From Markov chains (1913) to autonomous agents (2026)
CONNECT ON LINKEDIN
software that does a job we would call thinking.
NLP isthe part of it aimed at human language.
A Russian mathematician counting letters in a novel by hand, because there isn't a computer anywhere on Earth yet.
Software that reads your codebase, makes the change and runs the tests while you go get a coffee.
Almost none of this was invented from scratch. Count how often the new thing is somebody's old idea.
Andrey Markov works out the maths for things that depend on what came before.
Three decades before there's a machine to run it on.
8,638 vowels · 11,362 consonants · every row sums to 1
You need only the current state, never the whole history.
Every row sums to 1. That's the only rule.
Claude Shannon generates English by picking likely next words.
In the paper that invents information theory.
Who’s happy with autocomplete?
Who just thought “mat”?
Slide the window across billions of words of newswire, parliamentary records and eventually the web, tallying every sequence as you go. That's the training.
Keep the last n words, which is your context window, and throw the rest away.
One count divided by another, and no grammar anywhere.
The Korean War begins in 1950.
Alan Turing asks, in print, “Can machines think?”
Seventy-six years ago.
Who already knows what the Turing Test is?
Set the dial to 1950. [Beat — let 1950 land. It's older than they expect.] Alan Turing publishes a paper in the journal Mind called "Computing Machinery and Intelligence." First line, essentially: I propose to consider the question, can machines think. And then he goes further than asking, because he proposes a way to settle it. [REVEAL — then pause and actually look at the room.] Raise your hand: who already knows what the Turing Test is? — Count them out loud ("okay, six, eight, about a third of the room"). React to the count, then answer it yourself: "so most of you have heard of it, and here's the part that usually gets left out." HANDS ONLY — do not call on anyone or ask anyone to explain it. Works either way: lots of hands → "then you already know the famous version, and I want to show you what he actually wrote." No hands → "perfect, then this next part is going to be fun."
“…too meaningless to deserve discussion.”
Turing, on his own question
October 1950, in a journal called Mind, which is a philosophy journal and not an engineering one. The paper is "Computing Machinery and Intelligence," and it opens: "I propose to consider the question, can machines think?" Then he spends the rest of the paper refusing to answer it, because to answer it you'd first have to define "thinking", and nobody can. Ask ten people in this room and you'll get ten different answers. He says so himself, in the same paper: too meaningless to deserve discussion. [REVEAL] So he swaps it out for a question you can actually test. Not "does it think", but could an examiner tell it apart from a person, in writing. [REVEAL] He called it the imitation game, and the setup is a good deal stranger than the version you've heard. That's the next slide.
Here's the setup, and it's stranger than the version you've heard. A judge sits alone with a keyboard, and there are two hidden players, call them A and B. The judge can ask either of them anything at all, but every word goes through a teleprinter [gesture right], so no voices, no faces and no handwriting, just text. The judge's job is to work out which is which. Now here's the detail everyone leaves out. In the actual paper, the two players are a man and a woman, and the judge is trying to tell the man from the woman. It's a Victorian parlour game. [REVEAL 4] Turing's move is to take one of them out and put a machine in that seat, and then ask: if the judge can't do any better than before, what exactly is the difference? [REVEAL] And he gave a number, which matters for later. Fool the judge 30% of the time over five minutes, and he guessed a machine would manage it by the year 2000. Remember that 30%. We'll come back to it, and by the end of tonight it's going to look quaint.
Zellig Harris: you can tell what a word means by the company it keeps.
Meaning, treated as a statistic.
1954, and a linguist called Zellig Harris writes something that turns out to be load-bearing for everything after it. His claim: words that show up in the same contexts tend to mean similar things. You don't need a definition of "dog" — you need to see what words appear around it. That's called the distributional hypothesis, and two things grow out of it. The immediate one is what we're about to look at, which is treating a document as nothing but a pile of words. The other one takes another sixty years, and we'll get there, because it's how machines eventually learned meaning.
Three words, and it already looks far more like the left pile than the right. No reading required.
While the labs are arguing about grammar, librarians have a completely different problem. Theirs isn't "what does this mean", it's "which of these ten thousand documents did I want", and they solve it by counting. The phrase is Harris's, 1954. Luhn at IBM is doing it on real documents by '58, and by the mid-seventies it's simply how information retrieval works. I'll use a modern version of the same job, because you all rely on it every single day: your email somehow knows what spam is. It doesn't read the message. It tips the words out into a bag, gives it a shake and counts them. [Point at the diagram.] "The" twice, "cat" once. The email is now just that list of numbers, and if the list has enough "free" and "winner" and "click here" in it, the thing goes in the bin. That's the whole classifier. No grammar, no meaning, nothing that understands a word of it. [REVEAL] And the same move answers any question shaped like "what kind of document is this?" Sort news into topics, route a support ticket to the right team, rank a search result. It's all counting words and comparing tallies. [REVEAL] Now the cost, and it's a big one, because the order is gone. "The cat sat on the mat" and "the mat sat on the cat" contain identical words in identical numbers, so as far as this representation is concerned they're the same document. One of those is a normal Tuesday and the other one is a cry for help, and the computer genuinely cannot tell them apart. So: crude, obviously wrong about language, and it has been running document search since before most of this room was born. Counting beat understanding, and honestly it wasn't close. [Bridge] But there's a problem hiding inside the counting, and I bet you can guess it. What's the most common word in every document ever written?
“Five, perhaps three years hence … may well be an accomplished fact.”
Leon Dostert, Georgetown, at the demonstration
IBM press materials, 7 January 1954
Around this same time, machine translation is the big push, because it's the Cold War and everybody wants Russian read fast. January 1954, IBM and Georgetown put on a demo in New York, where an IBM 701 translates Russian sentences into English in front of the press. [Point at the photos.] The Russian gets punched onto cards by an operator who didn't speak a word of it, and English comes off the line printer seconds later. IBM's own press release calls it "an unqualified success" and brags about "the breakneck speed of two and a half lines per second." Here's what it actually was. 250 words of vocabulary and six grammar rules. The showpiece sentence was about coal: "the quality of coal is determined by calory content." So, carefully chosen sentences, a tiny dictionary, and absolutely enormous headlines. Georgetown's Leon Dostert tells reporters it'll be a solved problem in, and I love the ordering here, "five, perhaps three years." [REVEAL] It wasn't. Twelve years of funding later, in 1966, a committee for the National Academy of Sciences reports back that there is "no immediate or predictable prospect of useful machine translation." That's the actual sentence, and the money stopped more or less overnight. [REVEAL] So 1966 goes down as the year a committee declared machine translation a dead end. Hold onto that year, because in those same twelve months, over at MIT, somebody was building the most convincing talking program anyone had ever seen, and it had nothing to do with translation at all. That's next. [Do NOT tell the "vodka is good but the meat is rotten" story — it's almost certainly made up.]
Star Trek premieres, with a computer the crew talk to.
Joseph Weizenbaum, at MIT, publishes ELIZA.
