential	patterns	that	normatively	govern	beliefs	about	stories	are	much more	tightly	constrained	than	those	that	govern	imaginings,	as	we	would	expect,	given	the general	normative	and	epistemic	differences	between	beliefs	and	imaginings.18	Imaginings may,	in	point	of	psychological	fact,	default	to	following	along	with	the	inferential	patterns that	apply	to	belief,	and	it	may	be	critical	to	our	success	at	processing	stories	at	all	that imaginings	have	such	a	default.	But	this	default	can	be	voluntarily	thrown	aside,	if	one	likes. So	it	does	not	reflect	a	normative	constraint	on	inferences	among	imaginings.	This difference	can	be	called	Inference	Rules.	It	is	this	difference,	notably,	that	most	clearly explains	Separability:	imagining	things	in	a	story	does	not	inferentially	compel	us	to	have beliefs	about	the	story	that	are	implied	by	the	contents	of	the	imaginings,	so	it	is	perfectly normal	to	have	some	imaginings	about	fictional	entities	that	don't	result	in	corresponding beliefs. These	considerations	establish	the	Conceptual	Differences	thesis,	which encompasses	Architecture,	Iteration,	Epistemic	Correctness,	Selection,	and	Inference	Rules. The	work	of	this	section	has	been	somewhat	technical,	so	let's	step	back.	The	broad	theme here	is	that	Ba	<s-i>p	is	epistemically	constrained	in	a	way	that	Ia	p	is	not,	and	the	operator in	the	former	state	indicates	which	story	(and	generating	representations)	the	belief	state should	answer	to.	As	a	consequence	of	this	epistemic	constraint,	two	consumers	of	a	given story	who	have	well-functioning	belief	formation	processes	will	come	to	have	largely	the same	beliefs	about	a	given	story	as	one	another	(modulo	interpretive	difficulties).	It	is thus-to	continue	our	work	toward	solving	the	shared-personal	puzzle-our	capacity	for 18	See	Sinhababu	(2013)	for	discussion	of	this	point. 15 forming	beliefs	about	stories	(and	to	do	so	in	epistemically	responsible	ways)	that	explains how	we	can	share	them.19 Section	3:	Explanatory	Differences One	reading	up	to	this	point	might	suspect	the	following:	sure,	it's	true	that	Ia	p	and Ba	<s-i>p	are	conceptually	distinct	and	can	in	principle	come	apart,	but	they	are	in	practice	so intertwined	that	little	would	be	lost	in	terms	of	psychological	explanation	if	we	decided	not	to carefully	and	continually	observe	the	difference. One	prominent	theorist	has,	in	fact,	expressed	a	view	much	like	this.	Tamar Gendler's	otherwise	illuminating	(2000)	paper,	which	persistently	uses	the	phrase	"makebelieving"	to	refer	to	mental	states	that	(on	her	view)	may	undergo	imaginative	resistance, includes	this	passage	in	a	footnote: Walton	points	out	(personal	correspondence)	that	my	use	of	'make-believing'	seems ambiguous	between	two	readings.	If	I	make-believe	that	p,	I	may	be:	(a)	accepting that	p	has	been	successfully	made	fictional	(that	is,	accepting	that	the	author	has succeeded	in	presenting	a	story	in	the	context	of	which	a	certain	proposition	is	true) or	(b)	pretending	that	p	(that	is,	entertaining	or	attending	to	or	considering	the content	of	p,	in	the	distinctive	way	required	by	imagination).	Although	these	are clearly	two	different	states,	I	think	they	are	connected	in	a	way	that	legitimates	my conflating	them	in	certain	contexts.	Because	I	think	that-very	roughly	stated- what	is	true	in	a	story	is	what	the	author	manages	to	get	the	(appropriate)	reader	to imagine,	if	(appropriate)	readers	are	unable	(or	unwilling)	to	make-believe	in	the second	sense,	they	will	be	unable	(or	unwilling)	to	make-believe	in	the	first.	(58) So	Gendler	recognizes	the	distinction	I've	been	discussing	("these	are	clearly	two	different states").	But	she	also	thinks	that	the	two	state	types	are	so	intertwined	that	it	is	sometimes fair	and	reasonable	to	lump	them	together	under	one	term	that	doesn't	discriminate 19	I	should	note	that	the	conceptual	differences	discussed	in	this	section	hold	up	even	if,	following Walton	(1990),	we	choose	to	analyze	the	in-the-story	operator	in	terms	of	prescriptions	to	imagine	in the	context	of	a	game	of	make-believe.	This	is	because	the	relevant	belief	[believing	that	there	is	a prescription	to	imagine	that	p	in	the	context	of	a	certain	game]	is	not	identical	with	the	relevant imagining	[imagining	that	p].	Accordingly,	all	five	conceptual	points	here	can	be	translated	into Walton's	framework	in	fairly	straightforward	ways,	though	they	do	not	imply	that	framework.	In other	words,	the	conceptual	points	made	here	should	be	adopted,	regardless	of	whether	or	not	one	is a	Waltonian.	To	put	this	another	way,	epistemic	norms	that	obtain	for	beliefs	about	what	one	is prescribed	to	imagine	do	not	automatically	apply	to	those	imaginings,	since	violating	the	prescription and	violating	the	epistemic	norms	are	two	different	things:	I	could	violate	the	make-believe prescriptions	all	day	long	without	thereby	violating	the	norm	of	true	belief	(I	can	still	believe	truly that	there	are	such	prescriptions). 16 between	them	("make-believing").	Separability,	of	course,	already	casts	much	doubt	on Gendler's	final	sentence,	but	the	passage	as	a	whole	nevertheless	challenges	us	to	be	specific about	what	explanatory	rewards	we	gain	by	observing	the	distinction	pervasively. To	meet	that	challenge,	I	argue	here	that	Ba	<s-i>p	and	Ia	p	have	different	profiles	in terms	of	what	they	psychologically	explain	(beyond	the	bare	fact	of	Separability).	Here	I identify	some	classes	of	phenomena-both	mental	and	behavioral-that	are	differentially explained	by	the	two	states	and	components	thereof.	I	divide	the	phenomena	into	the serious	side	and	the	playful	side	of	processing	fiction,	as	mentioned	in	the	Introduction.	I take	it	as	given	that	the	seven	classes	of	phenomena	I	discuss	are	real	and	show	that	Ba	<si>p	and	Ia	p	do	different	explanatory	work	in	relation	to	them.	By	that	I	mean	this:	there	is	a range	of	psychological	phenomena	that	Ba	<s-i>p	states	explain	that,	other	things	equal,	Ia	p states	would	not	explain,	and	vice	versa. What	<s-i>	and	Ba	<s-i>	Explain:	The	Serious	Side 1.	People	argue	about	stories.	"Tony	Soprano	gets	killed	in	the	last	episode."	