Exploring Modes of Thought as Described in Gerald Abrahams "The Chess Mind"

Gerald Abrahams' The Chess Mind is a fascinating and thorough examination of the general workings of the mind and also of the specific workings of a chess player's mind. Abrahams was a barrister by profession who never became a Grandmaster, but he was a very strong player who twice finished third in the British Championship. Three-time British Champion Harry Golombek said that during the 1930s Abrahams "was the most dangerous attacking player in England."

In the Introduction to The Chess Mind, Abrahams makes a lengthy, lucid and persuasive case for the importance of the Chess Mind. Here is an excerpt (pp. 9-10):

The Chess Mind is an important Mind, and important to more than chess players. In Chess, human intelligence achieves a creativity which cannot be explained away in terms of conditioned reflexes or the formation of habits. One of the Author's contentions in this essay is that mental habits and memory are elements in the Chess mind as a knowledge of language is part of the equipment of an orator, or as a technique is essential to the musician. Beyond that equipment training ends, and the mind creates from its own resources and material. What a good Chess player does is comparable, as a mental act, to what the inventor does, be he scientist or poet; an act of free imagination, which changes its own surroundings by the revelation of latent possibilities...

That mind achieves this freedom, and this creativity, is then a datum, and perhaps the only datum, which gives scientific substance to the philosophical traditions of a liberal society. A belief in this--the reality of the mind--is the principle which distinguishes a liberal society, even in its decadence, from the considerable--and successful--forms of slavery to which deterministic thinkers can reconcile themselves. Indeed, freedom of mind, that slight degree of independence and control, which so easily loses scope and reality under the pressure of economic difficulties or political powers, is the only luxury that is lacking in a regimented society, where all predictable behaviour is harnessed to economic effort or military struggle. If those theorists are right who say that this mental freedom is an illusion, in a reality that offers no leisure for dreaming, then there was no ultimate value to justify the world conflict of Democracy against a regimented and brutal Fascism. It is the Author's belief, however, that those mental activities (whatever their limitations of scope) in which the mind experiences freedom, are more than a trivial skill at games and more than the luxuries of the effete. Free society--nay, any society--relies on free unmalicious thought, as masses of human beings rely on the skill of the builders, engineers and aviators to whom they trust their lives. Not all Chess players will deduce from this their own social importance, because not all intellectuals are conscious of responsibility, or even intelligent. But those who do think about themselves and the world objectively may realize that the refinements of thought, the delicate tentacles of mentality, are the slender threads from which depend the hanging gardens of modern civilization.

The book is divided into two parts. Part One is titled "Varieties of Mental Activity in Chess," and it consists of eight chapters describing different types of chess thinking. Part Two is titled "The Chess Mind in Action," and it includes 48 lightly annotated chess games, most of which were played by World Champions or contenders for the World Championship.

Early in Part One, Abrahams provides a great explanation of the similarities between the general thought process of an intellectual and the specific thought process of an exceptional chess player (pp. 19-20):

Just as the minds of intellectuals are so developed, in particular fields or generally, that even a succinct reference--a phrase like inflation or entropy, for example--is sufficient to enable them to apprehend the reality of a complex process, so the good Chess player, glancing at significant points, can assess the tactical and strategical possibilities of a difficult position with relative ease. Among, and rising above, these educated minds are those who, while reading, are not only understanding, but criticizing, agreeing or disagreeing, or, better than that, reconstructing, and improving upon, the thoughts that they are absorbing with ideas of their own--ideas that perhaps the writers of what they are reading have not grasped. These are the men of constructive imagination--by which is meant more than wit, and more than fancy, more than cunning or any narrow cleverness; and they correspond to the Chess players of imagination, who see the position whole, and see into possibilities that the ordinary experience of even an able player would not be sufficient to suggest. These are creative in a degree above the average of intellectuals. They discover and invent ideas: which is more than to understand argument, or translate from recondite languages.

Abrahams is perceptively outlining differences not just in levels of thinking ability--levels of minds--but categorical differences in kinds of thinking--kinds of minds. Bobby Fischer was not just better at chess than other Grandmasters--his mind functioned differently in the way it perceived, combined, and organized ideas. The same is true of geniuses in other realms of thought. A genius is not just a more capable or faster thinker than a regular person--a genius thinks differently in a qualitative sense. You can train to improve proficiency; you cannot train to achieve genius level.