The first convincing chatbot.
Who thought the first chatbot was younger than you?
Keep it up if you thought it was younger than your parents.
Same year. 1966 is the year the committee said language was hopeless, and it's also the year this happens. [Beat.] The first chatbot is older than the moon landing, because Apollo 11 is three years after this. It's older than colour TV in most homes, and it's older than very nearly everyone in this room. [REVEAL — hands. HANDS ONLY, never call on anyone.] Who thought the first chatbot was younger than you? — [most of the room; count it out loud] "Almost everyone." [REVEAL second line] Now keep your hand up if you thought it was younger than your PARENTS. — [most hands stay up] "Right. It is older than nearly every parent in this room." Same year: England win the World Cup, and Star Trek premieres with a computer the crew talks to. One of those three aged strangely.
Joseph Weizenbaum, MIT, January 1966, Communications of the ACM. And note what he says he's doing: studying natural language communication between man and machine. He isn't trying to win Turing's game, he's trying to show how little machinery it takes to LOOK like you're playing it. The script is called DOCTOR, and it imitates a Rogerian therapist, which is the cleverest thing here. A Rogerian therapist is allowed to know nothing at all about your life; they just reflect your own words back at you. So the program's total ignorance stops being a bug and becomes the character. [REVEAL] And then the thing he genuinely didn't expect. People opened up to it. His own secretary, who had watched him write the thing and knew perfectly well there was nothing in there, asked him to leave the room so she could talk to it privately. [REVEAL] That broke something in him. He spent the rest of his career, and a whole book in 1976, arguing that we should not do this. We went ahead and did it anyway, about forty more times, on purpose.
People queued to use it. It was copied onto home computers for the next twenty years, and practising psychiatrists proposed developing it into real therapy. Reading understanding into a machine that has none is still called the ELIZA effect.
Read a few of these out loud, her lines in a normal voice and ELIZA's flat. Don't editorialise while you read; let it do the work. Two things to point out. It's ALL CAPS, and there's no punctuation anywhere, not one question mark in the whole thing. That isn't a transcription slip, it's what the machine actually printed on a teleprinter in 1966. [REVEAL last line] "Tell me more about your family." That's the line that got it. Now, how loved was this thing? Nobody treated it as a toy. They queued for it, MIT students burned hours on it, and it got copied and re-copied for twenty years — rewritten in BASIC, typed out of magazines, shipped on home computers. That's a longer run than most software ever gets. Practising psychiatrists wrote seriously about using this as a therapeutic tool, and that's the part that really horrified Weizenbaum. Not that people were fooled, but that professionals wanted to PRESCRIBE it. He said he was startled by how quickly and how deeply people got emotionally involved with it. And the effect got named after the program — "the ELIZA effect" is still the term for reading understanding into a machine that has none. We'll be using that term again tonight.
Stores your “my …” sentences. When it recognises nothing, it replays one: EARLIER YOU SAID YOUR …
Keywords carry a priority. In “everybody laughed at me”, everybody outranks me.
Several replies per rule, used in turn — so it never answers the same shape twice running.
don't → do not · you are → I am, so the sentence
comes back grammatical.
Every one of them is a lookup. Nothing consults the dashed box.
So how does it do that? There are two kinds of rule in there, and neither one of them involves reading. The first kind is reflection. Take the sentence apart, swap the pronouns around so my becomes your and I becomes you, then reassemble the whole thing as a question. "I hate my job" comes back at you as "why do you hate your job." The second kind is the one that catches people out, and it's pure keyword lookup. In the script, "mother" and "father" are both tagged into a family group, and any word in that group fires the same stock line: tell me more about your family. Nothing gets echoed back at all. It did not work out that mother implies family; a person typed that connection in by hand, years in advance. And when it recognises nothing at all, it stalls. "Please go on." "What does that suggest to you." [If pressed, there IS more machinery: keywords are ranked so the strongest wins, each keyword has several alternative replies so it doesn't repeat itself, and there's a memory stack that can bring back something you said earlier — "earlier you said your…". Genuinely clever engineering. Still no understanding anywhere in it.] [REVEAL — point at the dashed box.] That's the whole point. Every rule is a lookup. There is no step where the program works out what you meant. Find-and-replace in a trench coat. [LIVE DEMO — 2 minutes, you at the keyboard. Let the room feel it working before you point out that it isn't. Close with: "you all knew it was a trick, and it still felt like something."]
Terry Winograd builds a program that genuinely understands you.
Inside a world containing seven blocks.
1970, MIT. This is the high-water mark for the rules approach, and it's genuinely impressive. Terry Winograd's SHRDLU understands English sentences, works out what "it" refers to, plans multi-step actions, and can explain to you why it did something. There is a catch, and it's a big one. Next slide.
Here's what it could do. You type "pick up a big red block" and it does it. You say "put it in the box" and it works out what "it" means. Ask why it moved something and it tells you. In 1970. And look at the SHAPE of that, because this isn't a chatbot. It isn't answering questions at all. It takes an instruction in English, plans a sequence of actions, changes the state of a world, and reports back to you. [REVEAL] That is tool use. That's an agent. It's exactly the loop every AI agent runs in 2026: instruction in, actions taken inside a sandboxed environment, result handed back. We have been doing this for fifty-five years, and the only thing that really changed is the size of the sandbox. SHRDLU's held seven blocks and a box; the one your coding agent runs in holds your entire filesystem. [REVEAL — point at the diagram.] And here's the catch that ends the whole rules era. Every single fact inside that sandbox was typed in by a person, by hand. One inch outside it and there's nothing at all: no weather, no feelings, no second kind of object. To scale this up, somebody would have to sit down and type in the entire world, and nobody can do that. [Bridge — note this hands off to ATN/LUNAR now, NOT straight to the counting era. The "gave up and started counting" line has moved to the tagging scoreboard three slides from here, which is where it actually earns itself.] Hold that thought, because down the hall from Winograd somebody is working on the narrower, more durable version of this problem.
Woods, Communications of the ACM, October 1970. POP hands control back to whoever called you — and both NP arcs call the same network.
