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The idea of solving chess from the very first move is a fascinating concept. Mathematicians estimate that even if we were to reach a solution, the sheer amount of data generated in the process would have a mass equivalent to five times that of Jupiter. Clearly, this isn’t something achievable anytime soon, especially not through brute-force calculations.

Over the past month, I’ve been analysing high-end chess games played by the strongest engines—not to improve my own gameplay, but to explore chess as an optimization problem for computation. Surprisingly, chess at its highest level isn’t about capturing more pieces, as is often thought. The most advanced engines frequently sacrifice pieces with abandon, yet still emerge victorious.

At its core, chess is a game of space and time—not in the sense we understand in our everyday lives, but in terms of piece activity and efficiency. In the chess universe, space refers to the potential activity of pieces: how many squares a piece can influence, which is naturally greater toward the centre than the edges. Time, on the other hand, is the number of moves required to optimize that activity given a particular position. Interestingly, space and time are complementary; an advantage in one often comes at the expense of the other.

But what is the most important aspect of winning a chess game? Garry Kasparov, one of the greatest players in history, provided a simple yet profound answer: the king’s safety. The king, this seemingly vulnerable piece, defines the very meaning of space and time on the board. Its presence creates the rules of engagement, shaping both offense and defence. The king is not just a passive observer but an active participant, capturing and defending like an avatar in the game’s dynamic duality.

This dualistic interplay between two kings vying for space and time is deeply philosophical. The advantage of one side—whether in space or time—is created at the cost of the other. White and Black are locked in a symbiotic struggle, each side’s progress inherently tied to the other’s resistance. From one perspective, this duality reflects opposition; yet from a broader philosophical lens, both sides are equivalent and mutually sustaining. Their interdependence is akin to the concept of non-duality, where opposites exist only to define and support each other.

Chess, then, is not just a game of strategy or intellect. It’s a microcosm of larger ideas: the balance between creation and destruction, the interconnectedness of space and time, and the profound duality that gives rise to meaning itself.