As the war in Iran appears to settle into a familiar, predictable pattern of negotiations, ceasefires, memoranda, mediators, diplomatic jargon, and the perpetual quest for a face-saving retreat, an enduring truth comes to mind: before engaging in war against a civilisation, it is wise to take a moment to understand it.
Indeed, before deploying aircraft carriers, bombers, sanctions, threats, experts, television commentators, and social media warriors, one might do well to consult a history book. Though such a practice may seem quaint in an era when many leaders appear to think that reading is a pastime reserved for others who post, tweet, and make grand announcements online, history stubbornly remains relevant. It offers us lessons, and one of the most compelling concerns is Iran.
Iran is often cast in the world’s conversations as a problem, a threat, a questionable regime, a nuclear dilemma, a regional power, or simply a diplomatic headache. While each of these descriptions contains some truth, they tell only part of the story.
Before Iran assumed these roles, before it was branded in such ways, it was Persia, a land rich in history and cultural depth. Even before becoming the modern nation-state, we recognise today, Persia was one of the world’s great civilisations, a beacon of cultural achievement and enduring influence.
Some nations are defined by their governments. Others by their armies. But only a select few possess what might be called civilisational memory: a deep, collective consciousness rooted in centuries of history and tradition. Iran belongs to this rare and venerable category.
One of the many gifts associated with that civilisation is chess.
Now, before the indignation of historians prompts them to rush eagerly to their keyboards, allow me a moment to clarify. It is widely accepted by general education and most books that the origin of chess lies in India. And indeed, they are correct, in terms of chronology.
India gifted the world with chaturanga, a remarkable ancient game that served as the progenitor of modern chess. For this contribution, India rightly deserves enduring admiration and gratitude.
However, it is important to recognise that chronology does not necessarily equate to significance. The game that has ascended to the throne among board games, the game that has transcended continents and centuries, the game played today from Lagos to London, from Buenos Aires to Beijing, owes much of its influence and development to Persia.
Indeed, one might argue that India was the cradle of the idea, while Persia refined it into an exquisite masterpiece.
The Persians polished it further, broadened its horizons, and propelled it to widespread popularity. They strategised its development, transforming it into a sophisticated and revered pursuit.
Even the very language of chess bears the not-so-subtle imprint of Persian influence: the term “checkmate” derives from the Persian phrase “Shah Mat”, meaning the king is helpless, unable to move, defeated, with no options left. Ironically, this phrase has often been prematurely invoked by various governments throughout history as a metaphor for Iran’s supposed demise.
One of the most underestimated facts in human history is that invention is rarely the final chapter in a story.
As I have pointed out in my “Understanding Aviation Beyond Aircraft,” progress more often than not involves continuous improvement, refining what has already been created. Even more crucial is the ability to scale those innovations, reaching further and touching more lives.
Consider the Wright brothers, who achieved the milestone of powered flight; their historic triumph was brief: a matter of seconds above a field. Yet aviation blossomed into a vast, intricate realm far beyond that fleeting moment.
Similarly, Christianity took root among the Jews of Roman Palestine, but the religion we see practised by billions today was born of centuries of interpretation, expansion, and institutionalisation, shaped far beyond its humble origins.
Then consider everyday gadgets like the first mobile phones: hefty bricks resembling oversized blocks, and the early automobiles, simple carriages without horses, built in the image of traditional coaches. These modest beginnings were only the seeds of transformations that would forever alter the course of human life. Civilisation advances not merely through invention but through refinement.
India gave the world chaturanga, a precursor to the enduringly beloved game of chess. Persia thereafter played a pivotal role in shaping chess, transforming it into the noble game known today. And oh, what an extraordinary game it has become.
Unlike most leisure pursuits, chess is notably devoid of any element of luck. There are no dice to dictate fate, no shuffled cards to influence outcomes, no fortunate bounces or lucky breaks. It is not subject to the whims of a generous referee, nor does it depend on capricious weather conditions that might favour one player over another.
Chess presents a near-perfect harmony of three fundamental qualities: complete immunity from luck, endless depth of strategy and possibility, and a set of universal rules accessible to all. A child in Accra can sit down and play the very same game as a grandmaster in Oslo. A university professor in Tehran can employ the same guidelines as a seasoned trader in Johannesburg.
At the outset, every participant has identical pieces arranged the same way, facing the same board. The true divergence emerges only through judgement, choices, strategies, and foresight.
It is precisely this characteristic that makes chess an exquisite metaphor for leadership and statecraft. As in the game, success in navigating leadership’s complexities depends not on fortune but on discernment, wisdom, and the ability to think several moves ahead.
The amateur excitedly spots a move, while the professional perceives an entire sequence. The master, on the other hand, envisions the position in its entirety, grasping its intricacies. The grandmaster contemplates the profound consequences of each decision. It is largely about levels.