[PACE — slow down here. This is a load-bearing explanation and much of the room has English as a second language. Point at each network before you walk it.] Same era, different building. Bill Woods at BBN (that's Bolt Beranek and Newman, the company that also built the first ARPANET routers) asks a much narrower question than Winograd does. Not "can it understand", just: how do you take a sentence apart, mechanically? His answer is a picture, and the important thing is that it's TWO pictures. [Point at the top one.] That's the sentence network. And look at the first arc — to get from S to S1 you don't need a word, you need a whole noun phrase. Then a verb. Then another noun phrase. Then POP, which means you're done. [Point at the bottom one.] And that's the noun-phrase network. An article or an adjective, then as many more adjectives as you fancy — that's the little loop on top — then a noun, then POP. [REVEAL nothing yet — point at the dashed arrow.] And this arrow is the whole reason we're looking at this. When the sentence network hits its NP arc, it CALLS the noun-phrase network. Like a subroutine. So let's walk "the big dog chased the cat." Top network needs a noun phrase, so it calls the bottom network. The. Big. Dog. POP, and we're back up top at S1. Now we need a verb — chased, that's S2. Now another noun phrase, so we call the bottom network again. The. Cat. POP. POP. Parsed. [REVEAL] Now, why "augmented". That call is one of the two additions. The other is registers, which is scratch memory: it can write down what it found, that this was the subject, and it can BACK UP when a guess turns out wrong. Woods's own phrase for that is postponing decisions until more is known about the sentence. [REVEAL] And here's why the call matters so much. A network can call any network, including itself. Take "the cat that the dog chased sat." There's a whole sentence buried inside that sentence. A flat state machine, one that only walks forward, can never do that. Recursion can. So this isn't a toy: ATNs are how parsing works for the next twenty years, and they end up inside the ARPA speech programme. [Bridge — this is the setup for the next block, say it deliberately] But look at the arc labels again. ART. ADJ. N. VERB. To take an arc at all, the machine has to already know what kind of word it's holding. Woods assumed that was a solved problem. It was not solved, and it wasn't even close.
Intel ships the 4004, the first microprocessor.
Somebody tries to label every word in a million-word corpus — automatically.
77% automated accuracy; the remaining 23% corrected by hand.
1971, and this one isn't a famous system with a name you'll recognise. It's a piece of plumbing. But it's the piece everything else in this decade was quietly standing on and pretending was already solved. Also, for a sense of scale: in the same year, somebody puts an entire processor on one chip. Intel's 4004, November 1971. Hold that up next to what you're about to watch us struggle with.
Is book a noun?
book → NOUN · a thing you hold
book → VERB · an instruction
Same four letters, and nothing inside the word decides which one it is.
[PACE — slow down here. This is a load-bearing explanation and much of the room has English as a second language. Read both sentences out loud.] So let's do the boring thing properly, because everything upstream needs it. Part-of-speech tagging. For every single word in a sentence, decide what kind of word it is. Noun, verb, adjective. And note the emphasis, because it isn't what the word means in the dictionary, it's what the word is DOING, right here, in this sentence. Which sounds like homework, so here's why it isn't. [Read the first sentence.] "I read a book." [Read the second.] "Book me a flight." [REVEAL hands. HANDS ONLY — and this one has a trap in it, which is the point.] Hands up — is "book" a noun? [Count. React to whatever you get: "About half of you" / "Most of you" / "Nobody's committing, very sensible."] [REVEAL] It's both, and that's the whole lesson. There is nothing inside the word at all, not the letters, not the spelling, that tells you which one it is. The only evidence you get is the company it keeps. In "a book", coming after "a", it's a thing. In "Book me", sitting at the front with "me" after it, it's an instruction. [Optional, if the room is with you: "read" in that first sentence is doing the same trick to you right now. Present tense or past tense? You cannot tell from the letters either. English is full of this.] So the machine has to look at the neighbours. Which sounds easy and is the thing the field spends the next twenty years on. Next slide, the scoreboard.
The same numbers as errors: 1 word in 4 wrong → 1 in 29 → 1 in 36.
[PACE — slow down here. This is a load-bearing explanation and much of the room has English as a second language. Say each percentage slowly.] Here's the scoreboard, and it's the clearest picture in the talk of how this field actually moves. 1971, TAGGIT, by Greene and Rubin. Hand-written rules: look at the ending of the word, look at what's sitting next to it, apply the rule. Seventy-seven percent. [Point at the first bar.] And I want you to sit for a second with what the other twenty-three percent actually means. Linguists went through a million words and fixed them by hand. That took years. Human beings, word by word, for years. [REVEAL] 1987, Lancaster, CLAWS. And they change the question, because instead of arguing about what the rule ought to be, they just count what actually happens. Which tag tends to follow which tag. Ninety-six to ninety-seven percent. In error terms, because that's where you feel it: from about one word in four wrong, to one in twenty-nine. [Point at the caption.] [REVEAL] And then it stops. Look at the third bar: 1994, Brill, ninety-seven point two. It barely moves, and that's because ninety-seven percent or so is roughly where two human experts stop agreeing with each other about the right tag. The task has a ceiling and the machines have hit it. [Precision guard: say "roughly" on the human-agreement number. It's the commonly cited figure for part-of-speech agreement, not something I'd defend to a decimal place.] [The nuance, if anyone asks — and be honest about this rather than telling the clean story: Brill's tagger is RULE-based, and it beats CLAWS. So this is not simply rules losing to statistics. What died was HAND-WRITTEN rules. Brill's rules are learned — the machine finds its own errors and works out the rule that fixes them. Rules written by people lost. Rules found by counting won.] [Bridge] And that's the lesson the whole field is about to take, everywhere, all at once. If you can count it, don't argue about it. Hold onto that, because next we're going to count words in documents, and it ends up running the internet.
Karen Spärck Jones works out which words actually matter.
Twenty years before there's a web to search.
1972, Cambridge. Karen Spärck Jones publishes the idea that makes search work, two whole decades before anyone has a web to point it at. Every search engine you have ever used sits on top of this.
Frequent here and rare everywhere else → informative. In every document → worth nothing.
So: what's the most common word in every document ever written? "The." Followed by "of", "and", "a". Which means if you rank by raw count, every document on earth looks identical and the counting was pointless. [REVEAL maths] The fix is one line, and honestly it's beautiful. Take how often a word appears in THIS document, and divide it by how many documents it appears in at all. "The" appears in everything, so the bottom of that fraction is enormous and its weight collapses to nothing. But "banana" appears in almost nothing, so when it does show up it counts for a lot. Frequent here and rare everywhere else means informative. That's the whole idea: term frequency over document frequency, TF-IDF. [REVEAL Spärck Jones] And note the date, 1972. Karen Spärck Jones, at Cambridge, right in the middle of the quiet period, twenty years before there was a web to search. Every search engine you have ever used is built on top of this, and she spent most of her career under-credited for it. She also said something worth repeating: computing is too important to be left to men. So by the mid-seventies the toolkit exists. Count the words, weight them properly. What's missing isn't the maths, it's the text, and that's what the nineties turn up with.
Speech recognition stops trying to understand anything.
Hidden Markov Models replace rule-based acoustic parsing.
Through the seventies and eighties, one corner of the field gives up on meaning altogether, and it turns out to be the corner that starts producing actual results.
“Every time I fire a linguist, the performance of the speech recogniser goes up.”
attributed to Fred Jelinek, IBM
The web arrives: first website 1991, Mosaic 1993.
The counting finally has enough to count.
Large-scale digital corpora enable statistical methods.
The nineties. And notice what does NOT change here, which is the maths. We already have all of it: counting words, weighting them by how rare they are. That's on the board already and some of it is twenty years old. What changes is the pile. Suddenly there's text everywhere and disks cheap enough to keep it on. The web shows up, first website 1991, Mosaic in '93. Digitised newspapers, parliamentary transcripts, email. For the first time there is more text than any human being could read, which is exactly the condition where counting beats reasoning. [The hands beat for this material now lives on the 1948 Shannon card, where n-grams are introduced.]
