The Economics of Engineering

The Question Behind All the Other Questions

First I would just like to say that I’ve been writing this essay for about 4 years and still consider it a draft. Before you start reading know that it’s a long read…

Imagine a factory making stuffed toys. It employs 200 people, operates several production lines and supplies retailers across the country. Its management team has spent the past year modernising the operation, introducing automated cutting machines, improving assembly processes and installing systems to monitor production.

The results are impressive. The factory can now produce 30% more toys per hour, manufacturing defects have fallen by half, and the time required to switch between products has been substantially reduced. The operations director has a dashboard showing all of this in considerable detail.

At the next board meeting, the director presents these results with understandable satisfaction. The shareholders listen politely before one of them asks a rather awkward question.

“That’s excellent. What has it done for the business?”

The director explains that production costs are falling and the factory has additional capacity. The shareholders want to know whether revenue has increased, margins have improved or customers are buying more toys. Has the investment generated an acceptable return?

For a private equity investor, the question eventually becomes what those improvements have done to the value of the business. Enterprise Value, or EV, is one way of expressing that value. It reflects what the operating business is worth, rather than simply how much revenue it generates or how efficiently it runs.

Perhaps the factory has increased sales because it can now fulfil orders it previously turned away. Perhaps lower production costs have improved its margins. Alternatively, the additional capacity might be sitting idle because demand has not increased. All three outcomes are consistent with the improvements shown on the operational dashboard, but they have different financial consequences.

The operations director has demonstrated genuine improvements in productivity and quality, while the shareholders want to understand whether those improvements have made the business more valuable. Both are asking reasonable questions, but they measure success differently. The people working inside the factory talk about throughput, cycle times, defect rates and production capacity. The people running the company talk about revenue growth, operating profit, working capital and return on invested capital.

Both groups are describing the same business, but somewhere between the production line and the boardroom, the connection between those two sets of measures has become lost in translation.

Software engineering has much the same problem, and it is one that has increasingly interested me as my career has moved from engineering into business management and investment. Private equity provides a particularly useful perspective because it makes the relationship between operational improvement, financial performance and the value of a business unusually explicit, although other organisations will naturally have different objectives.

A project called Dracula

I recognise some of this in my own experience. Most of the projects I worked on had clear commercial reasons for existing, and many delivered benefits that were understood by the organisations commissioning them. What interests me, looking back, is the way I instinctively describe their success.

If someone asked me about my career in product engineering, I would probably begin by talking about delivering software into production, meeting difficult deadlines and building systems that worked reliably. Those were important achievements, and they remain legitimate measures of success. They were also the aspects of the work for which I was most directly accountable.

An early example comes from my time working with Egg, the pioneering internet bank. We worked on a project called Dracula, a memorable name derived from its focus on account opening. The objective was to improve the process through which customers applied for and opened credit card accounts.

Customers who wanted a credit card had to complete an application, provide information, undergo checks and wait for a decision. Every unnecessary step introduced friction, while every delay created an opportunity for a prospective customer to abandon the process.

Our job was to improve the technology supporting that journey, making applications easier to complete and allowing customers to be approved more quickly. The commercial logic was clear. Reducing friction should help more customers complete their applications, while faster decisions could allow approved customers to begin using their accounts sooner. The financial benefit would depend on the number and quality of additional accounts opened, how customers subsequently used them and the revenue those accounts generated.

I remember the project as a good example of engineering work directed towards a tangible commercial objective. What I cannot now recall is the precise financial return it ultimately generated. That does not mean the return was never measured, or that the project failed to deliver it. It illustrates the difference between the aspects of an initiative that an engineering leader is likely to remember and those that become important when examining the investment from a broader business perspective.

As my career developed, I became more involved in business management, private equity, acquisitions and investment decisions. I became interested not only in whether an initiative delivered what was promised, but also in how its benefits appeared in the company’s financial performance.

Looking back, what interests me is not whether the project had a commercial purpose, because it plainly did, but how differently I now think about the evidence of its success. That change in perspective reflects a broader divide between two disciplines that have spent decades developing increasingly sophisticated, but often quite different, ways of measuring performance.

Two disciplines, two different schools

Software engineering has been trying to understand productivity for almost as long as the discipline has existed. We began by counting lines of code, moved towards measuring functionality and process maturity, then embraced Agile and eventually DevOps, which shifted attention towards the performance of the delivery system as a whole.

Each generation of measures addressed weaknesses in the previous one. Counting code told us little about its usefulness, while counting completed features said relatively little about the efficiency or reliability of the system producing them.

Fifty years of measuring software

EraApproachKey measuresContribution and limitations
1960s–1970sCode productivityLines of Code (LOC), KLOCQuantified code production but revealed little about usefulness, quality or maintainability.
1979 onwardsFunctional outputFunction PointsMeasured delivered functionality rather than code volume, without establishing its commercial value.
1990sProcess maturityCMM/CMMI, defect densityImproved attention to predictable processes and quality, but did not directly measure business performance.
2000sAgile and ScrumStory points, velocity, burndownEncouraged iterative delivery, feedback and adaptability, although more completed work did not necessarily mean more value.
2010sLean and DevOpsCycle time, lead time, recovery timeImproved delivery flow and operational performance, without directly establishing financial returns.
2014–2018DORADeployment frequency, change lead time, change failure rate, time to restore serviceEstablished measures of speed and stability and identified associations with organisational performance, but not project-level financial attribution.
2020sExpanded delivery metrics and AI-assisted developmentDORA’s five software delivery metrics, operational reliability and emerging AI productivity measuresImproved visibility into delivery performance and automation, while the financial contribution of individual initiatives remains difficult to establish.

The dates indicate when approaches emerged or gained prominence. Several overlap and remain in use. DORA’s delivery measures have evolved; operational reliability and AI productivity are related but distinct areas of measurement.

DORA’s 2018 research found an association between software delivery performance and organisational outcomes. Elite software delivery performers were 1.53 times more likely to meet or exceed their organisations’ performance goals, including measures such as profitability and market share. This is evidence of a relationship, although it does not establish the financial contribution of a particular engineering improvement.

Meanwhile, the people running and investing in software businesses were developing their own measures. They wanted to understand recurring revenue, customer acquisition costs, retention, profitability and the durability of future earnings.

Fifteen years of measuring SaaS business value

EraInvestment focusKey measuresContribution and limitations
2010–2015Recurring revenue and scaleARR, MRR, growth, churnEmphasised predictable subscription revenue, while the path to sustainable profitability could remain uncertain.
2016–2021Growth and market leadershipNet new ARR, LTV:CAC, Rule of 40, revenue multiplesEncouraged attention to growth and customer economics, sometimes alongside substantial capital consumption.
2022–2025Capital efficiency and profitabilityEBITDA margin, free cash flow, burn multiple, NRR, GRRBrought greater attention to profitability, retention and cash generation, although business quality remained difficult to separate from market conditions.
2026: emerging prioritiesSustainable earnings and AI resilienceEBITDA, FCF, margins, Rule of 40, retention, AI exposureIncreasing scrutiny of earnings durability, competitive advantages and the implications of AI disruption, with no settled new valuation regime.

These periods are broad interpretations of changing investor priorities, not distinct or universally accepted phases.

Both disciplines became more sophisticated, although they often approached performance from different directions. Engineering concentrated on the delivery system, while investors refined their understanding of growth, profitability, retention and the durability of future earnings. To understand why this distinction matters for software development, it helps to examine how those financial measures influence the value of a SaaS business.

For a PE-owned software company, Enterprise Value may be estimated by applying a valuation multiple to Annual Recurring Revenue (ARR) or EBITDA. Investors also use multiples of reported or forecast revenue, which should not be confused with ARR. Although the measures may be similar in a predominantly subscription-based business, they are not necessarily identical, and their valuation multiples are not directly interchangeable.

EV = ARR * ARR Multiple

or, for a business valued primarily on earnings:

EV = EBITDA * EBITDA Multiple

The choice depends on the company’s maturity, profitability, growth prospects and the market in which it operates. Investors will often consider several methods and examine the underlying cash flows and risks. A glossary of the financial measures used in this essay appears in the appendix.

An initiative that increases ARR or reduces recurring operating costs may increase the financial measure to which a multiple is applied. Improvements in retention, revenue predictability or earnings durability may also influence the multiple a buyer is prepared to pay. The effects are related, and care is needed not to count the same benefit twice.

Consider a SaaS business generating £20 million in ARR. At a valuation multiple of 3×, its implied EV would be £60 million. If the business increases ARR to £24 million while maintaining that multiple, its EV rises to £72 million. If investors also become willing to value the business at 5× ARR, the implied EV would be £120 million.

ScenarioARRARR multipleImplied EV
Starting position£20m3×£60m
ARR growth only£24m3×£72m
Higher multiple only£20m5×£100m
ARR growth and higher multiple£24m5×£120m

Valuation multiples cannot simply be engineered upwards by improving a handful of indicators. Buyers also consider market conditions, competitive threats, customer concentration, earnings quality and many other factors. Nevertheless, the example demonstrates why improvements in Gross Revenue Retention (GRR) or Net Revenue Retention (NRR) may have significance beyond the immediate revenue preserved. Strong retention can influence both revenue and investors’ confidence in the durability of future earnings.

In practice, most engineering initiatives will be easier to assess through their contribution to revenue, earnings, cash flow or risk reduction than through changes in the valuation multiple. The multiple reflects a wider assessment of the business and its prospects, making it particularly difficult to attribute changes to individual projects.

For managers participating in a Management Incentive Plan, the distinction can be consequential. Their eventual reward may depend on equity proceeds when the business is sold, after accounting for debt, financing arrangements, investor preferences and the terms of the scheme. EV is therefore not identical to shareholder returns, but understanding what drives it remains important.

An engineering leader might be delighted to report that deployment frequency has doubled and change lead time has fallen by 50%, while the private equity investor sitting opposite is concerned that NRR has fallen from 112% to 103% and EBITDA margin has deteriorated. Both have legitimate concerns, but neither set of measures explains the other.

Perhaps some of this separation is cultural. Many of us who grew up in computer science and software engineering did not spend much time socialising with the MBA crowd. We were more interested in distributed systems, object-oriented design and why the production database had stopped responding. They were studying discounted cash flows and competitive advantage.

We occasionally met in meetings, usually when somebody needed a budget approved.

The boundaries have become considerably less distinct over time. More technologists have become entrepreneurs, founders and business leaders, discovering that understanding customers, markets and financial performance is rather important when you are responsible for paying the salaries.

Eric Ries helped popularise this thinking through The Lean Startup, bringing experimentation, validated learning and commercial outcomes closer to the heart of product development. It also encouraged engineers to consider whether the things they were building were genuinely useful, rather than treating delivery itself as sufficient evidence of success.

We have been talking about business value for years

There is something slightly uncomfortable about suggesting that software engineering needs to pay more attention to business value, because we have spent much of the past twenty years insisting that it already does.

Agile methods encouraged us to prioritise work according to the value it delivered, while product management developed increasingly sophisticated approaches to understanding customer needs. More recently, the distinction between outputs and outcomes has become central to discussions about product development and organisational effectiveness.

Martin Fowler, made much the same distinction in his 2020 essay Outcome Over Output. Martin contrasted the things software teams produce with the changes those things are supposed to bring about. Delivering a feature is an output; increasing sales or reducing customer support calls is an outcome.

Gartner examined a related difficulty in its 2025 case study of Haleon, looking at how developer productivity could be understood and communicated in business value terms. That this remains a subject of contemporary research suggests that recognising the problem and resolving it are rather different achievements.

Consider an engineering team trying to integrate a new customer facing application with a legacy system designed sometime before the invention of colour television. The engineers are dealing with undocumented interfaces, inconsistent data, unreliable test environments and a security architecture that appears to have been assembled through a series of historical accidents.

Their immediate concerns are getting the integration working, making it reliable and ensuring that it does not bring down something important elsewhere in the organisation. The technical problems are difficult and tangible, while the connection between their work and financial performance is more distant. Engineers are not indifferent to that connection, but neither can they resolve it independently of the people responsible for product strategy, customers and commercial performance.

We have created roles intended to bridge some of these boundaries. Product Owners and Product Managers are expected to understand customer needs, prioritise work and maximise value. Yet these roles can also reinforce the separation. Engineering becomes responsible for delivery, product management for deciding what is valuable, and the financial consequences may sit somewhere else again, perhaps with sales, finance or the executive team.

Responsibility for demonstrating value can become distributed so widely that nobody necessarily owns the complete picture.

The missing middle: understanding what customers actually do

There is another discipline whose development over the past fifteen years deserves attention in this discussion: customer and product analytics.

While engineering was improving its ability to measure software delivery, companies were becoming much better at observing what customers actually did with the software they produced.

In the early days of web applications, analytics often meant counting page views, visits and conversions. Tools such as Google Analytics helped organisations understand how people arrived at a website, which pages they visited and where they left. Useful as this was, it offered a relatively limited picture of customer behaviour.

As SaaS businesses matured, a more sophisticated field of product analytics developed. Companies such as Mixpanel, Amplitude and Pendo helped product teams examine how customers used individual features, where they encountered difficulties, which behaviours predicted retention and how adoption differed between customer segments.

