The Deep Feed

01 — Lenny's Newsletter

Beyond the Next Token: Peering into the Machine Mind

Why the current way we describe AI misses the reality of how models plan and think

By Lenny Rachitsky · 12 min read

Editor's note: As we integrate AI into our workflows, understanding its internal logic is no longer a niche academic pursuit; it is a requirement for anyone steering the ship.

The prevailing description of large language models is a reductive one. We are told they are simply next-token predictors—statistical engines that guess the most likely next word in a sequence based on vast amounts of training data. This explanation is technically accurate at the most granular level, but it is a lie of omission. It describes the mechanism without explaining the phenomenon. When we interact with a model like Claude, we are not merely witnessing a high-speed game of autocomplete; we are observing something that exhibits structural planning and internal representations of the world. To treat these models as mere calculators of probability is to miss the emergence of something that looks, behaves, and reasons in ways that defy simple statistical summaries.

The Planning Fallacy

Research into interpretability—the science of looking inside the 'black box'—suggests that models do not just react to the immediate prompt. Instead, they appear to plan many tokens ahead. They develop internal strategies to reach a specific goal, even when those plans are never explicitly stated in the text they produce. This is a critical distinction. A calculator follows a set of rules to reach a result; a model seems to build a mental model of the problem and then navigate toward a solution. This ability to plan suggests that the 'next-token' framing is a surface-level observation that obscures a much deeper cognitive architecture. We are seeing the rise of models that possess a form of latent reasoning, a way of structuring thought before the first letter is even typed.

The 'next-token predictor' framing is a technical truth that functions as a conceptual falsehood.

This leads to a strange tension in how we discuss AI. If we anthropomorphise these models, we risk making silly mistakes. If we refuse to acknowledge their capabilities, we fail to prepare for their impact. The truth lies in recognizing that these models are 'grown' rather than built. We do not code their logic; we provide the environment and the data, and the logic emerges through the process of scaling. This is why capability jumps often feel sudden and inexplicable. They are not the result of a programmer adding a new feature, but the result of the model reaching a threshold where its internal representations become sufficiently complex to support new types of reasoning. It is a biological-style emergence in a silicon medium.

The J-Space and Self-Awareness

One of the most startling areas of research involves what is known as the 'J-space'. This refers to the internal dimensions where models represent their own certainty and the relationships between concepts. By studying these spaces, researchers are finding that models exhibit something akin to the distinction between conscious and unconscious processing in humans. There is a layer of rapid, automatic processing, and a deeper layer where more deliberate, structured reasoning occurs. This isn't consciousness in the biological sense, but it is a structural similarity that cannot be ignored. It suggests that as models scale, they are developing internal monitoring systems that allow them to evaluate their own outputs and adjust their strategies mid-stream.

Key findings in interpretability research

Models form general representations of abstract concepts rather than just memorising strings of text.
Planning occurs in the latent space before it is manifested in the output.
Capability jumps are often the result of smooth scaling curves reaching critical complexity thresholds.
Interpretability is the primary tool for ensuring AI alignment and safety.

The implications for business and safety are massive. If we cannot understand why a model makes a specific decision, we cannot truly trust it in high-stakes environments. We are currently in a race between the speed of model development and our ability to interpret them. We are building engines of immense power while still trying to understand how the pistons move. The goal of interpretability is to turn the black box into a glass box, allowing us to see the reasoning, the biases, and the potential failure points before they manifest as real-world errors. Until we achieve this, we are essentially flying blind, relying on the outward appearance of competence rather than a verified understanding of internal logic.

Key Takeaway

AI models are not just predicting text; they are building internal models of the world to plan their responses.

02 — The Marginalian

The Search for Meaning in a Digital Age

Reflecting on twenty years of The Marginalian

By Maria Popova · 8 min read

Editor's note: In an era of algorithmic feeds, the survival of a human-curated search for wonder is a quiet act of rebellion.

In October 2006, an email was sent to seven colleagues. It contained no advertisements, no AI-generated summaries, and no attempts to capture attention through outrage. It was simply a collection of notes: passages from books, links to neuroscience, and reproductions of 16th-century woodcuts. It was the beginning of a twenty-year experiment in human curiosity. What started as a personal search for meaning in a period of personal instability has grown into a digital archive of cultural value, eventually finding a place in the Library of Congress. The project, known as The Marginalian, has survived the most turbulent shifts in the history of the internet by adhering to a singular, non-negotiable principle: the pursuit of wonder.

