Chess
and the Art of Negotiation
Review by Howard Goldowsky
A sports headline in The Rocky Mountain News from September 24, 2006,
read, “Belichick Blinks First in Chess Match between Masterminds.”
The article covered the previous night’s Denver Bronco’s defeat
of the New England Patriots. In the article, we learn how Belichick, the head
coach for the Patriots, implemented their no-huddle offense too early in the
football game: “In a chess match between the two top coaches in the NFL,
Belichick took out his queen too early and paid the price… Belichick’s
boys lost the element of surprise.”
Say what? Any serious chess player can tell you that moving your queen too
early will often result in the loss of flexibility, not the element of surprise.
All too often the media flippantly compare chess players to football coaches,
baseball managers, politicians, lawyers, business men – you name it; and
these metaphors work not because of their accuracy but merely because of their
utility. The equally naïve public doesn’t understand chess well enough
to notice the inconsistencies. Chess players do, however, and from a chess player’s
perspective it would be refreshing to see chess as a metaphor discussed with
more accuracy and sophistication than it normally receives from the media.
In the book, Chess and the Art of Negotiation (Praeger; $34.95), which
is an English translation of the French Psychologie de la Bataille
(Economica, 2004), Anatoly Karpov and Jean-Francois Phelizon (President and
CEO of Saint-Gobain Corporation) do just that. The book is a compelling question
and answer session moderated by Bachar Kouatly, editor of the French chess magazine
Europe Echecs. In it, the three authors discuss the similarities and
differences between chess play and business negotiation. Along the way, they
digress to such topics as sports, philosophy, psychology, politics, and war
– each tangent a clinic on the correct way to handle chess as a metaphor.
Despite the book’s short length (a mere 125 pages), and Karpov’s
attempt to misrepresent certain historic facts in his favor, its uncommon dialogue
format as well as its bold attempt to tackle a difficult subject make it a unique
item.
The twelfth world champion Anatoly Karpov
The book is loosely organized around what is considered to be three fundamental
types of engagement: direct, indirect, and lateral. According to the authors,
direct engagement is equivalent to an attack without discretion, a traditional
offensive maneuver; indirect engagement is more subtle, one that forces an opponent
to use his own strength against himself (like in Judo or Sumo wrestling); lateral
engagement is even more aberrant – leading your opponent astray so that
he loses morale or loses faith in his ability to win (usually done through psychological
means). Karpov and Phelizon discuss, in detail, how each type of engagement
relates to their areas of expertise. Often they compare and contrast their views,
and this is where the book truly excels. Phelizon even liberally quotes Sun
Tzu and texts on Eastern philosophy – all in an effort to, as the dust-jacket
describes, “illuminate the dynamics of competition, strategy, and negotiation.”
Why do these authors succeed at describing chess as a metaphor while other,
less expert chess players, businessmen, and journalists fail? The answer lies,
possibly, in the difference between expressive and receptive language. Having
receptive language means that you can see a word or concept being used and understand
its meaning, but you can not express thoughts using that word or concept. Having
expressive language means that you can actually express ideas using that word
or concept. (Here’s an example courtesy of the movie Reality Bites:
Define “irony.” Most people can’t. At best they can easily
give examples of ironic events, but they cannot provide an accurate definition
of the word without heading for the dictionary. The correct definition from
the movie is, “When the actual meaning is the complete opposite of the
literal meaning.”)
Anatoly Karpov can communicate through an expressive language of chess. The
poor fellow who writes for The Rocky Mountain News can’t. He
can only recognize a relationship between the football game he watched
and his incomplete notion of chess strategy; he doesn’t understand the
relationship well enough to elaborate on it. This, unfortunately, to the experienced
chess fan, makes the journalist’s metaphor flop on the page.
One way Karpov and Phelizon demonstrate their expressive language skill is
by explaining not only the intricate ways chess can be compared to life, but
also why it can not. From Phelizon we learn:
…the universe of negotiation is closer to the world of chess than of
war. Both adversaries must follow a certain number of rules. This is not the
case in war where most normal rules are abolished and where an imperative
need to kill is involved.
This is why the term ‘economic warfare’ seems to me to be totally
inappropriate. In the business world, naturally there is fighting, but there
is no war. Consequently, you should never consider your adversary your enemy.
From Karpov we learn:
It is clear that chess is not a model for the military world, the business
world, or the political world. Why? Because in chess, the pieces always start
from the same positions…In the real world, however, it is extremely
rare to find a balanced starting situation where the chances of winning for
both parties are about equal.
