Some things thrust themselves into existence -- mathematics, language, time, geometry-- such that once conceived, they seem as if they had always been there. These emergent patterns, that impose order on what before seemed chaotic, are the most delightful facets of this world to me. All of my private artistic achievements pale in comparison to those poetries that spring out of nothing, entirely of their own accord, apparently beyond even the will of God. To meld one's own creativity with those self-sustaining entities is the among the truest and most rewarding paths I can imagine.
So I bring myself to the divine Game of Go. Two fundamental rules (the placement of stones, and the condition for their removal); two exceptional rules (those of ko and seki); and one rule for evaluating a winner (counting territory). From these absurdly simple dictates emerges an entire new world, utterly unlike our own, yet intelligible to our human minds. I like to say that playing Go is like learning martial arts in a different reality, with wholly different physical laws and ontologies (in a similar vein, the incomparable Takemiya Masaki states that Go is more akin to dance than war). The shapes and strategies of Go were fully formed at its inception, independent of the will of its players.
What I have so far described of Go is, I admit, in some sense true of all games. Indeed, the naming of rules necessarily imparts these sort of emergent properties into the skilful play of any game. However, Go holds a special place, in my own reasoning at least, for the utter simplicity of its laws, and the immense depth of action permitted by those laws. No other game I have experience with spawns such diversity of structures, such flexibility of evolution, and such artistry of individual touch as the Game of Go. But discussions of the supremacy of one game over another are rather beside the point. Go is the game that has struck me personally, that silently eggs me on. It is the game at which a tiny part of my soul insists: "I must become strong!"
What can one say about the strange world of the Go stones? I am a very recent arrival in this wondrous place, and its topography is yet vague and unfamiliar to me. I can say that it is a place of remarkable balance and fairness, of growth and decay, of subtlety and individuality, all purified by raw competition. I cherish its vivid aesthetic, its narrative power, its pantheon of storied heroes. Traveling through the Land of Go is like having a second life, a chance to live in another way and find secrets hidden within oneself, and it is a chance I do not intend to pass up. All that is asked of me is diligent effort and unswerving enthusiasm.
I love this game. It is a cruel terrain, and I have already been discouraged many times, but so far I have managed to press on, driven by snatches of beauty and exhiliration. I can see the peaks ahead of me, and I want nothing more than to scale even the least of them, and look around at a landscape suddenly made clear.
So I bring myself to the divine Game of Go. Two fundamental rules (the placement of stones, and the condition for their removal); two exceptional rules (those of ko and seki); and one rule for evaluating a winner (counting territory). From these absurdly simple dictates emerges an entire new world, utterly unlike our own, yet intelligible to our human minds. I like to say that playing Go is like learning martial arts in a different reality, with wholly different physical laws and ontologies (in a similar vein, the incomparable Takemiya Masaki states that Go is more akin to dance than war). The shapes and strategies of Go were fully formed at its inception, independent of the will of its players.
What I have so far described of Go is, I admit, in some sense true of all games. Indeed, the naming of rules necessarily imparts these sort of emergent properties into the skilful play of any game. However, Go holds a special place, in my own reasoning at least, for the utter simplicity of its laws, and the immense depth of action permitted by those laws. No other game I have experience with spawns such diversity of structures, such flexibility of evolution, and such artistry of individual touch as the Game of Go. But discussions of the supremacy of one game over another are rather beside the point. Go is the game that has struck me personally, that silently eggs me on. It is the game at which a tiny part of my soul insists: "I must become strong!"
What can one say about the strange world of the Go stones? I am a very recent arrival in this wondrous place, and its topography is yet vague and unfamiliar to me. I can say that it is a place of remarkable balance and fairness, of growth and decay, of subtlety and individuality, all purified by raw competition. I cherish its vivid aesthetic, its narrative power, its pantheon of storied heroes. Traveling through the Land of Go is like having a second life, a chance to live in another way and find secrets hidden within oneself, and it is a chance I do not intend to pass up. All that is asked of me is diligent effort and unswerving enthusiasm.
I love this game. It is a cruel terrain, and I have already been discouraged many times, but so far I have managed to press on, driven by snatches of beauty and exhiliration. I can see the peaks ahead of me, and I want nothing more than to scale even the least of them, and look around at a landscape suddenly made clear.