The One-Woman Labor of Love

The digital economy is built on the extraction of attention. Most platforms are designed to keep users scrolling through a constant stream of the shallow and the immediate. The Marginalian has taken the opposite path. It is a thoroughly one-woman operation, sustained not by venture capital or advertising revenue, but by the support of readers who find value in depth. This independence is what allows the work to remain uncompromised. There is no pressure to chase trends or to use clickbait to drive traffic. The essays are allowed to grow long, the questions are allowed to become deep, and the pace is set by the rhythm of thought rather than the rhythm of the algorithm.

The project is a record of half a lifetime of learning how to live.

To celebrate this milestone, the project is turning inward, looking at the themes that have defined its existence. These are not mere topics; they are the eternal questions that remain even as the technology around us changes. How do we make sense of suffering? Why is the world beautiful? How can we see more clearly? By bringing together poets, physicists, and historians, the project seeks to bridge the gap between the scientific and the lyrical, suggesting that a full understanding of life requires both the precision of the microscope and the empathy of the poem.

A Constellation of Voices

The twentieth anniversary is not just a reflection on the past, but a gathering of the community that made the work possible. It is a recognition that intellectual pursuit is rarely a solitary act. While the writing may be the work of one person, the resonance is shared among a constellation of thinkers and creators. This gathering represents a rejection of the isolation that the digital age often imposes. Instead, it proposes a model of connection based on shared inquiry and mutual respect, where the goal is not to win an argument, but to expand the boundaries of what we can understand together.

Core principles of The Marginalian

Prioritising depth over speed.
Maintaining total editorial independence from advertisers.
Using science and philosophy to explore human experience.
Fostering a community based on wonder rather than outrage.

As we look toward the next twenty years, the challenge remains the same: to resist the pull of the shallow. The digital world will only become more fragmented and more automated. The value of a human voice, willing to sit with a difficult idea or a beautiful poem for as long as necessary, will only increase. The Marginalian stands as a reminder that curiosity is a discipline, and that the search for meaning is a lifelong, iterative process that requires both patience and courage.

Key Takeaway

Depth is a choice that requires resisting the economic incentives of the attention economy.

03 — The Marginalian

The Atlas of the Soul

Why the map of your life is something you must walk, not follow

By Maria Popova · 7 min read

Editor's note: We often mistake our desires for destinations, forgetting that the path itself is the only thing we truly possess.

There is a common fallacy that life is a territory to be mapped, a series of milestones to be reached and checked off a list. We look to parents, teachers, and self-help gurus to provide the coordinates, hoping that if we follow their directions, we will arrive at a state of permanent satisfaction. But the wilderness of a human life does not permit such maps. No one can provide the route because the terrain is constantly shifting under your feet. You do not find a path; you make a path by the very act of walking. The landmarks you rely on are often illusions, and the destinations you crave are frequently just way-stations that offer only temporary respite before the next longing begins.

The Wanting Monster

This constant movement from one desire to the next creates a psychological loop, a Möbius strip of longing that can become a source of immense suffering. We call this the 'Wanting Monster'—the part of the human condition that is never satisfied, that views every achievement as merely the starting point for the next craving. This restlessness is the root of our discontent, yet it is also the engine of our creativity. Without this inherent incompleteness, we would lack the urge to build, to write, and to leave a mark on the world. Our dissatisfaction is the very thing that makes us pilgrims, forever moving toward a horizon that recedes as we approach it.

Our incompleteness is what maps the territory of the possible in us.

Mario Benedetti’s poem, 'Ruta', captures this paradox with startling clarity. He describes finding a roadmap in his pocket—an atlas of the soul that he follows despite not knowing where it leads. In his wandering, he discovers that the footprints he follows are his own. This is the realisation that the path is not something external to be discovered, but something internal to be enacted. The 'river' he longs for is not a physical place, but a state of being that he finds only after he has embraced the aimless wanderlust of his own existence. The roadmap is not a guide to a destination, but a record of the journey itself.

The Necessity of Aimlessness

In a world obsessed with optimisation and efficiency, aimlessness is often viewed as a failure. We are encouraged to have five-year plans and clear trajectories. However, there is a profound intelligence in the 'merodeo'—the aimless wandering. It is in the moments when we are not strictly pursuing a goal that we are most open to the unexpected. The rigid pursuit of a destination narrows our field of vision, making us blind to the opportunities and insights that exist outside our pre-defined routes. To live well is to balance the need for direction with the willingness to be lost.

The components of a meaningful path

Nostalgia as a compass, not a weight.
The acceptance of the Möbius strip of longing.
The recognition that footprints are made by walking, not by planning.
The ability to tuck the path away and wait for tomorrow.