Abrahams disagrees with the notion that chess is inherently mathematical in nature. He compares the work of a mathematician to "carrying out operations with the aid of formulae. He is, as it were, putting something into a machine and turning a handle" (p. 28). In contrast, Abrahams asserts that a chess player is "comparable to the user of a language with a grammar rather than to those who explicitly use rules and formulae deductively" (p. 27). Chess rules provide a framework within which moves must be chosen, but the chess rules do not determine what that move must be; a mathematical equation has but one answer, while the possibilities of language and chess are much more flexible and expansive.

Writing in 1951, Abrahams was understandably skeptical that a machine could ever be programmed to play chess at anything beyond a most rudimentary level--but, at that time, Abrahams had no way to know not only how much computing power would increase in the subsequent decades but also that we would develop computers using neural networks (such as Alpha Zero) that can outplay even the World Champion. The creation of computers that play chess at such a tremendous level expands the possibilities of what machines can do beyond what Abrahams anticipated, but it does not disprove Abrahams' concept of how human chess players think. He was right that humans think about chess in a way that does not consist of rote applications of formulae, but he was wrong to assume that processes could not be developed to enable machines to produce superior results by alternative means.

When deciding upon a course of action, a good chess player must not rely only on "common sense"--moves that superficially look good or appear to achieve a specific strategic or tactical goal--but must also be prepared to deeply examine each position for paradoxical ideas lurking beneath the surface; a move may be logical in a general sense but be incorrect because of a specific idea that refutes that move. Such paradoxical ideas can elude the awareness of even a strong player in a given position if that player is not focused on what makes that position unique, as opposed to the general pattern of typical play that superficially seems to apply to the situation at hand.

Thus, playing chess well requires not just familiarity with what could be called the language and grammar of chess, and not just the ability to unearth and understand paradoxical yet correct ideas, but also a special kind of imagination. Abrahams writes that imagination "is the capacity of the mind for construction and clarity" and states that "this is of the essence in chess" (p. 52), but he notes that when many people speak of imagination they mean "a capacity for the apprehension of the not-obvious, of the particularly not-obvious, of the 'clever'" (p. 52). Abrahams observes that imagination of this sort can be of the "greatest importance" to a chess player but "can also be dangerous to its possessor" (p. 52) because an idea "may be interesting yet is not to be entertained as a possibility" (p. 52). In other words, the best kind of chess imagination is able to conceive of novel solutions to difficult problems while also being tethered to the realistic limitations of the situation on the board; imagination backfires in chess when it produces an unusual solution that turns out to permit a subtle but effective retort by the opponent.

The ability to precisely analyze tactics is essential for a chess player. Often, this involves sacrificing material. Even beginning chess players are familiar with the chart showing the relative point values of each chess unit, but the operative word here--the word misunderstood, if not ignored, by weak chess players--is "relative." Yes, a Queen's relative value is nine points while a Rook's relative value is five points, but if you can give up your Queen for a Rook to force checkmate then the relative values of those pieces are not as important as the absolute value of winning the game. Of course, many sacrifices do not lead to such a clear outcome--at least not in the short run--so the ability to not only calculate but also evaluate is critically important. Abrahams writes, "All that sacrifice signifies is that the player sees through the superficial values of the pieces to their functions. But these functions must be exactly and precisely followed. The player who bombards and tears his opponent's position open, regardless of the cannon fodder expended, is playing an inexact type of positional Chess, and not really combining. On the other hand, failing to combine when necessary is one instance of failure to analyze clearly" (p. 76).

Abrahams declares that chess is fundamentally "the clash of mind against mind. The creativity of the mind, actualized in the Chess struggle, is the factor ignored by those who are tempted to think that there is an objective strategy that enables players to avoid combinative disaster. Strategy, we shall see, exists, and is important; but the hard core of the game is tactical threat. Moreover, good Chess has to be played even in good positions" (p. 81). As Siegbert Tarrasch said, "It is not enough to be a good player; you must also play well."

Most chess players have often had the unpleasant experience of losing from a winning position. Abrahams writes (pp. 83-85):

Chess, it must be remembered, is combat. When the position appears static and solid, ideas, being appreciated, may reveal a breach.

When the battle is at its height, cleverness rather than logic is essential to avoid dangers as well as to exploit weaknesses.