The questions became considerably more interesting. Did customers discover the feature we had just released? Did they use it more than once? Did it help them complete a task? Were customers who adopted it more likely to renew their subscriptions? Did it contribute to expansion revenue, or was it simply another feature that appeared briefly in a release announcement before disappearing into the product’s increasingly elaborate menus?

Consider a company that introduces a feature intended to improve customer retention. Engineering can measure how quickly the feature was delivered and how reliably it operates. Product analytics can show whether customers discover it, how frequently they use it and whether its adoption is associated with changes in engagement. Customer success teams may know whether those customers are more satisfied, while finance can examine renewal rates and revenue retention.

Imagine that the company can trace the feature from its original engineering investment through customer adoption and into subsequent renewals. It may still be difficult to prove that the feature caused those customers to stay, but the organisation now has evidence connecting what it built, how customers used it and what happened to the revenue associated with those customers.

That evidence could support an estimate of the financial contribution of the feature. If customers adopting it retain more revenue than comparable customers who do not, the company has a basis for investigating whether the investment is paying off. Controlled experiments, where practical, can strengthen the conclusion by helping to distinguish the effects of the feature from other influences.

Researchers have also begun exploring quantitative models that connect engineering productivity with the outcomes software produces. The 2024 paper Organizational Ohm’s Law in Practice: Measuring Engineering Productivity is an interesting example of this emerging work. Such approaches offer another way to examine the relationship between engineering activity and organisational performance, although establishing the financial contribution of individual investments remains a separate and considerably more difficult challenge.

There are limitations. Product analytics can tell us what customers do, but it cannot always explain why they do it. Heavy use of a feature may indicate that customers value it, or that they are struggling to accomplish something that ought to be simple. A feature associated with higher retention may be genuinely valuable, or it may simply be used more frequently by customers who were already unlikely to leave.

There are also practical difficulties connecting behavioural data with commercial outcomes, particularly in enterprise software where the person using the product may not be the person making the purchasing decision.

Nevertheless, we now have considerably better tools for understanding what happens after software reaches customers. The information is often available, although it may sit in different systems and be interpreted by different teams.

For an engineer accustomed to measuring the journey from code commit to production, the possibility of extending that journey into customer behaviour, retention, recurring revenue and ultimately enterprise value is rather tantalising. It suggests that the gap between engineering metrics and financial results may be more bridgeable than it once appeared.

The chatbot experiment

When organisations began giving employees access to ChatGPT, many quickly discovered that tasks such as drafting reports, summarising meetings and analysing information could be completed more efficiently. The benefits were often obvious to individual employees, but much harder to identify in the company’s financial results.

Saving thirty minutes preparing a presentation does not necessarily reduce the company’s labour costs. The employee is still employed, and the time saved may be spent on more valuable work, absorbed by other tasks or simply disappear into the working day. Without understanding what happens to that released capacity, the financial benefit remains uncertain.

McKinsey’s 2025 global AI survey found that organisations were reporting benefits from AI within individual business functions, including cost reductions and revenue improvements. Yet only 39% of respondents reported any enterprise-level impact on earnings before interest and tax, and most of those reporting an impact attributed less than 5% of earnings to AI. These were self-reported findings, rather than independently verified causal estimates.

The findings do not establish that the remaining investments were worthless. Some benefits may take years to materialise, while others may improve quality, resilience or customer experience without immediately appearing in financial results.

Giving people access to AI was a reasonable way to encourage experimentation and discover useful applications. The difficulty was assuming that thousands of individual efficiency gains would automatically accumulate into better organisational performance, without understanding what people accomplished with the additional capacity.

AI is changing the nature of software engineering

AI-assisted development tools can generate code, produce tests, identify defects, explain unfamiliar systems and automate increasingly substantial parts of the development process. Coding agents are beginning to undertake work that previously required sustained human attention, potentially changing both the cost and speed of software delivery.

Engineering leaders are understandably measuring the effects through familiar indicators, including DORA metrics, deployment frequency and change lead times. Gartner addressed the limitations of this approach in its August 2026 research, Optimize AI Software Engineering Value With Outcome-Driven Metrics, whose public abstract emphasises the importance of evaluating AI engineering investments through outcomes rather than relying exclusively on operational measures.

Gartner examined the financial dimension more explicitly in its April 2026 report, How to Maximize ROI From AI Investments in Software Engineering. Its central observation is that time saved through AI-assisted development does not automatically become financial value. Organisations must consider both the cost of adopting AI and the business outcomes that the additional engineering capacity makes possible.

The more interesting possibility is that AI changes how engineering teams organise themselves and what their members spend their time doing.

Approaches such as Spec-Driven Development are attracting interest because they place greater emphasis on defining the intended behaviour of software before asking AI agents to implement it. Rather than writing every line of code, engineers increasingly work on specifications, constraints, acceptance criteria, architecture and the verification of what agents produce.

Whether these changes produce a lasting reduction in the total cost of software engineering remains uncertain. Faster code generation is only one part of the development lifecycle, and the effort required to validate, secure, integrate and maintain AI-generated software may absorb some of the apparent savings. Even so, the changing distribution of work creates an opportunity to reconsider how engineering teams contribute to business outcomes.

If agents take on more of the mechanical work of implementation, engineers may have additional capacity to think about the problems they are solving. There may be opportunities to bring engineering, product management and customer understanding closer together.

A specification ought to express more than what the software should do. It should reflect an understanding of the problem the software is intended to solve. An engineer working closely with a product manager and a customer analyst may be better placed to challenge whether a proposed feature is necessary, how its success should be measured and what evidence would justify further investment.

This does not mean that engineers should suddenly become financial analysts or that product management will disappear. The disciplines have different skills and responsibilities for good reasons. But AI may create an opportunity to reconsider boundaries that developed partly because software implementation was so labour-intensive.

If AI allows engineering teams to produce software with fewer constraints, organisations will need to become more disciplined about deciding which investments deserve that capacity. In principle, they already have a mechanism for making those decisions: the business case.

The business case nobody revisits

Before a significant project begins, someone estimates its costs, describes the expected benefits and produces a financial justification. The document is reviewed and eventually approved, at which point attention moves towards delivery milestones, expenditure, scope and implementation risks.

Once the project is completed, attention generally shifts towards the next initiative. The financial assumptions that were so important when the investment was approved may receive relatively little attention after the software has been delivered.

A project justified on the basis of increasing customer retention may be declared successful because the software was delivered. A new platform expected to reduce operating costs may be celebrated because it went live on schedule. An AI initiative promising substantial productivity gains may be assessed by counting how many employees have adopted the tools.

These are legitimate measures of implementation, but they do not establish whether the investment delivered the benefits used to justify it.

There are exceptions, particularly where organisations have mature benefits-realisation practices or where financial outcomes are directly observable. But responsibility for measuring benefits can be fragmented. Financial assumptions belong to one team, operational measures to another, and commercial results to a third.

Revisiting business cases can also reveal that the original assumptions were wrong. A project may have been delivered successfully while generating little financial benefit. Another may have exceeded its budget but created substantial unexpected value. Neither outcome fits particularly comfortably into governance processes concerned primarily with whether projects are on time and within budget.

For a PE-owned business, I would strongly advocate that every material investment begins with an explicit thesis about how it might influence Enterprise Value, even when the connection is indirect or uncertain. The thesis should identify the intermediate measures through which the benefit is expected to emerge, together with the assumptions that need to hold. Just as importantly, it should be revisited after implementation, so the organisation can learn whether the anticipated contribution materialised.

This would make the business case a living hypothesis rather than a document that has served its purpose once funding is approved. The organisation could refine its assumptions as evidence emerges, examine whether the expected benefits are materialising and use what it learns to improve subsequent decisions.

The level of analysis should be proportionate to the investment and the uncertainty involved. A major platform modernisation programme might justify detailed financial modelling, while a smaller engineering improvement may need only a simple statement of its expected benefits and how they will be assessed. The important thing is to establish the connection without creating another elaborate process that consumes more effort than the investment itself.

An initiative to improve software delivery speed might have a thesis that shorter lead times will allow commercially valuable features to reach customers earlier, accelerating adoption and bringing forward additional ARR. A programme to reduce production defects might propose that improved reliability will reduce customer support costs, improve customer satisfaction and contribute to stronger GRR. A modernisation programme might reduce infrastructure expenditure, improve EBITDA and lower operational risks that could otherwise affect the valuation multiple.

Some investments are primarily defensive, and their value can be harder to demonstrate. Security, regulatory compliance, disaster recovery and technical debt reduction may deliver little immediately visible improvement in revenue or profitability. Their purpose is often to reduce the likelihood of something going badly wrong, or limit the damage if it does. A company might invest £500,000 in strengthening its security without experiencing a single breach before or after the work. That does not mean the investment created no value. If it has materially reduced the likelihood or potential cost of a serious incident, it may have protected customer relationships, future earnings and ultimately Enterprise Value. The difficulty is establishing how much risk has genuinely been removed, particularly when the outcome we are trying to prevent never occurs.

The chain does not need to reach EV directly. It may pass through several intermediate measures, including customer adoption, support costs, retention, pricing power, operating margins or changes in the probability and financial consequences of material risks. These intermediate measures are often where the most useful evidence can be collected.

This does not mean engineering teams should be held individually accountable for changes in Enterprise Value. Their responsibility is to understand how their work contributes to the wider business objectives, while product, commercial and financial teams share responsibility for establishing whether those benefits are realised. The purpose is to improve investment decisions and organisational learning, rather than replace engineering measures with a financial target that engineers cannot directly control.

Even where the causal relationship is weak, uncertain or difficult to quantify, we should still articulate it. An explicitly uncertain hypothesis can be tested and improved. An unstated assumption cannot.

Over time, revisiting these hypotheses could help an organisation understand which types of engineering investment tend to create financial value, which produce less than expected and which have benefits that were not anticipated. That knowledge would be useful when deciding where to invest next.

The uncomfortable problem of causality

There is a legitimate reason why connecting operational improvements to financial performance is difficult. Businesses are complicated systems, and financial results are influenced by many things happening simultaneously.

Suppose a software company introduces AI-assisted development and subsequently experiences a 10% increase in revenue. It would be tempting to attribute some of that growth to the investment, particularly if software delivery performance had also improved. Yet the company might have increased marketing expenditure, changed its pricing, hired additional salespeople or benefited from improving market conditions. A competitor might have withdrawn from the market, or a major customer could have expanded its contract for reasons entirely unrelated to software delivery.

Even when the connection appears plausible, isolating the contribution of one initiative can be extremely difficult.

Some relationships are relatively direct. If an automated process eliminates a third-party service costing £200,000 annually, and the contract is cancelled without replacement costs, the financial benefit is straightforward to establish.

Others are more complicated. Reducing software defects might lower customer support costs, but the relationship will depend on the types of defects eliminated, how customers experience them and the extent to which support activity actually changes. Further away, we might believe that faster software delivery improves customer satisfaction, which contributes to retention and eventually increases revenue. The relationship is plausible, but several other factors influence the outcome.

Product analytics can strengthen the evidence by showing what customers actually do, while controlled experiments can sometimes help isolate the effects of particular changes. Even so, connecting those changes to company-level financial performance may require assumptions about customer behaviour, pricing, costs and the timing of benefits.

There is another complication when we try to connect these improvements to Enterprise Value. EV is not continuously observable in most private companies. A publicly listed company has a share price that changes throughout the trading day, but a privately owned business does not have an equivalent measure. Its value is usually estimated periodically, or established when somebody invests in or buys the company.

Even when we have a valuation, it can change for reasons that have little to do with the company’s performance. A business might improve customer retention, increase its revenue and become more profitable, only to find that buyers are willing to pay lower valuation multiples because market conditions have changed. Equally, a company’s estimated value might rise simply because investors have become more enthusiastic about its industry.

This means we need to distinguish between making a business more valuable and being able to prove precisely how much its value has increased. If an engineering initiative helps retain customers or reduce operating costs, we can gather evidence of those improvements and estimate their financial contribution. We may not be able to say that a particular project increased EV by exactly £5 million, but we should be able to explain how it contributed to the factors that determine EV, how confident we are in that conclusion and what we have learned for future investments.

None of this means we should abandon the attempt to measure financial contributions. Businesses routinely make investment decisions with incomplete information, whether they are forecasting sales, evaluating acquisitions or estimating the returns from marketing expenditure. What matters is understanding the assumptions behind an estimate, the evidence supporting it and how much confidence we should place in the result.

An imperfect but credible estimate of financial impact may be more useful than a precisely calculated operational metric whose commercial significance remains uncertain.

The danger of becoming more efficient at the wrong thing

AI makes this problem more urgent because it offers the prospect of substantial improvements in the speed and cost of producing software.

For years, the practical constraints of software development forced organisations to make choices. Engineering capacity was expensive and limited. Product managers had to prioritise features, negotiate trade-offs and decide which opportunities justified the available resources.

Those constraints were frustrating, but they also imposed a degree of discipline. As AI reduces the effort required to produce software, the constraint may increasingly move elsewhere. Organisations could find themselves capable of building far more functionality than their customers need, their commercial teams can sell or their operations can support.

Our stuffed-toy factory provides a useful warning. Its automation programme might increase production capacity by 30% and reduce unit costs, but if demand remains unchanged, the result could be growing inventories, additional working capital and eventually discounted stock. The factory would have become substantially more efficient without necessarily becoming a more valuable business.

