Chess The human side of chess (book)

The human side of chess, 10

Gentile Reinfeld vs. Jew Reti

I have said that except for computers the colour of chess is the colour of blood, and that some chess players live more in the world of emotions than in that of cold logic that neophytes observe from the outside. In those emotions, including the thirst to win, the fate of a game is sometimes settled. But from the point of view of the oracle of Delphi I am afraid to say that many players are still children: they don’t know themselves, much less the universe and the gods. Recall how all Fischer read were the Sunday newspaper comic strips, and how Karpov defended the totalitarian regime of his country before the revolutions of 1989 and the fall of the Berlin Wall.

At this point I would like to say something about the chess writer Fred Reinfeld. Although in his time the elements didn’t exist to penetrate the hearts of lost souls, he at least made an attempt to probe them. In Mexico, there is a tendency to value European writers at the expense of Americans. I remember what Octavio Paz said about his grandfather’s library, which was rich in French writers and poor in North Americans. Reinfeld had a humble job as a bureaucrat, sought to move up the social ladder, and managed to commercialise many of his chess books in the United States. But it was in a book by Paz precisely where I read that what is written for money lacks artistic value. Nonetheless, Reinfeld wrote a good book. The Great Chess Masters and their Games: The Human Side of Chess, published in 1952, superior to Masters of the Chess Board by Richard Reti in terms of a didactic vision of what chess is. This statement will sound terrible anathema to those who only know the business side of Reinfeld’s books, but his book shows that Reti omitted the personal element in his analysis of the match between Anderssen and Morphy. I think Reinfeld’s critique of dry schematics, that is, of almost every chess commentator, should be read. I’m not saying reread because books like this are rarely on hobbyist bookshelves. Focusing on the psychological aspect of the champions, Reinfeld tells us: ‘I must confess that I am at a loss to understand why these observations have not been made previously’.

A single example will suffice to illustrate his assessment of why Anderssen lost the match. The German master didn’t fail to understand the hidden laws of chess, the canonical version in Reti’s books. He failed to define his well-thought-out games with Morphy. And he failed because at his age his brain wasn’t as trained to play as his young rival’s. It is sad that Reti’s followers simply repeat the myth of their European mentor without qualms: that Morphy had a secret weapon, his positional knowledge of the open game, the centre and the rapid mobility of the pieces. The truth is that Anderssen understood those principles equally. Reinfeld says something similar about the match between Zukertort and Steinitz, and it is also sad that only because he was not champion the beautiful games of Zukertort, who died two years after his defeat, have been relegated to obscurity.

For Reinfeld, who wrote in the middle of the last century, the most exciting world championships were those of Steinitz with Zukertort and those of Euwe with Alekhine (remember that Reinfeld published when Botvinnik was already three years as champion). On the matches between Chigorin and Steinitz, the bloodiest in world championship history, Reinfeld wrote:

They had an unrivalled insight into the nature of chess. Whereas the popularizers think of chess as being amenable to order, logic, exactitude, calculation, foresight and other comparable qualities, Steinitz and Tchigorin agreed on one thing: that chess can be, and often is, as irrational as life itself. It is full of disorder, imperfection, blunders, inexactitudes, fortuituous happenings, unforeseen consequences.

It is precisely due to the lack of insight from the fans that a great champion like Lasker has never been understood. If there is one thing that caught my attention about his match with Steinitz, it was that he defended himself in a lost position where he could be left with three pawns less. That happened in the seventh game in which the young Lasker disputed the crown of the mature champion. Steinitz made an eccentricity by placing his knight to the h8 square that ended up being quite expensive.

Misunderstanding the extremely complicated position that emerged, a position analogous to those that would emerge much later in Tal’s games, he became demoralized and lost the next four games, the match and the crown. Reti erred in Masters of the Chess Board by saying that Lasker played badly on purpose to confuse the opponent. It’s obvious that Lasker didn’t want to lose so many pawns in his decisive game with Steinitz. Rather, what Lasker was doing was, as Nimzowitsch would say, ‘heroically defend himself’ in lost positions where most of us players would feel dejected. Intuitively, Lasker did that—something that Nimzowitsch, another dry game theorist, didn’t see either—because Lasker knew that if he flipped a losing position he would have a moral advantage over his opponent.