"No	he doesn't!"	"There's	romantic	tension	between	Luke	and	Leah."	"No	there	isn't!"	"Catherine Tramell	was	the	murderer."	"No	she	wasn't!"	Both	lay	people	and	scholars	have	such arguments.	In	so	doing,	they	assume	(at	some	level)	one	can	be	right	or	wrong	about	a fictional	story.	These	arguments	proceed	by	citing	or	demanding	evidence.	Tony	made	new enemies	in	later	episodes.	Luke	and	Leah	exchanged	meaningful	glances.	Tramell	had	an	ice pick	beneath	her	bed.	Many	of	these	arguments	may	be	frivolous,	but	many	of	them	won't be.	And	the	key	psychological	point	is	that	the	people	having	them	often	don't	take	them	to be	frivolous,	which	is	revealing	of	their	underlying	mental	states. Argumentation	and	demands	for	evidence	are	hallmarks	of	belief.	If	you	said Magwitch	was	not	a	criminal	in	the	novel	Great	Expectations,	I'd	argumentatively	correct you	and	cite	appropriate	evidence.	But	if	you	said	he	didn't	have	a	De	Niro-looking	face,	I 17 wouldn't,	even	though	I	persistently	represented	him	with	a	De	Niro-looking	face	as	I	read it.	So	why	do	I	argue	with	you	in	the	former	case	but	not	the	latter?	The	answer	is	that	in	the former	case	but	not	the	latter	I	have	the	attitude	of	belief:	I	believe	that	in	the	novel	Great Expectations	Magwitch	is	a	criminal;	I	don't	actually	believe	he	has	a	De	Niro-looking	face.	If you	attempted	to	argue	with	me	about	the	look	of	Magwitch's	face,	I'd	say,	"I	know	the	novel doesn't	say	that!	I	just	like	imagining	him	that	way!" So	arguments	about	fiction	are	in	part	explained	by	(i)	people's	beliefs	about	stories and	(ii)	people's	sensitivity	to	other	people's	beliefs	about	stories.	This	shows	that	people who	argue	are	implicitly	aware	of	the	Epistemic	Correctness	difference:	beliefs	can	be epistemic	failures	in	ways	imaginings	can't	be.	Moreover,	the	fact	that	we	might	re-watch scenes	from	Star	Wars	to	settle	a	dispute	about	Luke	and	Leah,	if	we	had	one,	as	opposed	to looking	for	real	people	named	Luke	and	Leah,	is	explained	by	the	presence	of	the	story operator,	<s-Star	Wars>,	among	the	constituents	of	our	beliefs.	The	in-the-story	operator changes	the	point	of	evaluation	from	the	actual	world	to	the	world	of	Star	Wars,	and	it changes	the	source	of	evidence	to	the	generating	representations	of	that	world-that	is,	to the	Star	Wars	movies-as	the	Selection	difference	implies.20 2.	People	distinguish	multiple	fictional	worlds.	Adults	know	that	Frodo	and	Sherlock Holmes	inhabit	distinct	fictional	worlds.	Deena	Skolnick	and	Paul	Bloom	(2006)	show	that children	as	young	as	four	distinguish	multiple	fictional	worlds	as	well.	So	not	only- contrary	to	popular	myth-do	children	reliably	distinguish	reality	from	make-believe,	as developmental	psychologists	such	as	Alan	Leslie	(1987),	Marjorie	Taylor	(2001),	and	Deena Skolnick	Weisberg	(2013)	emphasize;	they	also	distinguish	one	story	world	from	another. In	their	second	experiment,	Skolnick	and	Bloom	ask	young	children	questions	such	as,	"Can 20	See	Predelli	(2008)	for	an	even	more	elaborate	set	of	distinctions	concerning	the	fictional	operator. 18 Batman	talk	to	SpongeBob?"	Even	young	children	are	likely	to	say	"no."	But	to	"Can	Batman talk	to	Robin?"	their	answer	is	much	more	likely	to	be	"yes." Beliefs	with	in-the-story	operators	are	needed	to	explain	this	result.	Imaginings alone	can't.	Children,	I	take	it,	can	imagine	Batman	talking	to	SpongeBob.	Many	of	them probably	do,	as	soon	as	they	hear	the	question,	so	what	they	do	or	don't	imagine	doesn't explain	the	pattern	of	responses.	Rather,	their	"no"	answers	express	beliefs	about	story worlds,	with	two	separate	operators	to	track	these	worlds:	<s-Batman>	and	<s-SpongeBob>. Each	operator	is	linked	to	different	generating	representations	and	worlds	of	evaluation. Beliefs	that	incorporate	these	operators	combine	with	genre	truths	and	knowledge	of	story conventions	to	yield	further	beliefs,	such	as:	Ba	<s-Batman>	there	are	no	talking	sponges. 3.	People	hypothesize	about	stories.	As	I	first	read	Brothers	Karamazov,	I hypothesized	Ivan	was	the	killer	of	the	father	(was	I	right?).	Such	hypotheses	are	common: Gatsby	will	be	with	Daisy	in	the	end;	Liz	will	marry	Darcy;	Harry	will	defeat	Voldemort;	Nick killed	Amy.	We're	surprised	if	our	hypotheses	are	disconfirmed,	and	we	say	(misleadingly) "I	knew	it!"	if	they're	confirmed.	Our	usual	verbal	expressions	of	such	hypotheses	don't make	the	in-the-story	operator	explicit.	We	rather	say,	"I	think	Ivan	was	the	killer."	But	the mental	states	so	expressed	do	have	an	<s-i>	constituent:	they	have	the	form	Ha	<s-i>p.	You don't	look	for	evidence	about	an	actual	guy	named	Gatsby	in	the	actual	world,	as	one	would if	one's	internal	hypothesis	had	no	such	operator;	rather,	you	look	at	the	sentences	that constitute	the	text	of	the	story.	The	presence	of	the	operator	shifts	the	hypothesis's evidential	base	to	the	generating	representations	of	the	story,	as	discussed. This	point	becomes	clearer	through	contrasting	the	following	pair	of	examples. Archeologist	Andie	hypothesizes	Troy	traded	with	Mycenae.	Literary	Critic	Larry	prima facie	hypothesizes	the	same	thing,	namely,	Troy	traded	with	Mycenae.	But	Andie	is concerned	with	the	actual	city	that	Frank	Calvert	and	Heinrich	Schliemann	rediscovered 19 and	excavated	in	the	1860s;	Larry	is	concerned	with	the	story	of	Homer's	Iliad.	So	Andie turns	to	the	archaeological	record	and	Linear	B	tablets	from	Mycenae,	while	Larry	scours the	text	of	the	Iliad.	The	Iliad	is	only	weak,	inconclusive	evidence	for	Andie,	while	it's	of highest	importance	for	Larry;	vice	versa	for	the	Linear	B	tablets.	Furthermore,	Andie's hypothesis	can	turn	out	right,	even	if	Larry's	is	wrong,	and	vice	versa.	So	Andie's	and	Larry's respective	mental	states	are	different,	though	the	attitudes	(hypothesis)	and	topic	(whether Troy	traded	with	Mycenae)	are	the	same.	The	difference	is	that	Larry's	internal	mental hypothesis	has	an	in-the-story	operator,	<s-Iliad>,	embedded	in	it.	