2026-06-30 21:00:02
In the 1970s, American Fireworks, a family-run pyrotechnics company in Hudson, Ohio, used a “home run box” to offer quick and easy fireworks displays for the Cleveland Indians (now the Cleveland Guardians) baseball games.
The red wooden crate had metal silos to store the rockets. Each switch on the control panel allowed the operator to set off a different firing sequence. This setup instantly triggered the display whenever a Cleveland batter hit a home run. Before computerized firing systems became common, panels like this represented the state of the art. But they did not eliminate human error. On 15 September 2015, the technician in charge of the Indians’ pyrotechnics accidentally set off the fireworks when the opposing team hit a home run. The embarrassed technician was caught on camera holding his head in his hands.
This home run box and control panel [left] were used to launch fireworks during Cleveland Indians games. The rockets were housed in metal silos within the box.Left: Jahna Auerbach/Science History Institute; Right: American Fireworks
Fireworks are one of the many Song Dynasty inventions that migrated from China through the Middle East and into Europe by way of trade routes. Around 200 B.C.E, the Chinese invented small firecrackers by simply tossing pieces of bamboo into a fire. The air inside the bamboo would expand and crack the wood, and the pop supposedly scared away evil spirits. After the invention of gunpowder—a mixture of sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate—about a thousand years later, some clever person thought to pack the powder into the bamboo tubes and ignite them, launching the first fireworks—and the first rockets—into the sky.
John Bate’s popular 1634 book on fireworks described fire wheels [left] and a flying dragon [right], consisting of a dragon-shaped rocket that sped along a rope. SSPL/Getty Images
By the Renaissance, specialized schools for pyrotechnics had emerged across Italian city-states, and European craftsmen began creating large spectacles for royal occasions and religious celebrations. In 1634, John Bate published the four-volume series The Mysteries of Nature and Art, the second of which described how to create all manner of fireworks. Woodcut illustrations showed fire wheels (now called pinwheels or Catherine wheels), as well as the more ambitious flying dragon—a rocket shaped like a dragon that emitted sparks while speeding across a rope strung between two buildings.
During the 18th and 19th centuries, chemists and alchemists discovered new chemical compounds and isolated new elements that expanded the palette for fireworks. Adding barium nitrate produced green, for example, and strontium nitrate produced red. Chemists also mixed in metal particles to create sparkles.
The 1880s saw the introduction of the loud screech or whistle that precedes the exploding boom. Amédée Denisse, a graphic artist by trade and a fireworks hobbyist, discovered that a cardboard tube containing potassium picrate added that satisfying auditory effect to his fireworks display.
British colonists brought fireworks to the Americas. In 1608, Captain John Smith set them off to celebrate the founding of Jamestown, Virginia, the first permanent English settlement in what would become the United States. More than a century and a half later, while the Continental Congress was meeting in Philadelphia in July 1776, future U.S. president John Adams speculated in a letter to his wife that Independence Day would be celebrated “with pomp and parade, with shews, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other.”
Although Adams got the day wrong—he mistakenly thought the committee would complete the revisions to the Declaration of Independence by the 2nd of July—he was correct in foreseeing that Independence Day would be celebrated with lots and lots of fireworks. Just a year later, on 5 July 1777, the Pennsylvania Evening Post reported on the grand exhibition of fireworks the previous night, which began and concluded with 13 rockets representing the 13 colonies.
It’s safe to say that the United States is still obsessed with fireworks. According to the American Pyrotechnics Association, the country spends about US $3 billion on fireworks each year; it’s also the leading importer of fireworks. As the U.S. gears up to celebrate its 250th birthday this 4th of July, expect to see fireworks displays everywhere, from kids with sparklers running in backyards to ambitious professional displays for huge crowds.
Modern fireworks displays like the Macy’s 4th of July celebration in New York City are computer choreographed and controlled. Roy Rochlin/Getty Images
Fireworks today are an engineering marvel. State-of-the-art displays are computer controlled with precise digital timing, often tied to musical accompaniment. Designers can spend weeks choreographing complicated patterns and assigning launch times, shell types, and colors. The completed script is uploaded to an electronic firing system, which consists of the control panel and hundreds or thousands of firing modules that connect to the rockets. It can take days to set up the launch site for a large-scale display that lasts just minutes.
For example, last year more than 60 licensed pyrotechnicians worked for 12 days to arrange more than 80,000 shells for the Macy’s 4th of July Fireworks in New York City. Each of the firework shells measured up to 25 centimeters in diameter and weighed more than 13 kilograms—a far cry from their bamboo ancestors. More than 120 kilometers of wire connected the bundles of explosives to twelve computers. All that for a 25-minute display.
As much as I unabashedly love fireworks, they’re not for everyone and they do have a downside. The explosions can trigger PTSD for military veterans, and they can also upset animals. Every year, thousands of people are injured by mishandled or damaged fireworks. Known to set off wildfires, fireworks are often banned during droughts. Scientists who’ve studied the environmental impact of fireworks displays have noted their tendency to disperse airborne metallic particles and other harmful particulates.
A drone light show over Busan, South Korea, shows a member of the K-pop band BTS.Hwawon Ceci Lee/Anadolu/Getty Images
Perhaps to counter those drawbacks, or maybe it’s just the next technological evolution in aerial display, companies are now offering drone light shows. Fleets of hundreds or thousands of LED-toting drones can be programmed to hover in the air and fly in formation, forming logos and other designs that are more stable than exploding fireworks.