Reinfeld’s extended book subtitle reads: ‘The Story of the World Champions: Their Triumphs and their Illusions, Their Achievements and Their Failures’. Sometimes in my diary I write things that never appear in the schematic books of Colección Escaques, a notable Spanish publisher of chess books during my adolescence; in the more than dry Informants or in Reti’s aseptic books. On one occasion I wrote: ‘I was peeing in fear’ because of my nerves during a game. I’ve heard that the same thing happens to other players. ‘To the bathroom, to the bathroom, to the bathroom’ a friend told me about his tournament experiences. When I wanted to break the taboo and wrote in the Club Mercenarios newsletter the agonies that I revealed in the previous chapter, Willy de Winter, one of the main chess promoters in Mexico, misunderstood my initiative. At the beginning of the next round he asked me in public ‘How do you feel?’ as if implying that only I suffered from tribulations, when the truth is that many others do. De Winter’s question ignored that my initiative was simply to break one of the taboos in chess literature: to speak as frankly as possible, and in the first person singular, about our emotions when we play. But laymen have been able to see the player’s emotions. In 1922 a London journalist wrote about Alekhine:

He is a hatched-faced blond giant, with a sweep of hair over his forehead, and several inches of cuff protruding from his sleeve. First he rests his head in his hands, works his ears into indescribable shapes, clasps his hands under his chin in pitiful supplication, shifts uneasily in his seat like a dog on an ant-hill, frowns, elevates his eyebrows, rises suddenly and stands behind his chair for a panoramic view of the table, resumes his seat, then, as the twin clock at his side ticks remorselessly on, sweeps his hair back for the thousand time, shifts a Pawn, taps the clock button, and records his move.

This is the agony that the chess player encounters not in a game, but in a single move. This is chess. However, de Winter never talks about his emotions in the chess newsletter that he publishes, despite the fact that fans have seen him rise up like Alekhine; put one of his feet on the chair, elbow on his knee and hand on his cheek when he gets nervous in a tournament. It is evident that strong emotions when playing are suffered by all of us. What I said about avoiding self-knowledge is also exemplified by de Winter with the question he asked me.

The idea of journaling is not only to help us heal the pride that only women have the right to tell their sorrows and to cry. We must make contact with what fans not only silence to others, but to ourselves. Making deep contact with our emotions reconciles us with them and allows us to mature. Many chess players, including some who were child prodigies, have failed precisely because they denied the feminine part in them. They didn’t manage to harmonise their cognitive apparatus with the sentimental part of their psyche, nor did they make a healthy eruption of the magma they suffer in the interior towards the temperate surfaces of reason.[1] The private diary that no one but one reads is part of the cure for this psychic congestion.

Another of my suggestions is that you write a comment about your games, emphasising the ones you have lost. Many chess players have a huge ego. They always find the cleverest excuses for their defeats, and they tend to remember only their victories. They look like turkeys puffed up with pride the day before they are killed for Christmas dinner.

Let us remember how Fischer broke with the tradition of Alekhine and Capablanca of writing only about their victories. In My 60 Memorable Games Fischer spoke with great honesty about his draws and even some of the defeats that hurt him the most. The idea of journaling is to deflate turkey pride and accept our level of play. But like other people’s diaries, your own is a private matter. In my comments about my games I cited some of my emotions, but in the diaries we write even more intimate things than saying that we ran to the bathroom. On the other hand, writing a not so intimate comment about the games we have played, and I did try that in the previous chapter, in addition to being healthy it means that we can photocopy it and distribute it among our friends. It is a great therapy to share with others the reasons why we lost or why we suffered so much during the victories, something that others have confessed to me that also happens to them.

