Charles Gifford Dyer: Seventeenth-Century Interior (1877)

" … positively evolving to the utter astonishment of its recently confident opposition …"

I thought the game had begun, but it had not. Preliminaries had been happening for years without an encounter, then that first one disappointed many. I didn't witness the event, having better things to do than watch some boob continue making a public fool of himself. Those who witnessed left shaken by their champion's performance even though his unworthy opponent never managed to commit a single truth. Their champion had more than competently performed the duties of his office, and nobody except his unworthy opponent and his minions had suggested that he was unfit or incapable of a second term until that single disappointing performance. Then, partisans joined the foes to insist that Joe should go. I opposed these moves. I thought them presumptuous. As with most things Presidential, the people have little understanding of anything associated with the role. I figured he'd know if Joe needed to go and act accordingly. He'd never shown any tendency to put himself above his country, unlike his unworthy opponent and, to my mind, his hankie-twisting so-called supporters.

Nobody saw it coming. The Muse and I were driving down the Eastern side of Chinook Pass, out of cell range, and learned of his announcement well after he'd made it. In one move, he upset the race that had yet to really start. He undercut years of his unworthy opponent's scheming in a few seconds, leaving him without a tangible target. The arguments both unworthy opponents and unseemly partisans had been putting forth about his inability to perform in future office became moot the second he relinquished any claim to even attempting to gain it. He'd take his considerable successes and go home, leaving his legacy for his running mate to leverage without any baggage he might have represented. His was A King's Gambit, a move so selfless as to render even the most vicious opponent toothless. The one unthinkable act became the sole necessary one, and only a king could ever choose to make that move. No wise counselor could suggest such a play. No opponent's threat could corner the king into making it. No well-meaning supporter could convince anyone to commit it.

If a game's not working, it might be best to blow it up, though this always seems like the least likely tact. We're more apt to consider anything, and I mean ANYTHING but THAT. The Anything But That Move might be the most potent possible, but it can never be repeated. Nobody, not even a King, can invoke such strategy with anything even distantly resembling impunity, for only wisdom can drive anyone to choose it. In one act, the opposition was undercut and in disarray, maybe permanently. At the very least, the opposition's suddenly wary, for they couldn't have possibly seen that move coming. They understandably can't entirely trust themselves after so recently believing themselves invulnerable.

Naming the inheritor closes the loop. The King extends his rule in the person of his chosen agent, but he's no longer on the playing field and cannot be meaningfully attacked or credited. He's off the board yet still profoundly influential. He becomes the retiring master of the game in which he no longer actively participates. Nobody can lay a finger on him then, as the actual match finally begins. It helps when the inheritor receives overwhelming support from all the partisans who might have lined up in opposition, thinking they should have been chosen instead. Such solidarity seals the opponent's fate. It was already too late for the opponent to land anything resembling a gambit. He's now responding to a game in which he was utterly unprepared to engage. Years of preparation to dominate a game he'd never play. Millions in donations frittered away against an imaginary opponent. Supporters' patience already tried to near its breaking point, the game begins with fresh rules of engagement.

The king's most consequential act removes the king from play. He acknowledges that he's had his day, exerted his unique way, and has decided to stay home for a change. He can retire knowing that he left his progeny well-positioned for whatever might happen next. He can rest assured that his mentoring didn't fall on deaf ears or cold hearts. The future of the kingdom, absent the king, seems superior to whatever the king managed to achieve. Is this not how such things should be, positively evolving to the utter astonishment of its recently confident opposition?

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Grace, #PureSchmaltz