“Our titles, our positions are all temporary. If we let them define us, we’re bound to be lost when they leave us.”
“In chess, every piece — the king, the queen, the bishop, the pawn — has its value only while the game is in play. When it’s over, they’re all returned to the same box and the lid is shut.”
Introduction
In the economy of human identity, titles and roles act like currency — tokens of value that society trades, rewards, and reveres. We become “Doctor,” “CEO,” “Father,” “Soldier,” “Winner,” and sometimes we carry those designations like armor. But armor can rust. What happens when the title is stripped, when the ceremony is over, when the crowd leaves? What remains of the self once the scaffolding of social identity falls away?
The metaphor of chess — a game of rigid roles and precise movements — offers an unexpectedly profound reflection on this question. In play, a queen dominates the board, a pawn sacrifices itself for the cause, and a king is protected at all costs. Yet all pieces, regardless of their fleeting power or purpose, end in the same box. Equal. Inert. Forgotten by the hand that moved them.
This essay explores the philosophical implications of attaching our identity to temporary roles. Drawing from existentialism, stoicism, and eastern thought, it invites us to confront the nature of selfhood in a world obsessed with titles, and to reimagine meaning beyond the “game.”
The Seduction of Status
From childhood, we are taught to reach: for success, recognition, leadership — to become something. This drive is not inherently flawed. It can spark growth, ambition, and innovation. But when what we are is confused with what we are called, a fragile identity is formed, one constantly needing affirmation.
Søren Kierkegaard warned against this in his notion of “despair” — the state of being unaware of the true self and instead identifying with externalities. He wrote that the self becomes “lost” when it seeks its identity outside of itself, when it clings to roles rather than essence. To build one’s self on titles is to stand on a crumbling foundation.
In the corporate world, for instance, a person may ascend to the rank of CEO, believing the title encapsulates their value. But when retirement or dismissal comes, the sudden vacuum can trigger existential crisis. Who am I, if not this role? Without the game, what is the queen?
Chess and the Theatre of Power
The chessboard is a parable. Each piece has a clearly defined function, a hierarchy and logic that govern their actions. Yet no piece owns its power — it is lent to it by the rules of the game.
This mirrors society. A general is only a general because others agree to follow him. A professor’s identity hinges on students, institutions, and the continuing game of academia. The moment the system ceases — due to retirement, illness, upheaval — the power vanishes. All that remains is the individual, removed from context, standing in silence.
The stoics, particularly Marcus Aurelius, understood this. As emperor of Rome, he wrote: “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” In other words: remember the impermanence of the game. Even the king returns to the box.
Death, Equality, and the Box
The image of the chess pieces returned to the same box is not just about social roles — it is about mortality. Death is the great equalizer, erasing all distinctions. The billionaire and the beggar are, in the end, made of the same dust.
This insight is echoed in Buddhist thought, which views attachment — including to identity — as a root of suffering. Clinging to titles is a form of delusion, an unwillingness to accept the transient nature of all phenomena. Enlightenment, in this view, involves seeing through the illusion of permanence, even in the self.
What if we lived as though we were already in the box? Not in nihilism, but in freedom — liberated from the need to play roles, to perform worthiness. What if our value wasn’t defined by the game, but by our presence, our choices, our awareness?
Reclaiming the Self
To detach from titles is not to become directionless or passive. Rather, it is to recognize that identity must come from deeper sources — values, character, consciousness itself. Titles may come and go, but kindness, wisdom, courage — these are not role-dependent. They are cultivated through action, not assigned by a system.
The existentialists argued for creating meaning in an absurd world — not through labels, but through authentic living. Jean-Paul Sartre famously declared, “Existence precedes essence,” meaning that we are not born with a fixed nature or identity, but create ourselves through our choices. The pawn may become a queen — or choose to remain a pawn — but it is the act of choosing that defines meaning, not the title attained.
Conclusion: Living Beyond the Lid
When the game ends — and it always does — who will you be? When your accolades are forgotten, your role passed on, your name unspoken — what remains?
The answer may be found not in resisting the box, but in acknowledging it. Knowing we will return there, that the lid will one day close, we are invited to live more presently, more freely. We can play the game with vigor, yes — but not lose ourselves in it. We can embrace roles without being owned by them. We can lead without being defined by leadership. We can step off the board and remain whole.
Because ultimately, we are not just pieces. We are also the player. And perhaps even more — we are the quiet awareness that watches the game unfold, knowing that when the pieces return to the box, something eternal still remains.