I'm hardly a good chess player; would that they could learn from one. I learned the game as a child from an old copy of Encyclopedia Britannica. I wanted to learn, I think in much the same way that my nieces did. Early I discovered the philosophical quality of playing chess against oneself. Later I discovered that it's much harder to sacrifice pieces when playing against a committed opponent. My grandfather was a remarkable man and a true friend. But when I asked him to play chess with me, he specifically refused to play, stating a preference for checkers instead. Beyond that, I never found out why. Another friend of mine was in the chess club at his school. Later in life, after playing chess with Dan, I would learn that simple patterns of play, handpicked from hundreds of opening sequences followed by carefully rehearsed moves and counter moves, could checkmate the untrained player within seconds.
I enjoy the game and admire those, and there are many, who've achieved a level of mastery beyond my own skills. As a game unto itself, I believe that chess can uniquely contribute the the development of critical thinking, patience, and sustained introspection. The game has it's own way of purging the mind of scattered thoughts, summoning the enlistment of every possible neuron to the cause of making the next move. It's effect passes through the players to their surroundings in a manner similar to that of incense and candles through lone penitents to the outer depths of a great cathedral. The spirituality of gaming is apparent in chess; not so in many other games. There is a mysterious quality to it that commands attention, respect, and wonder. A game of chess in a crowded coffee shop affects everyone in the room, body, mind, and spirit. Even the violent, piercing sound of fresh espresso being ground loses some of its auditory sting when knights, rooks, bishops, and queens rally to the defense of kings.
And like other beautiful and mysterious things, chess leaves the irreverence, banality, and poor form of it's players and their bystanders in high relief. A game poorly played in an atmosphere of respect yields no such outcome. Not so for many other games, yet for chess this experience is inherent, unquestionable, and ancient. Anger at having lost a game of chess definitively reminds one of the finality of objective truth and in so doing, beckons one back to the board for nobler things. Pride at having won a game of chess quickly fades with the understanding that the game is measurably larger than it's greatest players.
The question can be posed to what extent the human person matters in a game of chess. After all, it has become a classic problem in computer science to program machines to play against each other and as a result we've witnessed the defeat of human grandmasters by their digital opponents. Did man discover chess, or did he invent it? I concede that man invented chess no more than I invented the games that I played against myself as an exercise in childhood learning. Yet in light of the almost incomprehensible number of possible chess games that could be played, the fact remains that the latter act of discovery pales in comparisson to the former. Where one is stayed by the boundaries of simple rules, the other may dip freely into the universe not once, but any number of times throughout human history. The result is an instance of one possibility among a number that not even our most powerful machines can be programmed to calculate. Hence the existence of so many variants on the game. And so it is that the human person matters in a game of chess when he participates in one. Only then is there a spirituality of gaming to animate and make possible true play, spontaneous, creative discovery, and authentic invention.
It has been said, "Show me the games of your children, and I’ll show you the next hundred years." I can think of no better game to play throughout one's life, yet chess seems to bring out the best in children. The question can be posed to what extent would the world be different had chess never been played? Scholars of the game's history know that it's influence is far-reaching. Along these lines, I sometimes wonder how my life would have been different had I not played chess, and having taught two children to play the game, I must also wonder how different our world would be in years to come if chess were more often among the games our children play.
My nieces both expressed a more acute appreciation for the vast expanse of possibilities that spread out before anyone playing a game of chess. Experiences like this confirm that there is great richness and beauty to be found in things that have form, boundaries, and objective definitions. Contrary to a culture that has cast form and obectivity from the theatre and the gallery, the game of chess, like baroque music, stands ever firm in the plenitude of its form.
Relevant Reading / Review:
The Immortal Game
The Art in Chess
America's Foundation for Chess
U.S. Chess Federation
Chess Magnet School