And when the battle appears to be won, then mental effort is as necessary as ever. That the winning of won games can be harder than the gaining of the winning position is a truth only too well known to the majority of good players.

In the chapter titled "General Thinking,"Abrahams clarifies that it is true that there is a distinction between strategy and tactics but false--or, at the very least, inadequate--to assume that strategy and tactics can be considered entirely separate; a chess player who cannot think well strategically is lost at sea, while a chess player who cannot think well tactically may have a general concept of where he is trying to go, but he (or, at least, his King) is likely to be ambushed and killed before he gets there. He writes, "An appreciation of general factors gives confidence, gives a certain guidance to thoughts of attack and defense, but is never a substitute for the detailed treatment of the empirical problems of the game" (p. 105).

Chess is played by millions of people, but it is truly understood by only a select few. Abrahams notes that even those who are paid to cover the game often do not understand it very well (p. 135).

Chess reporters are usually wrong in their selection of diagrams. They choose the position in which the spectacular move was made. The spectacular move usually possesses only an aesthetic merit which is irrelevant to Chess, because it is for the spectator only--but the real merit and the real beauty usually lies in the moves that depend for their validity upon the eventual spectacular move. These, if an aesthetic attitude be adopted, are the moves that matter. Conversely, moves can be beautiful which depend on clever variations that are never actualized. If search be made in the scores of master Chess it will be found that many of the best melodies are unheard.

Great chess players combine tactical awareness with strategic judgment, but they also tend to display a preference for a particular style and/or certain kinds of positions. At lower levels, though, tactics assume a greater degree of importance; a devastating tactical shot can end a game immediately, like a boxer's knockout punch, and lower players are more apt to stumble into an opponent's haymaker than higher level players who both play more soundly from a positional sense and who are also more keenly aware of tactical possibilities. Precisely because great players have more tactical awareness the tactics in their games often are relegated to being unheard melodies.

Although it may not be obvious while watching amateurs play, the draw margin in chess is high: you have to make a serious mistake (or several smaller mistakes) to lose a chess game, which is why so many top level games are drawn. Abrahams declares, "When we find games that are won by the exploitation of infinitesimal advantages, then we are witnessing a manifestation of genius" (p. 172).

Abrahams correctly observes (p. 175) that at the highest levels "courage and caution," "energy and inertia," and "very great will-power" are essential for success. The ability to see many moves ahead and the ability to calculate accurately are important but not sufficient, because no one can see everything or calculate everything. Thus, the player's character, conditioning--mental, emotional, and physical--and temperament often determine the outcome of a game, a match, a tournament--and a career, for that matter. In this way, chess is a microcosm of life--it is not possible to see all futures or calculate all possible outcomes, so each of us chooses a path based on our character, our conditioning, and our temperament. Abrahams singles out will-power as the most important of these factors, asserting that lack of will-power can hold back a talented player while players who have great will-power often achieve more than might be expected when considering their apparent talent.

Abrahams notes that in chess luck only plays a role in terms of whether you receive the white or black pieces against a given player, or whether you face a particular player early in the tournament or late in the tournament (which can have implications not only in terms of fatigue, but also in terms of how peacefully inclined one or both players may be in light of the overall tournament standings). Within the confines of the 64 squares, luck does not exist: you control your forces, and you decide your fate.

Eugene Znosko-Borovsky famously asserted "Chess is a game of understanding and not of memory." Abrahams concurs, and he goes to some lengths to explain why a good memory may be helpful to a strong chess player but is far from essential. Abrahams defines three different kinds of memory (pp. 191-192):

The student should appreciate here that there is ambiguity in the word memory. The word is used to cover that full awareness of the present and immediate past which is essential to any complete vision. 'Memory' is also used to describe the recollection of the more distant past, after the mind has invoked its machinery of forgetting and recalling.

And there is a third meaning--very difficult to state exactly at the present stage of our knowledge of the physical constitution of the mind. That is the memory which is our knowledge of the meaning of words--the Chess player's knowledge of the moves of the pieces and of methods of play. These are remembered in the sense that they become habits of the mind.

Abrahams suggests that a chess player who has memorized a lot but understood little is similar to a person who has memorized works of literature without comprehending what those works mean; the latter may be able to recite such works, but he will not be able to write well, and similarly a chess player who has memorized move sequences or even entire games will not play well if that player lacks the ability to calculate tactics and understand strategic considerations.

