Theory of Mind and Its Value in Storytelling

In historical fiction, as in all great literature, the ability to understand and convey a character’s thoughts, emotions, and motivations is key. This cognitive skill, known as Theory of Mind—the ability to place ourselves in someone else’s shoes, to attribute mental states to oneself and others—allows writers to create deeply immersive and psychologically rich narratives.

Let’s look at the role of Theory of Mind in storytelling as exemplified by two short stories and then see how the use of theory of mind can add value to your story by creating multidimensional characters, by enhancing conflict and tension, by immersing readers into the historical mindset and by deepening a narrative’s emotional connection with the reader. Lastly, I will give you four pointers on how you can easily use theory of mind in your work.

After all, writing stories is sharing a point of view, while reading them is understanding the world from another’s perspective: the storyteller’s. The characters’. If this is done well the narrative will forge a deep bond between readers and the protagonist; it will evoke suspense as we await the outcome and even challenge our perceptions of the world around us.

But how does this concept shape storytelling, and why is it indispensable for crafting compelling characters?

What Is Theory of Mind?

Theory of Mind refers to our innate ability to recognize that others hold beliefs, desires, intentions or perspectives different from ours. It is what enables us to predict and interpret human behavior. In literature, this translates to a writer’s capacity to inhabit the “mind” of multiple characters and therefore weave a narrative where motivations, misunderstandings and conflicting worldviews drive the plot.

We develop Theory of Mind in childhood, though the outcome varies due to socioeconomically and environmental factors. It involves cognitive perspective such as interpreting others’ thoughts, desires, or intentions, as portrayed by their body language, to explain or predict their actions. Psychologists call it a “theory” because one can never truly verify another person’s mind (Duh! Only a writer can…). Closely related is empathy, the ability to recognize and share others’ feelings by imagining their experiences.

Missing the window opportunity to develop the Theory of Mind: the apparition of the Wild Child (the Feral Child)

The concept of “wild child”—one who grows up without human contact, often raised by animals and attuned to the wisdom of the wild—exists in literature and mythology across cultures. However such a child, isolated from social interaction, lacked the opportunity to develop Theory of Mind. Without exposure to human relationships they will struggle with perspective-taking, unable to predict or explain the actions of those around them.

The tale of Romulus and Remus, the twin founders of Rome, is legendary, raised by a she-wolf before being taken in by a shepherd and his wife. This motif of a child nurtured by the wild is not unique to Roman mythology; it echoes the deep reverence for wolves found in Dacian culture.

The Dacians, whose lands stretched across present-day Romania, saw the wolf as a sacred creature and a guardian turning in into a symbol of their own resilience and warrior spirit. Their connection to the wolf was so profound that some accounts suggest their name, Dacian, may have originated from daos, Phrygian for wolf. Just as the Romans wove the wolf into their foundation myth Dacians embraced it as part of their identity, blurring the line between man and beast, bridging the one between civilization and wilderness.

Although literature managed to romanticize the image of a feral child (Mowgli from Rudyard Kipling’s ‘The Jungle Book’, Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan, J. M.Barrie’s ‘Peter Pan’, the sad reality is that most children raised by / living with animals (wolves, dogs, primates, bears, or even sheep and goats) ended up like this due to human neglect or abuse and struggled with reintegration, often facing isolation, malnutrition and an inability to fully adapt to human society, as historical cases proved. Folklore has portrayed these children as strong and well-adjusted, with a strong sense of humanity. In reality, due to the lack of early human connection, most wild children suffer mental impairments, diminished language ability, a lack of social skills and physical problems.

It is during our formative years that we learn how to behave in accordance with our culture, acquire language and, through example and interactions with parents and others, develop the social skills needed to connect with people. We also come to understand the unspoken rules that govern society. This is closely linked to the development of theory of mind as we learn to read and interpret the thoughts (okay, partially), feelings or intentions of those around us.

Failing to acquire language skills during this critical period in early childhood can result in lasting difficulties in cognitive development, communication or social integration by impairing the ability to understand others’ perspectives and making it nearly impossible to fully adapt to human society at a later stage in life.

The Role and Value of Theory of Mind in Storytelling

Guess which one of the two short stories below exemplifies the Theory of Mind at work and which one the lack of it. These stories involve characters from my upcoming historical fiction trilogy so, for the purpose of this article, involve characters I am closely acquainted with.

Story 1

In the winter of 1453, beneath the cold stone walls of the Brassovia fortress, Esther watched her younger brother, Ysaac, gazing out at the snow-covered landscape through a crack in the windowpane. His face was pale, his gaze distant. It had been a difficult season and the whispers of an impending move from their childhood home had been like a slow, persistent frost creeping through their hearts.