These exquisitely choreographed light shows are truly impressive. And yet I relish the full sensory experience of fireworks, including the booms, the smoke, and the smell. So whether you’re celebrating your country’s birth, Guy Fawkes Day, Saint Sylvester’s Night, New Year’s, Diwali, or simply cheering a home run from your favorite team, I hope you get to enjoy this millennia-old technological marvel.
Part of a continuing series looking at historical artifacts that embrace the boundless potential of technology.
An abridged version of this article appears in the July 2026 print issue as “Rooting for the Home Team.”
The American Pyrotechnics Association is a professional organization that encourages safety in design and use of all types of fireworks, provides industry support, and promotes responsible regulation.
Barry Sturman and David Garrioch’s 2023 article “Amateur Science and Innovation in Fireworks in Nineteenth-Century Europe,” in the journal Ambix, provides a detailed history of the development of fireworks. Kathy De Antonis’s 2010 article “Fireworks!” for a publication of the American Chemical Society explains the colors, shapes, and packaging of modern fireworks.
If you happen to find yourself in Philadelphia before the end of July, check out the Science History Institute’s exhibit Flash! Bang! Boom! A History of Fireworks, which is part of the U.S. celebrations around the semiquincentennial. The home run box shown in this article is part of the institute’s collections.
2026-06-30 20:24:33
He was born into a storm, lightning split the summer sky, in a
village the world had not yet heard of.
The midwife called it a bad omen, his mother called it a sign. Your first
life began in a storm, under open sky.
One winter night you ran your hand along a cat’s back, and the
darkness cracked open with sparks.
Your mother warned the house could burn.
You were already chasing what you learned: Light would return.
Your second life came underwater, in the current deep. No light,
no air, the river pulling you under,
the surface closing above you without a sound, and
something in you refused to sink or sleep.
Your third life came at the dam.
The water rose. The wall held you in place.
One flash, you turned your body and rose back into air, and left
the weight of water without a trace.
Your fourth life came in stone and dark. Entombed for a
night in a mountain chapel,
visited by no one. Only silence and the memory of a spark. You called
it an awful experience and left it there, untold.
Your fifth life came in fever,
nine months cholera held you down,
until your father said: Survive, and choose your own ground. You rose.
Not from the prayer, but from the promise he made.
Your sixth life came in silence, and it stayed.
Every sound cut through you, a clock three rooms away,
a ringing that would not leave, a noise you learned to bear, until you
lived inside that noise and made a home in there.
Your seventh life burned on Fifth Avenue, not your body, but your work. Not a thief
of fire, but one who stayed with the blaze.
A modern Prometheus, your life’s work turned to ash,
“I must begin again,” you said, and turned to new ways.
Your eighth life came in the street.
No storm. No warning. A taxi struck without a sign. A
sudden impact: ribs breaking, breath gone.
No diagram this time. Only the body, slow to keep up.
The ninth life came on quiet wings.
That dove found you in the dark, and your spirit rose. She did
not move. A beam of light fell from above.
The life you would not return from, the one you loved.
Your mother thought you had nine lives, nine close
brushes with death.
Each close call, a lesson. A hand that would lead you out of the
darkness and into the dynamo of eternal light. The world profits
from the mystery of your mind,
Upon your imagination we stand.
2026-06-29 21:00:01
Today, you probably asked a question of a large language model, or accepted a connection suggestion on LinkedIn, or watched a recommended video on YouTube, or took a different route to work based on a traffic prediction from Google Maps. In other words, you probably used artificial intelligence. But what you might not know is how much energy that interaction consumed or why.
AI requires processing massive amounts of data, which is usually done in large data centers populated by thousands of GPUs capable of executing up to trillions of operations per second. But each of those GPUs achieves that by consuming as much as 1,000 watts apiece. For comparison, if you’ve got a newer smartphone, it probably uses less than 1 W. That kilowatt figure puts GPUs on the same level as vacuum cleaners, dishwashers, and stoves, but with the big difference that data-center processors are operating uninterrupted around the clock.
Fundamentally, a lot of this inefficiency is because GPUs are trying to simulate the workings of artificial neural networks using software and billions of transistors, which requires using energy to move massive amounts of data. What’s more, the simulated artificial neurons that make up these networks lack even a fraction of the complex computing behavior of the biological neurons that comprise the most energy-efficient computing system that we know, the human brain.
The brain is roughly one million times as energy efficient at many of the comparable tasks we set for AI. To try to approach these efficiencies, a radically different way of computing called neuromorphic engineering is seeking to build electronic components and circuits that act more like the brain’s neurons and the synapses that connect them.
Huge amounts of work have gone into making electronics operate more like biological neurons and synapses. Some research has focused on developing new, experimental devices, but they aren’t yet reliable enough to be used in large systems. Other efforts aim to implement neurons and synapses by interconnecting many complementary metal-oxide-semiconductor (CMOS) transistors—the workhorses of digital logic—to simulate a single neuron and synapse. But this approach requires so many transistors (and a few bulky capacitors) that it greatly limits the size of the system that can be constructed, making it unclear how such brain-inspired hardware could ever scale up and compete with state-of-the-art GPUs.
But all along there was an artificial neuron and a synapse—each a single device—hiding in plain sight. We found them last year. They were each made possible by an ordinary CMOS transistor—and not even a very good one at that. This is the story of their accidental discovery and their great promise for lowering the environmental footprint of AI.