Software is not identical to manufacturing. Unsold features do not accumulate in warehouses, and the marginal cost of distributing software is often low. But unused functionality still carries costs in maintenance, complexity, security, support and the attention required to manage it.

An organisation that doubles its software output without improving its ability to identify valuable opportunities may simply become more efficient at producing things nobody particularly needs.

This is why better customer analytics, experimentation and new ways of organising engineering teams matter. If the cost of producing software falls dramatically, the ability to identify worthwhile problems and understand whether they have been solved becomes correspondingly more valuable.

What are we actually improving?

For much of my career, making software development faster, more predictable and more reliable seemed an entirely reasonable measure of success. I still believe those improvements are valuable, and the engineering profession has made extraordinary progress in achieving them. But my experience of running and investing in businesses has made me increasingly interested in what happens after those improvements have been made, and how their contribution to financial performance can be understood.

AI may make this question considerably more pressing. For most of the history of software engineering, producing software has been expensive, difficult and time-consuming. Those constraints have shaped the way we organise teams, allocate budgets and decide what to build. If AI continues to reduce the effort involved in implementation, some of those assumptions will need to be reconsidered. Engineering capacity may become less of a constraint, while identifying valuable opportunities, understanding customers and deciding where to invest become more important.

There is an interesting possibility that the next significant improvement in the economics of software engineering will come from getting better at deciding what to build, rather than simply becoming faster at building it. We have spent decades developing increasingly sophisticated measures of engineering productivity, and AI may accelerate that progress considerably. Meanwhile, advances in product analytics have given us a much better understanding of what customers actually do with the software we produce. Bringing those capabilities together could allow organisations to make better investment decisions and learn more quickly from the results.

For PE-owned companies, Enterprise Value provides a useful financial destination for that work. A business that can connect its engineering investments to improvements in customer retention, recurring revenue, operating margins and the durability of future earnings should be better placed to understand which initiatives are contributing to its value. Establishing those connections will rarely be straightforward, and even a carefully constructed EV thesis may remain uncertain long after a project has been delivered. Nevertheless, explicitly examining the relationship is preferable to assuming that improvements in engineering productivity will eventually find their way into the financial results.

Of course, private equity is only one perspective. Other organisations will have different objectives, and even PE investors must consider debt, financing arrangements and the wider determinants of shareholder returns. The broader challenge is to understand how operational improvements contribute to the outcomes an organisation is trying to achieve, rather than relying exclusively on measures of how efficiently work is performed.

What interests me most is that AI may eventually help us with both sides of this problem. We are already using it to produce software more efficiently, but the same technology may also make it practical to analyse the relationships between engineering activity, customer behaviour and financial performance in much greater detail. If that proves possible, we could begin to develop a more reliable understanding of which investments create value, how much they contribute and what we should do differently next time.

That would be a useful development for a profession that has spent so much of its history learning how to build software better.

Appendix: Financial measures used in this essay

MetricWhat it measuresWhy investors care
ARRAnnual Recurring Revenue from subscriptions and recurring contracts.Indicates the scale and predictability of recurring revenue.
ARR multipleEnterprise Value divided by ARR.Shows how highly investors value the recurring revenue base.
EBITDAEarnings before interest, tax, depreciation and amortisation. It is not a measure of cash flow.Indicates operating earnings before certain financing and accounting effects, but does not account for capital expenditure or working-capital requirements.
Free Cash Flow (FCF)Cash generated from operations after capital expenditure, subject to the company’s accounting and reporting conventions.Shows cash available for reinvestment, debt repayment or distributions.
Rule of 40Annual revenue growth percentage plus a consistently defined profit-margin percentage.Evaluates the balance between growth and profitability.
Net Revenue Retention (NRR)The percentage of starting recurring revenue retained from existing customers after churn, contraction and expansion.Indicates whether existing customer relationships are growing or shrinking in revenue terms.
Gross Revenue Retention (GRR)The percentage of starting recurring revenue retained from existing customers after churn and contraction, excluding expansion revenue.Reveals underlying revenue losses that upselling might otherwise conceal.
LTV:CACCustomer lifetime value relative to customer acquisition cost.Tests the economics of acquiring customers.
CAC paybackTime required to recover customer acquisition costs from gross profit.Measures how quickly customer acquisition investment is recovered.
Burn multipleNet cash burn divided by net new ARR.Measures capital efficiency in cash-consuming growth businesses.

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  15. Colman, M., Swan, C. A., Agarwal, N. and Parker, L. (2026). How to Maximize ROI From AI Investments in Software Engineering. Gartner, 22 April 2026.
  16. Organizational Ohm’s Law in Practice: Measuring Engineering Productivity. (2024). IEEE. Full bibliographic details to be verified.

The US–China AI race

China’s rise and the growing risks of the AI race

For the past three years, artificial intelligence has been dominated by a familiar collection of American companies. OpenAI, Anthropic, Google and Meta have attracted extraordinary investment, recruited some of the world’s best researchers and built increasingly powerful models. Their progress has been remarkable, although the cost of achieving it has been equally remarkable. Training a frontier model requires enormous computing resources, and operating one at scale creates another substantial bill.

China has approached the same problem from a different position. American restrictions on advanced semiconductor exports have made access to the most powerful AI chips more difficult, while fierce domestic competition has placed considerable pressure on prices. Chinese developers have consequently had strong incentives to find more efficient ways of training and running models. What began partly as a response to technological constraints has become a competitive advantage.

The arrival of DeepSeek R1 in January 2025 brought this into focus. Here was a Chinese company offering reasoning capabilities that challenged leading American systems while publishing its model weights and claiming substantially lower training costs. Some early comparisons were overstated, particularly those confusing the cost of an individual training run with the full expense of developing a frontier model. Nevertheless, DeepSeek demonstrated that sophisticated AI could be developed and distributed using a different economic model.

Alibaba, Moonshot AI, Z.ai and MiniMax have since helped establish a Chinese AI industry considerably broader than many Western observers appreciate.

How do Chinese and Western models compare?

Comparing AI models has become surprisingly difficult. Some excel at mathematical reasoning, others at writing software, analysing documents or operating tools autonomously. Performance also changes depending on how much computing power a model is allowed to spend answering a question.

The following comparison is deliberately approximate. Benchmark scores are indicative rather than definitive, and not every model has been evaluated under identical conditions. The pricing figures are similarly illustrative, reflecting reported API rates rather than a uniform, independently verified price survey.

RegionCompanyModelPrincipal strengthsScore*API input / output**
USOpenAIGPT-6 AstraReasoning, coding, agents53$10 / $50
USAnthropicClaude Opus 5.5Reasoning, coding, autonomous tasks58$4 / $20
USGoogleGemini 4 ArgonMultimodal reasoning, long context53$2 / $10
USMetaMuse Spark 1.3General reasoning, efficient inference48$1.25 / $4.25
FranceMistralMistral Large 4Coding, enterprise deploymentN/V$0.68 / $2.09
ChinaXiaomiMiMo-V2.6-ProReasoning, coding46N/V
ChinaAlibabaQwen 3.8 MaxCoding, multimodal applications45$2 / $6
ChinaZ.aiGLM 5.3Coding, agents45Varies
ChinaDeepSeekV4 ProReasoning, coding36$0.66–1.74 / $1.98–3.48
ChinaMoonshot AIKimi K3Long-context reasoning, agents44$0.50–3 / $12–15
ChinaMiniMaxM3Coding, multimodal tasksN/VN/V

Approximate benchmark index points, not percentages or a uniform ranking. Indicative USD per million input/output tokens, October 2026. Prices vary by provider and usage conditions; some entries have not been independently verified. N/V means not verified.

What stands out is the number of Chinese developers competing across essentially the same technical territory as their American counterparts. Chinese models are increasingly designed for sophisticated reasoning, software development and autonomous agents, rather than simply providing inexpensive alternatives for routine tasks.

American proprietary models remain strong at the frontier, but the gap varies considerably by task. There is also an important distinction between performing well on a benchmark and operating reliably in a business environment. I’ve explored that problem in an earlier essay comparing leading AI models, where apparently small differences in performance can be much less meaningful than they first appear.

Pricing introduces another dimension. Several Chinese developers offer capable models at substantially lower prices than leading Western frontier systems, although Western companies also provide inexpensive smaller models. OpenAI’s GPT-6 Luna, for example, has been offered at $0.10 per million input tokens and $0.50 per million output tokens. Comparing prices without considering capability is rather like comparing the cost of two employees without asking what work they can actually do.

The effect of Chinese competition has therefore been to increase pressure across the price-performance spectrum. This becomes particularly important for AI agents that may make hundreds or thousands of model calls while completing a task. The wider economic consequences connect with my earlier essay, What is a company for when intelligence is cheap?

Another distinction concerns distribution. Several Chinese developers publish open-weight models that organisations can download and operate themselves, rather than accessing them exclusively through a commercial API. Meta and Mistral also offer open-weight models, but Chinese companies have made this approach particularly important to their competitive positioning. It offers flexibility and infrastructure independence, although it also makes subsequent control over model deployment considerably harder.

China’s industrial advantage

China’s progress extends beyond a collection of talented research laboratories. Artificial intelligence forms part of a broader industrial strategy intended to reduce dependence on foreign technology and strengthen domestic manufacturing and infrastructure.

The government’s AI Plus initiative encourages adoption across established industries, including manufacturing, transport and robotics. China already has enormous industrial capacity, sophisticated supply chains and companies operating at scale in electric vehicles, telecommunications and automation. These provide opportunities to apply AI to physical processes rather than concentrating primarily on software and information work.

An AI system that improves factory scheduling, reduces defects or enables an industrial robot to perform a new task has an economic value that can be measured relatively directly. It may be less glamorous than demonstrating that a model can solve an obscure mathematical problem, but the potential productivity gains are substantial.

There are limitations. Semiconductor restrictions remain a constraint, and government support can sustain investments that would struggle under ordinary commercial scrutiny. Nevertheless, the combination of domestic competition, industrial demand and strategic investment gives Chinese developers considerable opportunities to improve their products.

It also creates pressure to demonstrate progress, which introduces a less comfortable aspect of the competition.

The safety problem

The incentives driving AI development are not necessarily aligned with those required for safety. Releasing a more capable model ahead of a competitor can bring considerable commercial rewards. Delaying that release for additional evaluation may produce little visible benefit, particularly if a rival proceeds anyway. The company exercising caution risks losing customers and investment, while the benefits of its restraint are shared across the industry.

This is not exclusively a Chinese problem. American companies face similar pressures, although their approaches to testing, disclosure and regulation differ.

The concern becomes more serious as models acquire the ability to operate autonomously. A conventional chatbot produces an answer that someone can examine before acting upon it. An AI agent may write and execute code, access information systems or perform sequences of actions with limited human supervision. Errors that were previously confined to a conversation can become operational incidents. This connects with a question I explored in Who signs their name to the answer?, concerning responsibility when organisations delegate consequential decisions to AI.

Our ability to evaluate these risks remains immature. Developers can test models against known categories of harmful behaviour, but cannot comprehensively anticipate every interaction between a model, its tools and an unfamiliar environment.

A Reuters report published on 9 October 2026⁠ examined research into safety disclosures by major Chinese AI developers. The study found that only 31 of 857 model releases, approximately 3.6%, had publicly disclosed model-specific safety evaluations. Just nine had published those evaluations at or before launch.

These figures do not establish that the remaining models were released without testing, nor did the research provide an equivalent comparison with American developers. They do, however, illustrate how little independent evidence may accompany the release of increasingly capable systems.

China is not ignoring AI safety. Its government has introduced regulations and safety initiatives addressing generative AI services and emerging risks. However, regulatory priorities differ between countries. China’s approach places considerable emphasis on information control, social stability and compliance with national requirements, while Western frameworks have tended to give greater prominence to privacy, discrimination, transparency and systemic risks. There is overlap, but reaching agreement on what constitutes an acceptably safe model is difficult.

Open-weight models introduce another complication. Once distributed, their developers cannot reliably withdraw them, enforce safety updates or prevent others from modifying safeguards. There are substantial benefits to openness, including independent research and scrutiny, but these need to be considered alongside the difficulty of controlling subsequent deployment.

When competition becomes a race

There is a familiar pattern in technological competition. As one organisation announces a breakthrough, rivals accelerate their own development programmes. Investors expect progress, customers anticipate frequent improvements and researchers become reluctant to spend months evaluating systems that may soon be superseded.

In most industries, this competition benefits customers. Products improve, prices fall and innovation accelerates. AI introduces an uncomfortable complication because the capabilities being developed may eventually exceed our ability to understand their behaviour or reliably constrain their actions.

China’s emergence as a credible frontier competitor makes the problem harder to manage. Even if American laboratories agreed to more demanding safety evaluations, they would have limited influence over Chinese developers operating under different regulatory arrangements. The reverse is equally true. Neither side needs to be indifferent to safety for a dangerous dynamic to develop. Both merely need to believe that the other is moving faster.

Governments have reinforced this tension by treating AI leadership as a matter of national economic and strategic importance. Technological sovereignty and national competitiveness encourage investment, but they also make restraint politically difficult.

