However, the longer history of human communication suggests another factor: the expectations we bring to those interactions, shaped by more than 100 years of conversations with and through machines. Ever since the Victorian telegraph created real-time conversations at a distance, humans have been trying to envision the person who generated the words that they’re reading. Those imaginings have created criteria for authenticity that we bring to our interactions with chatbots today—and that transcend LLM accuracy. I don’t know if chatbot conversations will ever satisfy human loneliness, but understanding their potential requires seeing how that historical context has shaped our very human interpretations of technology.
The spread of telegraph lines during the mid-19th century presented a new possibility: Two people could have a synchronous conversation from hundreds or even thousands of miles apart. They might already know each other and enjoy this quicker form of communication, or they might be total strangers. It was the latter possibility that took hold of the public imagination.
Telegraph operators were often women, and this novel form of communication raised the specter of what we now call catfishing: luring someone into a relationship by misrepresenting oneself. The telegraph ushered in innovative opportunities for women’s independence and, with that, new metrics—and a new urgency—for differentiating the real from the fake.
For example, a headline from the Feb. 13, 1886, issue of the trade journal the Electrical World warns of “The Dangers of Wired Love.” Maggie McCutcheon, a young Brooklyn telegrapher, was “keeping up a flirtation” with Frank Frisbie, the article said. But McCutcheon’s father discovered that Frisbie was married with a family in Pennsylvania. The article details the father’s attempts to keep McCutcheon away from the wires that allow her to communicate with Frisbie, and McCutcheon’s determination to find her way to a telegraph machine.
McCutcheon’s father attempts to control her by sending her to the Catskill Mountains. He fires her from her post at his telegraph office and drags her home from a friend’s house by threatening violence. There is little mention of Frisbie other than his alleged family, who live conveniently far away. Much like a conversational A.I., he remains disembodied, amorphous, a presence only in and through the telegraph machine.
The key points of this short news story spin out in the popular fictions of the day. Often called “techno-romances,” these stories and novels elaborate on the possibilities offered by the apparatus: By stripping away the trappings of beauty, status, and family, does the telegraph make it possible to truly know someone and be known in return? Or does it introduce a new kind of forgery, the ability to pretend to be anyone, with no body for evidence?