Esther’s heart shriveled. She understood Ysaac’s unease, a reflection of her own fears that had grown sharp in the shadows of the past weeks. She knew his fear was not merely about the cold winds or the unfamiliar roads ahead, but the loss of everything they had known. But where she kept her emotions shoved in a tiny corner of her heart (until they shrank and withered), Ysaac’s were like shadows on a wall, darker and larger than reality.

Poor little brother.

Older and wiser in the ways of their family, she had noticed the subtle shifts in his mood whenever their father mentioned the journey to a new land, the uncertainty that lay ahead. She had learned to understand her brother’s recent silences. Fueled by stories of a past that their kin had spent running away to save the lives of their children, and of their children’s children, he feared the unknown, the loss of their familiar surroundings and most of all, the separation from the friends he had been lucky to know his entire life.

Sitting beside him, Esther said nothing at first, knowing that no words could warm the depths of his distress. She only placed a hand on his arm, letting the silence settle around them.

“Ysaac, I know you fear this change but we will have each other, and the friends we leave behind may not be so far away. We’ll make new ones, and our hearts will grow strong together.”

His eyes were clouded with worry. But his sister’s quiet confidence and understanding of his heart made him nod slowly. For all her years of training as a healer, Esther had learned that the power of a few carefully chosen words could soothe even the most anxious heart, her ability to read her brother’s fears a gift she would hold onto.

Ysaac’s brow remained furrowed, but his eyes softened as if her words threw another light over his demons, diminishing their shadows.

Story 2

In the spring of 1461 Tomás prepared for the grand feast to celebrate yet another victory of their king’s forces. Any win over the Ottoman troops was a momentous occasion and Tomás, ever eager to please, had arranged a celebration to honor his friend, Zsolt, a fellow soldier in the service of their lord. Tomás had heard little from Zsolt since what remained of their village’s troops returned, except for the occasional muttered response. He believed, however, that the feast would lift his friend’s spirits.

The hall was adorned with garlands made of fir branches and the rich aroma of thick vegetable stew and pork filled the air as guests gathered. Tomás stood proudly at the center, grinning with anticipation as Zsolt entered. “A feast for you, my friend!” he declared, his voice booming across the room loud enough for everyone to her him, to know.  

But Zsolt stood motionless in the doorway, his shoulders hunched and his face betraying nothing but weariness. His civilian clothes, once well-fitted, hung loosely on his frame as though he had forgotten the way to wear them after so many months of battle armor. His hands, deprived of his weapons, clenched themselves at his sides. The laughter of the revelers seemed to fill the space between them like a wall.

“Thank ye, Tomás,” Zsolt said, his voice flat, “but I’ve no heart for revelry tonight.”

But Tomás clapped him on the back, his excitement undeterred. “You’ve fought well, Zsolt, and deserve a celebration. Come, eat! Drink!” He pushed a goblet of wine towards his friend whose hand failed to grab it.

Zsolt’s eyes darted around the room like a bird in a cage. His gaze turned inward, his thoughts drifting far from the warmth of the room and the banter of the crowd, from the spiced wine and the savory meats. The laughter that filled the air seemed distant and oppressive, a world he no longer belonged to. His mind wandered back to the familiar sight of a battlefield—the endless stretch of mud, of blood mingling with smoke, the cries of the wounded and the patronage of the dead. The sight of comrades fallen, faces once familiar now twisted in unnatural stillness. He had seen too much—bodies trampled underfoot, lives lost in vain. And all—for what? A futile struggle that had promised victory—to a handful—but only delivered loss to the most. He hadn’t enough life left in himself for laughter. His thoughts, too heavy with the weight of battle. His eyes, filled with the faces of those who would never return. His mouth, stuffed with the bitter taste of death. And loss. And futility.

But Tomás slapped him on the back and downed the wine, unconcerned of the trickle that ran from the corner of his mouth. Red like blood.

Now, let’s give this Theory of Mind a good run for its money and put it to work in storytelling.

Theory of Mind and Its Value in Storytelling

1. Creating Multi-Dimensional Characters with Theory of Mind

It is the theory of Mind that allows readers to build a character in their minds, making them feel authentic rather than mere inanimate entities and connect with it just as they would with real people. They engage with a character’s thoughts, feelings, or behaviors, taking in their perspective much as they would with real people. In first-person POV, the character directly shares their experiences, forging a personal connection. In third-person POV, access to a character’s internal world deepens emotional investment, allowing readers to empathize more fully with their struggles and motivations.

Real people are not static but constantly shifting based on their goals, circumstances and desires—characters should reflect this same complexity (and flows). If a character is confined to a generic archetype, they risk becoming flat, limiting depth and preventing real emotional engagement. Instead, they must evolve (or fail) through their desires, actions, and experiences.