Remember what a committee said in 1966: "no immediate or predictable prospect of useful machine translation." That's the sentence that killed the field's funding. Twenty-five years later IBM has another go, and instead of grammar rules they use the Canadian Hansard. Canada publishes every parliamentary debate in both English and French, by law, which means millions of sentences already translated by human beings, sitting in a filing cabinet, free. [REVEAL] And notice what is NOT in this story, which is a new idea. Markov 1913, Shannon 1948, Harris 1954, Spärck Jones 1972 — every technique the nineties reach for is already decades old. What the decade adds is the pile. Newspapers get digitised, everything lands on a disk, and then the web turns up. [REVEAL] Their system never learns a single rule of French. It counts which words tend to sit opposite which other words, across millions of pairs, and it beats twenty years of hand-written rules. Same problem, declared hopeless, solved by counting. And that's the first half of the night. Nobody taught the rocks language, they just counted it.
YouTube 2005, Twitter 2006, and ordinary people start producing text at industrial scale.
Putting the counting to work.
Turning 90s statistical tallies into practical outcomes: sentiment, topics, and classification.
The two thousands, and the problem turns itself inside out. For fifty years the difficulty was finding enough text, and now there's far too much of it: reviews, forums, tweets, support tickets. Every company on earth wants to know what's in there, and nobody can read it. So they count it.
One number, from a pile of counts.
This is where we take the statistical counting built in the nineties and point it directly at outcomes. It's the same bag of words, and there are two things you can do with it. You can score the bag along one axis, so how positive is this, and that's sentiment analysis. Or you can cluster the bags into groups and see what falls together, and that's topic modelling. [REVEAL] 2002, a famous paper on movie reviews: throw bag-of-words at a basic classifier and you get about eighty percent on thumbs up versus thumbs down. That's good enough to be useful, and within a few years every company on earth is running it over their customer feedback. [REVEAL] But hold onto the limitation, because it's the reason for everything after this. It cannot read. "This film was not remotely as bad as I expected" is a positive review, and it's absolutely stuffed with negative words. Sarcasm eats it alive. To fix any of that you'd need the machine to know what words MEAN, and nobody has the faintest idea how to do that. Until somebody does.
Yoshua Bengio stops treating words as symbols and starts treating them as numbers.
Dense vector representations for neural language modeling.
2003, and this is the quiet one. Yoshua Bengio publishes a neural language model, and buried inside it is the move that changes everything. Instead of treating each word as a symbol that's either identical to another word or completely different, he gives every word a list of numbers, and lets the model learn those numbers while it learns to predict. Almost nobody notices, and it takes ten years to matter.
Words → a learned table of numbers → a prediction.
Here's the problem he's solving, and it's the one that has been sitting under this whole talk. To an n-gram, every word is just a symbol, so cat and kitten are exactly as unrelated as cat and Tuesday. There is no way anywhere in that machinery to say two words are similar. [REVEAL] So Bengio does something that sounds trivial and really isn't. He gives each word a row of numbers, a vector, and instead of choosing those numbers by hand he lets the network learn them while it learns to predict the next word. Words that get used the same way end up with similar numbers, because that's what makes the prediction better. [REVEAL] And look what that buys you. Say your model has never seen "the kitten sat." An n-gram is completely stuck: count zero, no idea. This model knows kitten's numbers look like cat's numbers, and it has seen "the cat sat" a thousand times. So evidence transfers between words for the first time ever. That's the seed, and it sits there quietly for ten years.
Two numbers per word, plotted: cat and kitten sit 0.6 apart, and Tuesday is 7.6 away.
[PACE — slow down here. This is a load-bearing explanation and much of the room has English as a second language. Say the numbers slowly and pause after each reveal.] I want to stop on "a row of numbers" for a second, because everything after this depends on it. Take the simplest possible version: two numbers per word instead of three hundred. Two numbers is a point you can draw, like a coordinate on a map. [Point at the grid.] cat goes here. kitten lands right next to it, because it gets used in the same sentences. Tuesday is up here, miles away. [REVEAL] And here's what that buys you, which counting never could. You can MEASURE it. cat to kitten: 0.6. cat to Tuesday: 7.6. Thirteen times further. Say that again, thirteen times further. And nobody wrote a rule about cats, or animals, or days of the week. The numbers came out of predicting the next word, and the distances arrived for free. [Honest aside, worth 10 seconds: the two axes don't mean anything you could name. Not "furriness", not "royalty". People draw it that way and it's not true. The individual numbers are not interpretable — only the distances and directions are.] [REVEAL] Real models use around three hundred numbers per word instead of two. You cannot draw three hundred dimensions and neither can I. But nothing important breaks, because near is still near and a direction is still a direction. The maths doesn't care that you've run out of paper. And the word for that list of numbers is a vector. That's the whole definition: a list of numbers you're allowed to treat as a place. [Bridge] Hold onto "distance you can measure", because it comes back twice. Once in ten years, when the directions turn out to mean something, and once at the end of the talk when we get to RAG.
Snowden leaks the NSA files in June.
A team at Google works out how to put meaning on a map.
Mikolov et al. introduce Word2Vec and vector space arithmetic.
2013, and this is the one. If you remember a single slide from tonight, make it the next one, because this is the moment machines get hold of something you could fairly call meaning, and the demonstration is so clean it genuinely feels like a magic trick.
Who got queen?
The step from man to woman is the same step as king to queen.
word2vec: read a lot of text, and give every word numbers based on the company it keeps.
It unlocksSimilar meaning becomes similar numbers, so a machine can measure meaning instead of matching letters.
[PAYOFF — pays off 041 (Harris 1954, a word is the company it keeps) and 121 (Bengio 2003). Name both years out loud.] [PACE — slow down here. This is a load-bearing explanation and much of the room has English as a second language. Say the numbers slowly and pause after each reveal.] [SAY THE NAME. It's "word2vec" — word, the digit two, vec. Google, 2013, Tomas Mikolov's team. Say it now and say it again at the end of the slide; the audit found this deck taught the idea without ever speaking its name until half an hour later.] Every word becomes a few hundred numbers, so think of it as a point in space, and words used in similar ways sit near each other. Fine, that's Bengio's idea at scale. But then somebody noticed something nobody had been looking for. [REVEAL maths — read it out, then STOP. Let the room work.] King, minus man, plus woman, equals…? [REVEAL hands. HANDS ONLY.] Who got queen? — [count] "Nearly all of you." [REVEAL] So does the model. And I want to be precise about why that's astonishing. Nobody wrote a rule about royalty or gender, and nobody built a dictionary. It read a large pile of perfectly ordinary text, gave every word some numbers, and the direction you travel from man to woman turns out to be the same direction you travel from king to queen. Meaning showed up as geometry. [REVEAL diagram — point at it.] Same arrow, twice. That's the whole result. And this is Harris's distributional hypothesis from 1954 finally paying off: you shall know a word by the company it keeps. It only took sixty years and an awful lot of text. [If challenged, the honest footnote: the standard test excludes the input words when it looks for the nearest neighbour. The regularity is real; the vector lands nearest queen, it doesn't land exactly on it.]