There are other advantages to commenting on our games in writing. When I transcribed and analysed the fifty games that I played in tournaments in the nineties, great surprises occurred. For example, due to the low self-esteem through which I was crossing in 1993, I realised that I had resigned a clearly drawish endgame of rooks with Jorge Martín del Campo. Likewise, in another game where I lost the exchange with black against Fernando Araiza, I suddenly resigned. Ten years later, by putting that same position on Fritz, the machine played a tedious game with itself of more than a hundred moves that ended in a draw, proving that my resigning was foolish. During the live game I hadn’t realised that, with eight pawns on each side, losing the exchange in that closed position didn’t mean a decisive advantage. This was recognised by Fritz from the visual thinking screen where he put the sign ‘equality’ or ‘something better’ and not the ‘clear advantage’ of white in the various positions it played after my resignation. Likewise, for years I blamed my opening choice, a Richter attack that I played against Alberto Escobedo in a French Defence, instead of focusing on a blunder that for some reason my memory failed to register: the real cause of my defeat. I had mistakenly been left under the impression that the now-deceased Escobedo had outdone me cleanly in a defence he knew pretty well. When I put Fritz the position I realised that before the blunder, the game I played with Escobedo was even. In fact, the game that Fritz played with itself also ended in a draw.

It is true that chess is so complicated that we shouldn’t even trust computational analysis as the last word on a position. In Caissa’s magical domain the computer can still do mistakes, as Hal 9000 erred en route to Jupiter by underestimating Dave. However, at a slow pace of play it is generally a good reference to calibrate a complicated position that would otherwise take a lot of trouble to disentangle. This is what Kasparov observed in the first volume about his great predecessors: even a computer would take a long time to decipher that position that emerged in the seventh game of the Steinitz-Lasker match, mentioned above. The Fritz I own is a sophisticated program. I recommend that hobbyists take some private lessons with users of the program before using it. It is a great GM slave who not only plays with us every time we ask him to, but it can be forced to play a specific position to solve our doubts, such as the doubts I had about my games with del Campo, Araiza, Escobedo and many others.

While transcribing, analysing, and even photocopying my comments about my games and sharing them with friends doesn’t level me up, it improves morale. But the knowledge of oneself, to reconcile with the past and with the defeats, is a practice that doesn’t occur to those who focus on variants, those who devour Informants or variants of ChessBase believing that by memorising them they will win. The truth is that I have found them crying in tournaments when faced with reality. It’s very easy to get a player out of his favourite line, which prompts me to the next suggestion.


(1) See ‘The Eternal Feminine’ in pages 176-180 of my Daybreak. PDF clickable from the sidebar.

NS booklets

Sieg der Waffen – Sieg des Kindes, 6

In allen Gauen des Reiches und in allen germanischen Landern—so zeigen es diese Bilder von Holländern, Norwegern, Dänen und Schweden—tritt uns dieser nordisch bestimmte, germanisch-deutsche Mensch entgegen.

PDF backup

WDH – pdf 392

Click: here

American racial right

AmRen’s BS

I recently quoted to Claudius the following sentence from Saturday’s article in American Renaissance:

Violence or shrillness will never convince white people who may well have doubts about blacks but think it is immoral to be ‘racist’. Talking about ‘Jews’ as the source of the problem smacks of Nazism—another violent movement that did us great harm.

You can pass up such bullshit once or twice since Taylor is quite reluctant to become wise about the JQ. But yesterday AmRen published another article speculating on the Great War as the primary aetiology of Western decline, considering Christianity as a bulwark for Western mental health. (Long before Christianity became ‘corrupted’, the Europeans had already committed miscegenation on a gigantic scale in the American continent.)

One of the reasons I will continue to translate my chess book into English for this site is that I need escapism from white nationalism, race realism or whatever you call it. The Americans’ religious obstinacy is exasperating, unable to see their parents’ religion as the number one cause of their racial misfortune.

I’m not even going to repeat what I’ve said ad nauseam about Christian ethics, which includes the mixing of blood that the Iberians perpetrated here. It’s more than explained in the books that appear on the sidebar. But it exasperates me to see that these American racialists can’t advance a single micron in their quest for an accurate diagnosis of white decline, despite the fact that all the historical facts (see my sticky post) scream in unison about who’s to blame.

