Might be an unpopular opinion, but I wonder if this is largely absent in art.
As we all know, art is subjective. All experiences are unique, the author sometimes even dies somewhere along the way.
So what happens, then, when you write characters who have theory of mind? As in, they’re aware that they are unique with their own thoughts and emotions as are everywhere else around them. Almost like they’re human beings who just happen to be characters.
Admittedly this can be tricky to do well. It’s not the same as a fourth-wall break or meta-commentary. It’s simply a character having more dimension than you’re used to seeing. It results in a kind of loss of balance to the reader; s/he suddenly doesn’t know all, doesn’t see all. For some it’s exciting, for others it’s scary.
And I’d argue we need way more of it because it’s like your character occupying a fourth dimension and breaking free of the page, gaining power that can be silent or earth-shatteringly loud.
And the best way to do this is to study yourself and your own theory of mind. It’s a powerful tool in real life that’s greatly underrated.
Do you employ theory of mind in your characters and works? Do you know anyone who does this?
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This can be useful for villains. A reader wouldn't likely identify with a villain, so elaborating on the villains rationale (to a point) can make them more believable in their drive for even an evil plot, such as...
Thanos from the Avengers series who bascially rationalizes a galaxy-wide genocide.
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Absolutely Michael Dzurak, I'd argue it could be incredibly useful also for anti-heroes especially. Basically the more mental variation you give a character, the more oomph their choices can have.
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I’d argue the way to get there isn’t more craft theory but less — setting aside the postulates and working from the inside out, a kind of literary Method acting. You dwell with the character in their specific environment and let the pressure of that place act on them, rather than marching them down a plot formula. Do that long enough and something shifts: the character starts modeling the other minds around them the same way you’re modeling theirs. That’s the theory of mind you’re describing — not the writer knowing the character, but the character knowing the room.
The paradox is that choices born this way — from origins, history, allegiances — sometimes resemble standard tropes. But because the decision comes from genuine in-world logic instead of a narrative mechanic, the arc reads as original anyway. Legible to the audience, but breathing on its own.
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Banafsheh Esmailzadeh I think this is less about theory of mind being absent from art and more about how deeply a writer explores it. The characters I remember most aren't the ones who simply serve the plot they're the ones who clearly have lives, beliefs, and emotional worlds that exist beyond the scenes they're in. As a writer, I try to ask not only "What does this character want?" but also "How do they interpret the people around them, and how wrong might they be?" Those different perceptions create conflict, empathy, and surprise. For me, that's where characters begin to feel like real people rather than just functions of the story.