Sadly, too many leaders operate at an amateur level; they see only the immediate move, not the full landscape of the position. They fixate on opportunities to strike, yet remain blind to the chain of consequences that inevitably follows. These individuals often mistake movement for genuine progress, action for wisdom, and noise for meaningful achievement.
Nowhere is this dangerous confusion more evident or potentially more devastating than in wartime, when every decision can tip the balance between chaos and peace, between life and death, between prosperity and ruin.
The recent conflict in Iran serves as a valuable reminder. Headlines may emphasise missiles, blockades, airstrikes, sanctions, oil routes, military strength, and diplomatic ultimatums.
Yet beneath these surface details lies a deeper truth. Iran is not merely a military actor; it is a civilisation that has endured Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Mongols, Ottomans, British influence, Soviet pressure, American sanctions, regional rivalries, revolutions, and repeated forecasts of collapse.
Countries can be younger than their civilisations, and civilisations can be older than their governments. Iran fits both categories. This does not imply Iran is perfect or virtuous, nor does it require agreement with its government. It simply highlights that anyone engaging with Iran must understand that they are engaging with a strategic culture shaped over centuries, not just election cycles. Civilisations and empires think differently, ancient cultures think differently.
A civilisation that has spent centuries sitting astride trade routes, negotiating with rivals, absorbing invasions, and weathering upheavals develops habits of strategic patience.
This history and the patience it has nurtured help explain why so many conflicts involving Iran eventually drift back towards diplomacy, negotiation, and bargaining.
Recent developments once again suggest that military confrontation is giving way to discussions about ceasefires, sanctions, maritime access, verification mechanisms, and future agreements.
The lesson isn’t that Iran cannot be challenged. Instead, it shows that force alone rarely resolves deeper civilisational issues. History consistently shows that military success is often easier than achieving lasting political agreements. Armies can win battles, but only leaders can secure lasting peace.
Leadership starts with thinking, not merely making decisions. The effectiveness of decisions hinges on the clarity of thought that informs them. Therefore, good leadership demands strong cognitive discipline.
The discipline to grasp context. The discipline to identify unintended consequences. The discipline to distinguish tactics from strategy. The discipline to recognise that today’s success can become tomorrow’s problem. Most importantly, leadership demands humility.
Humility might be the most undervalued strategic asset in public life. Arrogance leads leaders to believe they know everything. Humility reminds them of their limitations. Arrogance speeds up decision-making. Humility takes time to analyse. Arrogance tries to take over. Humility asks questions. Arrogance sees only enemies. Humility sees reality.
The best leaders know that power is only one tool of statecraft. Diplomacy, negotiation, reputation, culture, and patience are equally vital. The strongest statesmen have always understood that the aim of strategy isn’t conflict itself but the achievement of desired outcomes.
Over two thousand years ago, Chinese strategist Sun Tzu articulated a key principle with admirable deftness: “To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.” This wisdom remains relevant because human nature has changed little compared with technology. Even today’s political commentary sometimes touches on these ancient truths. A notable remark about Iran, made by Donald Trump when he was not in charge and recently revitalised by Peter Doocy, states: “Iran never won a war, but never lost a negotiation.”
Whether it is strictly true in a literal sense matters little; what endures is the phrase because it resonates instinctively with people. Negotiation often outlasts open conflict, and diplomacy frequently endures long after force has failed.
Perhaps the most poignant irony in all this is that the civilisation renowned for refining the game of chess is once again reminding the world of its most vital lesson: victory does not belong to the player who makes the first move, but to the one who truly understands the board’s complexity.
And so, the lesson for those who aspire to lead in the future is remarkably simple.
Study more history, immersing yourself in the stories and lessons of the past. Study diverse cultures to gain insight into the myriad ways of life and thought that have shaped humanity. Strive to understand various civilisations, their triumphs and failures, and their beliefs and values.
Before rushing into action, pause to reflect more deeply and consider the wider implications of your decisions. Always remember that war often signals the failure of other, more refined instruments of statecraft, such as diplomacy, negotiation, and wisdom.
Recognise that true leadership is a form of stewardship; to lead is to be a warden of the past in the present, for the future.
Above all, be wise enough to understand the player across the table before you make your next move, especially if that opponent hails from the nation credited with inventing chess.
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Anthony Kila is a Jean Monnet professor of Strategy and Development. He is currently Institute Director at the Commonwealth Institute of Advanced and Professional Studies, CIAPS, Lagos, Nigeria. He is a regular commentator on the BBC and he works with various organisations on International Development projects across Europe, Africa and the USA. He tweets @anthonykila, and can be reached at anthonykila@ciaps.org