So I’ll keep writing about chess. No more Jared. No more Greggy. No more bile secreted when I see paragraphs like the one quoted above…

American racial right Feminized western males Hate Mauricio (commenter)

Greg Johnson: racial traitor

by Mauricio


You don’t consider Johnson an enemy of the White race?

Would you take less umbrage if I labeled him ‘Traitor’?

He’s a homosexual.

He never commended Hitler, Himmler, the SS or National Socialism.

He chastises William Pierce and his books.

He refrains from promoting hatred against non-Whites; in fact, he downright denouces hatred and racism.

It’s one thing to abstain from promoting violence; one risks losing their platform / job / get doxxed / get arrested. But denouncing hatred is going against Umwertung aller Wertes.

Some might call Greggy ‘a stepping stone’ for crossing the axiological Rubicon. I think he’s ‘a stepping on a nail’ – you waste time, you continue to suffer.

It’s preachers like him that are slowing down the transition of Happy Mode into Angry Mode, by promoting schizo double-think like ‘I hate other groups because of multiculturalism… I don’t want to hate other groups’.

He’s siphoning money from would-be racist whites. He’s siphoning awakening Whites’ time with his bullshit articles. He’s siphoning White Hatred away.

Without Hate, we are defeated. And the first targets of our Hate should be White traitors who stifle our Hate.

3-eyed crow Child abuse Day of Wrath (book) Human sacrifice Neanderthalism

Day of Wrath’s pdf

Yesterday a new visitor posted this comment arguing that we shouldn’t criticise Greg Johnson so harshly. I pointed out that there were many entries on this site about Johnson and that I had summarised my views about him on pages 9-11 of Day of Wrath (DOW), indicating that my book appeared on the sidebar. But this morning that I checked the sidebar I noticed that while there is a link to get the hard copy of the book, there was no link for the PDF, which I just added it to.

DOW also contains English translations of some chapters of my books in Spanish on the terrible, even infanticidal treatment with which entire cultures treated children. In a crucial scene from Game of Thrones we see Bran freak out when the three-eyed raven shows him the human sacrifice of an adult in the remote past of Westeros. What this book shows is that, in real human history, these sacrifices were made even with children, including the American continent in which I find myself.

Those who wish to know why I have gone so far into the dark side of our past to understand the present—just what the raven wanted Bran to know!—should consider this book. Reading it together with watching the Russian film that I talked about in my previous post will help the visitor understand why I have generated the austere, and sometimes sullen gravitas, of my current personality.

American racial right Eastern Orthodox Church Feminized western males Film On Beth’s cute tits (book) Rape of the Sabine Women Real men Russia Second World War

Best Russian film

Those who have read Pierce and Kemp’s books will know of other very dark hours for the white race. But without images or a good novel, like Julian by Vidal, it’s almost impossible to convey what happened with the proper emotions. Since Hollywood is in enemy hands, what is filmed there about the past distorts historical reality to the point of axiological reversal. But the best movie ever made in Russia, Andrei Rublev, transports us to one of these terrible moments as if we were in the cave of the three-eyed raven retrocognitively seeing the historical past. Tarkovsky’s film is three hours long and was shot in black and white:

In the second part of the film, while the Russian Prince is away his younger brother, hungry for power, allies with a group of Tartars and attacks Vladimir. We see flashbacks of the Prince and his brother attending a church service. The non-white invasion of the combined armed forces on horseback and the resulting carnage is shown in great detail. The city is burned, the citizens are murdered and the women raped and murdered.

One scene shows a horse falling from a flight of stairs and being stabbed by a spear. Another shows that a cow is being set on fire. Fomá narrowly escapes being killed in the city and escapes to the nearby countryside, but when he crosses a river he is shot in the back with an arrow and killed.

The Tartars make their way to the barricaded church, now completely decorated with Andrei’s paintings, where most of the citizens have taken refuge. The Tartars show no mercy and slaughter the people inside and burn all the painted wooden altarpieces.