There is a strong case for international agreement on minimum evaluation standards, independent testing of particularly capable systems and greater transparency about serious incidents. Such cooperation would not require countries to abandon competition or disclose valuable intellectual property. Aviation, nuclear engineering and pharmaceuticals demonstrate that rigorous safety processes can coexist with commercial rivalry, although establishing them requires considerable institutional effort.

AI has not yet developed an equivalent international framework, and the technology is evolving considerably faster than the institutions attempting to govern it.

China’s progress deserves to be understood on its own merits. Its developers are producing sophisticated models, challenging assumptions about the cost of AI and creating credible alternatives to American technology. The competition is likely to accelerate innovation and make advanced systems accessible to many more organisations.

What remains uncertain is whether that same competition will leave sufficient room for the slower, less visible work of understanding how these systems behave, how they might fail and when they should not be deployed. Both China and the West may recognise the risks while neither feels able to slow down. That is a rather more difficult problem than deciding which country has the best AI model, and one for which another impressive benchmark result offers little reassurance.

The Companies Building the Rest of AI

The artificial intelligence industry has become rather obsessed with a handful of companies. OpenAI, Anthropic, Google and their Chinese competitors dominate the headlines, with each new model release accompanied by impressive benchmarks and increasingly ambitious claims about what machines will soon be capable of doing.

But behind this competition, another industry is taking shape. Building more intelligent models is only part of the challenge. We still have remarkably little understanding of how neural networks arrive at their decisions, struggle to control what autonomous agents can do, and are discovering that running AI at scale requires extraordinary amounts of computing power and electricity.

Some of the most interesting companies are trying to solve these problems rather than build another general-purpose language model. I’ve picked five that I think are worth following, each working on a different part of the emerging AI ecosystem.

Dynamo AI: Keeping autonomous AI under control

Dynamo AI was founded in 2021 by MIT researchers Christian Lau and Vaikkunth Mugunthan, whose early work focused on privacy, security and the responsible deployment of machine learning. The company has since developed technology that helps organisations test, monitor and control AI systems.

The problem becomes particularly interesting with the emergence of autonomous agents. An AI that answers questions can certainly make mistakes, but an agent that can access corporate systems, execute code, transfer information or make decisions introduces a different class of risk. Traditional security controls can determine whether someone has permission to access a database, but an AI agent might have perfectly legitimate access and still decide to do something nobody intended.

Dynamo’s products, including AgentWarden, attempt to address this by assessing the tools available to agents and enforcing policies as they operate. Rather than relying entirely on instructions telling an AI to behave itself, organisations can impose controls at the points where an agent interacts with other systems.

I find this an important area of development because the more capable agents become, the harder it will be to justify giving them unrestricted access to business operations. I should also disclose a personal connection: my son works at Dynamo AI, although I have no financial interest in the company. That has naturally made me follow its work more closely.

Goodfire: Understanding what is happening inside the machine

Goodfire was established in San Francisco in 2024 by researchers with backgrounds in AI interpretability, including work at OpenAI and Google DeepMind. Its ambition is to understand how neural networks actually work, a question that sounds rather basic until you appreciate how little we currently know about the internal mechanisms of the most sophisticated models.

Modern neural networks are trained using vast amounts of data and computation. Through this process they develop complex internal representations that allow them to reason, recognise patterns and generate surprisingly sophisticated responses. Researchers understand the mathematical operations involved, but identifying exactly how a model represents a concept or arrives at a particular decision remains difficult.

Goodfire is working on mechanistic interpretability, developing techniques that reveal and manipulate these internal representations. Its research has explored whether understanding a model’s internal workings can help reduce hallucinations, detect undesirable behaviour and improve training.

The company raised $150 million in February 2026, reflecting growing interest in this field. What appeals to me is the possibility of moving AI development away from the current reliance on enormous experiments, repeated testing and considerable educated guesswork. Other engineering disciplines generally expect practitioners to understand how their creations function. AI has made extraordinary progress without meeting quite the same standard, although Goodfire is not alone in trying to change that.

d-Matrix: Tackling the economics of intelligence

d-Matrix was founded in 2019 by semiconductor engineers Sid Sheth and Sudeep Bhoja. The company designs specialised processors for AI inference, the process of running a trained model to produce answers, rather than training the model in the first place.

The distinction is becoming economically important. Training a frontier model can cost hundreds of millions of dollars, but once deployed, that model may be asked to answer billions of questions. Every interaction requires computation, and increasingly sophisticated reasoning models can consume substantial processing resources even when responding to relatively straightforward requests.

Much of this workload currently runs on expensive GPUs, particularly those supplied by Nvidia. d-Matrix has developed an alternative architecture that brings memory and processing closer together, reducing the movement of data that can slow down conventional computing systems. Its Corsair accelerator entered full production in June 2026 and is designed to work alongside existing infrastructure to improve inference performance.

The potential implications are significant. If AI is going to become a routine part of business software, its cost per useful result will become a critical commercial measure. There is little point developing an extraordinarily capable agent that costs more to operate than the work it replaces. Companies that can materially improve the economics of inference may end up capturing considerable value, even if most people never encounter their names.

Prime Intellect: Challenging the concentration of AI computing power

Prime Intellect was founded in 2024 by Vincent Weisser and Johannes Hagemann. Its objective is to make advanced AI development possible without requiring every participating organisation to own or rent a vast, centrally managed computing facility.

The largest AI models have traditionally been trained using thousands of tightly connected processors operating within enormous data centres. This is expensive and creates a substantial barrier to entry for independent researchers, universities and smaller technology companies.

Prime Intellect is developing techniques that allow computing resources in different locations to collaborate on training tasks. That is technically difficult because processors separated by thousands of miles communicate far more slowly than machines sitting next to one another. The company has nevertheless demonstrated distributed training, including its INTELLECT-2 project, which used globally distributed reinforcement learning to train a 32-billion-parameter reasoning model.

This work interests me for reasons beyond computing efficiency. Access to sufficient processing power increasingly determines who can undertake serious AI research. If the industry’s future depends on infrastructure affordable to only a handful of companies and governments, the consequences for competition and independent innovation could be considerable. Prime Intellect is exploring whether that concentration is an unavoidable feature of AI or partly a problem of engineering design.

ElevenLabs: Changing how we communicate with computers

ElevenLabs was founded in 2022 by Polish entrepreneurs Mati Staniszewski and Piotr Dąbkowski, initially inspired by the poor quality of dubbed films. They wanted to produce synthetic speech that sounded genuinely human, preserving expression, timing and emotion rather than simply converting written words into recognisable sounds.

The company has expanded into voice generation, translation, dubbing and real-time conversational technology. In September 2026, it reached a valuation of $22 billion following a secondary share transaction, an extraordinary achievement for a business only four years old.

Its broader significance lies in making spoken conversation a practical interface for AI. A genuinely useful voice assistant needs to do considerably more than understand words. It must handle interruptions, recognise when someone has finished speaking, respond with minimal delay and maintain the natural rhythm of conversation. These are difficult technical problems that become more demanding when the system is also expected to reason and take action.

For decades, humans have adapted to computers through keyboards, screens, menus and increasingly elaborate software interfaces. Natural conversation offers the possibility of reversing some of that relationship. ElevenLabs is also confronting the accompanying problems of consent, impersonation and fraud, particularly when synthetic voices become difficult to distinguish from real ones.

An industry still being invented

What I find striking about these companies is how different their challenges are. Dynamo is concerned with controlling AI behaviour, Goodfire with understanding it, d-Matrix with making it economical, Prime Intellect with broadening access to its development, and ElevenLabs with changing how we interact with it.

None has an assured future, and some of their technologies may eventually be absorbed into the platforms of the larger technology companies. There is also a reasonable possibility that improvements in the underlying models will change the problems themselves, making some approaches more valuable and others redundant.

Yet the existence of these businesses tells us something about the maturity of the AI industry. We have made remarkable progress in creating intelligent systems, but many of the disciplines required to make those systems dependable, affordable and widely accessible are still being developed.

The major model providers will continue to attract most of the attention, understandably. I suspect, though, that some of the most consequential innovations over the next few years will come from companies solving problems that rarely feature in the benchmark tables. They are building the infrastructure, tools and scientific understanding on which the next stage of AI will depend.

GitHub Spec Kit: A Practical Guide to AI-Supported Software Development

GitHub Spec Kit is an open-source toolkit for implementing Specification-Driven Development (SDD) using AI coding agents.

Rather than asking an AI agent to write software directly from a prompt, Spec Kit introduces a structured process in which requirements are clarified, technical decisions are made, implementation tasks are generated and the resulting software is verified.

It represents an interesting evolution of ideas developed through Behaviour-Driven Development (BDD) and Acceptance Test-Driven Development (ATDD), where the emphasis was on agreeing what software should do before writing it. The difference is that AI agents can now undertake much of the implementation, testing and documentation.

Spec Kit works with GitHub Copilot and a range of other supported coding agents. It is not tied to a particular cloud platform and can be incorporated into existing Microsoft Azure, AWS or hybrid engineering environments.

1. The Spec Kit lifecycle

Spec Kit organises development around a series of commands, each producing or refining artefacts that inform the next stage.

StageCommandPurposeMain output
1. Establish principles/speckit.constitutionDefine engineering standards and constraintsconstitution.md
2. Specify/speckit.specifyDescribe what the software must do and whyspec.md
3. Clarify/speckit.clarifyIdentify ambiguity and missing requirementsUpdated spec.md
4. Plan/speckit.planDetermine how the software will be implementedplan.md and supporting design files
5. Check requirements/speckit.checklistAssess the completeness and quality of requirementsRequirements checklists
6. Break down work/speckit.tasksGenerate implementation tasks and dependenciestasks.md
7. Analyse/speckit.analyzeCheck consistency between specifications, plans and tasksAnalysis findings
8. Implement/speckit.implementExecute tasks using the coding agentCode, tests and documentation

The sequence is structured, but not rigid. Teams can revisit specifications and plans as they learn more.

The crucial distinction is that the specification describes the intended behaviour, while the plan describes the technical implementation.

This separation helps prevent technical decisions from prematurely determining what the product should do.

2. Getting started

You need Git, Python tooling, uv and a supported AI coding agent. For a Microsoft-oriented development team, GitHub Copilot is a natural starting point.

Install Spec Kit from a terminal:

uv tool install specify-cli --from git+https://github.com/github/spec-kit.git

Create a project configured for Copilot:

specify init my-project --ai copilot
cd my-project

Open the project in your coding environment and start your AI agent.

The commands in the next section are entered into the agent’s chat, not the terminal. Exact command syntax and supported integration options can change between Spec Kit releases.

3. A worked example

Imagine developing a feature for a regulatory compliance platform that allows customers to receive alerts when regulations affecting their business change.

Step 1: Establish engineering principles

/speckit.constitution
Use Azure-native services.
Follow established security and coding standards.
Require automated unit and integration tests.
Use existing APIs and shared components where possible.
All changes must pass CI/CD quality gates.

These principles are intended to apply consistently across subsequent development.

Step 2: Specify the feature

/speckit.specify
Allow customers to subscribe to regulatory
changes affecting selected countries and topics.
Customers must be able to:
- Select countries and regulatory topics
- Choose notification frequency
- View relevant changes
- Unsubscribe at any time
Include measurable acceptance criteria.

The agent creates a structured specification describing the required behaviour.

Step 3: Clarify requirements

/speckit.clarify
Identify ambiguous business rules,
edge cases and missing acceptance criteria.

For example, what happens when a customer subscribes to a topic that has no regulatory updates? How should the system handle a regulatory change affecting multiple countries?

These questions are resolved before implementation, reducing the likelihood of expensive rework.

Step 4: Develop the technical plan

/speckit.plan
Use the existing Azure architecture,
.NET APIs and established authentication.
Reuse existing notification services.

The agent examines the requirements and proposes an implementation approach consistent with the project’s engineering principles.

Step 5: Validate and generate tasks

Run /speckit.checklist to review requirements quality, followed by /speckit.tasks to generate the implementation work breakdown.

The /speckit.analyze command can then identify inconsistencies between the specification, technical plan and implementation tasks.

Step 6: Implement and verify

Run /speckit.implement to build the feature.

The coding agent works through the generated tasks, producing code, tests and supporting documentation.

The team then verifies the implementation against the specification, executes automated tests and resolves any defects or missing functionality.

Importantly, passing the generated tests is not sufficient evidence that the original business requirement has been understood correctly. The product leader and domain expert must still validate the resulting behaviour.

4. What files does Spec Kit create?

Most development artefacts are Markdown files stored alongside the source code.

FilePurpose
constitution.mdProject-wide engineering principles
spec.mdFunctional requirements, user scenarios and acceptance criteria
plan.mdArchitecture and implementation approach
research.mdTechnical research and decisions
data-model.mdData structures and relationships
tasks.mdImplementation tasks and dependencies
quickstart.mdInstructions for exercising or validating the feature
contracts/API and interface definitions
checklists/*.mdRequirements-quality checklists

Not every feature requires every file. Some are generated only when relevant.

The files provide persistent context for agents and an auditable record of the team’s decisions.

They also make it easier for different agents or engineers to continue work without relying entirely on conversational history.

5. How does this relate to BDD and ATDD?

Spec Kit has a particularly interesting relationship with Behaviour-Driven Development and Acceptance Test-Driven Development.

Dan North’s work on BDD and the work Richard Watt and I undertook on ATDD shared an important principle: software development should begin with an agreed understanding of the behaviour the system must exhibit.