Formally	put: HAndie	Troy	traded	with	Mycenae HLarry	<s-Iliad>	Troy	traded	with	Mycenae The	hypotheses	people	have	about	stories	are	also	explained	partly	by	our	potential for	Ba	<s-i>p	states,	since	people	have	hypotheses	with	the	aim	of	eventually	having	beliefs. But	we	also	have	to	posit	another	attitude	in	addition	to	imagining	(as	I	use	that	word	here) and	belief,	namely,	Ha	<s-i>p.	The	attitude	of	hypothesizing	gets	linked	via	the	in-the-story operator	to	the	world	of	the	story	and	to	the	generating	representations	of	the	story,	as Selection	implies.21	These	considerations	reveal	two	interesting	points.	First,	the	<s-i> operator	earns	its	keep,	since	it	works	as	an	explanatory	posit	in	more	than	one	attitude type	(not	just	belief).	Second,	the	range	of	cognitive	attitudes	one	can	have	about	stories mirrors	the	range	one	can	have	about	the	actual	world.	There	is	no	reason	to	limit	ourselves to	just	belief	and	imagining	when	it	comes	to	theorizing	about	cognition	of	fiction	(call	this view	Attitude	Pluralism).	One	can	suspect	that	in-the-story	p,	doubt	whether	in-the-story	p, 21	Hypothesizing	is	different	from	imagining	in	the	sense	under	discussion,	since	hypothesizing	aims at	the	eventual	formation	of	belief,	whereas	imagining	in	the	sense	identified	so	far	does	not	(I	am not	trying	to	figure	out	whether	Magwitch	had	a	De	Niro	face;	I	just	imagine	it).	One	could,	of	course, use	"imagining"	as	a	more	general	term	that	encompasses	both	the	attitude	of	hypothesis	and	the attitude	of	imagining	in	a	fictional	/	playful	way,	but	then	one	would	just	need	other	terms	to	mark the	differences	between	those	two	things.	In	any	case,	using	"imagining"	that	way	is	not	the terminology	I've	chosen.	Rather,	I	call	the	larger	category	"non-belief	cognitive	attitudes"	and	use "hypothesis"	and	"imagining"	for	two	distinct	mental	phenomena	within	this	larger	category. 20 in	the	context	of	a	debate	assume	for	the	sake	of	argument	that	in-the-story	p,	suspend judgment	whether	in-the-story	p	etc.	The	fact	that	we	have	this	range	of	cognitive	attitudes as	a	story	unfolds	in	our	minds	is	a	large	part	of	what	makes	a	storyline	intellectually engaging	as	an	epistemic	drama:	we	want	to	know	what	happens,	so	we	employ	our epistemic	resources,	including	multiple	cognitive	attitudes,	as	tools	to	help	us	arrive	at	the knowledge	we	seek-even	if	it's	only	knowledge	of	a	fictional	story. * * * These	serious	side	phenomena	all	involve	people's	wanting	to	get	stories	right. Relative	to	them,	belief	and	the	in-the-story	operator	play	an	explanatory	role	that imagining	does	not.	Mere	imagining	(without	belief)	doesn't	explain	the	why	people	argue about	fictions	in	ways	that	presuppose	one	of	them	will	be	right	and	the	other	wrong,	and	it doesn't	explain	how	we	keep	track	of	(and	why	we	insist	on)	the	differences	between fictional	worlds.	We	also	need	to	posit	in-the-story	operators	in	people's	minds	to	explain various	evidence-seeking	behaviors,	like	looking	to	texts	and	movies,	as	opposed	to	what would	be	the	relevant	bits	of	reality,	for	evidence	of	the	truth	of	certain	beliefs	and hypotheses.	The	conceptual	differences	identified	in	the	last	section,	Epistemic	Correctness and	Selection,	make	Ba	<s-i>p	and	<s-i>	suitable	posits	for	explaining	this	serious	side. What	Ia	p	Explains:	The	Playful	Side Though	we	form	beliefs	about	stories,	in	many	ways	we	are	much	freer	in	how	we cognitively	handle	stories.	Imagining	explains	these	freer	ways. 4.	We	internally	represent	embellishments	in	stories	beyond	what	we	believe	happens in	them.	This	phenomenon	emerged	in	my	representing	Magwitch	as	having	a	De	Niro	face. We	often	represent	in	our	minds	more	than	is	officially	specified	or	implied	by	the generating	representations	of	the	story.	A	fictional	story	might	specify	that	a	character	shot a	handgun.	Yet	you	might	mentally	represent	this	as	happening	with	a	revolver-or	a	Glock. 21 Neither	choice	would	be	right	or	wrong.	And	you	may	know	that	neither	is	right	or	wrong, but	such	embellishing	details	come	to	you	nevertheless	(sometimes	spontaneously, sometimes	deliberately).	Since	you	represent	embellishments	without	believing	them	to hold	in	the	story	one	way	or	another-and	without	hypothesizing	or	aiming	to	believe them-your	attitude	toward	the	embellishing	representations	is	imagining.	You	become- often	inadvertently-an	imaginative	co-creator	of	the	version	of	the	story	that	unfolds	in your	mind.22 5.	We	daydream	in	ways	that	incorporate	characters,	places,	and	events	from	the story.	Daydreaming	is	spontaneous	story	creation	or	continuation.	But	when	we	daydream, we	don't	take	ourselves	to	be	getting	something	independent	of	the	daydream	right	or wrong.	So	daydreams	aren't	beliefs	about	a	story	or	anything	else.23	The	attitude	by	which we	relate	to	daydreams	is	rather	imagining.24 But	though	daydreams	are	not	(in	a	belief-like	way)	correct	or	incorrect	as representations	of	a	story,	they	often	have	lots	to	do	with	the	denizens	of	antecedently existing	stories.	We	can	daydream	events	happening	with	the	story	characters	that	go beyond	what	is	described	in	the	official	generating	representations	of	the	story.	We	can even	daydream	ourselves	interacting	with	characters	in	the	story.	I	used	to	daydream,	for 22	Some	claim	that	they	don't	have	rich	imaginings	as	they	read	along	with	novels.	But	that	doesn't change	the	present	point,	which	about	the	difference	in	explanatory	value	between	belief	and imagining.	Imaginings	explain	mental	states	of	the	people	who	do	represent	further	embellishments in	ways	that	beliefs	don't.	Furthermore,	there	is	reason	to	suspect	that	people	who	deny	it	might	be imagining	more	than	they	realize.	The	psychologist	Adam	Zeman	(email	communication)	has discovered	that	people	with	aphantasia	(inability	to	have	mental	imagery)	can	lose	their	interest	in novels	without	losing	interest	in	movies.	A	good	explanation	for	this	is	that	some	low-grade imagining	goes	on	for	just	about	everyone	who	likes	reading	stories,	even	if	they	don't	always	have good	metacognition	of	this	fact,	and	once	that	goes	away	the	text	loses	interest. 23	Ichikawa	(2009)	argues	that	sleeping	dreams	are	imaginings.	