Modern digital electronics is based on producing and manipulating the ones and zeros of the binary code through the operation of metal-oxide-semiconductor field-effect transistors. MOSFETs have evolved in recent years, but their classic form consists of a piece of silicon that has been doped to contain an excess of either positive (p-type) or negative (n-type) charge carriers. (CMOS logic contains transistors of both types.) The device has two terminals connected to the silicon through regions highly doped with the opposite polarity of the rest of the silicon—the source and the drain. Another terminal, the gate, sits atop the silicon that separates the source from the drain. The gate itself doesn’t connect directly to this silicon, instead resting above a thin layer of insulating dielectric.
Notably, there is a fourth terminal that attaches to the bulk of the silicon; think of this bulk terminal as connecting to the underside of the chip. It doesn’t typically get much attention, but it’s very important to our story.
When voltage is applied at the gate and the bulk terminal is grounded, charge carriers of the same polarity as the source and drain are attracted to the channel region. In the case of an n-type source and drain, that will be electrons; for p-type it will be holes. The presence of these charges forms a conductive channel that reduces the resistance between the source and the drain by several orders of magnitude, and the device switches on. As the voltage at the gate increases, this physical phenomenon produces a current signal that, when plotted against the gate voltage, rises steadily. This response is ideal for logic gates, converters, multiplexers, memories, and other digital circuits. But it is not a good fit for mimicking the behavior of a neuron.
In real neural tissue, brain cells, called neurons, consist of a cell body, a long projection called an axon, and short branching projections called dendrites. The suite of behaviors and computing this collection of components is capable of is rich and broad, but the portion that artificial neural networks hope to copy is this: When the cell body’s voltage is perturbed enough to reach a particular threshold, a self-propagating pulse of voltage, called an action potential, shoots down the axon. The axon terminates in a synapse, an electrochemical connection between the axon and another neuron’s dendrites. The action potential will then temporarily boost the voltage of this next neuron, by an amount that depends on the strength of the synaptic connection. If enough action potentials reach these dendrites in a given time—from this neuron or from others that might also form synapses there—the cell body’s voltage will surpass the threshold and trigger its own action potential.
The unusual action the authors discovered is understandable if you consider that a MOSFET contains a hidden bipolar-junction transistor.
Under normal operation, with the bulk terminal grounded, increasing voltage at the drain leads to current that increases steadily. When the voltage decreases, current follows the same sloped path. Although some pairs of electrons and holes are created by current crashing into silicon atoms, these are swept away before they can accumulate.
Adding resistance to the bulk terminal means these extra holes pile up, increasing the bulk voltage relative to the source. Once that voltage reaches a certain value, the hidden transistor activates, causing current to spike. Current remains high until the drain voltage drops past a certain point.
To get closer to the behavior of real neurons, artificial neurons should produce a current spike when a critical voltage threshold is crossed and then quickly relax back to a resting state on their own. This spike needs to be sudden—nonlinear. It should also exhibit some hysteresis; that is, the activation and relaxation voltages should be different from each other to ensure that current flows only for a certain amount of time.
What’s wanted from an artificial synapse, the thing that connects two artificial neurons, is less complicated, but equally important. The main thing is that its conductance can be electronically adjustable. The device’s conductive states should increase and decrease in a linear pattern and remain stable over time.
No single MOSFET working under the standard operation mechanism can reproduce either of these neural properties. Instead, it’s been done by combining them into complex circuits. Until now, each neuron and each synapse has been implemented by interconnecting dozens and sometimes even hundreds of MOSFETs, which is highly inefficient in terms of area, performance, and cost. To limit the amount of space needed, chips can multiplex their signals, sending them to neurons and synapses serially, but such sequential processing introduces additional delays.
Despite these area-and-time penalties on tasks such as audio processing, computer vision, or health monitoring, state-of-the-art brain-inspired microchips have achieved power reductions up to a thousandfold compared with those of GPUs or CPUs on the same task. If we could create neurons and synapses from individual devices that are readily manufacturable instead, we might target more massive implementations while maintaining energy efficiency.
Working in our laboratory in 2024, one of my students was measuring a memory circuit that consisted of one transistor and one memristor—a type of nonvolatile memory device first fabricated in 2008. The student’s memristor circuit was built from two-dimensional material atop a silicon microchip containing MOSFETs. The MOSFETs were created in a commercial foundry using fabrication technology called the 180-nanometer node, which was cutting-edge in the year 2000.
One day the student forgot to connect the bulk terminal of the transistor. What he observed was a sudden increase in current with high nonlinearity that self-relaxed when the voltage was ramped down (a phenomenon called a hysteresis loop). This was a very promising neuronlike behavior!
After a fruitless week of trying to think of an explanation for this behavior, I (Lanza) asked Pazos, then my postdoctoral fellow, to try to observe and control this phenomenon in chips without memristors. This time, we applied pulses of voltage—like the spikes a neuron would produce—instead of the ramped voltage that my student used when he first saw the peculiar behavior.
Pazos’s new data helped us understand what was going on. The key was that oft-ignored fourth, or bulk, terminal of a MOSFET. Under ordinary operation, many mobile charge carriers flitting through the channel collide with the silicon atoms, producing free pairs of electrons and holes—a process known as impact ionization. The electric field created by the potential difference between the source and the drain causes these new free electrons to drift toward the positively biased drain and the holes to move toward the bulk terminal, which is usually grounded, removing the charge without any drama.