Andrei saves Dúrochka from being raped by killing a Tartar with an axe. The bishop’s messenger is cruelly tortured into revealing the location of the city’s gold. After being repeatedly burned, he has liquid metal from a melted crucifix poured into his mouth and is dragged away tied to a horse.

After that, only Andrei and Dúrochka are left alive in the church. A traumatised Andrei imagines a conversation with the late Theophanes the Greek, mourning the loss of his work and the evil of humanity, while Dúrochka absentmindedly braids the hair of a dead woman. Andréi decides to leave his profession of Orthodox Church painter and takes a vow of silence to atone for his sin due to the idiotic Christian commandment to never kill another man, even if he was a Tartar invader.

In the next film segment, Andrei is once again in the Andronikov monastery while famine and war dominate the country. He no longer paints or speaks but keeps the girl Dúrochka with him as a silent companion. After a few scenes, a group of Tartars stops at the monastery. The blonde Dúrochka is the perfect paradigm of Andrew Anglin’s words that I quoted in On Beth’s cute tits:

What I am ‘claiming’—which is in fact simply explaining an objective reality, based on accepted science—is that women have no concept of ‘race’, as it is too abstract for their simple brains. What they have a concept of is getting impregnated by the dominant male.

This girl, Dúrochka, ignores the atrocities that the Tartars had done in the Russian town and is fascinated by one of the soldier’s shiny breastplates. Still sitting on their horses, the Tartars tease her and play with her, but a soldier likes her, puts on her a horned helmet and dresses her as a bride, and finally decides to take her with him as his eighth wife, the only Russian wife of the non-white Tartar. Andrei tries to stop her from leaving him, but she spits in the face of the miserable Russian monk to let her go with the powerful Tartars. The scene perfectly portrays the mentality of white women but ultimately it is the fault of men like Andrei who, instead of fighting, obey the ‘love thine enemy’ gospel message.

Today in the morning when I went out for a walk to warm my feet on a cloudy day, a revelation came to me about all those scenes which can be seen in the video embedded above from 1:25 to 2:10. Yes: white women of our time are behaving like Dúrochka, jumping on the horse of the mighty: the Allies and Jews who wrote history books after WW2. Otherwise they would be on the side of their ethnic group, which would mean transvaluing all values concerning the Third Reich.

However, what Stalin’s hordes did in Germany is no different than what the Tartars did in the segment linked in the previous paragraph. And none of the main WN authors complains about this on their misleadingly called ‘white nationalist’ websites. That’s why I said yesterday that not even the commenters who visit this site are priests of the 14 words.

For any of them to become a priest, he wouldn’t only have to want to multiply with Aryan girls like the SS booklet I’ve been quoting. In practical terms this means hostilely taking over the State and destroying feminism in a single day through a massive rape of the Sabine women (insofar as today’s Western women are not as decent as the women whose pics appear in the SS booklet I’ve been quoting). See the section in On Beth’s cute tits, linked on the sidebar, where an MGTOWer says that in patriarchy men have the power of sexual reproduction, while in feminist society it’s women who have that power.

It also means founding, in the new extremely brutal ethnostate, a kind of reply to Hollywood’s brainwashing machine by filming the Allied atrocities in Germany and in the forced labour and extermination camps of the Soviet Union, where huge numbers of Germans were deported never to return. No one who doesn’t feel compassion for the slaughtered Germans has the right to comment here, since besides the 14 words I am also a priest of the 4 words.

Remember that.

The Dúrochka-like women in today’s West are simply jumping on the horses of the powerful. And the American and European males aren’t really men but a kind of neochristian monks (see for example what Mauricio recently said about Greg Johnson: a perfect paradigm of today’s ‘white nationalism’). Even their WN websites remind me of Andrei Rublev who, in those apocalyptic moments for Russia, instead of transvaluing Xtian values plunged himself into theological discussions and felt guilty for killing a single Tartar.

Only those who, unlike Rublev, have left Xtian ethics behind will be capable of saving their race.