I	don't	know	if	that's	true,	but	I'm certain	that	daydreams	are. 24	Compare:	if	I	believe	<s-i>	I	own	a	spaceship,	I	take	there	to	be	some	independent	story	i	in	which	I have	a	spaceship;	that	belief	is	incorrect	if	it's	not	the	case	that	I	own	a	spaceship	in	the	world	of story	i.	But	daydreaming	I	own	a	spaceship	involves	no	such	commitment	to	an	independent	story world	when	it	comes	to	the	truth	of	the	contents	of	the	daydream.	Now,	contents	of	a	daydream	can be	true	or	false.	Most	daydream	contents	are	probably	false.	But	having	false	contents	doesn't	make the	daydream	itself,	or	any	component	of	it,	incorrect	in	the	way	that	it	makes	a	belief	incorrect. 22 example,	that	I	was	traveling	along	with	Bilbo,	Gandalf,	and	the	dwarves	through	the	Misty Mountains,	as	I	read	the	Hobbit.25 And	all	this	daydreaming	is	imagining,	not	belief,	for reasons	that	the	Conceptual	Differences	thesis	makes	clear. Interestingly,	there's	no	firm	boundary	between	imaginative	embellishments (phenomenon	4)	and	daydreams	that	extend	the	story	in	more	elaborate	ways (phenomenon	5).	They	are	on	a	continuum.	The	more	additional	details	one	imagines,	the more	one's	embellishments	turn	into	daydreams.	Daydreams	are	just	toward	the	more elaborate	end	of	the	continuum	of	imaginative	co-creation	of	the	version	of	a	story	that	lives inside	one's	head.26 6.	People	generate	external,	non-canonical	representations	of	stories	through	fan fiction	and	play	acting.	Daydreaming	in	relation	to	a	story	world	involves	internally	coming up	with	further	developments	involving	the	denizens	of	the	story.	But	people	often	produce external	representations	as	well. First,	there's	fan	fiction,	a	genre	of	writing	(usually)	that	extends	the	events	of	a given	story.	And	unless	she's	delusional,	it's	not	usually	the	case	that	the	fan	fiction	writer believes	that	what	she	writes	actually	happened	in	the	original	stories.	Rather,	she	comes up	with	what	she	knows	to	be	additional	developments.	The	mental	generation	of	fan	fiction is	deliberate	and	controlled	daydreaming,	which	is	to	say	imagining.	(Once	the	fan	fiction exists,	one	can	have	beliefs	about	what	happens	in	those	new	stories,	but	that	is	immaterial to	the	present	point:	imagining	[that	goes	beyond	belief	about	what	happens	in	the	original story]	explains	the	generation	of	the	fan	fiction.) 25	M.	Taylor	(1999)	points	out	that	imaginary	friends	can	be	based	on	pre-existing	fictional characters. 26	At	what	point	has	one	stopped	imagining	embellishments	to	the	same	story	and	just	started creating	a	new	story?	Answering	this	question	requires	solving	the	dishwasher	problem,	which	I raise	in	the	Appendix.	The	dishwasher	problem	is	difficult	and	wide	open.	But	it	is	at	least	progress that	we	can	pose	it	clearly. 23 Second,	consumers	of	fiction	sometimes	act	out	stories	and	use	props	in	the	acting. "You	be	Magwitch	and	I'll	be	Pip,	and	these	headphones	will	be	the	shackles!"	In	such	a	case, one	imagines	the	headphones	are	shackles.	One	does	not	believe	that	(in	the	story	of	Great Expectation	or	otherwise)	headphones	are	shackles.	So	beliefs	about	the	story	can't	do	the explaining	here.	Beliefs	about	the	story	explain	my	choices	of	the	names	"Magwitch"	and "Pip."	But	they	don't	explain	our	ability	to	use	props	in	play	acting	a	story.	An	imagining	is what	links	the	thing	that	doesn't	exist	in	the	story	(headphones)	to	the	thing	that	does (shackles).	Nor,	if	we	see	ourselves	as	creating	a	new	story,	is	it	the	case	that	headphones are	shackles	in	the	new	story.	Headphones	are	not	shackles	in	any	story,	nor	does	either	of us	believe	they	are.	Rather,	we	imaginatively	cast	them	that	way	to	pretend	a	scene	from	a story	we	know.	So	the	choice	of	props	in	creating	new,	play-acted	representations	of	a	story is	explained	by	imagination. 7.	People	choose	what	to	put	in	stories	from	multiple	imagined	options.	The	main topic	of	this	essay	is	story	cognition	on	the	consumer	side.	But	we're	moving	across	a	blurry line	into	the	territory	of	mental	states	involved	in	story	creation.	That	is	no	accident,	since imagining	is	an	attitude	that	occurs	in	the	minds	of	both	story	creators	and	consumers. If	I	write	fan	fiction,	I	might	imagine	multiple	ways	the	story	might	go,	without	yet having	beliefs	about	how	it	does	go	(since	it	doesn't	exist	yet),	and	then	choose	from multiple	imagined	story	developments	the	one	that	will	make	the	best	fan	fiction27.	I	let	my daydreams	(imaginings)	run	and	then	pick	which	one	to	make	the	official	fan	fiction	story. So	in	fan	fiction	creation,	as	with	original	fiction	creation,	imagining	temporally	precedes beliefs	about	the	story.	And	since	creators	can	represent	multiple	ways	for	the	story	to	go without	being	guilty	of	inconsistent	beliefs,	these	initial	imaginings	can't	be	modeled	as beliefs	(note	how	this	point	is	explained	by	the	Inference	Rules	conceptual	difference).	The 27	See	Weisberg	and	Goodstein	(2009)	and	Weisberg	et	al.	(2013)	for	experimental	paradigms	that show	that	young	children	already	can	choose	from	more	than	one	storyline. 24 same	goes	for	play	acting	a	storyline:	I	might	imagine	multiple	ways	that	the	scene	might	go and	then	pick	one	to	act	out. * * * What's	striking	in	these	playful	phenomena	is	the	continuity	between	story consumption	and	story	creation.	One	might	think	there	could	be	a	"pure"	consumer	of fiction	who	attempts	to	have	only	beliefs	about	a	story,	without	having	unprescribed-yetappropriate	imaginings	along	the	way.	Someone	who	reads	novels	just	to	win	at	Jeopardy might	be	such	a	person.	But	it	is	at	least	usual	for	people	to	do	more-to	have	imaginings that	outstrip	what	they	believe	the	official	story	to	be,	like	my	imagining	of	Magwitch's	face. These	daydream-like	imaginings	take	on	a	life	of	their	own,	giving	rise	to	fan	fiction,	which takes	as	its	starting	point	beliefs	about	the	original	story	and	develops	them	imaginatively into	a	new	story	or	story	extension.	Original	story	creation,	finally,	is	just	like	the	last	step, except	without	a	pre-existing	story	on	which	to	rely.	This	continuum	of	creative	states	and processes	gives	us	an	explanatory	burden	that	can't	be	met	by	Ba	<s-i>p	states	alone. Positing	imagining	meets	that	burden.	