However, when the bulk terminal of the transistor is floating—unconnected as it was in my student’s experiment—the holes produced by impact ionization cannot be driven to the ground. Instead, they accumulate in the bulk of the silicon, increasing its voltage. Then things start to get interesting.
It helps here to imagine a MOSFET as two different kinds of transistors occupying the same physical space—the intentionally constructed MOSFET and a hidden, bipolar junction transistor. A bipolar device transmits a current signal across two p-n junctions, in this case the interfaces between the source and the channel region and the channel and the drain. This signal is in proportion to a smaller current at a third terminal in between, called the base. In our experiment, that third terminal is the bulk.
To get current flowing through a bipolar transistor, you need a big enough potential difference between the base and one of the other terminals, so that current can get across the p-n junction. Let’s say this “threshold voltage” is 0.7 volts, although the real number depends on device geometry and silicon doping. In our device, that potential difference comes from those holes that were accumulating in the bulk, because it was not connected to ground. Once it reaches the threshold voltage, the device becomes sharply conductive, producing an abrupt increase of current. This sharp current increase eventually falls off once the drain voltage is lowered, because that lowering reduces the rate at which holes are generated in the bulk. The remaining excess holes recombine with stray electrons or leak away, and finally the bulk voltage falls. This cycle of hole accumulation, current spike, and hole removal gives rise to a hysteresis loop, very much like the electrical behavior of a biological neuron as it integrates ionic currents, fires a spike, and relaxes back to its resting voltage.
Initially, we observed this behavior only in a few transistors, and the relaxation time was very different for each of them. So, to try to control it better, we adjusted the resistance of the bulk terminal using a second MOSFET. Simply setting that resistance suddenly caused all the transistors to fire at the same voltage with hardly any variability. In other words, we found we could create perfect electronic neuron behavior in a single silicon transistor by controlling the bulk contact resistance. Setting the resistance can be done by doping the silicon during fabrication, but we think the two-transistor cell—where one acts as the bulk resistance—offers much greater versatility because it allows for electronic control.
We had to make sure the phenomenon would last, otherwise such a device would be useless. To our delight, every single one of the devices we tested worked over 10 million cycles. Not even one of them failed during our tests.
To be honest, we were amazed. Dozens of research groups and companies all around the world have spent many millions of U.S. dollars over the past 20 years trying to emulate these neural behaviors using experimental memristor-like devices and other things, with limited success, mainly due to reliability and cost issues. We managed it in the cheapest and most industry-standard device: the MOSFET. This result was so shocking that we decided to confirm it using microchips from a different foundry. It was successful: All the behaviors could be reproduced, and perfect yield was achieved once again.
We were happy with the results and had started the process of filing for a patent and writing up our findings for the journal Nature, when our lab made another astonishing discovery: The same kind of MOSFET could act as a synapse, too!
Recall that in ordinary operation some electrons crash into silicon atoms to create pairs of electrons and holes. We noticed that at specific values of bulk resistance a significant amount of the charge from this impact ionization would get trapped in the gate dielectric. This trapped charge interferes with the flow of current through the MOSFET, effectively changing the device’s conductance. Importantly, this new conductance is stable and adjustable at will. It was then that we realized the MOSFET could also be used as an electronic synapse.
As it was in the neuron transistor, the bulk terminal was the key. A negative bulk-source voltage drives electrons into the dielectric, decreasing conductance. A positive one pushes holes in, increasing it.
Here’s how the MOSFET synapse and the MOSFET neuron, together called a neurosynaptic random-access memory, or NSRAM, could work together to achieve a simple neural circuit: Say you had a circuit consisting of three synapse MOSFETs and a neuron MOSFET. The synapses have already been programmed as we’ve described, so that each has a different conductance. Spikes of voltage with different patterns and frequencies are applied to the gate of each of these transistors. What emerges from their drains are spikes of current with amplitudes modulated by the synapses conductance values.
The spikes converge at the drain of the neuron MOSFET. With each spike, impact ionization causes charge to build in the bulk of the silicon. Some of it will drain away, but if enough spikes arrive in a short enough period of time, the bulk voltage will reach a value at which the “hidden” transistor triggers a spike of current through the MOSFET. This current would then go on to become the input to other MOSFET synapses, and so on. The behavior is exactly the kind of integrate-and-fire action real neural circuits deliver.
The competitive advantage of our single-MOSFET electronic neurons and synapses is straightforward: We can produce with only one or two transistors the electronic signals that today require, at an industrial level, dozens and sometimes even hundreds of components. And moreover, unlike other emerging technologies, our solution is fully compatible with today’s silicon manufacturing lines and exhibits a yield of 100 percent in key figures of merit with near-zero variability.
Building functional circuits for brain-inspired computing and AI based on this technology is as exciting as it is laborious. It will require us to improve our computer models to resemble the behavior of both devices more accurately and to do so with computational efficiency. We must also perform accurate circuit- and system-level simulations to validate computing architectures, design peripheral circuitry to drive and convert signals, and undergo multiple fabrication rounds to optimize performance.
But all that will be worthwhile, because it could result in brain-inspired microchips for AI with better energy efficiencies than what we have now. These chips will first be a fit for smaller-scale, “edge-AI” tasks, such as bringing greater intelligence to battery-powered systems. But if we can scale up such chips, maybe in the long run they can compete with state-of-the-art GPUs.