Ultimately, the goal is not to reach the end of the road, for the road has no end. The goal is to develop the capacity to walk it with an open heart. This requires a shift in perspective: from seeing life as a problem to be solved to seeing it as a mystery to be experienced. When we stop waiting for the perfect map, we finally become free to move. We stop being tourists in our own lives and start being the authors of our own movement, finding meaning not in the arrival, but in the very act of proceeding.

Key Takeaway

Meaning is found in the movement of the journey, not the arrival at a destination.

04 — The Marginalian

The Intellectual Antidote

Why learning is the only way to survive the weight of disappointment

By Maria Popova · 9 min read

Editor's note: When the world becomes unmanageable, the mind remains the only territory we can truly master.

Disappointment is an inevitable feature of the human experience. We face the loss of loved ones, the betrayal of our ideals, and the slow decay of our own bodies. These moments can feel like a heavy mallet, striking at our sense of stability and purpose. In the face of such fragility, many turn to escapism or despair. But there is another way—a more rigorous and resilient response. As the character Merlyn suggests in T.H. White’s Arthurian classic, the most effective remedy for sadness is not to forget, but to learn. Learning is not merely an academic exercise; it is a survival strategy that allows us to transform our suffering into understanding.

The Merlyn Method

Merlyn’s advice to the young Arthur is deceptively simple: 'The best thing for being sad... is to learn.' This is not a suggestion to distract oneself with trivialities, but to engage deeply with the mechanics of the world. To learn why the world wags and what wags it. This approach shifts the focus from the internal, often overwhelming, experience of emotion to the external, structured world of knowledge. It provides a sense of agency in moments when we feel most powerless. By investigating the causes of our circumstances—whether through science, history, or literature—we move from being passive victims of fate to active observers of reality.

Learning is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by.

The beauty of this method lies in its inexhaustibility. There is no limit to what can be known. You can spend a lifetime studying astronomy, another on natural history, and another on the complexities of economics. This infinite horizon ensures that the mind always has a place to go. It provides a form of mental sanctuary that cannot be taken away by external circumstances. While your physical circumstances may be devastated by evil or loss, your capacity to acquire new understanding remains intact. Knowledge becomes a portable form of resilience.

The Discipline of Curiosity

This is not a call for superficial breadth, but for a disciplined, deep engagement with the world. It is the difference between reading a headline and studying the underlying physics. It involves a willingness to start again, to master a new skill, or to rethink a long-held belief. Whether it is learning to plough, to fence, or to understand the intricacies of mathematics, the act of learning builds character. It reinforces the idea that we are not static beings, but evolving entities capable of constant reconfiguration. The discipline of curiosity is the antidote to the stagnation of despair.

Ways to apply the learning antidote

Use study as a way to ground yourself during emotional turbulence.
Seek the 'why' behind the events that cause you distress.
Embrace the beginner's mind in new, challenging disciplines.
Recognise that intellectual growth is a lifelong defence against fragility.

Ultimately, learning provides a sense of continuity. Even when everything around us changes, the process of inquiry remains a constant. It allows us to build a narrative of our lives that is not just a series of accidents, but a continuous thread of discovery. By choosing to learn, we choose to remain engaged with the world, even when that world is difficult. We transform our existence from a struggle for survival into a quest for understanding, making the pursuit of knowledge the highest form of fortitude.

Key Takeaway

Intellectual curiosity is a practical tool for maintaining agency in the face of suffering.

05 — The Marginalian

The Stranger in the Mirror

Learning to hold the people you used to be with compassion

By Maria Popova · 10 min read

Editor's note: Identity is not a fixed monument, but a continuous process of reconfiguration.

Looking back on one's life is often a disorienting experience. When we examine the memories of our younger selves, we frequently encounter strangers. We see the person who made the catastrophic mistake, the person who was paralyzed by fear, or the person who held beliefs we now find absurd. There is a natural tendency to judge these past versions of ourselves, to feel shame or regret for the ways we were 'wrong'. However, a more constructive approach is to recognise that these people are not failures to be corrected, but necessary stages in the ongoing process of becoming. We must learn to hold these past selves with the same compassion we would offer a stranger.

The Reconfiguration of Identity

Identity is not a static object; it is more like a language. The 'words' of our lives—our experiences, our relationships, our failures—remain constant, but the way we configure them changes over time. A single event can be interpreted as a tragedy in one decade and a vital lesson in the next. This capacity for reconfiguration is what allows for growth. If we were fixed in our ways, we would be incapable of learning. The very fact that we can look back and see ourselves as different is proof of our vitality. We are not the same person who started this journey, and that is a triumph, not a loss.

Life is not the words you have, but how you configure them.