It	is	a	cognitive	attitude	shared	across	the	spectrum from	the	modestly	creative	story	consumer	to	the	prolific	story	creator.	And	this	is	why story	consumption	has	a	playful	side:	from	a	psychological	standpoint,	the	use	of imagination	in	story	consumption	is	continuous	with	story	creation. Taken	altogether,	these	considerations	show	that	we	should	posit	Ba	<s-i>p	states and	Ia	p	states	in	order	to	explain	psychological	phenomena	involved	in	processing	stories. Ba	<s-i>p	explains	1-3	(or	more	serious	phenomena)	in	ways	that	Ia	p	doesn't,	and	Ia	p explains	4-7	(or	more	playful	side	phenomena)	in	ways	that	Ba	<s-i>p	doesn't.	So	we	should appeal	alternately	to	both.	And	these	differences	in	explanatory	roles	make	sense	in	light	of the	Conceptual	Differences	identified	in	the	last	Section.	All	this	suffices	to	establish	the Explanatory	Differences	thesis-and	to	dislodge	the	tempting	thought	in	favor	of	conflation 25 put	forth	by	Gendler.	We	also	see	a	certain	alignment	in	relation	to	our	shared-personal puzzle:	the	serious	side	(the	"getting	it	right	side")	is	a	cluster	of	behaviors	and	thought patterns	that	enable	one	to	share	a	story	with	others	so	that	all	parties	are	on	the	same page;	the	serious	side	phenomena,	in	a	deeper	sense,	are	all	aimed	at	enabling	us	to	share the	same	story	with	one	another.	The	playful	side,	however,	which	is	not	constrained	by getting	things	right,	is	a	cluster	of	ways	of	relating	to	a	story	that	are,	at	least	at	first, personal	and	idiosyncratic	to	each	individual	(or	perhaps	small	group). Section	4:	Emotions But	which	cognitive	states	generate	the	emotional	responses	we	have	to	fiction?	We are	shocked	and	sad	when	Othello	goes	through	with	murdering	Desdemona;	we	are anxious	when	we	find	out	that	Magwitch	is	Pip's	mysterious	benefactor;	we	are	joyous when	the	Eagles	come	to	save	Frodo	and	Sam;	etc.	We	have	to	have	cognized	the	relevant story	events	in	some	way	in	order	to	have	such	emotional	responses.	Are	the	relevant cognitions	Ba	<s-i>p	or	Ia	p	states-or	both?	Here,	most	importantly,	we	must	beware	of sinking	into	a	false	dichotomy. If	you	ask	the	literature	on	this	topic,	you'll	find	that	the	most	common	response	is that	imagining	is	"the"	cognitive	input	into	emotional	responses	to	fiction.	This	passage from	Tyler	Doggett	and	Andy	Egan	(2012:	278)	seems	representative28:	"We	propose,	again, the	origin	of	our	anxious	affect	had	a	cognitive	and	a	conative	component.	But	the	cognitive component	wasn't	a	belief-it	was	an	imagining,	a	cognitive	state	analogous	to	belief"	(their italics).	Notice	the	false	dichotomy?	And	the	standard	view	on	the	origins	of	emotional responses	to	fiction	does	little	to	correct	it.	On	the	standard	view,	as	I	understand	it, imaginings	can	be	in	the	same	representational	formats	as	beliefs	(or	"codes,"	as	Nichols (2006)	would	put	it),	so	they	can	trigger	emotional	systems	in	the	same	ways	that	beliefs 28	See	Meskin	and	Weinberg	(2003),	Spaulding	(2015),	Nichols	(2004,	2006),	and	Currie	(2014)	for similar	statements. 26 do,	albeit	in	attenuated	ways.	So	since	fictions	generate	imaginings,	they	trigger	emotions that	are	similar	to	the	emotions	beliefs	with	the	same	contents	would	trigger.	This	view,	to me,	seems	correct	as	a	partial	explanation	for	how	imagining	helps	generate	emotions,	and	I have	even	defended	versions	of	it	myself.	But	that	standard	view	about	imagining	doesn't resolve	the	issue	of	whether	Ba	<s-i>p	enter	into	the	profile	of	cognitive	states	that	are causally	responsible	for	emotional	responses	to	stories. So	Doggett	and	Egan's	"the"	in	"the	cognitive	component"	is	misleading,	since	there might	be	more	than	one	kind	of	input,	and	I	think	they	are	also	wrong	to	imply	that	belief isn't	involved.	So	my	task	in	this	section	is	to	argue	that	both	Ba	<s-i>p	or	Ia	p	states	are involved	(in	different	ways)	in	generating	emotional	responses	to	fiction.	What	follows	are three	arguments	for	thinking	this	is	so,	all	of	which	are	inferences	to	the	best	explanation: some	emotional	responses	to	fiction	are	best	explained	in	ways	that	refer	to	beliefs	people come	to	form	about	the	stories;	other	responses	should	be	explained	in	ways	that	appeal	to imagining;	and	many	emotional	responses	are	best	explained	in	ways	that	appeal	to	both kinds	of	mental	state	working	together. First,	let's	consider	the	famous	example	of	Little	Nell,	who	was	at	death's	door	in Dickens'	serial	The	Old	Curiosity	Shop.	Readers	who	were	reading	the	installments	as	they came	out	begged	Dickens	not	to	let	her	die,	and	then	wept	profusely	when	they	learned	she did	die.	Can	imagining	alone	provide	the	cognitive	side	of	the	explanation	of	these	tears?	It seems	not,	even	though	those	readers	no	doubt	imagined	many	things	about	Little	Nell. Presumably,	the	people	who	wrote	to	Dickens	begging	him	not	to	let	her	die	had	already imagined	Little	Nell	dying	prior	to	reading	the	fatal	installment.	How	would	it	occur	to	them to	write	Dickens	about	it	had	they	not	imagined	it?	And	perhaps	they	cried	a	little	when they	imagined	Nell	dying	as	they	wrote	their	letters	to	Dickens,	but	that	imagining	was	not what	triggered	their	profuse	tears.	The	profuse	tears	came	when	people	read	the 27 installment.	That	is,	the	tears	came	when	the	readers	finally	learned	and	hence	believed	that in	The	Old	Curiosity	Shop	Little	Nell	was	dead.29 The	reason	for	this	is	that	belief,	properly	understood,	is	a	constraint	on	how	things are	for	you	in	a	way	that	imagining	is	not.	And	many	emotional	responses,	even	to	fictions, depend	on	(or	are	greatly	magnified	by)	that	cognitive	constraint:	for	many	types	of emotional	reaction,	one	does	not	respond	as	powerfully	to	represented	contents	that	are regarded	as	optional	or	uncertain.	This	is	obvious	for	beliefs	versus	imaginings	about reality:	believing	one	won	the	lottery	engenders	far	stronger	emotions	than	merely imagining	one	did.	The	interesting	point	here	is	that	something	similar	is	true	about	the mental	representations	that	encode	story	lines:	for	many	(though	probably	not	all)	story contents,	belief	that	the	content	is	true	in	the	story	("Oh	no!	