You use too complicated language - it's not good for people who don't speak English as their first language. It would be easier to get your point across without such flowery prose.
Also, this is not quite true - top masters don't use any particular heuristics - in half the positions they see, they can know the best move in one second because they have really good intuition from experience. At the weak master - beginner level, this may be correct.
The phrase "basic chess theory" brings to mind such fundamental concepts as space, material, and endgames, which are taught in every chess primer. However, I believe there is a deeper layer to the study of how humans play chess, one which is not covered in such books. I will dump some of my thoughts here, in case they are of interest to anybody.
First of all, in order to understand how humans do and should play chess, we would do well to examine how a god would play the game; after all, perfection is the standard towards which we all aspire (ignoring the Romantic view of chess, which has no place in the quest to optimize our play). Imagine, if you will, an omniscient chess player, whom we shall call Caissa, because I am too lazy to either figure out how to write umlauts or copy-paste from wikipedia.
Now, I assert that chess is a draw. This is fairly uncontroversial, so I don't think I need to justify this premise. To say that chess is a draw is to say that Caissa could never lose a game with either color, assuming she was attempting to win. A highly skilled player could draw her, but not beat her, unless there is a forced win available to black or white - if there is no such win, then Caissa is invincible. Via modus ponens, I deduce that Caissa could never lose a game she was trying to win.
Let us consider, momentarily, Caissa's choice of openings. It is extremely unlikely that 1.f3, as horrible of an opening move as it is, leads to a forced win for black; it is obviously false that 1.e4 does so. Therefore, she would not distinguish between the two; indeed, contrary to the strongest of human intuitions, and even to the opinions of Grandmasters, she might merrily open with her f-pawn. Is it not fallacious of me, then, to call 1.f3 "horrible"? From the point of view of a god, it is as good as any other first move. This brings up an even graver question: if any given position is either a victory for white, a victory for black, or a draw with perfect play, then how can the assessments of analysts be correct? A god's-eye view of the chessboard reveals that a three-valued approach to the appraisal of positions would best capture reality. How can white be "better, but not winning?" How, indeed, is any assesment other than "0.00" and "mate in n" correct?
It is here that we are first forced to consider puny humans. We do not play perfectly; while Caissa may not care about an advantage of a few centipawns, it means something to us. But what is actually being measured when black is said to have a slight edge, or white a considerable advantage? If I knew chess programming, then I could answer this in terms of exact metrics; however, it is fairly obvious even to the layman that what is truly being spoken of is ease of victory/defence. Ultimately, there may be two positions that are both drawn with perfect play, but which differ drastically in how easy they are to hold; in one, white may have a variety of options that maintain the draw, while in the other, he may have to follow a precarious thread of forced moves to come out unscathed.
If we extend Caissa's cognitive abilities beyond the range of chess and into general intelligence - or if we simply envision her as a computer program and have her answer to a programmer - then she could gain a new ability: consideration of her opponent. Were she facing another god, she truly would do no better to play 1.e4 than to play 1.f3; however, were she facing a mere human, she could optimize her chances of victory by always choosing those moves which most restricted his possibilities, maximizing the probability of an error on his part. It would be no trouble for her to do so, considering we have defined her as omniscient regarding the royal game.
We cannot simply take this conception of Caissa as the ideal that we must seek to emulate, for we would run into a snag: humans are not omniscient, as I have stressed, so unlike Caissa, we also care about the difficulty of out own positions to play. Due to this, even if a human were granted omniscience for a turn, unless he had a winning move, he would have to take into account a variety of complex factors, including the skill levels of both him and his opponent. This greatly complicates things, as there is therefore no clearly defined metric by which to judge the quality of human-vs-human play. With this unfortunate fact in mind, I will turn to the next topic of our investigation: how can humans best imitate this, admittedly poorly-defined, ideal?
The answer is heuristics. While the essence of chess from a god's-eye view is mistakes, which change the evaluation from one of three values to another, the essence of human chess is heuristics. This is a fairly obvious truth, but it is rarely stated outright in those terms. Chess can be reduced to a mere tree of moves, albeit a prodigiously massive one; concepts such as tactics, control of the centre, and even material are all heuristics to help humans, and the imperfect computers which we currently work with, to find the best moves without reference to the ultimate truth of the game tree.
It is this upon which those chess primers I mentioned earlier are based. They are designed to instruct beginners about which heuristics are useful, and which are not. There is much literature regarding the optimal algorithm for chess-playing that humans can conveniently execute; all of these algorithms are combinations of heuristics. Grandmasters use higher-level heuristics than Masters, who use higher-level heuristics than amateurs.
All of this is fairly obvious, and most chess players have probably figured it out for themselves; however, as trivial as it may be, I find it fairly interesting, and it is less discussed than other chess-related topics, and rarely written on in the literature.