2026-06-29 19:00:02
In 1839, J.M.W. Turner painted The Fighting Temeraire. The old warship, once a hero of the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, glides like a ghost across the canvas, towed by a small steam tug belching smoke on its final voyage to the ship-breakers. The image shows a clear moment of change: sail giving way to steam, and with it, a major shift in power. The ship relied on timber, rope, canvas, and Britain’s seafaring towns. The tug depended on coal mines and iron foundries that supplied machine shops in the Midlands. Turner showed the tension of this time, when new technology changed who held power.
By Turner’s time, the United States had already defeated Britain’s navy in two wars—one for liberty on land, another for freedom of the seas. The 13 colonies used new technology in creative ways to win their freedom, and by keeping up with innovation, they managed to defend their freedom. Now, as the U.S. celebrates its 250th anniversary, we can ask: What does it really mean for a country to be independent?
We tend to focus on how nations and individuals defend freedom but rarely turn that focus to the tools and systems that sustain freedom. Declaring independence is only the beginning: independence must still be engineered.
Long before the first shots were fired at Lexington and Concord in 1775, Britain had drawn the lines of conflict through technology. The Wool Act of 1699 choked colonial textile exports. The Hat Act of 1732 crushed local hat-making. The Iron Act of 1750 forbade finished iron goods. Each statute tightened the knot: Colonial capability existed only at Britain’s discretion. The Boston Tea Party may have been a loud response, but resistance also took subtler, more empowering forms. At a 1769 Virginia ball, more than a hundred women arrived in homespun gowns. Every thread was defiance.
When war came, everyday tradespeople pivoted to the fight. Farmers turned plowshares into gun barrels, while clockmakers turned their precision skills to making firing mechanisms. By 1777, two weapons production models had emerged—centralized sites like the Springfield Armory that could produce high-quality guns in large quantities, and household workshops that were more agile and could meet local needs. In parallel, the new nation developed an equally important source of supplies and support: France sent gunpowder and loans and eventually opened a second naval front in 1781, which proved as decisive as any weapon.
After the war, the young republic pursued industrial strength with the same resolve it had shown in battle. In 1789, Samuel Slater arrived from England with textile spinning technology that he’d memorized, sowing the seeds of U.S. manufacturing, whose early growth rested on domestic cotton, slave labor, and copied techniques. By 1816, gun manufacturer Simeon North’s milling machines were producing interchangeable metal parts, allowing the armed forces to cannibalize parts. In 1822, Thomas Blanchard’s copying lathe automated the shaping of gunstocks. In the 1830s, the federal government imposed tariffs that shielded infant industries, fulfilling Alexander Hamilton’s vision for industrial policy: Build capacity first, then compete.
At the 1851 Great Exhibition in London, American revolvers and reapers with swappable parts stunned international observers. By the 1860s, land-grant colleges were spreading technical education across the nation. Engineering moved into the mainstream, from niche to national necessity, and driving broad, though uneven, prosperity. As the Industrial Revolution bloomed, the early U.S. focus on industrial capacity via farms, factories, and formidable wealth positioned the country to compete with the most advanced industrial powers in the world.
For nearly two centuries, that ethos endured, with government-guided infrastructure and markets deciding the details. But around the U.S. bicentennial in 1976, a conviction took hold across party lines. Finance began to outrank fabrication, and Wall Street prioritized futures contracts over companies owning the factories that made up their supply chains. Domestic factories closed or moved offshore, and companies turned to just-in-time manufacturing and shipping, ostensibly as a way to save on costs. Shipbuilding felt this shift as much as any industry. Shipyards closed, and suppliers of specialized castings and components disappeared along with them, as did skilled technical workers who retired without replacement. Now the U.S. Navy struggles to build submarines fast enough to replace its aging fleet.
Other changes took hold, among them the idea that the company that builds your tractor or medical equipment could prevent you from fixing it yourself. Invasive “terms of service” prevented customers from reaching for a wrench, instead allowing companies to keep reaching into customers’ pockets. These changes are symptoms of both structural and infrastructural fragility. When we lose the ability to understand and sustain the systems we rely on, we lose control—bit by bit.
No nation can build everything alone, of course. From hand-forged muskets to finely printed microchips, the sovereignty etched into our tools demands a prudent calculus: what to make at home, what and with whom to trade. Engineering is how a nation keeps its independence alive. Independence requires both the courage to innovate and the stewardship to maintain what has been built. The American Revolution was itself an act of engineering—daring in vision and deliberate in pairing anvil and alliance. Generations later, can a nation that cannot see its own dependencies, build and maintain its critical tools, or repair what breaks still call itself free?
Turner’s Snow Storm—Steam-Boat off a Harbour’s Mouth, completed three years after The Fighting Temeraire, captures this part of the story. Sea and sky dissolve into a churning vortex around the ship. Turner claimed he had himself lashed to the ship’s mast for four hours so that he could paint the sensation of standing inside a system too vast and tangled to comprehend. A nation that loses sight of what it depends on stands there too: lashed to nothing except the churn.
2026-06-27 02:00:01
What do an instinct to fix things and the 1999 global panic over whether computers would survive the date change to 2000, known as the Y2K bug, have in common? Both helped shape IEEE Senior Member Ajay Prasad’s career.
Prasad is an industry process director at Dassault Systèmes in Detroit. His focus is global oversight of industry process experts specializing in Enovia, a product lifecycle management (PLM) solution and one of the company’s flagship products.