She	died!")	engenders	a stronger	emotion	than	merely	imagining	the	content	without	(yet)	believing	it. At	the	very	least,	believing	certain	events	happen	in	a	story	adds	something	to whatever	one	imagines,	and	this	addition	is	often	emotionally	efficacious.	Suppose	that someone	had	a	paper	with	smudged	text	and	so,	despite	imagining	almost	all	the	same things	as	the	other	readers,	wasn't	sure	whether	or	not	Little	Nell	"really	died."	That	reader would	be	eager,	even	desperate,	to	learn	(hence	form	beliefs	about)	what	happened,	and that	learning	would	make	a	difference	to	her	emotional	experience	in	relation	to	the	story. In	sum-pace	Doggett	and	Egan-the	beliefs	one	has	about	what	happens	in	a	story	affect emotional	responses.30 29	Peter	Langland-Hassan	has	independently	put	forward	similar	arguments	on	the	scholarly	blog about	imagination	called	The	Junkyard.	See	his	"Choosing	Your	Own	Adventure?": https://junkyardofthemind.com/blog/2019/10/18/choosing-your-own-adventure 30	I	doubt	Doggett	or	Egan	would	disagree	with	most	of	the	points	I	make	about	belief	and	emotion. Rather,	I	suspect	they	just	didn't	think	of	deploying	the	distinction	I	make	in	a	way	that	is	relevant	to explaining	emotional	responses	to	fiction.	So	I	take	myself	to	be	correcting	an	oversight	(which	is also	common	in	the	literature),	rather	than	saying	something	with	which	they	would	disagree. 28 But	beliefs	about	the	story	are	not	the	only	cognitive	state	that	matters	to	emotional response,	and	Doggett	and	Egan	were	right,	after	all,	to	point	to	imagining. So,	second,	here's	an	argument	to	show	that	imaginings	matter	too	(even	where there	are	not	beliefs	with	corresponding	contents).	There	is	much	reason	to	believe	that mental	imagery	is	crucial	to	the	generation	of	emotional	responses	to	fiction,	as	Timothy Schroeder	and	Carl	Matheson	(2006)	argue	and	as	I	argue	(2011,	2016)	on	the	basis	of considerations	about	neural	and	cognitive	architecture.	Furthermore,	the	psychologist	and neuroscientist	Adam	Zeman	(email	communication),	who	is	widely	known	for	his	research on	aphantasia	(inability	to	have	mental	imagery),	has	found	that	some	people	who	develop this	condition	lose	their	interest	in	novels,	while	still	maintaining	their	interest	in	movies. The	most	plausible	explanation	for	that	fact	is	that	mental	imagery	(in	absence	of	imagistic perceptual	inputs)	is	important	to	the	emotional	engagement	that	fictional	works	generate. But	for	reasons	given	in	Section	1,	much	of	the	content	of	this	imagery	won't	be	believed	as being	true	in	the	official	story	(such	as	the	exact	imagined	shape	of	Little	Nell's	face, postures,	etc.).	So	the	generation	of	emotional	responses	to	fiction	is	heavily	influenced	by the	rich,	detailed	imagined	internal	representations	that	the	generating	representations	of the	story	prompt,	over	and	above	beliefs	about	the	basic	elements	of	the	story.	A	related (bonus)	argument	is	that	the	phenomenology	of	caring	about	fictional	characters	involves seeming	to	care	about	them	directly-personally-and	not	indirectly	via	what	the	story says	about	them.	So	it	seems	that	some	of	our	emotionally	charged	representations	of fictional	entities	and	event	must	lack	the	in-the-story	operator,	since	the	presence	of	the operator	in	the	representing	structure	would	thwart	the	directness	of	the	caring.	But	then- since	people	are	not	confusedly	thinking	the	story	characters	and	events	are	real-the 29 cognitive	attitude	portraying	the	characters	and	events	that	are	directly	(operator	free) cared	about	must	be	imagining	(not	belief).31 Third,	there	is	an	argument	to	be	made	that	imaginings	and	beliefs	work	together	in the	generation	of	emotional	responses	to	fiction.	More	precisely,	which	beliefs	one	has	about a	given	story	while	consuming	the	fictional	work	in	which	it's	presented	make	a	difference to	whether	and	how	the	imaginings	one	has	impact	one	emotionally. To	see	this,	ask	yourself:	why	do	people	hate	spoilers?	A	spoiler,	of	course,	is something	you	encounter	that	presents	information	about	crucial	story	events	before	you	go through	the	official	generating	representations	of	the	story	in	the	intended	order.	And	what gets	spoiled	are	the	emotional	responses,	like	excitement	and	suspense,	that	you	would	have had	in	absence	of	the	spoiler.	But	how	do	spoilers	work?	Here's	what	I	take	to	be	the	most plausible	explanation.	A	spoiler	gives	you	beliefs	about	crucial	story	events	before	you're ready.	More	precisely,	when	you	encounter	a	spoiler,	you	form	beliefs	about	crucial	story events	without	having	been	led	by	the	generating	representations	of	the	fiction	through	all the	details	that	lead	up	those	events.	That	is,	you	form	Ba	<s-i>p	states	about	the	main events	of	the	story	without	having	had	the	generating	representations	of	the	story	spark your	more	detailed	(often	imagistic)	imaginings	of	the	relevant	characters,	places,	and events	that	led	up	to	those	main	events. And	your	imaginings	of	those	details	do	not generate	the	same	emotions	as	they	otherwise	would	have,	had	you	had	a	different	profile of	beliefs	about	the	story	as	you	consumed	it.	If,	for	example,	you	are	caused	by	a	spoiler	to believe	that	a	certain	outcome	is	bound	to	happen	in	a	story,	imagining	(including	with mental	imagery)	the	events	in	detail	that	lead	up	to	that	event	won't	be	nearly	as suspenseful,	exciting,	joyous,	fearful,	etc.	as	they	otherwise	would	be.	And	that's	why	we hate	spoilers.	By	giving	us	pivotal	beliefs	before	we're	ready	(we	already	know	how	it	turns 31	Thanks	to	an	anonymous	referee	for	suggesting	this	bonus	argument. 30 out),	spoilers	deprive	our	imaginings	of	their	characteristic	emotional	power.	Thus,	the hatred	of	spoilers-assuming	we're	right	to	hate	them-shows	that	imaginings	matter along	with	the	relevant	beliefs	to	the	emotional	engagement	of	a	story	and	that	the sequencing	of	the	mental	states	in	relation	to	one	another	matters	too.	