That being said, the study of the psychology of chess can offer useful parallels
in general to someone in the business of politics. First, the number of possible
combinations in chess is immense…that is how things are in real life.
The combinations are infinite, and situations can not be reduced to equations.
A second similarity between chess and the business world relates to the uncertainty
that the protagonists face with the future…anything can happen until
the scoresheet is signed.
This last point – advice to always keep an eye on the fat lady –
is stressed over and over by Karpov throughout the book. He dispenses a lot
of advice, actually. Some of it is profound, but a lot of it – too much,
in fact – is centered on match preparation and opening preparation, topics
not exactly relevant to class and club players.
Unfortunately there are other, more severe, problems. All too often, Karpov’s
choice of examples are questionable, and the victims of his always-superior
engagement strategy (we never see him, nor Phelizon for that matter, reflect
on a mistake) are usually none other than his old rivals, Korchnoi or Kasparov.
This bias makes Karpov appear, more or less, like an unreliable narrator. Are
his examples really the best, or does he still hold a grudge after all these
years, and do we find him picking second-rate examples solely to make his enemies
look bad?
Karpov (walking) against Korchnoi during the Candidates Match in Moscow
1974
At one point, the narrator asks Karpov to describe the lateral approach in
chess. Karpov then goes on to give a rather involved story that describes how
he seemingly maneuvered Korchnoi into playing their 1974 Candidates match in
Moscow rather than in Leningrad.
Koutly: Anatoly, how do you see the lateral approach in
chess?
Karpov: To answer your question, I will tell you a personal
story. I happened to be pretty close to Korchnoi and his family, because for
four years we both lived in Leningrad. I even had a chance to secretly help
him prepare for the qualifying match for the world championships… A
short time later, in 1974, I had to play an official match against Korchnoi.
We disagreed on where the match should take place. I really didn’t care,
but I knew it was an important issue to him. Korchnoi wanted to play in Leningrad,
or in a Baltic region city, Riga or Talinn. I wasn’t too keen on Leningrad,
since that’s where Korchnoi was born, had a lot of friends, and was
much better known than I…
Koutly: So what were the cities that you finally chose?
Karpov: I offered Moscow or any city in the south of the
Soviet Union. The authorities realized that this match was important because
the winner would play Fischer. Moscow was interested…but Korchnoi was
immovable. After conceding a few points in my favor, he told me, ‘In
exchange for all my concessions, go to Moscow and tell the minister [of Sports]
you are okay with playing in Leningrad.’” And that’s what
I did…The minister replied that he accepted all the proposals except
for the location…
Korchnoi, in his biography Chess is my Life, writes about how he defended
himself from these lateral attacks:
Exploiting his privileged position, Karpov insisted on all the points that
he considered necessary for him… In this situation, where I was being
kicked by everyone, I had to remain myself – otherwise I would have
lost the match psychologically even before it started!
This
being the Soviet Union, the authorities – not the players – made
the final decision to hold the match in Moscow and, in the end, Karpov and Korchnoi’s
negotiation amounted to very little. (Karpov won the match. Fischer resigned
his title in 1975, and Karpov went on to become the 12th World Champion.) Karpov
likely picked this example to show the severe impact the final outcome had on
his nemesis rather than to demonstrate its cogent instructional value. In a
sense, Karpov didn’t answer the question.
Karpov’s ego has biased the book in other ways, too. Edward Winter, the
razor-tongued British critic, first pointed out serious factual errors in the
French edition when he briefly reviewed it on his website (in Chess
Note #4448). Winter writes about one of these errors: “An editorial
footnote…gives the false impression that Kasparov lost a world championship
match to Karpov in 1993.” This error, as well as the others, was not corrected
in this English edition, and these blatant misrepresentations are completely
uncalled for. Karpov should really know better. How ironic, that in a book filled
with such mature thought by this former World Champion, we are disappointed
so much by his callow calumny.
Skeptics might even speculate that Karpov’s whole impetus for participating
in this project was that he felt compelled to keep pace with Kasparov, who was
originally scheduled to come out with a business book of his own around this
time. (Kasparov’s book, The Attacker’s Advantage: How Life Imitates
Chess [Penguin], was originally scheduled for publication in the autumn
of 2006, but it is now due out some time in 2007).
While Chess and the Art of Negotiation is no substitute for a more
formal work on chess instruction, chess psychology, or even business negotiation,
it is fine companion reading. Just don’t let Karpov’s sly political
agenda fool you.