Chess Music Racial studies The human side of chess (book)

The human side of chess, 9

‘Why do chess players grieve so much after a defeat?… Because defeat is like a little death’. —Manuel Suárez / Boris Zlotnik

What to do after defeat

None of the chess fans I know knows that mastery of the game is due to factors that have nothing to do with his will. Only in a small group of vocations can a human being aspire to be a child prodigy. Music, mathematics and chess are paradigms. Some compare Bach’s music with mathematics, whose logic is inherent, or a priori a Kantian would say, to the human mind. Also, as a special form of computation that is chess, early training can turn a child with special characteristics into a Capablanca, for whom chess was his mother tongue. The same can be said for Russian and former Soviet republics players who, unlike my very modest level when I played Monroy, reach grandmaster norm at fifteen or sixteen.

Few things have impressed me more than the autobiographical part of Capablanca’s My Chess Career. By winning a match against American Frank Marshall, the Cuban reached the level of a grandmaster without studying a single opening book. This is the most representative fact that I can think of to point out how someone with good genes who learned to play chess from the age of four, and developed the edge of his mind in that computational area, can become a world champion. Capablanca’s brain, the ‘chess machine’, was trained in the span of life in which one is capable of developing new faculties. That is why music conservatories do not admit students after a certain age. The same thing happens in chess.

The neurological development of certain areas of the brain differs between a Capablanca or fifteen-year-old GMs and the rest of the hobbyists. An even more terrible truth is that a high IQ is innate, and has to do with the ethnic group to which one belongs. Not having heard this, many have pursued the mirage that, through sheer study, they would become grandmasters as if it were something similar to obtaining a doctorate in physics. In reality, the rating that a young man learning the game in his twenties can develop is relatively modest, and even the level of a child or pubescent if he doesn’t have the right genes for this game. If we study chess to reach the equivalent of a doctorate, the knowledge acquired can help us to be excellent instructors, but it won’t necessarily allow us to play like the first boards in the world. Like the violin or piano prodigies, in chess what counts is how much we train certain areas of our brain in childhood, puberty and adolescence. Using a crude computational analogy, what really matters is the kind of software our brains were trained with, in addition to racial hardware (nowadays, there are no active chess GMs of the black race).

In the introduction I said that the talks of some amateur fans motivated me to write this book. One of these friends is called Alcides, who is well educated in chess. In the café where we talked Alcides played matches with Yayo, who doesn’t read chess and doesn’t even know how to maintain the opposition in a king and pawn versus king ending. However, Yayo generally beat Alcides in matches. On several occasions I spoke with Alcides about the Lasker manual. He likes the original German version better than the shortened English and Spanish versions. One of these versions once wore on a coffee table, but as usual Lasker’s pupil was swept away by Yayo. Alcides is capable in his profession of computer science and handling of computers. But despite his chess and computational knowledge, his uneducated rival has a better brain to play chess. Let’s put it iconoclastically: Lasker’s manual, and in fact all the chess books that I know, are bad and anti-pedagogical because they don’t start from a vital axiom about the game: the development of certain brain areas differs among people and even among the races.

It is not my intention to discourage Caissa’s suitors. But the young aspiring would spare a lot of dreams if, at home or school, we had been given this elementary class in neurology and raciology. Personally, given my father’s talents in music and visual arts, that was where I could’ve excelled (think of prominent Mexican filmmakers in Hollywood like Cuarón, Iñárritu, and del Toro), not computational business like chess. But even if we take all of this into account, compared to Cuba the chess level in Mexico is low. If we add to this that many of us are ageing and that we don’t have good instructors, those Botvinnik and Averbach that the Russian children and lads had, it will be virtually impossible to make the quantum leap to become GMs. Here I can’t help but come to mind a photograph of instructor Botvinnik with a young Garri Kasparov next to him. It also comes to mind that both of Fischer’s parents were Jewish. His biological father was a brilliant mathematician (Ashkenazi Jews are the ethnic group ranked the highest on the IQ scale).