The	pivotal	beliefs about	what	"actually"	happens	have	to	hit	at	the	right	time,	once	the	imaginings,	other intermediary	beliefs,	and	other	mental	states	have	all	been	sequenced;	that	is	when	you	get the	emotional	electricity.	There	is-from	a	research	standpoint-much	more	work	to	be done	in	spelling	out	the	dynamics	of	how	the	relevant	beliefs	and	imaginings	do	or	don't interact,	but	that	there	are	important	and	interesting	interactions	should	by	now	be	clear.32 These	arguments,	if	they're	right,	establish	the	Emotions	thesis.	To	be	exact,	if	the first	two	are	right,	they	are	sufficient	to	establish	it	even	without	the	third.	And	if	the	third argument	is	right,	that	establishes	the	thesis	on	its	own.	If	all	three	are	compelling,	so	much the	better. Now-to	step	back	and	see	the	big	picture-the	serious	(belief)	side	of	fictional cognition	and	the	playful	(imagining)	side	both	matter	to	our	emotional	responses.	But	they matter	in	different	ways.	The	serious	side	is	the	constraint:	did	that	really	just	happen?	did she	really	die?	We	want	to	know	these	things,	and	we	thus	bother	to	form	and	even	argue about	beliefs	about	the	story	that	are	constrained	by	its	generating	representations.	But with	our	imaginings-the	playful	side-we	make	the	story	our	own	and	give	it	rich	imagery and	non-imagistic	details	beyond	what	bare	beliefs	would	support.	And	those	personalized 32	We	can	also	come	at	this	from	a	different	angle.	Suppose	you	happen	to	guess	the	outcome	of	a story	in	advance	of	getting	there.	Going	through	the	story	in	this	case	will	still	be	more	suspenseful than	if	you	had	had	a	spoiler	that	just	tells	you	the	outcome.	And	the	reason	for	this	is	that	spoilerinduced	beliefs	about	what	will	happen	kill	suspense,	fear,	excitement,	etc.	much	more	than	guesses do.	So	it	is	important	to	view	spoilers	as	inducing	beliefs.	So	insofar	as	spoilers	make	an	emotional difference	to	the	story	experience,	they	do	so	by	way	of	beliefs	about	the	story.	So	a	belief	that	in-thestory	p	can	make	a	difference	to	emotional	experience	of	a	story	that	imagining	that	p	or	guessing that	in-the-story	p	just	wouldn't	make;	the	latter	two	states	aren't	spoiling	(or	aren't	so	to	nearly	the same	extent). 31 details	matter.	I	doubt	any	two	readers	of	The	Old	Curiosity	Shop	imagine	Little	Nell	in exactly	the	same	way.	So	imagining	makes	us	co-creators	of	the	version	of	the	story	in	our heads	whose	exact	details	belong	to	each	of	us	alone.	So	it	is	not	just	any	Little	Nell	who dies.	It	is	my	Little	Nell.	Or	so	it	is	experienced	by	the	weeping	readers. Conclusion:	A	Solution	to	the	Shared-Personal	Puzzle Let's	review	the	arc	of	this	essay.	My	frequently	invoked	example	was	how	I represented	the	criminal	Magwitch	as	I	read	the	novel	Great	Expectations.	I	noted	that	I	had an	imagining	that	he	had	a	De	Niro-looking	face,	even	though	I	didn't	believe	that	this	was true	in	the	novel	story.	That	observation	supported	the	thesis	that,	in	story	cognition,	Ia	p can	occur	without	Ba	<s-i>p,	which	gave	us	the	Separability	thesis.	Separability,	in	turn,	was explained	by	the	Conceptual	Differences	that	obtain	for	the	two	mental	state	types (Architecture,	Iteration,	Epistemic	Correctness,	Selection,	and	Inference	Rules).	Those Conceptual	Differences-especially	Epistemic	Correctness	and	Selection-also	revealed that	the	two	mental	states	have	different	profiles	in	terms	of	the	phenomena	they	explain. Ba	<s-i>p	explained	more	serious	side	phenomena,	like	arguing	over	which	interpretation	of a	story	is	correct.	Ia	p	explained	the	more	playful	side	phenomena,	like	daydreaming	about story	entities,	fan	fiction,	and	acting	out	story	scenes	with	props. Most	importantly,	the	arguments	and	theses	here	constitute	independent	support for	an	overall	theoretical	picture	that,	as	should	be	clear	by	now,	solves	the	shared-personal puzzle	with	which	this	essay	began.	It	is	our	capacity	to	have	beliefs	about	stories	that enables	us	to	share	them,	and	we	evidently	do	care	about	sharing	them.	Otherwise,	why would	we	argue	about	what	happens	in	a	fiction?	But	at	the	same	time,	each	of	us	dresses	up that	skeleton	of	beliefs	about	the	stories	with	vivid	and	rich	imaginings	that	are	entirely one's	own.	And	the	fact	that	these	vivid	and	rich	representations	are	imaginings	and	not beliefs	means	that	no	one	in	the	entire	world	can	tell	me	I'm	wrong	about	them.	We 32 audience	members	may	share	the	skeleton	of	belief-and	enjoy	the	fact	that	we	do-but clothing	it	beautifully	in	the	imagination	as	I	myself	do	is	something	that	belongs	to	me personally.	And	you,	of	course,	can	say	the	same. This	combination	of	shared	and	personal,	I	think,	is	the	deeper	phenomenon	that this	essay	illuminates	about	story	cognition.	A	good	story	has	the	peculiar	joy	of	being	both ours	and	mine.	This,	however,	is	only	possible	in	light	of	our	psychological	make	up,	which includes	the	cognitive	flexibility	to	bring	more	than	one	attitude	to	bear	on	the	stories	that enchant	us. Acknowledgements For	discussion	and	feedback	on	the	earliest	draft	of	this	paper,	I'd	like	to	thank	Stacie Friend,	Tamar	Gendler,	Amy	Kind,	Josh	Landy,	Shen-yi	Liao,	Derek	Matravers,	Paul Noordhof,	Andrea	Scarantino,	Shannon	Spaulding,	Kathleen	Stock,	Kendall	Walton,	and Deena	Skolnick	Weisberg.	At	the	invitation	of	Bence	Nanay,	I	also	circulated	a	draft	for discussion	at	the	Centre	for	Philosophical	Psychology	at	the	University	of	Antwerp,	and	I thank	all	participants	in	that	discussion.	I	presented	a	slightly	later	draft	at	the	Imagining Fictional	Worlds	workshop	at	the	University	of	Konstanz	in	the	summer	of	2016,	so	I	thank Magdalena	Balcerak	Jackson	and	Julia	Langkau	for	inviting	me	and	the	other	attendees	for their	feedback.	Finally,	I	thank	one	anonymous	referee	of	Philosophical	Studies	for	pushing me	to	make	numerous	improvements,	and	I	most	heartily	thank	Aaron	Meskin	and	Bence Nanay	for	giving	me	advice	on	how	to	rework	the	paper	in	light	of	that	referee's	comments. (Extensive	work	on	this	project	was	completed	with	the	support	of	a	Horizon	2020	Marie Skłowdowska-Curie	Fellowship	from	the	European	Commission	[call	identifier:	H2020MSCA-IF-2014;	contract	number:	659912].) References Bratman,	Michael	(1992)	"Practical	Reasoning	and	Acceptance	in	a	Context,"	Mind 101(401),	pp.	1-15. Currie,	Gregory	(2014)	"Standing	in	the	Last	Ditch:	On	the	Communicative	Intentions	of Fiction	Makers,"	Journal	of	Aesthetics	and	Art	Criticism	72(4),	pp.	351-363. Dickens,	Charles	(2002/1840-1841)	The	Old	Curiosity	Shop,	Penguin. Dickens,	Charles	(2001/1861)	Great	Expectations,	Dover	Publications. 