Why Chess Players Blunder

Born out of recent findings from the field of consciousness and mind, the article seeks to explain is rooted in a delicate interplay between a mind that subconsciously generates or produces chess moves and a disciplined consciousness that knows what to keep and what to discard. Unlike other play-by-play articles, this one looks behind the moves to unravel the conundrum behind blunders.

Who is doing the thinking?

Chess is often associated with thinking, but what is thinking and who, or which body, performs the thinking? To Rene Descartes (1596-1650) and Immanuel Kant (1724-1804), the matter was clear, as coined in the former's famous quote: Cogito ergo sum, ‘I think, therefore I am.

The American philosopher and psychologist, William James (1890/2007, pp. 284-289), gives an impression of the notion of the role of consciousness where he imagines the human mind as a block of marble with an infinite number of possible statues and that which one is carved out depends on the sculptor, or in other words, different sculptor different statue: ‘It is always interested more in one part of its object than in another; and welcomes and rejects, or chooses, all the while it thinks’ (James, 1890/2007, p. 284).

Figuratively speaking, the position on the board is the chess player's marble block from which the mind chisels out moves and presents them to consciousness. Positions with several equal moves? Different sculptor—that is, player—different moves.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, contrary to James, it was discovered that thinking is completely subconscious (Marbe, 1901/2012; Watt, 1906). That is, one is thinking before knowing what to think about, and does not know what one is thinking until it is thought. Psychologist Julian Jaynes' (1976/2000, pp. 39-41) conclusion that the actual thought process (decisions, deliberations, problem solving, etc.), normally perceived as the hallmark of consciousness, is not conscious at all, and supported by recent research:

Arpaly & Schroeder, 2012; Berlyne et al., 2024; Breyer & Gutland, 2015; Dijksterhuis & Nordgren, 2006; Garrison & Handley, 2017; Katsafanas, 2015; Margolis & Laurence, 2022; Mole, 2021; Nida-Rümelin, 2010; Robert, 2022; Rojszczak & Smith, 2003; ‘Think’, n.d.

In other words, when players come up with a move, it is not their consciousness that, out of the blue, comes up with the move but their brain, and because the brain still works in mysterious ways, impossible is to say if the move is due to the brain alone, external factors alone (inspiration or interaction with other players, something seen or heard), or perhaps a combination of external and internal factors.

In line with James, albeit less poetically, neurophysiologist Hans Kornhuber (1988) shows that most of the information flow in the brain and the processing in the central nervous system is unconscious but with the possibility ‘… to direct the focus of attention’ (Kornhuber 1988). One objection to Kornhuber is that of little use is to be able to direct the focus of attention if we do not realise that our rook is en prise or we are about to get mated.

According to Aristotle (2019, Book III), actions are ‘up to us’ but what does it mean that actions are up to us? Easy is to think of concepts such as control and free will, which hardly can be thought independently of a concept of consciousness and a conscious Self (Libet, 1999, p. 52).

Assuming consciousness (more on the concept in a moment) initiates the action, blunders appear something of a mystery, since no one blunders ‘on purpose’, i.e., consciously, if they just as easily could refrain. Where might the rub be?

Two problems with the assumption of consciousness as the cause of action:

1. The concept of consciousness is too ambiguous scientifically to explain behaviour. Today, 40 different meanings of the term are known (Natsoulas, 1978; Vimal, 2009), such as being awake, attention, qualitative consciousness (experience of smells, colours, tastes, pain). We consciously sit down at the board in the sense of being awake, consciously play the king’s pawn two squares forward in the sense of being attentive, we consciously castle in the sense of experiencing the position on the board or the tournament situation? We press the clock in the sense of ...?

2. The principle of causation (Hume, 1739/1978, pp. 174-175): Same cause produces the same effect but can be extended: Same (type of) cause → same (type of) effect, or in other words: physical cause → physical effect. Differently put: Non-physical causes cannot make ‘arms & legs’ move. Instead of inserting g the key in the ignition and turning the key, one could try to start the car with the conscious experience of the scent of the orchids in the garden.

How to solve the problem? In short, the American neurophysiologist Benjamin Libet cut the Gordian knot and proposed, in the light of his experiments, that consciousness cannot initiate action (physical movement) but veto it (‘catch oneself’) (Libet, 1985; Libet et al., 1983; Nørretranders, 1999, pp. 211-250).

In other words, the brain makes a suggestion but we decide if the suggestion should be realised. If one succeeds in becoming conscious before blundering, one does not blunder, since no one can be expected to blunder ‘on purpose’, because a willed blunder is by definition not a blunder. The point can be formulated as an aphorism: The brain plays chess when by initiating/suggesting moves while we play chess when proposals are vetoed.

A remarkable illustration of the veto was provided by the Carlsen-Aronian blitz game in round 8 at Norway Chess, 2018:

Carlsen's brain initiated a ‘blunder impulse’ (diagram 3) and White, that is, the consciousness, not the brain, was not in time to catch itself. He played the disastrous  52.hxg4?? Aronian, about to make the autopilot move 42...hxg4, caught himself and played 52...h4, after which White immediately resigned. 

Watch it transpire in the Altibox Norway Chess 2018 broadcast – from 2:54:42.

The brain does not need to justify or explain why it initiates this or that impulse, and if it sees no purpose, the impulse is not initiated and there is no other way to act. Briefly: If consciousness initiated the impulse, there would be no ‘slip-ups’, blunders, errors or mistakes.