Without using Theory of Mind characters lack depth and fail to resonate. A writer who fully understands their character’s inner world can craft individuals who feel alive, particularly crucial in historical fiction. This genre demands that characters be shaped by the mindsets of their era, culture and social structures rather than modern sensibilities.

Multidimensional characters as reflected in Story 1:

“But where she kept her emotions shoved in a tiny corner of her heart (until they shrank and withered), Ysaac’s were like shadows on a wall, darker and larger than reality.”

This comparison reveals Esther’s emotional restraint and Ysaac’s sensitivity, highlighting their contrasting ways of coping with fear. Esther is the strong, quiet protector, while Ysaac struggles with overwhelming anxiety. Their complexity makes them feel real—Esther is not just the “strong sister,” nor is Ysaac merely the “fearful child.” Instead, both are shaped by past experiences, family history, and their relationship with each other.

Multidimensional characters as reflected in Story 2:

“His civilian clothes, once well-fitted, hung loosely on his frame as though he had forgotten the way to wear them after so many months of battle armor.”

Zsolt is not just a returning soldier; he is a man whose very identity has been altered by war. The way his clothes no longer fit him mirrors his psychological struggle—he shrank from the life he once knew, but not in a way that brings him comfort or pride. His physical and emotional changes make him more than a one-note “war veteran” character, adding depth and realism.

2. Enhancing Conflict and Tension through Theory of Mind

Storytelling tension arises from the gap between what characters know, what they believe to be true, and how they act based on those perceptions. Misunderstandings, hidden motives or unreliable narrators—all rooted in Theory of Mind—fuel compelling drama. A nobleman underestimating a servant’s intelligence, a spy concealing his true allegiance, or a queen making decisions based on flawed information (hasn’t this happened to all of us?) all raise the stakes and drive conflict forward.

Point of view also plays a crucial role in shaping a story’s tension.

In (lesser used I think, but rather effective as it brings the reader into the story) second-person POV for instance, the narrator places the reader directly into the protagonist’s role, making their struggles feel personal. While challenging to execute, this approach creates an intense, immersive experience—one that hinges on the reader identifying with the character’s decisions and emotional journey.

Here’s a passage from Story 1 rewritten in 2nd person POV:

Your heart shrivels as you watch Ysaac stare out at the snow-covered world beyond the narrow windowpane. You understand his unease—it mirrors the fear that has settled in your own chest, sharp and unrelenting in the shadows of the past weeks. But you know his fear is not just of the cold winds or the unfamiliar roads ahead; it is the loss of everything you have both ever known. You have learned to bury your emotions, pressing them into the smallest corner of your heart until they wither into silence. But Ysaac’s fears do not shrink—they stretch like shadows on a wall, darker and larger than reality.

As in real life, a character’s shifting goals can lead to unexpected yet believable actions, creating dramatic turns in conflict. When a character reacts in an unforeseen way it forces readers to reassess their understanding of them, heightening intrigue and emotional investment. However, if a character’s actions stray too far from their established mind model without justification it can cause the reader to disconnect, breaking their immersion into the story and even weakening the narrative.

Enhancing Conflict and Tension with Theory of Mind in Story 1:

“She knew his fear was not merely about the cold winds or the unfamiliar roads ahead, but the loss of everything they had known.”

The tension arises from Ysaac’s inner turmoil and Esther’s efforts to comfort him. The external conflict (their family’s impending move) is not the true source of fear—the deeper conflict is their struggle with loss, uncertainty and survival. Their history of displacement adds layers to the tension, making it more than just a simple relocation.

Enhancing Conflict and Tension with Theory of Mind in Story 2:

“But Tomás slapped him on the back and downed the wine, unconcerned of the trickle that ran from the corner of his mouth. Red like blood.”

The tension here is twofold: Zsolt is haunted by his past on the battle field while Tomás remains oblivious to his pain. Their conflict is not outright hostility but a fundamental misunderstanding—Tomás sees a reason to celebrate, while Zsolt sees only loss. The wine, described as “red like blood,” serves as a chilling reminder of the battlefield, widening the emotional gap between them.

3. Immersing Readers in a Historical Mindset, Bridging Past and Present: Theory of Mind in Historical Fiction

Balancing historical accuracy with modern relatability is one of the greatest challenges for historical fiction writers. The difficulty arises from the fact that people’s beliefs, fears and desires are shaped by their time period and culture. For a writer of fiction it is essential to construct historically accurate mind models rather than impose contemporary sensibilities onto the past. Characters should not feel like modern personalities transplanted into historical settings but rather as products of their world, shaped by its values, fears and limitations.