Table 8, “Efficient Estimation of Word Representations in Vector Space” · skip-gram, 783M words, 300 dimensions.
[PACE — slow down here. This is a load-bearing explanation and much of the room has English as a second language. Read down the left column slowly.] Now I want to show you the actual table from the actual paper, because king-minus-man-plus-woman makes it sound like a party trick and it is not a party trick. [Point down the left column, read them out.] France minus Paris, that's the capital-city relationship. Big minus bigger, that's grammar, comparatives. Miami minus Florida, cities to states. Einstein minus scientist, people to professions. Copper minus Cu, chemical symbols. Berlusconi minus Silvio, surnames to first names. Microsoft minus Windows, companies to products. Microsoft minus Ballmer, companies to chief executives. Japan minus sushi, countries to food. Nine completely different kinds of relationship, and it's the SAME operation every single time. Subtract, add, look at what's nearest. Nobody wrote a capital-cities table, nobody typed in the periodic table. It read text. [REVEAL the crosses.] And now the part I love, because it's the honest part. Look at these. Small: larger, no, that's smaller. Uranium: plutonium, no, that's U. Putin: Medvedev, which is not his first name. IBM: McNealy, and Scott McNealy ran Sun Microsystems. France: tapas, and tapas is Spanish. [REVEAL] And they published it anyway. Here's the sentence that comes right after this table in the paper: score it on exact match, and it gets "only about sixty percent." Sit with that for a second, because it tells you exactly what kind of machine this is. It's right about the SHAPE of the world, that countries have foods and companies have bosses and metals have symbols, and it's confidently wrong about the details. Fluent about the structure, unreliable on the facts. [Bridge] Remember that sentence, because in about an hour we're going to give that exact behaviour a name, and the name is hallucination. It has been sitting here since 2013. It was never a bug somebody added later. [If challenged on the crosses: I've only marked the six that are unarguable. A few others are debatable — Mozart played violin but he was a composer, Apple's answer is a phone not an operating system. I'm not adjudicating those; the paper's own sixty percent does the work.]
Two lines of Python, and the values are illustrative.
Now, the six years everybody forgets, and they're the six years this stuff got into your life. Because the thing about 2013 is that Google shipped the CODE, not just the paper. And then Radim Řehůřek ported it to Python in a library called gensim, and that is the moment this leaves the labs. Stanford put out GloVe in 2014, and Facebook put out fastText in 2016, which can even handle words it has never seen before by looking at the pieces of the word. So by about 2015, any developer anywhere could have working embeddings in an afternoon. And here's what I want you to notice. Almost nobody used them for king minus man plus woman, because that's the demo. [Point at the list.] What they actually used was this, most_similar: give me the things nearest to this thing. Related products, duplicate support tickets, search results that match what you meant instead of what you typed. [REVEAL the three steps — go slowly, and let them get there before you say it.] So the recipe is: turn every document into a vector. Turn the question into a vector. Return the closest documents. [REVEAL] Some of you have already worked out what I've just described. That is RAG. That's the retrieval step, exactly, and it's running in production from about 2015, five years before the paper that names it and a decade before anybody put it on a slide. [Forward-reference, do NOT spoil it — the twist lands at the end of the talk] Hold onto that, because when we get to RAG properly I've got one detail about which method actually ended up doing the work in production, and it's funnier than this. [Illustrative numbers again — if challenged, say so. The ranking is the real behaviour; I'm not claiming those exact cosine values.]
The RNN Recurrent Loop: folded cell (left) and unrolled sequential chain (right).
Read text one word at a time, carrying hidden memory from word to word.
It unlockedVariable-length input — neural networks could handle full sentences instead of fixed bags of words.
Before we get to attention, we have to look at how neural networks handled text between 2010 and 2014: the Recurrent Neural Network (RNN). Up to now, bag-of-words threw away word order completely. An RNN brings order back by reading like a human does: word one, word two, word three, strictly in a row. [Point at the diagram] Word one ("The") feeds into the RNN and produces a memory vector h1. That memory passes to word two ("cat"), which produces h2. For the first time, a neural network could read a sentence of ANY length. But notice the structural limitation: word three CANNOT compute until word two is finished. It is single-file. And that single-file line is the exact reason GPUs couldn't train them in parallel across massive text datasets.
The seq2seq bottleneck: input length grows, vector size stays fixed.
Long Short-Term Memory (LSTM) gates allowed networks to remember words longer.
The flawFixed-Vector Bottleneck — squeezing 50 words into a 512-D vector forced early words to fade.
Now we arrive at 2014, the peak of seq2seq (sequence-to-sequence). LSTMs solved basic RNN memory loss by adding "gates" that control what to keep and what to forget. In 2014, Google used them to build sentence-to-sentence translation. [Point at the diagram] An encoder RNN reads the English sentence, squeezes it down into ONE fixed-size vector, and then a decoder RNN writes the Spanish sentence from that vector alone. Notice the flaw: whether your sentence is 5 words or 50 words, it has to squeeze through that exact same fixed vector. Information at the beginning of a long sentence gets overwritten and faded. And THAT is the exact bottleneck that Bahdanau and Bengio set out to solve in 2015 with Attention.
A translation model is allowed to look back at any word it wants.
Bahdanau et al. introduce neural attention mechanisms.
2015, and this is where the debt from the n-gram slide finally gets paid. Remember that every model so far has a fixed window: a few words of context, and everything before that is completely invisible. Somebody finally takes the window out.
“She grew up in France, moved abroad for work, lived in three different countries for twenty years, and yet at home she still speaks fluent French.”
Attention connects France (17 words back) directly to predicting French.
A score for every pair of words, saying how much one should listen to the other.
It unlocksDistance stops costing anything, so word one and word fifty are one step apart.
[PAYOFF — pays off 021's five-word window. The debt you asked them to remember. Say “the window is gone”.] Here's the state of the art before this. A translation model reads your whole sentence, squeezes it down into one fixed-size list of numbers, and then writes the translation from that summary alone. Which works fine for short sentences and falls completely apart on long ones, because it's the same size box no matter how much you put in, and everything that didn't fit is lost. [REVEAL] Attention throws the box away. For every single word it produces, the model can look back across the entire input and decide which parts matter for this word, right now. Translating a verb? Go and look at the subject, wherever it happens to be. [REVEAL] And this is the debt I asked you to remember. The n-gram had a five-word window and anything before it was invisible. "I grew up in France, so I speak fluent —" needs a word twelve back, and an n-gram never sees it. This one does. The window is gone. Two years later somebody asks the obvious question: if attention is doing all the work, do we actually need the rest of it? [FACT GUARD — attention is Bahdanau, Cho & Bengio, Montreal. NOT Google. Google is GNMT in 2016 and the Transformer in 2017. 145 puts Bahdanau's name on screen, so the slide will contradict you. And don't say “BERT” here; that's 2018, three stops away.]