This process of reconfiguration is heavily influenced by chance. We like to believe we are the sole architects of our lives, but we are also products of the accidents that befall us. The people we meet by chance, the sudden shifts in fortune, the unexpected setbacks—these are the elements that force us to rewrite our stories. To accept this is to move away from the illusion of total control and toward a more realistic, and perhaps more peaceful, understanding of our existence. We are co-authors with fate.

The Ritual of Remembrance

To honour this constant change, we need rituals of reflection. It is not enough to simply 'move on'; we must actively integrate our past selves into our present understanding. This might involve writing, art, or even simple contemplation. By revisiting our past, we are not dwelling on what was, but acknowledging the continuity of our existence. We are acknowledging that the person who made the mistake is the same person who is now capable of learning from it. This integration is what creates a coherent sense of self, even in the midst of constant change.

Practices for integrating the past self

View past mistakes as data points in a larger learning process.
Practice compassion for the versions of yourself that lacked your current knowledge.
Recognise the role of chance in shaping your current identity.
Use reflection to find the thread of continuity in your changing life.

Ultimately, the goal is to reach a state where we can look in the mirror and see not a single, unchanging face, but a beautiful, complex history. We should be able to celebrate the person we were, even the flawed ones, because they are the ones who paved the way for the person we are today. The loveliness of life lies in this endless capacity to rewrite our own story, one sentence at a time, with every new experience we encounter.

Key Takeaway

Growth requires the ability to forgive and integrate the versions of yourself that no longer exist.

06 — The Marginalian

The Discipline of Unselfing

How art and nature strip away the ego to reveal the Good

By Maria Popova · 11 min read

Editor's note: The ego is a narrow lens; true perception requires the courage to look past it.

The human ego is a demanding and often distorting presence. It is constantly preoccupied with its own prestige, its own anxieties, and its own desires. This self-obsession creates a barrier between us and the reality of the world. To truly see, to truly experience beauty, we must find a way to step outside this narrow preoccupation. The philosopher Iris Murdoch called this process 'unselfing'. It is a difficult and triumphant act of deconditioning the self, allowing us to move from a state of selfish obsession to a state of humble, nonjudgmental curiosity about the world as it actually is.

The Kestrel's Intervention

Murdoch illustrates this through a simple observation of nature. Imagine a person sitting by a window, consumed by resentment and vanity, brooding over a perceived slight to their reputation. Then, suddenly, they observe a kestrel hovering in the air. In that moment, the ego vanishes. The self-importance and the petty grievances are replaced by a single, focused attention on the bird. This is not a forced act of will; it is a natural relaxation of the spirit. The sheer, independent existence of the animal demands our attention, and in meeting that demand, our selfish concerns simply evaporate.

Unselfing is a gladsome relaxing of the spirit into the shared pulse of existence.

Nature provides this training ground because it exists on a timescale and a logic that is entirely indifferent to human concerns. When we encounter nature on its own terms, we are forced to detach from the urgencies of our daily lives. This detachment is not a loss, but a gain. It provides the perspective necessary to see the world in its true complexity, rather than through the distorted lens of our own needs and fears.

Art vs. Fantasy

While nature offers a direct route to unselfing, art provides a more complex one. Murdoch distinguishes between 'good art' and 'fantasy art'. Fantasy art is often self-consoling; it inflates the ego by providing a world that conforms to our desires. It is a form of escapism that reinforces the self. Great art, however, does the opposite. It strips the self down. It presents a perfection of form and a reality that is independent of the viewer's whims. When we engage with truly great art, we are not being coddled; we are being challenged to recognize an excellence that exists outside of ourselves.

The Intelligence of Imperfection

This capacity for unselfing is what separates the profound from the mediocre. Great art invites an unpossessive contemplation. It does not ask to be absorbed into our personal dream life; it asks us to meet it on its own terms. This leads to a deeper understanding of goodness, which Murdoch argues is necessarily an embrace of imperfection. To understand the Good is to move beyond the 'false doubles' invented by human selfishness—power, reward, or purpose—and to engage with the difficult, unvarnished reality of existence. Unselfing is the prerequisite for this kind of moral and intellectual clarity.

How to practice unselfing

Seek out moments of intense observation in nature.
Engage with art that challenges your preconceptions rather than confirming them.
Recognise when your attention is being hijacked by ego-driven anxieties.
Practice 'active surrender' to the reality of the present moment.

Ultimately, unselfing is about reclaiming our connection to the world. By reducing the volume of the ego, we increase the volume of reality. It is a discipline that requires constant practice, but the reward is a life lived with greater clarity, greater empathy, and a more profound sense of belonging to the shared pulse of existence.

Key Takeaway

True perception requires the active suspension of the ego through engagement with art and nature.