Employer
Dassault Systèmes in Detroit
Title
Industry process director
Member grade
Senior member
Alma maters
Bangalore University, in Bengaluru, India; and the University of Birmingham, England
As a child growing up in Bangalore, India, his curiosity to build real-world solutions was ignited by his father, a mechanical engineer. Prasad’s father often fixed things around the house, including cars and bicycles. His ability to take something broken and return it to working order laid the groundwork for his son’s career in engineering.
Prasad was in his final year of undergraduate studies when the Y2K panic hit its peak.
“Nobody knew what would happen when the year turned to 2000,” he says, “and it was almost projected like the end of the world was coming.”
The phenomenon left him with the desire to fix computer problems, but he wasn’t sure how he would go about it, as he had no background in computer science.
As it turned out, computer systems didn’t crash when the 1900s ended. The world did not end on Jan. 1, 2000, and neither did his interest in how computers worked.
Prasad graduated in 2000 with a bachelor’s degree in industrial engineering and management from the RV College of Engineering, in Bengaluru. It was at a time when tech companies were heavily recruiting engineers, regardless of their specialization.
“They were mainly looking for problem-solving skills,” Prasad says.
His parents expected him to immediately enroll in a master’s degree program, he says, but a job offer from Tata Consultancy Services in Bengaluru to work as an assistant systems engineer trainee changed that plan.
“My dad was actually out of town for work when the job offer came in,” he says. “I knew he wanted me to stay in school, but honestly, I was done studying for a while. I wanted to get some work experience.”
He accepted the offer, then broke the news to his father. His parents were supportive of his decision, but his dad offered one piece of advice: Keep the idea of an advanced degree in the back of his mind.
Several months of working on mainframes helped him understand algorithms and how to code to achieve outcomes, he says, and the more he learned about computer systems, the more he wanted to pursue a computer science career. With a solid engineering foundation, he says, he knew the pivot made sense. But he also wanted the academic credentials to back up his tech skills.
Heeding his father’s advice, he paused his career at Tata and enrolled in the master’s degree program in computer science at the University of Birmingham in England. At the time, it was one of the few schools offering the program to students who had no undergraduate computer science degree. When he graduated in 2002, he briefly considered pursuing a Ph.D., but he returned to India and a new role at Tata.
As a systems engineer, he worked on the MatrixOne platform, a PLM software solution that helped manufacturers oversee products from design to launch. He spent a lot of time customizing the MatrixOne software to meet customer needs. The experience gave him insights into the pain points that different users of the platform faced, such as managing complex product data across large teams and keeping track of complicated supply chains.
In 2004 Tata transferred him to Minneapolis, where he continued working on the MatrixOne platform.
During that time, Dassault acquired MatrixOne and folded it into its existing Enovia product line. He remained involved with the product until he left Tata in 2008. To scratch an entrepreneurial itch, he became a consultant for the product, helping customize the platform for U.S. clients.
The move also forced him to make a decision: He needed to choose between settling in the United States or returning to India. Inclement weather made up his mind, he says.
“I was heading to my next project across the country, and it was winter,” he says. “During the entire drive, I was trying, unsuccessfully, to outrun a massive snowstorm. I was young, and it was an adventure, but it helped clarify where I wanted to be at that point in my life.”
He returned to India in 2010, armed with a more global perspective and expertise with Enovia. As he looked for a job, he focused on a role with the company that owned the platform he’d worked on for years.
“Dassault Systèmes has continuously pioneered new technologies and concepts and set benchmarks in the PLM space,” he says. “When an opportunity opened up there for me, I jumped at it.”
Instead of a programming role, though, he was hired as an Enovia technical sales specialist, working in Dassault’s Bengaluru location. It was an eye-opening experience, he says.
“It put me on the other side of the table: trying to sell software to customers,” he says. “This was the opposite of my experience customizing software after the sale was complete.”
The position involved both presale and postsale duties. Technical salespeople bring subject-matter expertise that bridges the gap between a product’s functionality and the customer’s needs. The role works directly with the sales team to craft a presentation that showcases the value of the software as a solution.
On the postsale side, technical sales professionals work with service teams to customize software solutions to ensure customer goals are met. If needed functionality doesn’t exist, they work with the R&D group to create it. They also offer suggestions to customers on how to improve their processes.
When Prasad stepped into his new role, a senior colleague described technical sales as an “exam syndrome” because customers are judging you and your presentation against competitors. The analogy didn’t land well with him.
Recalling all his years of formal education, he had a different perspective: “I wanted to think of it more as an opportunity to fully understand a customer’s problem, then solve it better than anybody else could.
“Every customer has unique pain points. When I can offer solutions that deliver value, they’ll buy the software.”
It’s his belief that the position is best served by professionals with both engineering and computer science backgrounds. He advocates that engineering students consider adding computer science to their studies, and he draws on his own educational experiences to support the position.
Dassault recognized the value in his approach. In 2015 he was hand-picked to be part of the company’s new Worldwide Enovia Center of Excellence team in Auburn Hills, Mich. As an industry process expert, he was able to put his Enovia expertise into action.
He’s now a senior leader managing a global technical sales team. One of his objectives, he says, is advocating to engineers that technical sales is a viable career move.
“The moment an engineer hears the word sales, they tend to stop listening,” he says. “They don’t want to be a salesperson in the traditional sense.”