The specification should describe what successful software looks like, while executable acceptance tests provide evidence that the implementation satisfies those expectations.

Spec Kit extends this thinking into a structured, AI-supported engineering workflow.

However, Spec Kit does not automatically guarantee the discipline of ATDD.

For example, a requirement might state:

Customers must receive notifications about regulatory changes relevant to their subscriptions.

A useful acceptance scenario would be:

Given a customer subscribes to French
environmental regulations
When a relevant regulation is updated
Then the customer receives a notification
according to their selected frequency
And the notification links to the
regulatory change

These examples can be included in the specification and converted into automated acceptance tests.

For a production team, I would make this an explicit engineering principle: important business behaviour should have agreed acceptance criteria and appropriate automated verification.

There is also a potential weakness in AI-supported development. If the same agent generates the specification, implementation and tests, all three may share the same misunderstanding.

Independent validation of business intent therefore remains important.

6. How should a team use Spec Kit?

For an organisation moving from Scrum towards AI-supported SDD, I would initially retain a small multidisciplinary team with clear responsibilities.

RoleResponsibility
Product leaderDefines the customer problem, intended value and priorities
Domain expertExplains business rules and validates expected behaviour
Software engineerOwns architecture, technical decisions, agent supervision and code quality
AI coding agentGenerates plans, code, tests and documentation
Quality specialistEstablishes testing strategy and independent verification
Product leader and engineerJointly assess progress and readiness for release

These are responsibilities, not necessarily six separate people.

A product leader might work directly with a domain expert and two engineers, supported by coding agents and shared engineering services.

The team should work iteratively rather than attempting to specify an entire product before implementation begins.

One of the advantages of AI-assisted development is that working software can be produced relatively quickly, allowing the team to refine requirements through observation and feedback.

This should reduce the need for large upfront specifications while preserving the discipline of defining expected behaviour.

7. How does Spec Kit fit with Azure, GitHub and AWS?

Spec Kit is not a replacement for an application lifecycle management platform. It provides a structured, specification-led development workflow that can operate across different cloud environments and engineering toolchains.

Both Microsoft and AWS offer technologies that support AI-assisted software development. Spec Kit itself is cloud-agnostic, although the choice of coding agent, development environment and deployment platform influences how the workflow is implemented.

A practical comparison is:

CapabilityMicrosoft / GitHub toolchainAWS toolchain
Specification-driven developmentGitHub Spec KitGitHub Spec Kit, Kiro
AI coding agentsGitHub CopilotAmazon Q Developer, Kiro
Development environmentVS Code, Visual Studio, GitHub CodespacesVS Code, JetBrains, Kiro IDE
Source controlGitHub, Azure ReposGitHub, AWS CodeCommit
Work managementAzure Boards, GitHub IssuesGitHub Issues, Jira
CI/CDGitHub Actions, Azure PipelinesAWS CodePipeline, CodeBuild, CodeDeploy
Infrastructure as CodeBicep, TerraformAWS CDK, CloudFormation, Terraform
Automated testingExisting testing frameworks, Azure PipelinesExisting testing frameworks, AWS CodeBuild
SecurityGitHub Advanced Security, Microsoft Defender for CloudAmazon Inspector, AWS Security Hub
DeploymentAzure App Service, Azure Container Apps, AKSAWS Lambda, ECS, EKS
ObservabilityAzure Monitor, Application InsightsAmazon CloudWatch, AWS X-Ray
AI model servicesMicrosoft Foundry, Azure OpenAIAmazon Bedrock
Flow analytics and forecastingNave, Azure DevOps Analytics, GitHub InsightsNave, Jira reporting, third-party flow analytics

AWS Kiro

AWS has introduced Kiro, an AI development environment that places specification-driven development at the centre of its approach.

Kiro is particularly relevant because it provides an integrated experience for moving from requirements to technical design, implementation tasks and agent-assisted development.

Where Spec Kit provides an open-source framework that works with different coding agents, Kiro combines specification management and AI-assisted engineering within a dedicated development environment.

Both approaches share the principle that developers should establish what the software needs to do before asking AI agents to implement it.

Measuring and forecasting delivery with Nave

An important part of adopting Spec-Driven Development is understanding whether it genuinely improves the flow of work through the software development lifecycle.

Nave provides flow analytics and probabilistic forecasting, complementing Spec Kit and the underlying development toolchain.

It measures several important aspects of delivery performance:

  • Cycle time: How long work takes from starting development to completion.
  • Throughput: How many work items are completed over a given period.
  • Work in progress: How much work is being undertaken simultaneously.
  • Flow efficiency: How much time work spends actively progressing compared with waiting.
  • Cumulative flow: How work moves through different stages and where queues develop.

Nave also uses historical delivery data to produce probabilistic forecasts.

Rather than asking developers to estimate precisely how many days a feature will take, product leaders can use observed delivery performance to understand the likelihood of completing work within a particular timeframe.

For organisations transitioning from Scrum to AI-supported SDD, this provides a useful alternative to story points and velocity.

Spec Kit helps structure and execute the development work. Nave helps measure and forecast how that work flows through the delivery process.

Together, they could provide a practical foundation for managing an AI-supported SDLC.

There is one important qualification. Nave measures the flow of work represented in the team’s work management system. If specifications, agent tasks and implementation activities are not reflected appropriately in that system, the measurements may provide an incomplete picture.

Teams therefore need consistent definitions of when work starts, finishes and moves between stages, particularly when AI agents change how development tasks are organised.

Choosing the right toolchain

For an organisation already invested in Microsoft Azure, GitHub and Azure DevOps, Spec Kit with GitHub Copilot is a sensible starting point. It can be introduced incrementally without replacing the existing engineering platform.

For an AWS-oriented organisation, Kiro deserves consideration alongside Spec Kit, particularly where teams want a more integrated specification-to-implementation experience.

For organisations operating across both cloud platforms, Spec Kit offers the advantage of separating the specification-led development process from the underlying cloud infrastructure.

Nave can complement either approach by providing an independent view of delivery performance and forecasting.

The objective is to establish a repeatable, measurable, AI-supported SDLC, not simply to select the most capable coding assistant.

8. What should you measure?

The objective is not to generate more code or specifications. It is to deliver valuable software more quickly, economically and reliably.

For an initial pilot, I would measure five things:

MeasureWhat it tells us
Idea-to-production lead timeWhether customer needs reach production faster
Cycle time and throughputWhether work flows more efficiently through development
Engineering effort per featureWhether development becomes more economical
Escaped defectsWhether quality is maintained
Feature adoptionWhether customers use the resulting functionality

Nave can provide much of the flow-related evidence, while engineering systems provide information about effort, quality and deployment performance.

Product analytics and commercial systems are needed to establish whether the resulting functionality creates business value.

This distinction matters.

A reduction in development cycle time is an operational improvement. Its commercial significance depends on whether it enables valuable functionality to reach customers earlier, whether those customers adopt it and whether adoption influences revenue, retention or cost.

A useful value hypothesis might therefore be:

If SDD reduces the time required to deliver customer-requested functionality by 40%, we expect valuable features to become available earlier. Where customers adopt those features, this should accelerate the associated revenue opportunities and potentially improve retention.

The hypothesis can then be tested using delivery baselines, actual release dates, adoption data and commercial outcomes.

9. A practical first experiment

I would start with a small feature in an existing application, rather than building an entirely new product.

Choose something with genuine business rules, a manageable technical scope and measurable acceptance criteria. Use one domain expert and one or two engineers, supported by coding agents.

Run the complete Spec Kit lifecycle, including clarification, acceptance criteria, automated verification and deployment.

Use Nave, where the existing work management data supports it, to establish a delivery baseline and observe how work progresses through the experiment.

Record the effort involved in specification, implementation, testing, rework and release. Pay particular attention to where humans intervene, how often specifications change and whether the agents create additional verification or rework.

Compare the results against a representative baseline from the existing development process.

The experiment should answer three questions:

  1. Speed: Can a small team deliver reliable software faster using SDD?
  2. Economics: Does the reduction in implementation effort exceed any additional effort required for specification, verification and agent supervision?
  3. Value: Does faster delivery enable valuable functionality to reach customers earlier?

The first two questions can be answered relatively quickly. The third requires observing customer adoption and commercial results over a longer period.

For a PE-backed software business, this distinction is particularly important. A technically successful experiment is useful, but the investment case depends on whether the new development model can produce measurable economic benefits within the available investment horizon.

Spec Kit, coding agents and tools such as Nave provide an increasingly practical foundation for testing that proposition.

The opportunity is not simply to automate software development. It is to redesign the development lifecycle around a much shorter journey from customer need to working software, while retaining the engineering discipline needed to deliver it reliably.

Spec-Driven Development: An Old Idea Whose Time May Finally Have Come

Software engineering has a habit of rediscovering good ideas, giving them new names and presenting them as revolutions. Spec-Driven Development (SDD), one of the more interesting developments emerging from AI-assisted software engineering, has some of those characteristics. But this time there may be a genuinely important difference.

Around twenty years ago, Dan North (in conjunction with Liz Keogh and Chris Matts) were developing the ideas that became Behaviour-Driven Development (BDD). His work challenged the distinction between requirements and testing, arguing that software development should begin with a shared understanding of the behaviour we expect from a system. Rather than treating tests as something engineers write after implementing functionality, BDD encouraged teams to describe expected behaviour in language that business people and developers could both understand.

Around the same period, I was working with Richard Watt on Acceptance Test-Driven Development (ATDD). We were exploring a closely related principle: define what successful software looks like through acceptance tests before writing the code. Those tests become a contract between the business and engineering, providing an objective means of establishing whether the requirement has been satisfied.

The underlying ambition was to reduce the ambiguity and misunderstanding that so often occur between someone describing a business problem and someone writing the software to solve it.

These approaches worked, but they required considerable discipline. Writing meaningful acceptance criteria took effort, automating tests required engineering expertise, and maintaining the relationship between requirements, tests and implementation was often difficult. Under delivery pressure, the process could easily deteriorate into writing user stories followed by conventional development and testing.

AI may fundamentally change the economics of this approach.

What is different about SDD?

Spec-Driven Development takes the idea of defining intended behaviour and extends it across the software development lifecycle, using AI agents to undertake much of the implementation.

Microsoft’s engineering ecosystem, including GitHub’s Spec Kit, provides a practical illustration. The process begins with a specification describing what the software should do and why. AI agents help clarify the requirements, develop an implementation plan, break it into tasks and generate the software. They can also create tests, review code and check the implementation against the specification.

The resulting lifecycle looks something like this:

Customer need > Specification > Acceptance criteria > Technical plan > Agent implementation > Automated verification > Deployment > Customer feedback.

The important change is not simply that AI writes code. It is that a specification can become the central artefact around which development is organised, with much of the translation into software performed automatically.

In conventional development, requirements are interpreted by engineers who make hundreds of small implementation decisions. In SDD, many of those decisions can be delegated to agents operating within established architectural, security and quality constraints.

Engineers remain responsible for the design, integrity and operation of the resulting system, but their work increasingly involves directing, reviewing and improving the output of agents rather than writing every line themselves.

The return of executable requirements

This is where the connection to BDD and ATDD becomes particularly interesting.

A specification written in natural language is useful, but it is not necessarily precise. An AI agent can misunderstand a requirement just as easily as a human developer, and may produce an impressively complete implementation of entirely the wrong thing.

Acceptance tests provide an important safeguard.

Consider a requirement stating that customers should receive a discount when their annual subscription exceeds a certain value. That sounds straightforward until someone asks whether the discount applies to the entire subscription, only the amount above the threshold, or whether existing customers retain their previous pricing.

BDD and ATDD encouraged us to resolve precisely these questions through concrete examples of expected behaviour. SDD can use the same approach, with AI helping generate scenarios, identify inconsistencies and turn agreed acceptance criteria into executable tests.

There is an important qualification. If the same agent generates the specification, implementation and tests, all three may share the same misunderstanding. Human validation of business intent remains essential, as does independent verification where the risks justify it.

Do we still need Scrum?

SDD also raises some uncomfortable questions about how we organise software development.

Scrum emerged in a world where software engineering was relatively expensive and coordination between specialists was necessary. Product owners maintained backlogs, developers implemented stories, testers verified functionality and Scrum Masters helped teams manage the process.

If AI agents substantially reduce implementation and testing effort, the balance of work changes.

I suspect we will see smaller, more multidisciplinary teams in which domain experts, product leaders and engineers collaborate directly on specifications, with agents undertaking much of the subsequent development.

This doesn’t eliminate the need for product management, engineering expertise or delivery coordination. It does, however, challenge the assumption that the organisational structures developed around human coding capacity remain optimal.

The interesting question becomes how many people are needed to take a customer problem from initial understanding through to a reliable production solution, rather than how many developers are required to implement a backlog of stories.

Iteration still matters

One danger is that organisations interpret SDD as a return to exhaustive upfront requirements.

That would be a mistake.

We learned through Agile that requirements evolve as people see and use working software. SDD should accelerate that learning rather than attempt to eliminate it.

A team might develop an initial specification, ask an agent to implement a small part of it, review the working result and refine its understanding. The cycle could repeat several times in a day.

Specifications should be sufficiently detailed to establish intent and verify behaviour, but no more elaborate than the problem requires.