Because thinking is subconscious, the brain initiates moves and consciousness works by the veto, is chess left to a finely tuned interplay between conscious and unconscious processes; knowing what should be kept and what should be discarded from all the suggestions the mind serves us.

Consciousness, in the sense of attention, functions more or less as a ‘blunder check, lightly monitoring our play and making sure, or seeing to, that no pieces are hanging or put en prise. Most of the game, consciousness is not involved at all and the fact that a capacity such as Romanovsky (2013, p. 201) writes that ‘a manoeuvring game can also sometimes arise from the conscious [emphasis added] efforts of one of the opponents’, testifies to how entrenched is the conviction of the role of consciousness in chess.

If moves were chosen consciously, blunders and mistakes remain a mystery. If chess playing were conscious, blunders would be a thing of the past, since nobody would ever blunder ‘on purpose’ or at will. By the same will, one would simply decide to play the best moves as the board in front of the player provides all the information: Because consciousness would be transparent, players would have a full view of what is going on and the position on the board would be there for everyone to see.

Traditionally, chess games are explained and moves attempted justified in the analyses after the game and this is usually the order of the day; first play—then explanation. If chess playing were conscious, logically, it should be the other way around; first we explain why certain moves are to be played and then the brain initiates the requested moves, right? If valid and reasonable explanations could be given for each and every move, the question is why the brain initiates a blunder or fails to come up with the move that best fits the explanation and thus makes chess the rational game it is perceived to be.

The Russian proverb—‘We are all satisfied with our reason but not with our position’—nicely captures this paradox. Blitz and rapid games, with consciousness almost absent, are merely perception and intuition, this being even more apparent since there is no time to ponder possible explanations before a move is to be initiated.

Who is Blundering?

Blunders might be perceived as some sort of spontaneously ill-conceived move-suggestions, i.e., impulses to moves which would be detrimental to one’s position if not aborted. However, strategically weak moves on a general level, like misplacing a piece due to lack of general chess proficiency or chess understanding is not the issue at hand but moves literally occurring out of nowhere, moves there apparently are no sensible reasons to play. The key question is: If consciousness does not do the playing, then, who does the blundering? Someone or something must be responsible (the cause) for players blundering, and who or what part of us might that be?

As mentioned, consciousness lightly monitors play, while full consciousness, attention and focus, arise at the moment of blundering, and as unquestionably witnessed by body language. Note the sequence: We never see players in advance announce the blunder; we only hear about those who blundered first and then became conscious or aware.

In the present context can only be touched upon the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ of the blunders but as a general pointer, major mistakes are due to a lack of interplay between brain and consciousness and with only three possible explanations:

1. Parts of the positions are perceived due to a limited gaze and focus on specific sectors or areas of the board.

2. The entire board is perceived but something happens when processing the material and results in seemingly spontaneous and inexplicable blunders.

3. Even though we see the whole board, the brain does not take it all in.

The first explanation is perhaps the most straightforward, and suggests insufficient focus resulting in insufficient information and, thus, absence of, or impaired, interplay between brain and mind (consciousness?), making consciousness (in the sense of ‘attentive’) unable to abort the impulse. Such mistakes may be due to both fatigue as well as lack of chess skills and experience. Alternatively: Grandmasters may fall victim to this type of blunder but then due to fatigue rather than lack of skills, while amateurs may blunder due to fatigue as well as lack of skills.

Regarding the second explanation, one tries not to blunder, so if blunders have anything to do with perception and what is perceived, why would the brain process the information in such a way that it leads to blunders? This seems to happen only if there was a problem with ‘the wiring’, as it were, or the neural network, which is conceivable, if not too prevalent. Consciousness misprocessing information ‘on purpose’, or intentionally, seems to lead to a conflict of interest: Since mate is the goal of the game, why will (not ‘want’, which is physical and, therefore, not volitional) to mess up?

The plot thickens at the third explanation, for amateurs and professionals alike, which raises a timely dilemma: Blunders appear impossible when both eyes see the whole board but this type of blunder is deeply related to the order in which chess is played and explained: Because only a fraction of all the information flowing through the senses results in a conscious experience or perception, a case can be made that one may see the whole board but still not perceive it. In other words, the brain can miss information even with both eyes focussing on the board.

Solving tactical puzzles or ‘guessing’ the grandmaster's move may illustrate the difference between sight and perception. The whole board is in front of us... we see (eyes directly towards) the position clearly... all the information to solve the task is right in front of us, and yet many a time we end up face-palming ourselves. How was it possible to miss that!? When the solution is presented, however, it stands out as the most obvious thing in the world and illustrates the difference between what we are conscious of and what not.

The mere presence of a combination or a tactical stroke suggests that chess playing is subconscious and the player nowhere near the control hitherto, and perhaps, assumed, since, if chess playing were conscious, why allow the possibility of a (brilliant) tactical stroke in the first place?

Despite purists considering tactics the sophism of chess, how fast tactical solutions are found indicates how quickly the brain processes the information, i.e., the position. Perception being subconscious, there is no point in beating ourselves (or others) up for not seeing this tactical shot or missing that beautiful combination (mate in 18).

Amateurs and professionals literally perceive different positions even when seeing the same position, and the reason, or cause, is that the professional mind, more so than the mind of the amateur, is better trained to perceive more information. Because perception is not volitional and the brain works independently of what we think it ought to interpret, perceive, think, understand, etc., the amateur cannot simply, by acts of volition, decide to perceive as much as the professional.

Blunders happen because humans are fallible and ill-founded impulses prove stronger than the ability to abort them.

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