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Weisberg,	Deena	Skolnick,	Sobel,	David	M.,	Goodstein,	Joshua.	and	Bloom,	Paul	(2013) "Young	children	are	reality-prone	when	thinking	about	stories,"	Journal	of	Cognition and	Culture	13(3-4),	383-407. 35 Appendix:	Three	Open	Research	Questions	for	Philosophers	of	Imagination One	additional	virtue	a	theoretical	perspective	can	have	is	that	it	opens	up	further interesting	questions	for	inquiry,	beyond	those	that	had	to	be	addressed	in	arguing	for	it.	A solid	theory	gives	resources	not	just	for	answering	some	questions	but	also	for	asking others	more	clearly	or	even	at	all.	So	as	further	advertisement	for	the	theoretical	views	in this	paper,	I	offer	here	three	questions	that	they	open	up. First,	does	imaginative	resistance,	whatever	that	turns	out	to	be,	concern	resistance to	having	(or	inability	to	have)	certain	Ia	p	states,	Ba	<s-i>p	states,	or	both?	The	literature	on imaginative	resistance	generally	talks	in	terms	of	what	people	can't	or	won't	"imagine"	and, for	the	most	part,	doesn't	distinctly	ask	what	might	be	going	on	with	beliefs	about	the stories	that	induce	resistance.	And	Gendler,	as	we	saw,	uses	"make-believing"	in	a	way	that conflates	things.	But	it	is	at	least	a	reasonable	hypothesis	that	the	resistance-inducing stories	affect	beliefs	about	stories	and	imaginings	differently.	It	is	an	open	question	whether this	hypothesis	is	true. Now	to	be	fair,	some	parties	in	the	literature,	e.g.,	Kengo	Miyazono	and	Shen-yi	Liao (2016),	do	draw	the	relevant	distinction	between	resistance	on	the	part	of	imagining	and resistance	on	the	part	of	belief.	Characterizing	the	"Fictionality	puzzle"	they	write:	"Why does	the	reader	have	difficulty	accepting	that	it	is	fictional,	or	true	in	the	story	world,	that Giselda	[who	in	the	story	killed	her	baby	because	it	was	a	girl]	did	the	right	thing?"	I	take	it that	by	"accepting"	they	mean	something	close	to	believing,	and	they	differentiate	this puzzle	from	the	"Imaginative	puzzle,"	which	is	about	why	one	has	difficulty	imagining	such things.	But	it	is	fair	to	say	that	it	is	not	common	in	the	literature	to	draw	the	relevant psychological	distinctions	so	clearly,	and	the	few	authors	that	do	have	not	fully	answered the	question.	So	it	is	open.	Note	also	that	their	Fictionality	puzzle,	as	Miyazono	and	Liao describe	it,	is	different	from	Weatherson's	(2004)	"alethic	puzzle,"	which	he	describes	like 36 this:	"The	first	puzzle,	the	alethic	puzzle,	is	why	authorial	authority	breaks	down	in	cases like	Death	on	the	Freeway.	Why	can't	the	author	just	make	sentences	like	the	last	sentence	in Death	true	in	the	story	by	saying	they	are	true?"	(Weatherson's	bold	text).	This	is	a	puzzle about	metaphysical	limits	on	what	authors	can	make	fictionally	true,	whereas	as	the Fictionality	puzzle	is	a	puzzle	about	the	psychological	limits	on	what	story	consumers	can believe/accept-one	puzzle	is	metaphysical	and	the	other	psychological.	Perhaps	the	alethic puzzle	and	the	Fictionality	puzzle	at	the	end	of	the	day	stand	and	fall	together.	But	we cannot	just	assume	this,	so	I	hope	the	work	of	this	essay	makes	it	possible	to	address	the Fictionality	puzzle	with	greater	clarity. Second,	do	we	get	Separability	in	the	other	direction?	We	saw	that	it	is	perfectly normal,	for	a	given	p,	for	one	to	have	Ia	p	while	consuming	a	story	without	also	having	Ba	<si>p.	But	is	it	also	normal	or	even	possible,	for	a	given	p,	for	one	while	consuming	a	story	to have	Ba	<s-i>p	without	Ia	p?	That	is,	can	one	believe	that	something	is	true	in	a	story	without also	imagining	it?	Potential	examples	include	cognition	of	stories,	like	in	the	poem "Jabberwocky,"	in	which	many	of	the	words,	like	"brillig,"	are	remembered	but	not understood.	So	perhaps	we	can	believe	that	in-the-story	it	was	brillig	without	imagining this.	But-to	put	it	mildly-many	other	issues	must	be	sorted	out	before	such	a	conclusion can	be	reached.	So	this	is	another	open	question. Third,	a	question	comes	up	that	has	been	labeled	in	one	circle	(people	who	read earlier	drafts	of	this	essay)	"the	dishwasher	problem."	When	I	wash	the	dishes,	I	imagine many	things	(places,	conversations,	etc.).	And	these	imaginings	have	nothing	to	do	with	my dishwashing.	So	when	I	cognize	a	story	and	form	beliefs	about	what	happens	in	it,	why	is	it the	case	that	various	imaginings	I	have	as	I'm	doing	this	count	as	being	at	all	linked	to	the story?	Why	isn't	it	the	case	that	my	imaginings,	especially	the	unprescribed-yet-appropriate ones,	are	as	irrelevant	to	the	story	cognition	as	my	imaginings	during	dishwashing	are	to 37 the	dishwashing?	What	is	it	that	binds	my	imaginings	to	the	story?	Having	done	some preliminary	work	on	this	issue,	I	can	say	it	is	not	as	easy	as	it	at	first	seems	(and	note	also the	echo	here	of	Wittgenstein's	example	of	imagining	King's	College	on	fire:	how	do	you know	it's	King's	College	you're	imagining?).	So	this	is	another	open	question. The	dishwasher	problem	also	arises	in	the	background	of	the	daydreaming,	fan fiction,	and	play	acting	explananda	discussed	earlier.	Presumably,	when	one	takes	enough liberties,	what	one	is	daydreaming,	writing	fan	fiction	about,	or	play	acting	is	altogether	a different	story	from	the	one	that	initiated	the	fantasy.	So	there	is	a	psychological	question here	and	a	metaphysical	question.	The	psychological	one	is:	what	psychological	structures bind	my	imaginings	(in	imaginative	elaborations	of	a	story)	to	beliefs	about	the	initial	story? The	metaphysical	one	is:	what	makes	distinct	representations	all	representations	of	the same	story?	The	dishwasher	problem	is	the	psychological	question;	if	it	can	be	answered, that	might	go	some	way	to	answering	the	metaphysical	question	as	well.