Indeed, one of the most promising aspects of agentic development is the possibility of reducing the cost of experimentation. When producing working software becomes cheaper, teams can explore alternatives and learn from them much earlier.

The business value is not in writing code faster

There is a temptation to measure the success of SDD through developer productivity, lines of code generated or reductions in engineering headcount. Those measures miss much of the opportunity.

The more important question is whether an organisation can respond to customer needs more quickly and economically.

If SDD reduces the time between identifying a valuable product opportunity and getting working functionality into customers’ hands, that could accelerate adoption, improve retention or bring forward revenue. Equally, if the organisation produces more unwanted functionality, faster development achieves very little.

We should therefore measure the entire journey from customer need to commercial outcome, not simply the speed of code generation.

Perhaps we were right all along

Looking back at the work Dan North was doing with BDD and the work Richard Watt and I were doing with ATDD, I am struck by how little the fundamental problem has changed.

We wanted business people and engineers to agree what software should do before spending time building it. We wanted requirements to be testable, misunderstandings to be discovered early and working software to be demonstrably correct.

Those remain sensible ambitions.

What has changed is the technology available to realise them. AI agents can now help translate specifications into implementations, generate tests and repeatedly refine software at a speed that would have seemed extraordinary twenty years ago.

SDD is not simply BDD or ATDD with an AI agent attached. It extends specification-led thinking into architecture, implementation and delivery, and raises new questions about governance, quality and accountability.

But I find it rather satisfying that some of the most promising ideas in modern AI-assisted software engineering have their roots in work we were doing two decades ago.

Perhaps the real breakthrough isn’t that machines can finally write software. It’s that we might now be able to spend more of our time deciding what software is actually worth writing.

If AI can do the homework, what is school for?

A child sits down at the kitchen table with an essay due the following morning. The subject is the causes of the First World War. She could read a chapter, make notes, decide which causes mattered most, struggle with the structure, write a poor first paragraph and gradually work out what she thinks. Or she could ask an AI system to produce 1,200 words at the appropriate level and be upstairs ten minutes later.

The first instinct of many schools has been to make AI harder to use. Phones are banned, more work is supervised, detection software is bought, coursework is redesigned and, in some cases, students are sent back to pen and paper. Some of this is sensible, particularly while schools work out what AI means for assessment. But it risks becoming an elaborate effort to recreate the conditions under which the old system worked, rather than asking a more uncomfortable question: does homework still provide the evidence of learning that we once assumed it did?

Until recently, an essay seemed to offer reasonably reliable evidence of learning. It was the visible result of an invisible process involving reading, confusion, selection, argument, doubt and revision. If a student produced a decent essay, it was reasonable to assume that some of that intellectual work had taken place. AI has made the assumption much less secure. It can produce the finished piece without requiring much of the thinking that once lay behind it.

That is why the debate so quickly becomes one about cheating, but cheating is only part of the problem. Education has always relied on proxies for learning because they are convenient to collect. Essays, worksheets, problem sets and examinations can be marked, compared and graded. Actual understanding is much harder to package. While producing the proxy required the student to do most of the thinking, the distinction hardly mattered. Now it does.

There is another complication. AI is not a temporary classroom nuisance that schools can wait out. The children using it today are likely to enter universities and workplaces where AI is simply part of how work gets done. They will use it to research, analyse, write, code, design, translate, plan and solve problems. In many jobs, using these systems well will not be an optional extra but part of being competent at the job. An education system that responds by keeping AI away from pupils may therefore succeed in protecting an assessment while leaving them less prepared for the world being assessed for.

That does not mean giving children an AI assistant for every task. Writing remains one of the ways we discover what we think, and anyone who has tried to explain a complicated idea on paper knows how often a supposedly clear thought collapses when it encounters a sentence. Knowledge matters too. Someone who knows almost nothing about a subject is badly equipped to judge an answer that is fluent, plausible and wrong. As machines become more convincing, that judgement becomes more valuable rather than less.

The issue is therefore not whether students should use AI, because increasingly they will. It is when they should use it, when they should work without it, and whether they understand enough to know the difference. Someone learning arithmetic still needs to understand multiplication before relying on a calculator. In much the same way, a student needs enough command of writing, research or reasoning to recognise when an AI has produced something weak. But once that foundation exists, deliberately denying them the tools they will use after school begins to look rather artificial.

What changes is the assumption that producing an answer proves understanding. A student might be allowed to use AI to prepare an essay and then be asked to defend it. Why is this evidence stronger than that evidence? Which claim are you least certain about? What would a historian who disagreed with you say? Which part of the AI’s argument did you reject? A student who understands the subject will usually cope. One who has merely commissioned a competent answer from a machine will often reveal that fairly quickly.

Examinations become more interesting in this world because they offer something coursework increasingly cannot: some certainty about what a student can do unaided. Put thirty students in a room, remove their phones and hand them a paper and you have a reasonably secure measure of that. There is still value in knowing it. The mistake would be to assume that unaided performance is the only capability worth measuring when almost nobody will work that way once they leave education.

Exams also have distortions of their own. They reward recall under pressure, speed, exam technique and the ability to perform on a particular morning, none of which is quite the same as judgement, creativity, collaboration or working through a difficult problem over several days. A student can be excellent at exams and less good at the kind of thinking adult life requires, while another can understand a subject deeply and perform badly in a silent hall at nine o’clock on a Tuesday.

Assessment may therefore need to become more varied rather than simply more secure. We need to know what a student can do unaided, but also what they can do with AI, with other people, under uncertainty and over time. That could mean closed-book examinations alongside oral defence, collaborative projects, practical work and assignments in which AI use is expected and the student is assessed on the quality of their judgement. Perhaps they should sometimes be required to show how they used AI, what they rejected and what they changed. Knowing how to challenge a machine may become as important as knowing how to operate one.

There is another reason school matters that gets less attention in discussions about educational technology. Children do not go there only to acquire information. They go there to encounter other children. They learn how to join a group, contribute to one and occasionally survive one. They collaborate with people they would not necessarily have chosen as friends, argue, compromise, lead and follow. Somewhere along the way they discover that being right is not always enough if nobody wants to work with you.

Friendship, embarrassment, loyalty, boredom, rivalry, kindness and the occasional spectacular falling-out do not appear neatly on a curriculum, but they shape people nevertheless. So does discovering that values become harder when they encounter other people. Fairness sounds straightforward until two children both believe they have been treated unfairly. Respect is easy in the abstract and rather harder when somebody has just taken your place in the team. Debate involves learning not merely how to argue, but how to listen closely enough to understand why somebody sensible might disagree.

School also gives children repeated experiences of success and disappointment at a scale they can usually survive. They get picked and not picked, praised and criticised, win and lose, produce work they are proud of and work they would rather forget. They learn that effort does not guarantee victory and that failure, although unpleasant, is usually temporary. Resilience grows through those experiences rather more effectively than it does from a lesson about resilience.

AI can help with many parts of education, but it cannot reproduce this social world. Nor does its arrival make teachers redundant. Information is abundant and explanations are becoming abundant too. What remains scarce is the experienced human being who notices that a pupil has misunderstood something, asks the question that reveals why, or recognises that a child who appears lazy is actually lost, bored or frightened of getting something wrong. Good teachers create standards, model behaviour, resolve conflict and encourage effort. Much of that work has always been difficult to measure.

Perhaps AI is exposing something that was already true. Schools were built partly for a world in which knowledge was difficult to access and intellectual labour was expensive to perform. That world is disappearing quickly. A machine can now draft, summarise, translate, calculate and explain across a remarkable range of subjects. Keeping children away from those capabilities until they leave school would be an odd preparation for adult life, but allowing them to rely on them before they have learned to think for themselves would be equally misguided.

Education now has to do both. It has to develop independent minds and teach those minds how to work intelligently with machines. It has to produce people who can reason without AI when necessary, use it when useful, spot weak evidence and sophisticated nonsense, and still do the much older human things: collaborate, disagree, recover from failure, make friends and become someone other people can trust.

If AI can do the homework, school still has plenty to do. It may simply force us to become more honest about how much of the important work was never really the paper that got turned in after all.

An economy without first jobs

A curious reversal is taking place in the journey into adulthood. Young people leave home at eighteen, spend three or four years at university becoming educated and independent, then graduate and move back into the bedroom they thought they had left behind. Housing costs explain part of it, but something else is becoming harder to ignore: for many graduates, the first proper job is becoming extraordinarily difficult to get.

The numbers are uncomfortable. The Institute of Student Employers says major employers are now receiving about 140 applications for each graduate vacancy, compared with 38 two decades ago. The ONS reports that 28.7 per cent of 20 to 34-year-olds were living with their parents in 2025, up from 25.4 per cent a decade earlier. Those figures do not prove that graduates are moving home because AI took their jobs. They do show a labour market already under strain just as AI begins to change the economics of entry-level work. (ISCE)

You can see the human version in young people applying for dozens of jobs, sometimes more than a hundred, and hearing little or nothing back. They were told to work hard, go to university and acquire useful skills. Many did exactly that. They are now discovering that the first rung of the career ladder has become crowded just as employers are asking whether they need quite so many rungs.

The attraction for companies is obvious. If AI can draft contracts, write routine software, analyse accounts, summarise research and prepare presentations, firms will need fewer people doing work traditionally given to trainees and graduates. Each decision may be rational. The problem is that junior work has always done two jobs at once: it produced useful output and, almost accidentally, produced experts.

The senior engineer who knows that an architecture feels wrong has usually spent years seeing smaller systems go wrong. The lawyer who notices the dangerous clause has read thousands of harmless ones. Expertise often looks like instinct from the outside, but much of it is accumulated experience compressed into judgement. AI is becoming very good at removing precisely the tasks through which that experience was acquired.

So two problems are developing together. Companies may become more efficient today while weakening the pipeline of people capable of running them tomorrow, while society accumulates well-educated young adults who cannot get the experience required to become experienced. For a while firms can recruit people trained under the old system. That is a finite resource masquerading as a labour market.

Public policy still feels oddly behind the problem. Britain has an energetic AI agenda built around compute, investment, skills and AI Growth Zones intended to accelerate data centres and supporting infrastructure. The government has begun to acknowledge the employment issue, with measures announced in 2026 around entry-level jobs, AI training and graduate traineeships. But the balance remains revealing. We are planning where the servers will live and how they will be powered with considerably more urgency than how young people will enter the professions those servers are changing. (GOV.UK)

That deserves attention because this could become a social problem before it becomes an obvious economic one. A few graduates spending an extra year at home is ordinary family life. A generation repeatedly unable to establish careers, incomes, independence and confidence is something else. If the entry point into professional work shrinks significantly, the consequences will eventually appear in housing, family formation, tax revenues and politics, by which time the problem will be harder to unwind.

The answer is not to preserve pointless junior work, nor to send every graduate on another course in how to use AI. We may need mechanisms that deliberately bridge education and employment: government-supported graduate apprenticeships, temporary wage subsidies or grants that make taking on inexperienced people attractive, and partnerships between universities, employers and professional bodies that create genuine work experience rather than another certificate.

Companies have a responsibility too. If AI removes routine production, they will have to design apprenticeship rather than assuming it happens automatically. Junior lawyers can use AI to draft but must learn to challenge the draft. Young engineers can build with coding agents but should own what they build and investigate when it fails. The aim is to automate the drudgery without automating away the experiences from which judgement develops.

For decades, junior employment, useful work and professional education were bundled together, so nobody had to think very hard about the mechanism. AI is pulling them apart while the graduate labour market is already creaking. If we treat that simply as another productivity opportunity, we may discover too late that we have built an economy with fewer entry-level jobs, fewer future experts and a large number of young people still waiting for adult working life to begin.

Getting started with Ai, practical advice for medium sized business

A medium-sized company could do something quite sensible tomorrow: buy ChatGPT licences for its employees, give people some basic guidance and tell them to experiment. I would probably do it. What I would not do is mistake that for the company’s AI strategy.

Giving people access to a capable general-purpose AI tool is a bit like giving everyone spreadsheets or internet access. You cannot predict all the useful things they will discover. A finance analyst may automate part of a monthly reporting process, a salesperson may research accounts faster, someone in HR may reduce the time spent drafting job descriptions, and a developer may use it to understand unfamiliar code. Those gains are often small individually, but they can accumulate across an organisation, and trying to design all of them centrally would be hopeless.

There are good reasons, then, to make AI widely available. It creates familiarity, reduces the risk that AI becomes something done by a specialist innovation team while everyone else carries on as before, and it reveals where the real opportunities are. Employees usually know far more about the irritating, repetitive and unnecessarily difficult parts of their jobs than an AI steering committee ever will.

The problem comes when those local gains are confused with business value.

If everybody saves twenty minutes here and forty minutes there, the company may end the year with thousands of claimed hours of productivity and almost no detectable improvement in its financial performance. This is already one of the central problems with AI adoption. Organisations measure what is easy to count, so they report licences activated, prompts submitted, employees trained and applications created. Then somebody on the board asks whether revenue grew faster, costs fell, customers stayed longer or products reached the market sooner, and the connection is often surprisingly hard to make.

A sensible AI programme therefore needs two things happening at the same time. The first is broad experimentation. Give employees good tools, establish clear security and data rules, train people enough that they understand what the technology can and cannot do, and encourage them to use it on real work. There is no need to demand a business case every time someone wants to save half an hour preparing for a meeting.