You know it means the animal. Nothing in the model was told that. Here's what it computes instead.
A dot product. Two vectors pointing the same way score high. That is the entire definition of “relevant”.
Illustrative weights. The new vector for it is now mostly “animal”, so the word has been rewritten to carry what it refers to.
[PACE — slow down here. This is a load-bearing explanation and much of the room has English as a second language. Say the numbers slowly and pause after each reveal.] OPEN: this is the slide. Understand this one and you understand LLMs; everything after tonight is this at scale. [Read it.] “The animal didn't cross the street because IT was too tired.” You know “it” is the animal, instantly. A machine has no rule for that. So what does it do instead? [REVEAL 1] Every word emits three vectors, each just the word's numbers times a learned matrix. Query = what am I looking for. Key = what do I offer. Value = what I contribute if picked. [Analogy, if there's room: a room full of people, each holding a sign saying what they're about, each with a question they want answered.] [REVEAL 2] Score every pair by dot product. Query of “it” against the key of every other word. Same direction, big number. That is the entire definition of “relevant” here. No grammar, no rule about pronouns. [REVEAL 3] Softmax turns the scores into shares that add to 1. A budget of attention. [REVEAL 4 + chart] The payoff: 51% of “it”'s attention lands on animal. Weighted average of everyone's VALUE vectors, mostly animal's, and “it” gets rewritten to carry “animal” inside it. The pronoun was resolved by arithmetic. [REVEAL last] The formula everyone quotes: softmax(QKᵀ)V. Score, normalise, average. And you do it for every word at once, which is the bit that made 2017 possible. [FACT GUARD — the dot product IS the score. Order is: dot product, then softmax, then weighted average of the values. Don't say “score them and then dot product”.]
[PACE — slow down here. Read the left column, don't read the right one; the right column is for them to scan.] Before we get to 2017, I want to show you the four years leading up to it, because the story everybody tells is that the Transformer arrived out of nowhere and it really, really didn't. [Point down the years.] 2013, word2vec — we just did that one. Words become vectors, and you can do arithmetic on them. 2014, sequence-to-sequence: the encoder-decoder shape, read one sequence and write another. 2015, attention, which is the slide we were just on — Bahdanau, Cho and Bengio. [If anyone challenges the year: the paper is on arXiv in September 2014 and published at ICLR 2015. I use 2015 to match the date card. Both are defensible, don't die on it.] Then two pieces of pure plumbing that nobody outside the field has heard of and without which none of this works. 2015, residual connections, from ResNet — that's the trick that lets you stack a hundred layers deep without the signal dying. 2016, layer normalisation, from Hinton's group, which is what makes that deep stack actually train. And then the two that really give the game away. 2016, Parikh and colleagues at Google publish a model that does attention with no recurrence at all — parallelisable, and it deliberately ignores word order. That's the Transformer's whole bet, a year early, on a smaller problem. And also 2016, self-attention: a sentence paying attention to itself rather than to a translation of itself. [REVEAL] So what does 2017 actually add? Three things. Multi-head attention — run it eight times at once. A scaling factor on the dot product, which sounds trivial and is what stops the softmax saturating. And a number representing position, which you need precisely because you've thrown away the word order. Then they delete the RNN and stack the rest. [If asked about other prior work: the paper itself cites ByteNet and convolutional seq2seq as earlier attempts to cut sequential computation. Same direction, different mechanism.] That's an assembly, not an invention. And it changed everything anyway — which is sort of the lesson of the whole night.
Eight researchers at Google publish an eight-page paper.
Eight people at Google publish a paper with a very confident title.
Vaswani et al. publish "Attention Is All You Need", introducing the Transformer.
2017. If the talk has a hinge, this is it. Eight researchers at Google publish an eight-page paper carrying what has to be one of the great titles in computer science, and every single system in the rest of this talk, everything you have ever used, is built on top of it.
Took the recurrence out, and kept only attention.
It unlocksNothing waits for anything, so you can train it on the whole internet.
Eight people at Google, June 2017, eight pages, and a title with real swagger: "Attention Is All You Need." And you've just seen the parts list, so you know this is an assembly. Here's what it assembles into. Every model up to now reads a sentence the way you do, one word at a time, left to right, with each step waiting for the step before it to finish. That's called recurrence, and it's been the shape of language models for thirty years. The paper's argument is that attention already lets you look at any word from any position, so why are we reading in order at all? Take the recurrence out and keep only attention. [REVEAL diagram] On the left, the old way, a chain where each box waits. On the right, the new way, everything connected to everything all at once. [REVEAL] And that isn't just tidier, it's the whole ballgame. If nothing has to wait, you can compute every word in parallel, which means you can throw a thousand GPUs at it, which means you can train on the whole internet. The architecture didn't only work better, it unlocked scale. [REVEAL] Everything from here to the end of tonight is this one paper. BERT, GPT, Claude, Gemini. The T in ChatGPT stands for Transformer. This is it. This is the thing. [FACT GUARD — call the Transformer the BIGGEST breakthrough. Agents later are the LATEST. Pick one word each so the two claims don't sound like a contradiction.]
Figure 1: The Transformer — model architecture (Vaswani et al., 2017).
Here is Figure 1 from the original paper, in full detail. On the left is the Encoder: inputs arrive, get positional numbers added, pass through multi-head self-attention, and edit their representations through feed-forward layers. On the right is the Decoder: outputs generate token-by-token using masked self-attention (to prevent looking at future words) and cross-attention into the encoder. Notice how BERT and GPT split this picture in half: BERT uses only the left half (Encoder) for understanding, while GPT uses only the right half (Decoder) for generation.
[PACE — slow down here. This is the vocabulary the whole back half assumes, and much of the room has English as a second language.] [PAYOFF — pays off 002-roadmap's "count how often the new thing is somebody's old idea", and sets up 241-shoulders. Do not skip this slide.] Right, checkpoint. We've built the machine, and from here on I'm going to use seven words constantly, so let's pin them down. Parameter first, because I use it all night and it's the one people get wrong. A parameter is ONE learned number inside the model. That's it. All of them together are what people mean by "the weights". So when I say a hundred and seventy-five billion parameters in a few minutes, that is a hundred and seventy-five billion individual numbers. [Point down the rest, don't read every one.] Token, the unit it counts. Embedding, a list of numbers standing in for a piece of text. Encoder reads a sequence, decoder writes one. Attention, a score for every pair of words. Multi-head, that same attention run eight times over. [Point at context window — say this one properly.] Context window is how much it can look at in one go. And that is the n-gram's five-word window from 1948, grown. Same idea, same name almost, four orders of magnitude bigger. When somebody sells you a two-million-token context window, they are selling you a bigger n-gram. [REVEAL — the point of the slide.] Now look down the right-hand column, because this is the bit I love. Eight words. One of them, multi-head, was actually invented by the paper we just read. The other seven were already lying around. 1913, 1954, 2003, 2014, 2015. Keep counting. There's a list at the end.
