While the word “bishop” is a relatively short story, it's association with the game of chess is anything but simple. Therein lies the story of how the game of chess evolved and changed as it entered Northern Europe. And the mystery of how a man of the cloth find himself on an eight by eight battleground.
As far as word histories go, “bishop” took a relatively straightforward path. It starts with the Greek word “episkopos,” a compound made of “epi-,” over, plus “-skopos,” watcher. The second piece is also the source of our word “scope” as in “telescope.” An episkopos was something like overseer or supervisor and had no specific or religious meaning.
The Romans borrowed the word from the Greeks, and as Latin gave way to its regional spin-offs, the proper Latin “episcopus” became first “ebiscopus,” then lost the E to become “biscopus.” And from there it only takes a couple hundred years of Anglo-Saxon mispronunciation to get “bishop.” Although the original Latin form survives in the adjective “episcopal.”
As Christianity spread north from the Mediterranean, the word “episcopos” took on a specifically religious meaning. What was once a general term for supervisors became associated first with the church elders who oversaw the expansion and administration of the early Christian church. In time it was institutionalized into the hierarchy (as that hierarchy itself crystallized). This development in turn created new words: “archbishop,” “bishopric,” etc.
The chess piece known in English as a “bishop” followed a similar route from the Mediterranean into Northern Europe. Pieces with the prototypical, diagonal movement of a bishop existed in the ancestor games of Chess since ancient India. Most, including the Arabic game Shatranj that became Chess, named the piece after their war elephants.
Incidentally, “War Elephant” is totally going to the be title of my first heavy metal album once I get around to forming the band “Schendo and the Snuffleupagii
Appropriately, the elephant was a slow moving piece in Shatranj. While it moved diagonally, it could only jump two squares. (I'll leave you to solve the mystery of how an elephant jumps). As Europeans learned the game, they decided on a faster paced version, and the piece was given the wide ranging, any number of squares movement it possesses in modern chess.
The Spanish name for the piece is “alfil,” a borrowed word from Arabic (whose word for elephant is “al fil”). Other European peoples, perhaps less familiar with the use of pachyderms in warfare, felt free to make up their own names for this quick striking piece. In German it is called a runner, in Slovak an archer. In Bulgarian it is called an officer and in Italian it is an ensign.
Only in Northern Europe did the piece become known as a bishop. A cache of Norse chess pieces were discovered on a Scottish island in 1831. Dating from the twelfth century, among them were figures that are clearly clerics. Furthermore, Icelandic and the Scandinavian names for the piece are all local versions of "bishop." However, the first book on chess in English (published in 1474) calls the piece an “alphyn,” derived from either the Spanish “alfil” or the French “auphin." Most likely, then, the two terms competed for a while, “bishop” from England's Nordic connections and “alphyn” from its continental ambition.
But, why a bishop!? Their starting position on the chess board, right next to the royal family, might be a clue. The French eventually named the piece the “Fool” since the court jesters are also close to the King and Queen. And nobles were instrumental in the spread of Christiantity in Northern Europe.
The aforementioned book, The Game of the Chesse, offers another clue. Here the author compares the “alphyn” to a judge:
The Alphyns ought to be made and formed in manere of Iuges syttynge in a chayer wyth a book open to fore their eyen/ And that is be cause that some causes ben crymynell/ And some ben cyuyle as aboute possessyons and other temporell thynges and trespaces/ And therfore ought to be two Iuges in the royame/ one in the black for the first cause/ And that other in whyte as for the seconde/ Theyr office is for to counceyll the kynge/ And to make by his comandements good lawes And to enforme alle the royame in good and vertuous maners
Although this earliest chess manual is more about moral instruction than actually learning to play chess, it offers a window into medieval wishful thinking. By putting religious leaders next to the royals, it was hoped that they would whisper virtue into the ears of the king and queen.
Or... maybe Medieval religious leaders were as big of suck-ups to the rich and powerful as their counterparts are today.
Your call.
The above is a decidedly un-ecclesiastical offering from Schendo, Archbishop of Yondalla, Holy Orders of the Flying Rat Patootie, Missouri Synod. The text of The Game of Chesse is in the public domain and available at Project Gutenberg. Like Bad Grammar on Facebook and your sins shall be cleansed (or, at least the internet based ones).
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