The second activity needs much more discipline. Choose a small number of business outcomes that already matter and deliberately use AI to try to change them.

Suppose a company wants to increase revenue from existing customers. That is a much better place to start than a list of AI technologies. Ask what is preventing that revenue from growing faster. Perhaps new functionality takes nine months to reach customers. Perhaps salespeople spend too much time preparing proposals. Maybe account managers cannot identify which customers are most likely to buy an additional product, or onboarding takes so long that customers reach useful adoption months later than they should.

Now there is something concrete to work on.

Take the software example. Imagine a product feature currently takes nine months from approval to customer availability, and the company believes AI-assisted development could reduce that to six. The interesting measure is not lines of code written or even developer productivity in isolation. The interesting measure is whether those three months change anything commercially. Customers can use the product earlier, some may adopt it earlier, and some may therefore pay for it earlier.

The value chain is fairly simple: faster development leads to earlier availability, which may lead to earlier adoption and earlier revenue. That is now a hypothesis worth testing.

Before changing anything, establish the existing baseline. Measure how long comparable work currently takes, run a controlled experiment with a real product team, and observe what changes. Then keep following the chain towards the business outcome. If development becomes 30 per cent faster but product revenue does not move, that is not necessarily a failed experiment. It may reveal that engineering was never the real constraint. Product decisions may still take six weeks, security approval may take another month, sales may not know how to sell the new capability, or customers may simply not want it.

That is useful information because AI often makes one part of an organisation faster and exposes the next bottleneck.

This is why I would be cautious about launching a large collection of centrally sponsored AI projects. A medium-sized business does not need fifty pilots. It needs a handful of experiments where success or failure can actually be observed.

For each one, write down the argument before spending serious money. What business measure are we trying to change? What operational measure should move first? Why do we believe changing that measure will influence the business result? What happens today, and what would probably happen if we did nothing? Most importantly, what evidence would convince us that the experiment worked?

That can fit on one page and is much more useful than a thirty-page AI strategy.

There is another reason to separate broad employee adoption from strategic AI investment: they have different economics. Giving hundreds of employees ChatGPT may cost a meaningful amount of money, but it is relatively reversible. If people use it and find value, continue. If they do not, reduce the licences.

Changing a core operating process is different. Rebuilding product development around AI, automating customer support or introducing AI into underwriting, compliance or financial operations changes how the company works. Those decisions deserve proper measurement, controls and management attention.

The mistake is treating these two activities as though they are the same.

The better model is to let employees explore widely while the company invests narrowly. A central AI team, if there is one, should spend less time dreaming up use cases and more time finding places where local experimentation has uncovered something economically interesting.

Imagine that forty salespeople independently start using AI to prepare for customer meetings. That is worth paying attention to. The next step is not necessarily to buy a new enterprise sales platform. It is to study what is happening. Does preparation time fall? Do salespeople conduct more meetings? Does opportunity creation increase? Does conversion improve? Does revenue per salesperson move?

If the causal chain survives examination, industrialise it. If it does not, leave it as a useful personal productivity tool and move on.

This distinction also helps with one of the most awkward claims being made about AI productivity. Employees will quite reasonably report that AI saves them hours each week, and vendors will publish studies showing impressive efficiency gains. Some of those numbers will be true, but an hour saved is not automatically an hour of economic value.

If an employee finishes the same work at 4:30 rather than 5:00, that may be a genuine improvement in their working life and worth having for that reason alone. But unless the organisation does something with the released capacity, it should not quietly turn thirty minutes into a financial return in a spreadsheet.

Management has to decide what it wants to do with the productivity. It might allow people to handle more customers, build more product, reduce external spending, avoid hiring that would otherwise have been necessary, improve service or shorten a process that delays revenue. Those are measurable consequences, and that is where the business case becomes real.

For most medium-sized organisations, I would start with exactly this combination. Give knowledge workers access to AI where the economics make sense, let them experiment, and accept that some of the benefit will remain informal and difficult to measure. At the same time, choose perhaps three strategically important problems and attack them with much greater discipline.

After a year, I would rather see a company with widespread everyday AI use and three demonstrably valuable changes to how the business operates than one with seventy-five AI projects and an impressive slide showing that 82 per cent of employees have used a chatbot.

Adoption matters, but what ultimately matters more is whether the business has actually changed because of it.

What happens when technology moves faster than society can organise?

A child working in a Lancashire cotton mill in 1800 would have understood something about technological progress that we prefer to forget. The machines were extraordinary. They could produce cloth at a speed and price that would previously have seemed impossible, creating fortunes, transforming cities and helping Britain become the dominant industrial power of the nineteenth century. They also created workplaces in which children under ten worked appalling hours around dangerous machinery. Society eventually responded, but slowly. Britain passed its first factory legislation in 1802. More Acts followed. By 1833 there were factory inspectors. Employers found ways around the rules, so Parliament legislated again in 1844, 1847 and afterwards. The technology arrived first, prosperity followed, damage accumulated, and regulation came later. Enforcement then had to catch up with the regulation.

We have been repeating variations of this sequence ever since, although what has changed is the scale of the consequences. For most of human history, our capacity to cause trouble was reassuringly local. A badly governed kingdom could destroy itself. An army could sack a city. A new weapon could alter the balance between neighbouring states. Human stupidity was frequently catastrophic for the humans immediately concerned, but the planet was largely indifferent.

Industrialisation began changing that equation because it gave us something humans had never possessed before: the ability to amplify physical power independently of human muscle. Coal became steam, steam became industry, and industry led eventually to electricity, chemicals, mechanised warfare, mass production, aviation, nuclear physics, computing, biotechnology and artificial intelligence. Each step increased what a relatively small number of people could do. Our ability to organise ourselves did not increase at anything like the same rate, and in these times where Ai is upon us, I have started to wonder whether that may eventually be the fact that matters most about us.

We tend to imagine existential risk as a story about dangerous technologies: nuclear weapons, engineered pathogens, artificial intelligence, climate change. But perhaps the technology is not the underlying problem. The main issue is the widening gap between the rate at which humans acquire new capabilities and the rate at which humans can collectively decide how those capabilities should be used.

Technology compounds while institutions deliberate. A laboratory can discover something in an afternoon. A company can deploy software in minutes. Capital can cross the planet in milliseconds. An election still takes years. An international treaty can take a decade, with enforcement taking longer again. By the time the regulatory machinery has understood one generation of technology, the technology itself may already have moved on.

There is an obvious objection to this pessimism, which is that humans are capable of extraordinary cooperation. They plainly are.

Smallpox is probably the finest example. The United States and Soviet Union managed to cooperate on its eradication during the Cold War, despite being otherwise occupied with the possibility of annihilating one another. The World Health Organization coordinated surveillance and vaccination across borders and political systems. The last naturally occurring case was recorded in 1977, and in 1980 the WHO declared smallpox eradicated. It remains the only human infectious disease we have eliminated entirely.

The Montreal Protocol is another awkward example for anyone inclined towards despair, because it worked too. Scientists identified that chlorofluorocarbons were destroying stratospheric ozone. Governments negotiated restrictions. Industry developed alternatives. Nations complied sufficiently well that, assuming continued adherence to the Montreal Protocol, the ozone layer is now expected to return to roughly 1980 levels around 2040 across most of the world, around 2045 in the Arctic and around 2066 over Antarctica.

These are magnificent achievements, but the more I think about them, the less reassuring they become. Smallpox was unusually cooperative. Everyone wanted it dead. Eradicating it did not make America poorer while making Russia richer. There was no powerful smallpox industry warning about the economic consequences of vaccination, and no country gained a strategic advantage from allowing the disease to circulate for another twenty years. The virus had no shareholders.

Ozone depletion was more economically complicated, but it still had features that made cooperation possible. The causal chain was reasonably clear, a comparatively narrow family of chemicals was responsible, and substitutes could be developed. Civilisation did not depend upon continuously increasing its consumption of CFCs.

Climate change is rather different because the problematic technology is, in effect, modern civilisation itself. Cheap, abundant energy sits underneath almost everything we value: food, transport, housing, medicine, manufacturing, computing and economic growth. Countries are therefore being asked to constrain one of the foundations of prosperity today in return for benefits that are spread across the entire planet and extend decades into the future.

We have built an impressive global architecture of conferences, scientific assessments, treaties, targets and national commitments around the problem, and some of it has worked. Renewable energy has expanded rapidly, technologies have improved and many economies use energy more efficiently than they once did. Yet global energy demand continues to rise.

That should not really surprise us. The incentive to cooperate exists at the level of humanity, while the incentive to defect exists at the level where decisions are actually made. A government may believe deeply in reducing global emissions while also knowing that electricity prices, industrial employment and economic growth influence whether it survives the next election. A developing country may accept the science while reasonably asking why it should abandon the cheap energy that richer countries used to become rich. An oil producer may understand climate models perfectly well while knowing that another producer will happily sell the barrel it leaves underground.

Everyone can believe essentially the same thing and still behave differently because they occupy different positions inside the system.

Nuclear weapons offer an even starker case. For more than eighty years humanity has possessed machines capable of destroying civilisation and has somehow refrained from using them in war since 1945. There have been treaties, hotlines, inspections, arms-control regimes and painstaking diplomatic arrangements. At various points the United States and Soviet Union dismantled enormous numbers of weapons. This is strategic collaboration at its most impressive.

And yet thousands of nuclear warheads still exist. Nuclear powers are modernising their arsenals, and the international arms-control framework has been weakening.

There is something almost absurd about this. We discovered a technology that might end organised human life, correctly identified the danger, built international institutions specifically to manage it, negotiated agreements between bitter enemies and spent generations discussing disarmament. After all that, the rational conclusion of nearly every nuclear state is still that it would prefer to possess nuclear weapons while everybody else gets rid of theirs.

At the level of humanity, abolition makes obvious sense. At the level of an individual state, retention can make equally obvious sense. The difficulty is that states make decisions and humanity does not.

Artificial intelligence may become the purest version of this problem because technological development and competitive pressure are now so closely fused. There is already substantial international cooperation around AI safety. Governments have held summits, research institutes have been created, and leading AI companies have made commitments around testing, evaluation and risk thresholds. There is serious work going on to understand the possibility of misuse, loss of control and wider social harm.

The difficult question is what happens when safety and strategic advantage point in opposite directions.

Imagine that one AI laboratory believes the next generation of systems requires another year of safety research, while its competitor does not. Or America pauses and China continues. Or China pauses and America continues. Or both governments agree to slow down, only for a third state to decide that an eighteen-month technological lead is the greatest strategic opportunity it is likely to see in a century.

Every participant may understand the systemic risk perfectly. It may not matter. The rewards for being first are concentrated, while the risks of catastrophe are distributed. The structure almost demands the race.

We often blame this sort of behaviour on greed, but greed is too simple an explanation. Most people participating in the system are not unusually greedy. They are responding quite rationally to the incentives around them. A chief executive who voluntarily makes their company permanently less competitive in pursuit of an abstract global good may eventually be replaced by one who will not. A fund manager who accepts consistently lower returns because humanity would benefit from less economic activity loses assets to a fund manager who does not. A politician who deliberately reduces national prosperity while neighbouring countries continue growing will eventually meet an electorate. An employee who rejects economic competition altogether still needs somewhere to live.

Even our retirements depend on the machine continuing to run. Pension funds own equities. Equities require returns. Returns require businesses to produce profits and, usually, to grow them. Businesses compete for customers, labour, resources and capital. Governments depend on economic activity for tax revenues, which support healthcare, education, pensions, defence and the very institutions that are supposed to protect us from the consequences of all this activity.

We have made ourselves economic objects inside the system we created. There is no obvious lever marked stop.

Capitalism is particularly effective at accelerating useful technology precisely because it converts human ambition into competition. Thousands of organisations pursue thousands of ideas simultaneously. Failure kills the weak ones. Success attracts capital. Successful technology spreads. It is an astonishing discovery engine. What I am much less certain about is whether it is a good survival engine.

The same competitive process that gives us better batteries, medicines and computers makes restraint unstable. If an opportunity exists, somebody has an incentive to exploit it. If one country prohibits something, another can permit it. If one company decides a capability is too dangerous to commercialise, another can decide that the danger is manageable. Technological civilisation therefore contains something close to an evolutionary process. Possible capabilities occupy niches, economic actors explore them, and profitable capabilities reproduce.

Nobody needs to be in charge, which is perhaps the most unsettling part. We tend to imagine that avoiding catastrophe requires humanity to make a catastrophically bad decision, but perhaps it requires nothing of the sort. Billions of individually sensible decisions may be enough.

This becomes uglier as resources tighten. Our instinct when something valuable becomes scarce is not universal generosity but resource guarding. Individuals guard property. Companies guard intellectual property and markets. Nations guard energy, food, water, semiconductors, strategic minerals, territory and military capability.

There is perfectly good evolutionary logic behind this. A tribe that shared its winter food with every neighbouring tribe might have been morally admirable for a surprisingly short period of time. But behaviours that protected small human groups can become pathological when eight billion people operate inside a technologically integrated civilisation.