However, it seems that most of the greatest players of all-time are gifted with fantastic, if not photographic, memories--including, but not limited to, World Champions Fischer, Kasparov, and Carlsen--so I suspect that there is a limit to how far one can go in chess without possessing at least a very good memory. Abrahams asserts that the best players are able to figure things out during a game using their imagination and understanding, but perhaps Abrahams is oversimplifying to prove his point, or perhaps this is a matter of semantics in terms of how to define memory: no great player is figuring out everything during a game as events happen, and every strong player I have ever met or learned about is equipped with basic knowledge/memory/recall of certain positions/structures (which, to be fair to Abrahams' evaluation of the role memory plays in chess, seems to fall into the third category of memory that Abrahams describes as "habits of the mind").

In an overly broad sense, it could be argued that anything that a person understands is to some extent a function of memory; taken to the extreme, if you cannot remember anything then how could you understand anything? It is not realistic to believe that someone who has poor recall can repeatedly figure out complicated things from scratch. No, a photographic memory is not required to be World Champion or even to be an Expert or a Master, but a strong memory is an asset for a chess player.

Abrahams presents some examples of memory without understanding leading players astray, including some Masters who trusted published analysis without verifying it and then lost in ignominious fashion--but here the fault lies not with memory but rather with judgment (or laziness): if the Master had checked the analysis before playing the moves and found that the analysis is flawed then he could have used his memory to good effect and remembered during the game to play something that works!

Abrahams' larger point about the importance of understanding compared to rote memorization is valid, though, and he perceptively describes the higher order memory that all strong chess players utilize. He writes (pp. 200-201):

But more important than the consciously recollected is that set of mental habits which smooths the action of the mind. This is the third kind of memory mentioned above--the memory which is a scholar's knowledge of a language; the equipment which enables him to use it without conscious effort.

In Chess, and in many sciences, one aspect of this kind of memory is Technique.

Technique is something difficult to define, existing as it does between objective vision and recollection of method. It is the more difficult to define because method itself is hard to describe in a game of Chess, where one sees, or does not see, a process by an intuitive act.

But just as the musician has methods of play which are consistent with objective reading of the score, so the Chess player has methods of carrying out particular tactical operations, like forcing a Pawn to the back row, which he does not require to think about when contemplating an approaching ending.

I would argue that it takes a good memory to cultivate the myriad "mental habits" necessary to play elite level chess. I watched a young Hikaru Nakamura almost instantly figure out an intricate endgame during an analysis session after a pair of quite strong players had spent a lot time without reaching a conclusion about the best play for both sides. Was this a feat of memory by Nakamura--specifically recalling something he had seen before--or was it a demonstration of his superior understanding? Even if one suggests that it was the latter and not the former, without a superb memory how would Nakamura call to mind so quickly the understanding of chess that he had cultivated? Semantics aside, some form of memory is at work here, and the majority of people who do not possess such memory will find it difficult, if not impossible, to attain Nakamura's level of chess understanding. The saying "game recognizes game" comes to mind, and I can speak from personal experience here in at least two realms: when you step on a basketball court, it does not take long to figure out if some of the players are just more gifted--physically and/or from a skill set standpoint--than others, and when you play chess against someone or analyze chess with someone it does not take long to figure out if that person is remembering more and/or understanding more than you are. I have experienced both sides of that situation in both realms. To deny the existence of inherent talent or to deny the importance of superior memory does not change the reality of talent or the importance of memory.

Throughout the book, Abrahams illustrates and illuminates his points with examples selected both from his games and from the games of elite Grandmasters, including World Champions Steinitz, Lasker, Capablanca, Alekhine, and Botvinnik. The Chess Mind was first published in 1951, with a subsequent edition appearing in 1960. The games section in the 1975 paperback edition (the version under review here) includes several post-1951 games, but--oddly--only one game by Bobby Fischer: his sparkling 1956 victory at the age of 13 over Donald Byrne, a prodigious work of art later dubbed "The Game of the Century."

Reading The Chess Mind will not only stimulate your thinking about the process of thinking while helping you become a better chess player, but it will enhance your appreciation of the beauty of chess, and remind you about--or, as the case may be, introduce you to--some of the most wonderful games played by some of the greatest chess players of all-time.