→ money, crime, a building
→ mud, water, the edge of a thing
This is “is book a noun or a verb” from 1971, the same four letters doing two jobs. That one was about grammar and this one is about meaning, and the answer is the same: read the neighbours.
[PAYOFF — pays off 075-pos-tagging. “Is book a noun or a verb”, 1971, same four letters doing two jobs. 47 years apart, same answer: read the neighbours.] [PACE — slow down here. This is a load-bearing explanation and much of the room has English as a second language. Read both sentences out loud.] OPEN: the problem BERT exists to solve, and it breaks everything we just spent ten minutes admiring. [Read both sentences out loud.] “The bank robber stole money from the vault.” / “Let's go fishing on the river bank.” A building full of money, and the muddy edge of a river. [REVEAL] word2vec gives every word ONE row of numbers. So “bank” gets averaged: one point halfway between money and mud. Slightly wrong in every sentence you'll ever use. No mechanism for being right, because the vector was fixed before it saw your sentence. [REVEAL — say this one slowly.] BERT's idea: stop giving WORDS vectors, start giving OCCURRENCES vectors. Read the whole sentence, both directions, then place THIS bank. Two sentences, two sets of numbers, same four letters. That's what “contextual” means. And it's why bidirectional matters: you can't place “bank” without “robber” before it and “vault” after it. [REVEAL callout — the payoff. Land it.] We did this in 1971. Is “book” a noun or a verb? Same four letters, two jobs. That one was grammar, this one is meaning. Forty-seven years apart, same answer both times: read the neighbours.
Same idea, four orders of magnitude.
More data and more compute buy you a predictable amount of accuracy. You can plot it.
It unlocksYou can budget for intelligence — which is why the billions started arriving.
Look at the shape of this. 117 million parameters in 2018, a billion and a half the next year, then a hundred and seventy-five billion in 2020. And the important bit is that the architecture doesn't change at all. It's still the same 2017 transformer, just fed more text on more computers. You'd expect that to make it a bit better at predicting words, and instead it did something much stranger. [REVEAL] It started doing tasks nobody had trained it for. Write two examples of English into French in the prompt, and it translates the third one for you, with no training run, no new model, nothing updated anywhere. They called it few-shot learning, because the model picks up the task from the prompt itself. [REVEAL] And that's where prompting comes from. For seventy years, using a language system meant writing code or training a model, and from here it means writing a sentence. This is the moment the interface changed for everybody in this room. [FACT GUARD — GPT-3 is 2020 and developer-only. ChatGPT is 30 Nov 2022, on GPT-3.5. There is no such thing as “ChatGPT 3.0”. Keep the two-year gap; it's the point of 181.]
Fine-tuning changes the model, and RAG only changes what you hand it.
Fine-tuning is simple to describe: take a finished model and keep training it on your own examples until it behaves how you want. Legal tone. Your product names. Your support style. The problem is the bill. Classic fine-tuning updates every weight in the model, so for each task you end up owning a full private copy of something with a hundred and seventy-five billion parameters in it. That is not a thing a normal company does. [REVEAL] LoRA's trick is genuinely lovely. Freeze the original model, don't touch it at all, and train a small pair of matrices that sit alongside it and nudge the results. You're steering through a side channel instead of rewriting the engine, with orders of magnitude fewer numbers to train. [REVEAL] And that changes who gets to play. A job that needed a data centre now runs on one GPU. The thing you produce is a few megabytes rather than a few hundred gigabytes, small enough to email, and because the base model is untouched you can keep a shelf of adapters and swap them like plugins. One model, many personalities. [REVEAL] This is how a mid-sized company ends up with a model that sounds like them. Not by training one, by adapting one. And keep this next to the RAG slide, because people confuse them constantly: RAG changes what the model KNOWS. Fine-tuning changes how it BEHAVES. If it doesn't know your products, no amount of fine-tuning fixes it. If it won't stop being chatty, no amount of RAG fixes that.
Multiply a tall-thin ($4096 \times 8$) by a short-wide ($8 \times 4096$) and you get a full-size matrix — but one that can only vary in 8 directions. Adapting is a nudge, not a rebuild.
W never moves. Only A and B get gradients — 65,536 numbers instead of 16.8 million per matrix. That's the whole saving.
Fold W + B·A into one matrix and it runs at original speed. Or keep them apart and swap A and B per task/customer like plugins.
Nothing new at the bottom, and everything new at the top.
The problem with a raw language model is genuinely funny once you see it. It's trained to continue text. So you type a question at it, and a really good text-continuation engine responds with… more questions, because that's what a list of questions looks like. It isn't being unhelpful on purpose. Helping was never in the objective. [REVEAL] So, reinforcement learning from human feedback. Have people rank the model's answers from best to worst, train a second model to predict those rankings, then tune the first model to score well against it. You've stopped teaching it facts and started teaching it what a good answer looks like to a human being. [REVEAL] And the numbers here are genuinely shocking. A 1.3 billion parameter model tuned this way was preferred by human raters over the raw 175 billion one. A hundred times smaller, and people liked it more. Behaviour beat scale. [Point at the stack.] So look at what ChatGPT actually is. There's the transformer at the bottom, which is 2017. Then GPT-3, which is 2020, two years old and already public. Then RLHF on top of that. And then the part nobody in the field thought mattered at all: a text box, free, with no signup friction, which got to a million users in five days. The lesson a lot of engineers took a while to swallow is that the last layer was the product. [FACT GUARD — ChatGPT is the packaging of a two-year-old model. GPT-3 shipped in 2020. Don't merge them.]
[PAYOFF — pays off 131-word2vec: 60% on exact match, confidently wrong about the details. Same behaviour, thirteen years earlier, before it had a name.] So why does it make things up? And the answer is more uncomfortable than "there's a bug in it." It produces plausible next words. That's the whole mechanism. Fluent and true are two completely different axes [point at the circles] and it is only ever optimising one of them. There is no fact database in there to check against — it's a very large set of numbers about which words tend to follow which other words. [REVEAL] Which means making things up is exactly the same operation as getting it right. There isn't a separate step that malfunctions. It's producing plausible text, and plausible text is sometimes false. When a lawyer files a brief with invented case law, the model was not broken at that moment. It was working precisely as built. And you've seen this behaviour already tonight, by the way. Word2vec's table in 2013: right about the shape of the world, confidently wrong about the details, sixty percent on exact match. Same thing, thirteen years earlier, before it had a name. [REVEAL] So that tells you the shape of any fix. You cannot argue it into being right, and you cannot train the wrongness out of it, because the wrongness is the mechanism. What you can do is put the actual facts in front of it before it answers. That's the next slide, and it's my favourite callback of the night.
A great deal of production retrieval is still BM25 — keyword counting built on Spärck Jones, 1972. Fifty-year-old maths, doing the fetching, inside your 2026 AI. Most serious systems run both.