That’s too narrow a view, he says, adding: “I think everyone is a salesperson to some degree.”
If engineers looked at technical sales differently, they’d see an exciting opportunity, he contends.
“In this role, they have the ability to not only develop solutions but also explore the why behind the need for a solution at all,” he says.
“As engineers, sometimes we are so focused on engineering concepts and principles that we get bogged down in the details and don’t focus on what the problem really is,” he says. “I learned with technology that even before you try and create a solution, you need to understand the logic of the problem first.”
His approach has delivered measurable results. He holds one patent and has a second under consideration. His combination of engineering and computer science expertise played a crucial role in each, he says.
His first patent, granted in 2023 by the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, was for his solution to improve product benchmarking for clients with large-scale data management issues. It replaces traditional spreadsheets with powerful databases and a user-friendly interface, ensuring information is up to date, accessible, and shareable.
“I think that being part of the IEEE community is a huge value for folks in the engineering space. It’s a great way to collaborate and to understand what’s happening, especially in your local ecosystem.”
His second patent, pending with the USPTO, is designed to help customers manage large projects that involve a high volume of engineering design tasks. Instead of relying on ambiguous communication between engineers and project managers, his solution would draw data from the work management system and update the project management dashboard automatically. It would replace guesswork with real-time data.
Prasad has authored the peer-reviewed technical paper “Transforming Product Development With a Platform-Based Approach to Product Lifecycle Management,” which was published by SAE International. His writings on the use of data tracking and AI in product lifecycle management have appeared on Engineering.com and in Wavelengths, a monthly publication from the IEEE Southeastern Michigan Section.
In February, Dassault marked Prasad’s success by promoting him to worldwide Enovia industry process director. The title reflects a career built on the belief that engineering and computer science are stronger together, and that technical sales is where the combination delivers its greatest value, he says.
Prasad first encountered IEEE at a student branch meeting he attended at Bangalore University in 2000, shortly before graduation. The meeting featured engineers from industry discussing the work they did—which sparked his interest in joining, he says. But with his first job waiting for him, the timing wasn’t right to become active with the organization.
It took nearly 25 years, he says, before he felt he had enough spare time and professional experience to contribute actively and meaningfully to IEEE. He joined the Southeastern Michigan Section in 2024, was quickly elevated to senior member, and then took on a leadership role.
He was nominated to be conference chair for this year’s Innovative Applications of AI in Industry event. Together with a team of eight, he led the planning and execution of the in-person conference, the first time it was held since the COVID-19 pandemic shelved it.
The event explored how AI is permeating practically every aspect of our lives. Speakers came from Amazon, Torc Robotics, academia, and health care.
The event was a success, he says, and he hopes to parlay its momentum into a multiday conference in the coming years.
As a representative from the section, he served as a technical judge at this year’s Robofest, a competition held in May for students in Grades 4 through 12. Since the annual event’s inception, more than 40,000 students from 35 countries have participated. He says his involvement helps him understand how students use robotics to solve problems.
“I think that being part of the IEEE community is a huge value for folks in the engineering space,” he says. “It’s a great way to collaborate and to understand what’s happening, especially in your local ecosystem. There’s always something going on in terms of a conference or a talk where you can listen, gain knowledge, and network. It’s also an invaluable opportunity to discover where you can add value at IEEE.”
2026-06-26 01:32:32
This article is brought to you by Capital One.
After five years leading natural language understanding and eventually the entire Alexa AI organization at Amazon, Prem Natarajan made a nontraditional move: He became Chief Scientist at a bank. Not just any bank: Capital One, a financial institution serving over 100 million customers, helping everyday Americans manage their financial lives.
For Natarajan, a veteran of DARPA-funded research and academia who had watched machine learning evolve from task-specific applications to foundation models, the logic was clear. Some of the most interesting advances in AI research and deployment were shifting from big tech’s horizontal platforms to industry verticals like finance, where the most complex problems aren’t just building models but making AI work under the constraints of real-world customer problems, contextual business knowledge, continuous learning, with an incredibly high bar for accuracy and privacy.
That’s also what made Capital One the right place to do it. For decades, the company has been recognized as one of the most data- and analytics-driven financial institutions in the industry. Its business model from the very beginning was built around using data and technology to personalize financial products for customers. A decade ago, Capital One went all in on the cloud and rebuilt its data ecosystem, creating a unified environment for data, compute, and AI and machine learning experimentation. Today, its modern infrastructure, disciplined approach to governance, and deep bench of talent form the foundation that allows it to lead in enterprise AI.
Advances in AI research and deployment are shifting from big tech’s horizontal platforms to industry verticals like finance.
So, why does a bank need a Chief Scientist? The answer lies in a fundamental misconception about AI in financial services. Most financial institutions still view AI as a technology to deploy – leveraging the latest large language model, deploying it through APIs, and integrating it into existing workflows – rather than a scientific discipline. Capital One is doing something different: building a scientific community and research organization to solve real-world customer problems and invent impactful AI solutions that don’t yet exist.
While widely available foundation models can handle general tasks, they can’t yet solve many domain-specific challenges, such as detecting fraud in real-time across billions of transactions, or providing state-of-the-art conversational tools so customers can engage when, how, and where they want to.
These challenges of making AI reliable, scalable, and well governed require original research and scientific innovation that is funneled back into the business to create real-world applications to address customer needs.