Listening to a thirteen-year-old boy play Beethoven’s concerto for violin and orchestra is like watching some children from the former Soviet republics play games of blitz. Such is the virtuosity of these Paganinis of Caissa that they give their colleagues a five-minute lead, by just two minutes of their own, and destroy them with diabolical precision. No matter how hard you study, you’ll never play blitz games like that: an infallible measurer of the level of a boy whose mother tongue had been chess. To meditate thoughtfully on what we read in chess literature, to put our games to Fritz to understand them better, to consult the Encyclopedia of Chess Openings to see where we made the imprecision, to play one tournament after another to accustom to fighting chess, may be instructive but not necessarily to jump significantly in skill level. At least not to take the leap that some young people fantasise about. Our brain is already formed, formatted I would dare to say.

Presently, the edge of my mind manifests itself in my speciality of understanding the psychic havoc that abusive parents cause—an area that has nothing to do with chess. Capablanca, who never undertook the chess study marathons that many unsuspecting do, played infinitely better than I and other inveterate scholars. I have said that few things have impressed me more than Capablanca beat a GM during a match without studying a single opening book (on another level, this is exactly what happened in Alcides’ matches with Yayo). At twenty Capablanca had not played a single match with a grandmaster, and he beat Marshall with a crushing score of +8 = 14 –1 (eight games won, fourteen draws and one loss). This is the fact that best illustrates what a genius is. If the pedagogues were humble enough to accept the innate deficiencies of the child, they would know that he won’t speak as fast as the Jew Ben Shapiro, or that he won’t obtain the title of GM of chess at thirteen as did the Nordic Magnus Carlsen, who would conquer the sceptre.

(Thirteen-year-old Carlsen in Norway giving a simultaneous exhibition.) We don’t need to rank high on verbal IQ, the speciality of the Jews, to become a champion. But we do need to rank high, like the Nordics, Slavs or Asians, in spatial intelligence. If you still want to play under these circumstances, my suggestion is that you write an intimate diary about your emotions in the game and your love of the game taking these facts into account.

NS booklets

SS booklet, 6

Are not this peasant and that farm girl [pics in German booklet] in their simple, straightforward and austere manner, best suited for the SS-man as wife and as mother of many children?


______ 卐 ______


Editor’s postscript:

When I closed the comments section for a while from the first day of January I linked to a page of mine where I said that those who identified a hundred per cent with the SS agenda could continue commenting and left an email for them to offer their comments via that mail.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but apparently no one who visits WDH fully identifies with what the SS said even in popular, illustrated booklets like this one.

For this reason, after this post I’ll change the subtitle of this site from ‘A site for priests of the 14 words’ to ‘The site of the priest of the 14 words’.

Autobiography Chess The human side of chess (book)

The human side of chess, 8

5 Tort – Computer

HAL 9000 and man

I didn’t play this last game with a human being.

When I play with my computer it seems as unequal a struggle as competing in arithmetic with a calculator. As mathematician John von Newmann told Jacob Bronowski, chess is not a game: it is a special form of computing. But before Newmann, Lasker had already intuited that an entity ‘that could keep millions of variants in mind would not need planning’, the theory. The so-called ‘chess theory’ is a crutch for us mortals. The machine that sees billions of actions shows us the quintessence of chess not in its scarlet facet, but its pure and soulless logic. (Despite what fans of A.I. say, the computer system still has no soul.)

When I was fifteen, I went with my father to visit Robert Schirokauer, who changed his name to Robert Hartman, at his house in Cuernavaca. Hartman played chess and I brought my favorite Alekhine book: the beautiful games of his youth that my dad had given me.

Hartman told us that the machine would never beat man ‘because it was Man who programmed it’. Robert S. Hartman was wrong. This game, and on another level Kasparov’s games with Deep Blue, should move us humans to great swallowing of our pride. By the way, it was from Hartman that I learned the word ‘axiology’. His dense book The Knowledge of Good: Critique of Axiological Reason, whose Spanish version my father acquired before Hartman died, is still in the home library. Metapedia’s critical article on the anti-Nazi Hartman was started by me.

