Near and Far
A current area of research in psychology called “construal-level theory” (CLT) is—I promise—relevant to literature. It talks about a very general phenomenon called “psychological distance”. In popular accounts, it’s called the “near / far” distinction. Robin Hanson summarized it on Overcoming Bias. The more-detailed review (Trope & Liberman 2010) calls these things Near and Far:
Abstraction and idealism appear to make up the dominant dimension: Far things are more abstract and more idealized. Distance seems to me peripheral; only near / far in space and in time relate to distance [1].
CLT claims that:
- Every object of thought has many different attributes (rows of the table) which distance can be a metaphor for. Distance itself, of course; and distance in time is similar. More metaphorical distances include level of familiarity (familiar = near, strange = far) and abstraction (detailed = near, abstract = far). The distance metaphor has even been stretched to include color (red = near, blue = far) and transactional direction (buy = near, sell = far), though I’m not convinced.
- In all [2] experiments reported in (Trope & Liberman 2010), being shown anything from the Near column of the Near / Far table makes people think in Near terms for every other row of the table. Similarly for things from the Far column. For example, subjects asked to mark points far away from each other on a graph, and then asked how close they were to their family, reported being “farther away” socially from their families than subjects who were asked to mark points that were close together on the graph (Trope & Liberman 2010 p. 443). Many experiments used a Stroop-effect task to show interference (longer reaction time) when the priming attribute was near (far) and the tested attribute was far (near).
- Therefore, near / far is, or can be regarded as, a single mode of human thought. Perceptions of nearness of one attribute are not merely correlated with perceptions of nearness of other object attributes; they cause other attributes to be perceived as near, or to be approached or thought about (construed) in the manner one would if they were near. Near / far is thus a mode of human thought, and while a person can be in a mode between near and far, a person cannot perceive some attributes of a mental object in far mode, while simultaneously perceiving other attributes or other mental objects in near mode.
Near and Far in Art & Culture
I claim, additionally, that Near and Far characterize not just how individuals think at a given moment, but characterize artistic movements, literary genres, and entire cultures. These works, artists, genres, and cultures can be classed as usually endorsing or displaying either Near or Far values:
Far: The Aeneid, Beowulf, Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde, Pilgrim’s Progress; John Milton; heroic fantasy, superhero comics; Christianity, Nazism
Near: Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales; Robert Frost, Raymond Chandler; realist and naturalist novels, hard-boiled detective fiction; empirical science
The history of European art, science, and culture from 1300 up until 1900 was, excepting the 18th century, one of moving gradually from Far to Near mode. The first-person POV in fictional narrative was (I think) an invention of the 18th century, and the 20th-century dictums “write what you know” and “show, don’t tell” are both commands to write in near rather than far mode.
The novel that began Modernist literature, James Joyce’s Ulysses, is all about confusing the Near and the Far. It takes a narrative that is very, very Far—an Archaic Greek epic poem about an idealized, overconfident, noble hero—and superimposes it on a protagonist who is very Near—an irreligious Irish Jew whose mundane, pathetic, and comical inner thoughts and bodily functions are described in more detail than anyone had ever described any character’s before.
Near and Far will be important concepts in understanding the history of art and culture. They are so important that they were discovered independently several times before.
Using Near and Far in Writing
Ursula LeGuin wrote an essay called “From Elfland to Poughkeepsie” which I think is pretty awful. She tried to pin down what made something fantasy rather than ordinary fiction with dragons and swords, and she started out right—
Let us consider Elfland as a great national park, a vast beautiful place where a person goes by himself, on foot, to get in touch with reality in a special, private, profound fashion.
The phrase “get in touch with reality“, used to talk about something that is definitively unreal, is instantly diagnostic of philosophical realism, also called Idealism. That’s the belief that reality isn’t real, but instead some fantasy world of yours, an imagined ideal world such as Plato’s cave, is real. Plato, Jesus, Hegel, and Heidegger are probably the most-famous Idealists.
Idealism is indeed the basis of classic heroic fantasy, although now, in the age of democracy, we’ve got hobbits as heroes. Idealism seems to mean nearly the same thing as Far mode.
However, she goes on to say…
What is it, then, that I believe has gone wrong in the book and the passage quoted from it? I think it is the style.
Not heroism, idealistic principles, or karma in the world, as Tolkien would have said. No; LeGuin says true fantasy is anything written in a genuine phony archaic style.
I think style is certainly not the causative or definitive feature we want to find, but it is not as useless a conclusion as it first appeared to me. For a style specifies how one approaches the objects one writes about. Does one describe them concretely or abstractly? Does one focus on the physical details, or on purposes and meanings? Does the wording create distance or intimacy? All the choices presented in the “Near / Far” table could be called stylistic. A style, then, positions a text on the Near / Far continuum.
Knowing what is Near and what is Far will therefore help you keep your style more psychologically plausible, by not mixing Near and Far stylistic elements.
(Trope & Liberman 2010) mentioned some research on Near vs. Far style. Here “dispositional” means saying someone did something because of their character, versus “situational”, which means saying someone did something because of the situation they were in.
It has been shown, for example, that personal memories of behaviors that were recalled from a third-person perspective (e.g., “try to remember your first day at school, as if you are now watching the kid you were”) rather than from a first-person perspective (“try to remember your first day at school, as if you are a kid again”) tended to use dispositional (as opposed to situational) terms (Frank & Gilovich, 1989; Nigro & Neisser, 1983). In a similar vein, Libby and Eibach (2002, Study 4) found that imagining performing an activity (e.g., rock climbing, playing drums) from a third-person perspective produced less vivid and rich reports of the activity than imagining the same activity from a first-person perspective. In terms of CLT, this means that a third-person perspective, which imposes more distance than a first-person perspective, induces a higher level of construal. Indeed, Pronin and Ross (2006) showed that taking a third person perspective rather a first-person perspective on one’s own behavior promoted attribution of the behavior to personality traits rather than to specific situational factors. — Trope & Liberman 2010 p. 447-8
All this means that your choice of first or third person point of view should take into account the construal mode you want to invoke in your reader. If you want to work in high fantasy, and have your reader concerned with romantic ideals and to see codes of ethics as absolute and inviolable, you should write in third person. If you want to confront your reader with unpleasant or messy truths and shake them out of dogmatic complacency, or bring them into close empathy with a unique individual, first-person would do better. This is why Tolkien and LeGuin’s fantasies are in third person, while Glen Cook’s Black Company and Roger Zelazney’s Chronicles of Amber, both subversions of heroic fantasy, are in first person. It’s also why Raymond Chandler’s gritty, cynical detective novels are in first person.
These are not absolutes. Third person is extremely flexible. Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine is in a third person that is so close-in to the protagonist that it might as well be first-person. Hemingway’s third person is so objective and concrete, and carefully stripped of Far-mode subjective judgments and abstractions, that it probably puts the reader in Near mode rather than Far.
[1] Even many of the experiments that attempted to measure distance also measured familiarity and abstraction, as they contrasted a nearby, well known place with a distant, unknown place which the subjects could only envision abstractly. So we should really call this the concrete / abstract dimension. But near / far is a more concrete way of describing it.
[2] Trope & Liberman report on about 100 experiments, and in every case the results agreed with the predictions. This is literally too good to be true. Either the authors, the journals, or the reviewers consistently filtered out all adverse results. One important study has been retracted for being fraudulent.
References
Yaacov Trope & Nira Liberman, 2010. Construal-Level Theory of Psychological Distance. Psychological Review117(2): 440 – 463.
A Writing Guide 