How embeddings, transformers, supervision, and feedback produce functional language understanding.
Imagine explaining the concept of "rain" to someone who has never experienced water falling from the sky, never felt drops on their skin, or smelled petrichor after a storm. This is essentially the challenge we face when teaching machines about language. At a very basic level, a machine doesn't "know" what words mean in the same way humans understand them through experience and cognition. Instead, machines process words based on data-driven representations and statistical patterns learned from massive datasets—creating what we might call a "statistical shadow" of meaning.
Yet despite this fundamental difference, modern AI systems can discuss weather patterns, write poetry about storms, and even predict when you'll need an umbrella. How do they achieve this seemingly impossible feat?
One of the foundational breakthroughs in teaching machines about word meanings came through word embeddings—a technique that transforms the messiness of human language into the precision of mathematics.
Think of word embeddings like a vast cosmic map where every word is a star with specific coordinates. In this multidimensional space:
For instance, in this space, "weather" might have coordinates like [0.2, -0.5, 0.8, ...], while "climate" might be [0.3, -0.4, 0.7, ...]. Their proximity isn't coincidental—it emerges from how these words are used in human language.
Here's where the mathematics gets beautifully elegant. Consider two word vectors: [1, 2] and [2, 4]. At first glance, they seem quite different—one is positioned closer to the origin, the other further out. But look closer, and you'll notice something remarkable: they point in exactly the same direction, both following the same slope and angle of orientation in vector space.
To visualize this, imagine standing at the center of a compass, looking out at two arrows drawn on the ground. One arrow is short—maybe just a foot long. The other is much longer—perhaps ten feet. Both arrows point toward the same distant mountain on the horizon.
If you measured the straight-line distance from where you're standing to each arrow's tip, you'd get very different numbers. But if you looked at the angle each arrow makes with magnetic north, you'd get identical readings. They're pointing the same way.
This is exactly what happens with those word vectors. Think of [1, 2] and [2, 4] as coordinates telling you where to draw those arrows. The first goes 1 unit right and 2 units up. The second goes 2 units right and 4 units up—different lengths, but following exactly the same slope, the same angle of ascent.
This is where trigonometry becomes the key to understanding meaning. When AI systems compare word embeddings, they don't just measure the straight-line distance between them, which would suggest these vectors are different. Instead, they use cosine similarity—a mathematical technique that measures the angle between vectors.
Rather than asking "How far apart are these word vectors?" (which would make [1, 2] and [2, 4] seem quite different), the system uses trigonometry to ask "What's the angle between them?" Because the answer is zero degrees—they're perfectly aligned—it means they're pointing in the same semantic direction.
This explains why words like "good" and "excellent" might have vectors pointing in nearly the same direction but with different magnitudes. "Excellent" might be a more intense version of "good," but they share the same underlying meaning direction.
The cosine similarity calculation captures this relationship by focusing on angular alignment rather than distance from the origin. This reveals the semantic kinship between concepts that might otherwise be hidden in the raw numerical differences.
The breakthrough insight behind embeddings is beautifully simple: "You shall know a word by the company it keeps" (linguist John Rupert Firth, 1957). Words that appear in similar contexts tend to have related meanings.
Consider how "weather" typically appears alongside:
The algorithm notices these patterns across millions of sentences and positions "weather" near other meteorological terms in the vector space. This creates fascinating geometric relationships—the vector from "king" to "queen" is remarkably similar to the vector from "man" to "woman," revealing that the model has captured the concept of gender transformation.
Modern language models have revolutionized how machines learn semantics, moving far beyond simple word associations to understand complex contextual relationships.
Language models are essentially sophisticated prediction engines. They're trained on a deceptively simple task: guess the next word. But this simple objective forces them to develop increasingly sophisticated internal representations of language.
When a model encounters "The ______ is nice today," it must consider:
Through billions of such predictions, the model develops an intricate understanding of not just what words mean, but how they interact, transform, and create meaning together.
The introduction of transformer architecture (the technology behind GPT, BERT, and other modern models) fundamentally changed how machines process context. Unlike earlier models that read text sequentially, transformers use "attention mechanisms" to consider all words simultaneously, understanding how each word influences every other word's meaning.
For example, in the sentences:
The transformer can instantly recognize that the word "weather" plays completely different roles based on the entire sentence structure, not just the words immediately around it.
While unsupervised learning from raw text is powerful, supervised learning with labeled data adds another dimension to machine understanding.
When humans explicitly label data, they're essentially providing machines with a structured curriculum. For weather-related tasks, this might include:
Cutting-edge systems now learn from multiple data types simultaneously. A model might learn about "weather" by:
This multi-modal approach creates richer, more nuanced representations that begin to approximate something closer to human-like understanding.
Some of the most sophisticated models learn meaning through a process similar to how children learn—through interaction and feedback.
In reinforcement learning scenarios:
For instance, if a model consistently confuses "weather" (atmospheric conditions) with "whether" (expressing doubt), negative feedback helps it learn to distinguish these homophones based on context.
When you ask Siri about tomorrow's weather, multiple layers of machine understanding activate:
Machine learning models now analyze vast amounts of climate data, understanding relationships between weather patterns that humans might never notice. They can:
Modern AI can now write weather poetry, generate meteorological fiction, and even create weather-appropriate music playlists—demonstrating a form of creative "understanding" that goes beyond mere pattern matching.
This brings us to a profound question: If a machine can discuss weather as fluently as a meteorologist, predict storms as accurately as experienced forecasters, and even write compelling narratives about atmospheric phenomena, does it truly "understand" weather?
Philosopher John Searle's famous "Chinese Room" thought experiment argues that processing symbols according to rules (which is what computers do) can never constitute genuine understanding. A person in a room following instructions to manipulate Chinese characters might produce perfect Chinese responses without understanding a word of Chinese.
Similarly, our weather-discussing AI might be following incredibly complex statistical rules without any genuine comprehension of what rain feels like or why humans care about forecasts.
Yet from a practical perspective, if a system can:
Does the philosophical question of "true understanding" matter? This is the position of functionalism—if it functions as if it understands, then for practical purposes, it understands.
Combining neural networks with symbolic reasoning to create systems that can both recognize patterns and apply logical rules.
Giving AI systems physical or virtual bodies to interact with environments, potentially developing more human-like understanding through experience.
Moving beyond correlation to understand cause-and-effect relationships—knowing not just that rain correlates with clouds, but that certain atmospheric conditions cause rain.
As we continue to develop more sophisticated AI systems, the line between processing and understanding becomes increasingly blurred. Perhaps the question isn't whether machines truly understand meaning, but rather: What new forms of understanding are we creating?
Machines learn the "meaning" of words like "weather" through an intricate dance of:
While this may not constitute understanding in the human sense—lacking the qualia of feeling raindrops or the anxiety of checking forecasts before a wedding—it represents something genuinely novel: a form of functional semantic competence that emerges from data and computation rather than experience and consciousness.
As AI systems become increasingly sophisticated, they're not just mimicking human understanding—they're creating their own unique form of meaning-making. And in doing so, they're helping us reflect on what understanding itself truly means.
The next time you ask your virtual assistant about the weather, remember: you're not just getting a forecast. You're witnessing the remarkable result of machines learning to navigate the complex landscape of human meaning—one word, one pattern, one prediction at a time.