November 2003
French Defense

1 e4 e6

2 d4 d5

3 Nc3 Nf6

4 Bg5 Be7

5 e5 Nfd7

6 Bxe7 Qxe7

7 f4 O-O

8 Nf3 c5

9 Nb5 ?!

It’s incredible but this move, which had given me so much success with the players in the park in similar positions, could be inaccurate. The rebuttal the machine applied to me—virtually the rest of the game—is so mathematical that it is terrifying to see such precision in a soulless object.

9… a6!

10 Nd6 f6

11 c3 Nc6

12 Be2 cxd4

13 cxd4 g5

14 g3 fxe5

15 fxe5 g4

16 Nh4 Ndxe5!

From this piece sacrifice Chessmaster didn’t let me go. It won the initiative until my surrender.

17 dxe5 Nxe5

18 Nxc8 Raxc8

19 Rf1 Qb4 +

20 Qd2 Rxf1 +

21 Bxf1 Qe4 +

22 Qe2 Rc2

23 Qxe4 dxe4

24 Rd1

When I made this move of my rook and the next ones I thought I was going to get a certain counterplay and equalizing chances, but…

25 … e3

25 Be2 Rxb2

26 Rd4 h5

27 Re4 Rb1 +

28 Bd1 Nd3 +

29 Ke2 Rxd1!

… I didn’t see this move!

30 Rxe3 Nb2

31 Rxe6 Rh1

32 Re7 Rxh2 +

33 Ke3 Nc4 +

34 Kf4 b5

35 Kg5 Rxa2

36 Kxh5 a5

37 Kxg4 b4

38 Kh5 Rf2

I confess that since move 33 I was taking back several moves: something that can be done to a mindless machine that cannot complain. But not only did I not find a checkmate net; there was not even a continuous check.

39 Kg6 Kf8

40 Rb7 Ne5 +

41 Kg5 Nf7 +

42 Kg6 Nd8

43 Rb8 Ke7

44 Nf5 + Rd7

45 Kf6 Nc6

46 Rb7 + Kc8

47 Rh7

I couldn’t move the rook to b5 because its rook would take my knight and the fork would come.

47 … b3

48 Rh1 a4

49 g4 a3

50 I resigned

I played this game with Chessmaster 8000, although then the Chessmaster 9000 version arrived. Only now, thirty years after having reproduced it for the first time thanks to one of Alekhine’s books, do I understand the French Defense between Capablanca and Reti played in New York, 1924. Capablanca played 9 Qd2 instead of the one I played and beat the Jewish Reti. The strongest commercial program for analysing games now that I review this book for publication is Fat Fritz 2. I do not doubt that if that new engine analysed the above game it would find moves that neither Chessmaster nor I could see.

Stanley Kubrick was a chess fan. I remember a photograph in which he is seen playing on a break with George Scott during the filming of Dr. Strangelove. In the annexes that come with the Chessmaster program you can read that in Kubrick’s film 2001: A Space Odyssey the HAL 9000 supercomputer faces astronaut Frank Poole in a game of chess en route to Jupiter, and beats him.

But losing to a heartless machine like Chessmaster doesn’t hurt. The first tournament defeat that hurt me was neither more nor less the first game of my first chess tournament, which I played at the age of fifteen outside of what is now called the World Trade Center: the tallest building in Mexico City at the time. My opponent was the strong player Enrique Monroy, who with white opened with a Ruy López in which, with black, I tried to use a defense that Alekhine sometimes played. In part, my defeat was due to the tournament organisers not even informing all of us about time control. I played as if the time limit was not for the first 40 moves, but the entire game. That resulted in that even after reaching the time control I was responding to Monroy’s moves as if it was a blitz game! These were not yet the days of electronic chess clocks. We used mechanical clocks. At that time, losing by default meant that a little red flag on top of one of the two faces of the clocks dropped. Even though I was ignorant of the time control rules in the first round of my first tournament, I blamed myself for the defeat. It was so embarrassing for me to have been beaten that, once I arrived home in a dazed state, I told my parents that the game had ended in a draw…