Fetch the real documents, then answer from those.
It unlocksIt can answer about your documents, with no retraining.
[PAYOFF — pays off 122-vectors, 133-embedding and 134-similarity, and 081-tfidf via BM25. This is the biggest callback in the deck and it got skipped on 2026-07-31. Say “you have already seen this slide”.] [PACE — slow down here. This is a payoff slide and much of the room has English as a second language. Let the recognition land before you explain anything.] OPEN: “You have already seen this slide.” [Pause. Let them look.] [Point at the three steps.] Documents → vectors. Question → vector. Fetch the nearest. Answer from those, not from memory. THE CALLBACK: this is 2013. cat–kitten 0.6, cat–Tuesday 7.6. Same measurement, pointed at documents instead of words. Your handbook is a few thousand points; your question is one more point. [REVEAL] Older still: Schank, 1982, case-based reasoning. Fetch the nearest past case. Stalled because a human had to hand-specify “similar”. Embeddings made similar a number. [REVEAL callout — the promised joke. Land it.] You'd assume this is all vectors. A lot of it is still BM25, keyword counting weighted by rarity. Spärck Jones, 1972. Fifty-four-year-old maths doing the fetching inside a 2026 AI. Serious systems run both. [REVEAL] The pairing people always confuse: RAG changes what it KNOWS. Fine-tuning changes how it BEHAVES. Doesn't know your products? Fine-tuning won't fix it. Won't stop being chatty? RAG won't fix it.
Two dials now, rather than one.
It writes out its working first, often for thousands of words you never see.
It unlocksYou can turn the effort up for a hard question and down for an easy one.
This one starts with a genuinely silly discovery. In 2022 people found that if you add "think step by step" to your prompt, models get substantially better at hard problems. Same model, same weights, nothing retrained. It just writes out its working before it commits. [REVEAL] So the obvious move is to stop relying on the user to ask nicely and train the model to do it by default, and that's what a reasoning model is. It works the problem through privately, often for thousands of words you never get to see, checks itself, and then answers. And that hands the field a second dial. For a decade the only knob was how big you train it, and now there's another one: how long it thinks at the moment you ask. [REVEAL] It isn't free. Thinking costs money and it costs seconds, and for "what's the capital of France" it's a complete waste. But it means that for the first time a model can put more effort into a harder question, which is what you'd expect from anything you were going to call reasoning.
One plug, many sockets.
Model Context Protocol: one agreed way for a model to call any outside tool.
It unlocksWrite the tool once and every model can use it, with no integration per model.
[PAYOFF — pays off 071-shrdlu. Identical loop, 55 years apart. Flint landed this one unprompted on 2026-07-31; it's the best callback in the talk.] A model that can only emit text is trapped. It can tell you what it would do but it can't actually do it. So give it tools: search, a database, your codebase, and let it decide when to reach for one. It acts, the result comes back, it keeps going. [REVEAL] MCP is the boring important part. Before it, hooking a tool up to a model meant a custom integration for every combination, n times m, forever. MCP standardises the connector so any tool can talk to any model. It's USB-C for AI, and like USB-C the whole value is just that everyone agreed. [REVEAL] Now look at that loop and tell me where you've seen it before. Instruction in English, actions taken in an environment, result reported back, explain yourself afterwards. That's SHRDLU, that's 1970, and we put it on screen forty minutes ago. Fifty-five years, and the difference isn't the loop, because the loop is identical. The difference is that SHRDLU's sandbox held seven blocks all typed in by hand by a graduate student, and this one holds your filesystem, the internet and your calendar. We didn't invent a new idea, we finally got a sandbox big enough to be worth acting in. [FACT GUARD — MCP is Anthropic, November 2024. Say “MCP” or “the Model Context Protocol”, not “the MCP protocol”.]
The same four steps, over and over again, unattended.
The same model, called over and over, choosing its own next step each time.
It unlocksYou stop asking a question and start handing over a task.
Here's the whole idea, and it's a good deal less mystical than the word "agent" makes it sound. Plan, act, look at what happened, adjust, go round again. An agent isn't a smarter model, it's the same model we've had all along, in a loop, holding tools, without a human approving every step. [REVEAL] And what that buys you is time. Not one answer to one question, but twenty minutes of work: read the codebase, make the change, run the tests, notice the test failed, fix it, run them again, with nobody watching each turn. And that's the walk. Sixty years from a program that swapped your pronouns around to something that picks up a task and gets on with it. [FACT GUARD — agents are the LATEST breakthrough, not the biggest. The transformer was the biggest; you said both on 2026-07-31 and they clashed.]
[PAYOFF — pays off 032-imitation-game. Turing's 30% over five minutes is planted there specifically to be cashed here. It did not get said on 2026-07-31.] On the left, 1966. On the right, this morning. [REVEAL right] Same shape. You type, it answers, sixty years apart. [REVEAL] And one of them is find-and-replace in a trench coat, because we took it apart and there's nothing in there. The other one read fourteen files, ran your tests, found the failure and fixed it. But here's the uncomfortable bit, and it's the reason I started with ELIZA: both of them feel like talking to something. That feeling was never evidence. [REVEAL] Now remember the number I asked you to hold onto. Turing's bar was to fool a judge thirty percent of the time across five minutes of conversation, and he guessed a machine might manage it by the year 2000. Nobody argues about that number any more, and it isn't because somebody proved it got passed. It just stopped being the interesting question, and we went past it and stopped keeping score. [Bridge — do NOT close here, two slides to go. This is the hand-off.] So the obvious question is what actually happened in between those two boxes. And it isn't the story you usually get told. [FACT GUARD — do NOT say “it passed the Turing test”. Nobody certified that. The line is “we went past it and stopped keeping score”.]
We taught rocks to talk.
CONNECT ON LINKEDIN
A man counting letters in a novel by hand in 1913. A committee declaring it hopeless in 1966. And a thing in your pocket tonight that will write you a working program. We taught rocks to talk. Thank you. [Leave this up while questions start. There's one more slide if anyone asks how the deck was made — and someone usually does.]
Primary sources, cross-checked, and where they disagreed the slide says so instead of guessing.
Every blueprint generated to a written spec, in one house style.
Photographs licence-checked, credits logged, attribution kept where required.
Plain HTML in version control, assembled by a script and screenshot-tested one slide at a time.
One bonus slide, because people always ask. This deck is partly a demonstration of its own subject. The research was done with AI in the loop, chasing primary sources, pulling the actual 1954 IBM press release and the ALPAC report, checking Turing's exact wording. Where sources disagreed on a date, we softened the claim rather than picking one. The diagrams were generated from written specifications in a single consistent style, and the archival photographs were sourced and licence-checked with credits logged. And here's the honest part: plenty of it failed. Images that came out wrong, framings that got cut, facts that didn't survive checking. That's the interesting bit, and I'm happy to walk anyone through it, so come and find me, or the website's up on the screen.