Prem Natarajan, an IEEE Fellow, is Chief Scientist at Capital One. “If you want to solve really important problems in AI and see your work come to life, this is one of the few places you can do that,” he says.Capital One
Because banks are dealing with people’s finances, there is an incredibly high bar for getting it right when it comes to AI. Take fraud, for example. Even a minor fraud event can have a devastating impact on certain customers. The best fraud models and platforms can detect and help mitigate fraud in the time it takes someone to tap their card, which is table stakes for protecting customers and their financial information with accuracy and speed. Looking at these types of challenges, Capital One and Natarajan saw that serving millions of customers meant solving AI problems at a scale and complexity that many enterprises don’t encounter. These same constraints create a unique research environment.
At Capital One, the approach to building AI is to provide value to customers in ways never possible before, improving their financial lives and meeting them where they are with services they actually need. That focus, combined with massive scale and world-class risk management requirements, makes the scientific problems both harder and just as consequential as those found in most big tech labs.
Capital One’s approach to AI research and innovation starts with what Natarajan calls “destination-back thinking.” Rather than asking what’s possible with current technology, the team envisions the customer experience they want to deliver – perhaps a car buyer who works long days and can only research the options at 10 p.m., or a customer facing an unexpected expense who needs immediate, personalized guidance – and then works backward to identify the scientific breakthroughs required to get there.
“You’re thinking back from where you’re providing incredibly valuable services,” Natarajan explains. “Once you have that vision clearly, you work back and say, what are the gaps? What are the things we need to invent?” This ensures that when problems are solved, the impact is essentially guaranteed, because the team has already identified what will make a tangible difference in customers’ lives.
But methodology alone isn’t enough. Capital One’s nearly 15-year bet on cloud-first architecture created something rare in financial services: a unified data and compute ecosystem that can support the kind of scientific experimentation typically seen in big tech research labs. As the only major U.S. bank to go all-in on public cloud infrastructure, Capital One eliminated the legacy systems that can constrain AI research at most financial institutions. This modern tech stack enables rapid iteration, large-scale model training, and what Natarajan calls “continuous learning,” systems that improve after deployment rather than degrading over time. This unique approach to infrastructure is a critical component in making new categories of research possible.
The research agenda manifests in systems already serving customers. Early last year, Capital One launched what may be the first fully agentic AI customer service experience built entirely in-house by a bank: a car buying tool that takes actions on behalf of customers based on their requests, not just answers questions. Behind it lies extensive research into multi-agentic AI reasoning systems that can navigate real-time data, business knowledge, constraints, and guardrails, with various agents that can work together to accomplish complex tasks.
Capital One has launched a fully agentic AI customer service experience powered by extensive research into multi-agentic reasoning systems that can navigate real-time data.
The team is also working on solving things like tokenization challenges, protecting sensitive data while enabling model training. To accelerate this cutting-edge work, Capital One has established partnerships with Columbia University, the University of Southern California, and the University of Illinois, and became the only bank funding NSF’s national AI research centers in 2025, investing millions in initiatives that span mental health, materials discovery, science, technology, engineering, and mathematics education, human-AI collaboration, and drug development.
In the spring of 2026, the company hosted its inaugural AI Symposium to deepen connections and foster insight-sharing between the scientific AI community, leading AI labs, startups, and its own technology, science, and AI leaders and partners.
Capital One is building the next generation of AI talent. Join the team inventing impactful AI solutions to shape the future of finance. Learn more at https://capitalone.science/
External validation suggests the strategy is working. Evident AI ranked Capital One as the leading bank in AI talent and a global leader in AI innovation for three consecutive years, noting the bank accounted for 38 percent of all AI patents filed by the top 50 financial institutions. Capital One was also recognized by IFI Insights as the only financial institution among the top U.S. patent leaders in agentic and generative AI in 2025, alongside the likes of Google, NVIDIA, DeepMind, IBM, Microsoft, Intel, Adobe and Samsung. Capital One’s AI team – which has experience from leading AI labs and top universities – represents expertise rarely found outside Silicon Valley.
But recruitment requires a mission. “If you want to solve really important problems in AI and see your work come to life, this is one of the few places you can do that,” Natarajan says. The pitch is consistent: Capital One isn’t just optimizing algorithms for niche financial applications like high frequency trading, it’s using science to enhance financial experiences for over 100 million everyday Americans, expanding engagement and real-time insights, personalization, and access to their personal finances and products like never before.
Capital One was recognized as the only financial institution among the top U.S. patent leaders in agentic and generative AI in 2025, alongside the likes of Google, NVIDIA, DeepMind, and Microsoft.
The frontiers Natarajan is most excited about – agentic AI systems that can dramatically improve performance by reframing how problems are solved, and domain-specific reasoning that understands contextual and financial nuance – represent the next phase of innovation. “By just casting the problem in an agentic framework, you can actually get way more performance” from the same underlying models, he explains.
It’s this kind of applied research, like translating general capabilities into production systems for millions of customers, that defines the Chief Scientist’s mandate. When recruiting talent to his AI team, a group comparable only to the most sophisticated tech companies in caliber, Natarajan frames the opportunity around a mission. He invokes Steve Jobs’ famous challenge to John Sculley: “Do you want to spend the rest of your life selling sugared water, or do you want to change the world?” For Natarajan, the parallel is clear. Building AI systems that transform financial services for millions of everyday Americans – that’s changing the world. And it requires the kind of scientific rigor that only a Chief Scientist can lead.