Applying Theory of Mind allows writers to craft characters whose thoughts and values align with their era while still remaining accessible to modern readers. This requires understanding how different periods influenced human perception—what people feared, how they loved and what they were willing to sacrifice.

Throughout the centuries, stories have always served a vital social function. Just as ancient narratives once conveyed essential survival information about food sources, trustworthiness, or danger, modern storytelling continues to help us share knowledge, experiences, and emotions. Through the use of Theory of Mind historical fiction becomes a bridge between past and present, making the struggles, fears and desires of characters both authentic and emotionally resonant for today’s readers. At least this should be (one of ) the main goals of any historical fiction writer.

Immersing Readers in a Historical Mindset using Theory of Mind in Story 1:

“Fueled by stories of a past that their kin had spent running away to save the lives of their children, and of their children’s children, he feared the unknown.”

This passage places the reader in a historical reality where forced displacement was common, especially for persecuted groups. Ysaac’s fear is not just personal—it is generational, shaped by the experiences of his ancestors. This historical layering makes his emotions feel authentic to the time period, rather than applying a modern perspective to an old situation.

Immersing Readers in a Historical Mindset using Theory of Mind in Story 2:

“Any win over the Ottoman troops was a momentous occasion and Tomás, ever eager to please, had arranged a celebration to honor his friend.”

This sentence grounds the reader in the historical context of 15th-century Europe, where wars against the Ottomans were not just military events but deeply personal, shaping everyday lives. The cultural importance of victory celebrations and the expectation that soldiers should take pride in their role reflect the historical mindset of the period.

4. Deepening Emotional Resonance, the Power of Emotional Connection in Storytelling

Readers form emotional connections to characters in the same way they do with real people—by understanding their thoughts, fears, and motivations. The more time they spend building a mind model of a character, the more they empathize with them so their struggles, joys, and sacrifices become deeply impactful. If a character lacks psychological depth the reader’s ability to form empathy is diminished, weakening the story’s emotional pull.

Storytelling resonates most when readers can see the world through a character’s eyes—whether it’s a protagonist’s silent suffering, a soldier’s unspoken dread before battle, or a mother’s quiet sacrifice. These emotions feel real when a writer truly understands their character’s internal state, allowing for powerful, subtle storytelling where emotions are shown rather than told.

Theory of Mind enhances this process by tapping into our innate social drive to empathize and connect. It enables readers to engage with characters on a profound level, making stories more meaningful and memorable. Whether helping children navigate complex emotions or allowing adults to invest deeply in fictional lives, ToM and point of view work together to create immersive, emotionally rich narratives.

Emotional connection exemplified by Story 1:

“Ysaac’s brow remained furrowed, but his eyes softened as if her words threw another light over his demons, diminishing their shadows.”

This moment of connection between siblings is deeply emotional. Esther’s ability to comfort Ysaac through quiet understanding, rather than forceful reassurances, makes their bond feel real and touching. The imagery of light versus shadows adds a poetic layer, reinforcing the impact of her words.

Emotional connection exemplified by Story 2:

“His mind wandered back to the familiar sight of a battlefield—the endless stretch of mud, of blood mingling with smoke, the cries of the wounded and the patronage of the dead.”

This vivid description places readers directly inside Zsolt’s trauma. His inability to escape the battlefield, even in a place of warmth and celebration, makes his suffering palpable. The contrast between the lively feast and his haunted memories heightens the emotional weight of his experience, making his pain resonate with readers.

How Writers Can Develop Theory of Mind in Their Work

• Write from multiple perspectives: Experiment with shifting viewpoints to understand how different characters perceive the same event.
• Explore subtext: What is left unsaid often carries more weight than dialogue. Consider what your characters are concealing and why.
• Read historical letters, diaries, and firsthand accounts: Understanding the thoughts of real people from the past helps in crafting authentic character voices.
• Observe human behavior: Pay attention to how people react in different social settings—what they say versus what they mean.

I believe that Mastering Theory of Mind in storytelling is not merely a technical skill but an art that elevates a narrative from a sequence of events to an exploration of the human experience. In historical fiction it becomes a bridge across time, allowing readers to step into the consciousness of those who lived before us. By honing this ability, writers breathe life into their characters, making them not just figures of history, but individuals with hopes, fears, and desires as real as our own. Because Theory of Mind taps into a writer’s inner emotions and life experiences connecting deeply to the universal truths of humanity, it is a doable endeavor. Creating stories that resonate with readers across generations is possible.

I hope these excerpts demonstrate how Theory of Mind enhances storytelling by creating nuanced characters, deepening conflict, immersing readers in historical settings, and fostering emotional connections.