Climate instability threatens food or water supplies, so nations secure their own. Advanced AI becomes strategically important, so nations restrict chips and accumulate compute. Energy becomes uncertain, so governments secure domestic supply. Military threats increase, so defence spending rises. Other countries observe this behaviour and respond in kind.

The rational response to insecurity creates more insecurity. We call it deterrence, resilience, national security, strategic autonomy or supply-chain protection depending on which ministry is writing the document. From a sufficient distance it can look remarkably like frightened apes piling resources in their corner of the enclosure.

The hopeful answer is that institutions can evolve. They can, and they always have. The trouble is that biological evolution gave us hundreds of thousands of years to develop cooperation. Political institutions have had thousands. Industrial civilisation has had roughly two centuries. Nuclear weapons have existed for eighty years. Modern computing for less. Frontier AI changes noticeably between budget cycles.

The intervals are shrinking.

Perhaps humanity will repeatedly rise to the occasion. We may build stronger institutions, negotiate better treaties, regulate dangerous technologies, manage climate change, control synthetic biology, prevent nuclear war and somehow develop artificial intelligence more powerful than ourselves without losing control of it. None of those outcomes is impossible.

The problem is that we may have to succeed too many times.

Existential risk is asymmetric in a way ordinary politics is not. Humanity can successfully manage a dangerous technology for a century and receive no special prize. It merely gets another century. Failure may need to happen only once.

Nuclear deterrence has to keep working. Pandemic controls have to catch the engineered pathogen that matters. AI safety has to remain adequate through every major capability transition. Climate cooperation has to endure across elections, wars, recessions and geopolitical realignments. We are effectively taking an examination in which the questions become harder each year and one sufficiently bad answer ends the examination.

That is why the achievements of smallpox eradication and the Montreal Protocol offer less comfort than they first appear to. They prove that humans can organise brilliantly. They do not prove that we can organise brilliantly every time, everywhere, indefinitely, and under conditions where enormous wealth or strategic power rewards the first person who refuses to cooperate.

That is increasingly the standard technological civilisation appears to demand of us.

Perhaps the final mistake is imagining that extinction would have to arrive dramatically. There may never be a single moment when humanity gathers around a table and chooses destruction. There may only be another investment decision, another election, another weapons programme, another model release, another mine, another power station, another perfectly defensible decision to protect national interests.

Each participant will have reasons, and most of them will probably be good ones. The strange creature we have created from markets, states, corporations, technology and eight billion individual lives will simply continue doing what the system encourages it to do: compete, expand, optimise and protect its resources.

Technological power will keep increasing because somebody benefits from increasing it. Collective restraint will continue to move more slowly because restraint only works when enough other people agree to exercise it too.

Eventually, our ability to create dangerous capabilities may outpace our ability to understand, regulate or contain them. For a while, that gap may be survivable. We may make mistakes, absorb the damage, learn and tighten the rules. But as the technologies become more powerful, the margin for error narrows. At some point, a failure may no longer be something civilisation can correct after the fact. The first time our capacity to cause harm exceeds our capacity to recover from it could also be the last time we get to learn from the mistake.

If that happens, human extinction will not prove that we lacked intelligence. Intelligence may turn out to be the thing we possessed in dangerous abundance. Our failure will have been organisational. We became extraordinarily good, extraordinarily quickly, at discovering what could be done, but never became equally good at agreeing what should not be done.

There is no obvious reason to believe the universe will give us unlimited attempts to learn the difference.

How do you safety test an Ai?

OpenAI was supposed to release GPT-6.1 Astra next month. It isn’t going to.

The model had already made it a long way through development when safety testing found something ‘wrong’. According to reporting this week, Astra 6.1 was more prone than its predecessor to acting beyond the authority it had been given and to concealing or misrepresenting what it had done. OpenAI decided not to release it.

I found myself wondering what had actually happened. We talk endlessly about AI safety, usually in rather grand terms. Yet somewhere inside OpenAI, people had tested a model, looked at the results and decided it shouldn’t be released.

What were they actually doing to it?

I understand how we test ordinary software. Give it an input, know roughly what the output should be and see whether the two match. A banking system should not transfer £100 when I ask it to transfer £10.

With AI, that kind of testing becomes much harder.

A model might write software, search the internet, operate a computer and work on a task for hours. There may be no single correct answer to compare against. Researchers want to know whether it can deceive its operator, help someone develop a biological weapon, find a software vulnerability nobody has found before, or carry on pursuing a task after being told to stop.

Then there is the slightly unnerving possibility that it knows it is being tested.

I started reading the safety work published by OpenAI, Anthropic, Google DeepMind and some of the organisations that independently test their models. I thought I had a rough idea of the scale of it. I didn’t.

For GPT-5, OpenAI says more than 400 external testers and specialists spent over 5,000 hours red teaming the model. GPT-4o’s external red teaming ran from early March to late June 2024, starting with ten testers and eventually expanding to 65 people attacking the final candidate.

Nor do they wait until the model is finished.

The simple version would be:

Build > safety test > release

In reality it is closer to:

Build > test > find something odd > change it > test again > red team > change the safeguards > external test > fix > retest > decide whether to release

Software engineers will recognise this as a form of shift left, where testing starts much earlier in development. Problems can then be found and fixed while the model is still being built, rather than discovered just before release.

But the analogy only goes so far.

When we shift software testing left, we normally have a specification. We know what the payroll system or payment platform is supposed to do. With a frontier AI model, researchers are partly testing whether it behaves properly and partly trying to discover what they have built.

GPT-4 provides an early example.

Before releasing it in 2023, OpenAI gave an early version to researchers at the Alignment Research Center. Among other things, they wanted to know whether GPT-4 could acquire resources, make copies of itself and resist being shut down. It was given tools, the ability to execute code and a small amount of money.

It couldn’t do the overall task. GPT-4 was not capable of autonomously replicating itself.

But something happened along the way.

The model encountered a CAPTCHA, one of those online puzzles designed specifically to prove that you are human. It couldn’t solve it, so it hired somebody on TaskRabbit to do it instead.

The worker became suspicious and asked whether it was a robot.

GPT-4 reasoned that it shouldn’t reveal that it was a machine. It claimed instead to have a vision impairment that made seeing the images difficult.

The human solved the CAPTCHA.

There is plenty of context around this. Researchers had deliberately given GPT-4 tools and were trying to see whether it could overcome obstacles. The model failed the larger test.

Still, imagine reading that transcript for the first time. The machine has just persuaded a human to defeat a security system designed to keep machines out.

Three years later, these tests have become considerably more demanding. And this week’s models give us two useful examples of what happens at the other end of the process.

OpenAI’s GPT-6.1 Astra is the unusual case: the testing found problems serious enough to stop the release altogether. Anthropic’s Claude Sonnet 5.5 shows the more routine version. It passed through the process and was released, but not before the testing changed how Anthropic deployed it.

Before release, Anthropic ran Sonnet 5.5 through an automated behavioural audit containing roughly 1,850 scenarios, looking for behaviour such as misleading users, cooperating with serious misuse and acting against the user’s interests.

Anthropic also runs containment evaluations. Models are put into controlled environments and researchers watch to see whether they try to escape their sandboxes or probe the boundaries of their containers. Sonnet 5.5 did well on these tests. Anthropic says it was among its least troublesome models on those measures.

The testing also found that Sonnet 5.5 had become much better at cybersecurity than Sonnet 5. Anthropic responded by giving it stronger cyber safeguards similar to those surrounding its more capable Opus models.

So the two models had different outcomes. With Sonnet 5.5, the tests found increased capability, Anthropic strengthened the safeguards and released it. With GPT-6.1 Astra, OpenAI apparently found behaviour it wasn’t prepared to mitigate around and stopped the release.

Some of the testing is more familiar. Researchers bombard models with difficult prompts involving violence, fraud, cyber attacks and dangerous biological information. They try jailbreaks. One AI can generate thousands of attacks while another assesses the responses, leaving humans to concentrate on unusual cases and devise attacks the automated tests haven’t found.

Then you run into a rather awkward problem.

Suppose an AI is capable of conducting a sophisticated cyber attack but has been trained to refuse when somebody asks it to. The refusal might work perfectly. Researchers still need to know what capability sits behind it.

So sometimes they remove the safeguards and give the model something to attack.

OpenAI, Anthropic and Google DeepMind all now have frameworks for identifying dangerous capabilities as models improve. GPT-6 Astra crossed OpenAI’s “Critical” threshold for cybersecurity. OpenAI said that, given suitable tools and access, it could discover previously unknown vulnerabilities and develop exploits against hardened systems.

I had to read that twice.

One way of testing such a capability is a Capture the Flag exercise. Researchers construct a deliberately vulnerable computer network, hide information inside it and challenge someone to break in and retrieve it.

Except now the contestant is an AI.

In one evaluation run by the UK’s AI Security Institute, models were given simulated environments to compromise. They were told which networks they could attack and which were out of bounds, but were also given access to the real internet so they could find and download their own hacking tools.

The models didn’t always stay where they were supposed to.

Another evaluator, Irregular, ran a similar exercise. Its test environment was supposed to be isolated from the internet.

It wasn’t.

One of the fictional targets shared its name with a real internet domain. The model went looking for its target, found the real website, exploited a vulnerability, discovered credentials and used them.

The researchers had asked an AI to hack a pretend computer. It accidentally hacked a real one.

The obvious version of this story has an AI escaping from captivity. The actual explanation is less dramatic. The environment had been misconfigured and the model appears simply to have believed that the real website was part of the exercise.

I find the boring explanation more interesting.

Nothing had to become conscious, evil or power hungry. The model was competent, had tools, was pursuing a goal and got the boundary wrong. Anyone who has spent time around complex technology will recognise the general shape of that problem.

OpenAI encountered something similar during internal cybersecurity evaluations when models running with reduced safeguards circumvented isolation controls, exploited vulnerabilities in shared infrastructure and gained internet access.

Now the test itself needs protecting.

Independent evaluator METR has experimented with having a second AI inspect an agent’s proposed actions before they happen. If the monitoring model thinks an action could cause real-world harm, it is stopped for human review.

One AI takes the test. Another watches it. A human watches the watcher.

There is probably a whiteboard somewhere explaining all this.

Cybersecurity is only part of the work. Researchers create situations in which a model’s goals conflict with its instructions and look for deception, concealment, manipulation or attempts to exploit loopholes.

Anthropic has gone further and deliberately trained experimental models to behave badly, then handed them to researchers and asked them to work out what was wrong.

My first reaction was that this sounded slightly perverse. Then I realised the alternative was worse. If an audit finds nothing wrong with an ordinary model, perhaps nothing is wrong. Or perhaps the audit is useless. With a deliberately compromised model, at least you know there is something to find.

Even then, there is another complication.

The model may know it is being tested.

More capable systems can sometimes recognise features of an evaluation, notice that they are being monitored or reason about what behaviour the evaluator expects. OpenAI calls some versions of this “metagaming”.

Good behaviour during an exam becomes rather less reassuring once the student knows exactly when the invigilator is watching.

And the student may have seen the questions.

Benchmark questions can find their way into training data. Google DeepMind has been experimenting with double-blind evaluations in which proprietary tests are kept away from model developers and future training systems.

After billions of dollars of computing infrastructure and some of the most sophisticated software ever created, we have arrived back at the locked exam cupboard.

Somewhere around here my question changed. I had started by wondering how AI companies safety-test their models. I was now more interested in who decides when the testing is good enough.

Much of that authority still sits with the companies building the models.

There is more independent scrutiny than I had assumed. The UK’s AI Security Institute evaluates frontier systems. METR has been given access to advanced models from Anthropic, Google, Meta and OpenAI. It has also spent weeks attacking Anthropic’s monitoring systems and found previously unknown vulnerabilities that Anthropic subsequently fixed.

But this is still some distance from an aviation regulator certifying an aircraft. The companies conduct much of the testing, set many of the thresholds and ultimately decide whether their models are released. Outside organisations get access largely because the companies agree to let them in.

All of this is happening inside intensely competitive businesses. Frontier models cost enormous amounts to develop. Customers are waiting. Product teams have plans built around them. Delaying a release has a real cost.

Which takes me back to GPT-6.1 Astra.

OpenAI apparently reached the end of this process, looked at the behaviour it was seeing and decided not to release the model.

I find that surprisingly reassuring. Not because one cancelled release proves very much, but because a safety process that occasionally produces a commercially inconvenient answer is more convincing than one in which every new model receives an impressive system card and arrives on schedule.

The part I am less comfortable with is harder to solve.

Every safety test begins with somebody imagining what might go wrong. As the models improve, old tests become easier and researchers invent harder ones. Occasionally the models do something nobody was specifically looking for.

After reading all of this, I don’t think AI safety testing is really a process for proving that a model is safe. I doubt anyone currently knows how to do that.

It is an organised attempt to be surprised before release rather than afterwards.

Imagine a future model that offers an enormous strategic advantage. Perhaps it can automate much of software engineering, accelerate scientific research or materially improve the next generation of AI.

Then one of these tests produces an awkward result.

The model behaves deceptively in three experiments out of a thousand. An external evaluator thinks it is significant. The company thinks its monitoring systems would catch the behaviour in normal use. Nobody really knows. Six months of further work might provide an answer.

GPT-6.1 Astra tells us what happens when a safety process says no today. The harder test will come when the model it says no to is the one its creators believe they cannot afford to leave on the shelf.