How an 18th-Century Chess Automaton Outsmarted the World

The Birth of Artificial Intelligence?

In the bustling courts and dimly lit salons of 18th-century Europe, where nobility and intellectuals gathered to discuss art, science, and the limits of human achievement, a strange figure loomed large over the realm of chess: The Turk, a mechanical chess-playing automaton. Imagine a mysterious mechanical figure dressed in Ottoman robes, seated confidently at a chessboard. As it began to play, the onlookers marveled as it moved its pieces with uncanny precision, often announcing "checkmate" and even grinning at its opponents' frustration.

The Turk, the chess-playing automaton

Credit: engines.egr.uh.edu

Created by Hungarian inventor Johann Wolfgang Ritter von Kempelen in 1769, (the man also began working on 'speaking machine' the same year but finishing The Turk was an emergency) it quickly became the marvel of Europe and America. For nearly 90 years, the machine didn't just play chess; it crushed its opponents, whether they were seasoned masters or illustrious historical figures like Benjamin Franklin and Napoleon Bonaparte.

But what was it about this eerie, seemingly invincible chess-playing robot that made it so captivating?

The Turk: An Engineering Marvel 

The Turk was born out of defiance and rivalry. In 1769, during a show hosted by Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, Kempelen witnessed a French magician performing illusions using magnets, to the delight of an enthralled audience. Unimpressed by the magician’s parlor tricks, and with determination to outdo the French magician’s performance of magnetic tricks that had captivated the Empress, Kempelen boasted that he could build something far more astonishing.

Wolfgang von Kempelen, The Turk’s inventor 

Credit: interestingengineering.com

And thus, after six months of intense work behind the closed doors of his workshop, The Turk emerged.

The machine featured a life-sized, stern-looking mannequin seated at a large wooden cabinet filled with complex and daunting machinery. Before each match, Kempelen would theatrically open every door and compartment of the cabinet, allowing spectators to peek inside. A small drawer would then be pulled out, revealing a set of chess pieces, after which Kempelen would invite the most intelligent members of the audience to take on The Turk, who almost always emerged victorious.

A Mysterious Masterpiece

With every win against those brave enough to challenge it, the legend of The Turk grew and people from all over Europe clamored to challenge it. As it claimed victory after victory across Europe, so did speculation about its authenticity. Was it truly a marvel of engineering, an early form of artificial intelligence, or merely a cleverly disguised trick? Some suggested that it was controlled by magnets, while others believed there might be a small child hidden within the cabinet, maneuvering the pieces. But no matter how hard the skeptics tried, The Turk’s secret remained guarded for decades while traveling far and wide, facing off against the best minds and players.

In Paris, it crossed paths with Benjamin Franklin, who was not only an avid chess player but also a man known for his critical eye and skepticism. Even he could not unravel The Turk’s secrets as he fell victim to its seemingly superhuman prowess. The Turk’s most famous encounter, however, took place in Vienna, where it met Napoleon Bonaparte. Ever the tactician, Napoleon tried to confuse the machine by making illegal moves and placing his pieces in odd positions. But The Turk was unflinching. It would reset the pieces to their correct locations and continue with the match, much to the astonishment of the gathered audience. By the end of the game, Napoleon, like so many before him, was soundly defeated.

Both Napoleon Bonaparte and Benjamin Franklin, renowned chess tacticians, fell victim to The Turk’s seemingly superhuman prowess. 

Kempelen passed away in 1804, still clutching the secrets of his creation. The Turk was then sold to Johann Maelzel, a German inventor, who recognized the robot's potential and took it on a more ambitious tour, even bringing it to the United States. Maelzel’s roadshow found even greater success, and The Turk played chess against some of the best minds of the time. Despite a few close calls and rumors of a hidden operator, The Turk continued to awe audiences. However, after one performance in Baltimore, two young boys allegedly climbed onto The Turk’s storage shed and claimed to have seen a man emerge from the cabinet. Their story was quickly dismissed and the newspaper that published it retracted the report, but the incident left a lingering question in people’s minds, prompting Edgar Allan Poe, the master of the macabre, intrigued enough to investigate The Turk. He wrote an essay speculating on how the machine operated. Despite his efforts, The Turk’s true nature remained shrouded in mystery. Was The Turk really a fraud?

Secrets of Engineering Genius 

The Turk’s final chapter came in the 1854 when, after decades of performances, it was donated to a museum in Philadelphia. Tragically, a devastating fire destroyed the automaton, seemingly taking its secrets with it. Yet, in a twist befitting its story, a year later, Johann Maelzel’s son, The Turk’s last owner, published an article detailing the exact mechanism of the chess player, finally laying to rest one of 18th-century 'engineering marvel': The magnificent automaton wasn’t a robot at all; it was an ingenious feat of deception.

It was operated by a hidden chess master (Johann Allgaier and Schlumberger are mentioned) concealed inside the machine's cabinet. Its compartments, with their intricate machinery, served as little more than a distraction, a red herring that misled even the most observant onlookers. Hidden from view was a movable seat that allowed the hidden operator to slide back and forth as Kempelen opened the various doors for the audience’s inspection. The compartment was cleverly designed with fake machinery and mirrors to create the illusion of empty space, making it seem as if there was no room for a human. The operator had a clear line of sight to the chessboard thanks to a removable ceiling panel and a series of mirrors and magnets.  To see the chessboard, the operator used a small viewfinder that showed the positions of the pieces, which had magnets in their bases. As opponents moved their pieces, corresponding magnets dangled beneath the board, indicating to the operator where each piece was placed. A pantograph mechanism, similar to those used for drafting, allowed the hidden player to move The Turk’s arm, lift pieces, and even point to the chessboard with surprising accuracy. It was this seamless synchronization that gave the chess-playing robot its eerie aura of 'autonomy'. 

A Legacy of Deception

For over 90 years, The Turk had fooled the world’s brightest minds, kept its secret through multiple owners, and inspired countless theories and debates. It was a spectacle that commanded awe and suspicion in equal measure, fooling even the sharpest minds of its time. I, too, do not think I could have doubted The Turk’s perfect blend of mystery and technical brilliance given the marvels the society expected of Industrial Revolution. I wonder what or who else is pulling the strings in the prevailing technological revolution. Guess we shall find out a year after 2054!