It’s no secret that chess is often viewed as a purely academic activity; however, I believe such a view does a great disservice to a game that can be a beautiful expression of one’s personality, and when played for fun, can be a potent creative outlet. The perception of chess has changed significantly in the last 150 years, from the birth of the first world chess championship to the turn of the millennium, when a computer beat a reigning world chess champion for the first time. Once computers inevitably surpassed us, the top levels of chess almost exclusively became a pursuit of perfection, where one’s ability to memorise opening sequences is the most reliable path to victory. Many masters came to this conclusion, and I, like them, believe that when we view chess as a computer does, we rob not only ourselves but the world of wonder.
This problem has only intensified with the rise of online chess during the pandemic, as well as the popularity of the Queen’s Gambit show on Netflix, which has introduced millions of people to the game. The computer-driven perfectionist mindset has trickled down to these new players, who can so easily watch their favourite chess personalities play, mimicking without understanding, or first gaining a deeper joy of the game. For amateur players, losing a pawn doesn’t spell disaster. It’s only at the top levels that it becomes a noticeable disadvantage. However, many children “learn” that such a small mistake is fatal, because they’ve seen professionals resign after a slight misplay. This only further perpetuates the belief that chess is a boring, stiff game, with no opportunity for creativity.
Chess originated from pre-6th-century CE India as a war game, with pieces modelled after contemporary military units. As such, it has been a part of the education of budding military officers, politicians, and royalty for almost a thousand years, and was even one of seven essential knightly skills for 12th-century knights. While it was not used to teach military tactics directly, chess does promote foresight, strategy, and discipline. Skills essential for any leader. Just as we can glean insights into the personalities of leaders from history by studying their leadership style, the same can be done through watching someone play chess.
During the Second Punic War, Hannibal Barca invaded Italy and decisively defeated the Romans in three consecutive battles. Roman military culture at the time prized directness and overwhelming force, viewing any other approach as cowardly. But after two catastrophic defeats, the Republic appointed Fabius Maximus as dictator. Fabius, unlike his predecessors, was cautious and deliberate in his approach. He believed Hannibal could not be beaten in open battle and instead adopted a strategy of attrition, harassing supply lines and avoiding direct confrontation. Though effective, his approach was widely condemned as cowardly, and when his term expired, he was replaced, leading to the disastrous Battle of Cannae, where an estimated 50,000 to 70,000 men were lost in a single day.
Roman writer Plutarch wrote “The Life of Fabius Maximus” during the second century CE, some three hundred years after the fact. He did, however, build upon, now lost, first-hand accounts of Fabius as a person, writing: “Indeed, the calmness and silence of his demeanour, the great caution with which he indulged in childish pleasures, the slowness and difficulty with which he learned his lessons, and his contented submissiveness in dealing with his comrades, led those who knew him superficially to suspect him of something like foolishness and stupidity. Only a few discerned the inexorable firmness in the depth of his soul, and the magnanimous and leonine qualities of his nature.”
While an interesting piece of history, what does Fabius Maximus and the Second Punic War have to do with chess? Fabius’s strategy was not simply a matter of military pragmatism; it was a reflection of who he was. His caution, patience, and resilience mirrored his temperament. In this way, Fabius serves as an early example of how leadership, like chess, can reveal the soul of the player. Consider former world chess champion Anatoly Karpov. Karpov rarely showed frustration and won games, not through flashy play, but through the slow and steady accumulation of small advantages. Karpov’s personality was expressed through his approach to the game, a style often likened to a boa constrictor. Karpov aimed to minimise risk, preferring his slow, methodical approach. Much like Fabius, he didn’t need to be the hero.
Compare Karpov to another former world champion, Mikhail Tal. Tal earned the nickname “The Magician from Riga” due to his explosive, imaginative, and deeply intuitive style. Tal viewed the game as an art form, and following this metaphor, one can liken him to an early impressionist, someone who “broke the established rules” and achieved great success, and more importantly, joy in doing so. Again, Tal’s personality shone through in his play style; chess was his great passion, but he didn’t optimise the fun from the game through a rigorous academic approach. I believe Tal’s personality can best be portrayed through the following quotes from his contemporaries:
He was loved: isn’t it this that constitutes happiness? At the chessboard Tal was implacable, but in life he was a seemingly inoffensive person. But at the same time he was intelligent and ironic. Chess was his passion, or, more correctly, not chess in general, but playing chess. He did not write books, he did not publish analysis, and it was only because he was forced to that he studied opening theory. He was a genuine virtuoso: he gained pleasure when relying on his phenomenal combinative vision, he found paradoxical solutions in a game. – Mikhail Botvinnik
“Tal was one of the few completely positive people I knew, he wasn’t contentious. Chess is very contentious game by its nature, and he wasn’t” – Garry Kasparov
Tal didn’t play “safe” chess—he played for beauty, for imagination, and for joy.
Those who don’t play the game may dispute the assertion that chess is an art form, and I’ll admit that I, too, would have once scoffed at anyone making such a claim. How can a game where you take turns moving little pieces on a board be likened to an art form? Much like more traditional artistic mediums, chess has restrictions and limitations, just as the paint must be on the canvas, the pieces in play must be on the board. Like a lump of clay, a newly set up chessboard is unmolded, the only inkling of what might be existing in the mind of the artist. Like a poet, chess players develop styles based on their personalities and life experiences; every game we play an autobiography. Games played by long-dead masters are still admired for their beauty, just as Van Gogh’s masterpieces are. Tactical sequences are still admired for their elegance, inspiring incredulity that a mere mortal could possibly play out a seemingly infinite combination of moves in their head, just as it’s difficult to imagine how a man could possibly portray such ecstatic beauty with just a paintbrush.
The emergence of AI in the past decade has only pushed us further down this cold path of precision over style, reducing art and human expression to ones and zeroes. In this new world, it is more important than ever to remember what makes us human – our ability to create, to express ourselves. Whether one plays like Fabius or Hannibal, like Karpov or Tal, each move is no different from a brushstroke on a canvas, and each game a unique story of two souls.
At Mighty Moments, we champion kids playing chess in whichever way they choose. Whether they try to emulate professionals or play in a way never seen before, we prioritise fun above all else!
“Chess, like love, like music, has the power to make people happy.” – Mikhail Tal
Kasparov, G 2004, Garry Kasparov on My Great Predecessors – Part III, trans. K Neat, Everyman Publishers.
― 2008, ‘Garry Kasparov on Mikhail Tal’, Echo Moskvy.
Plutarch 75AD, The Parallel Lives, trans. J Dryden, Harvard University Press, p. 121.Vale, M 2001, The Princely Court, Google.com.au, Oxford University Press, p. 171, <https://www.google.com.au/books/edition/The_Princely_Court/mGRbzofZx3oC?hl=en>.