Forgive me for starting with a cliché, a piece of finance jargon that has recently slipped into the tech lexicon, but I’m afraid I must talk about “moats.” Popularized decades ago by Warren Buffett to refer to a company’s competitive advantage, the word found its way into Silicon Valley pitch decks when a memo purportedly leaked from Google, titled “We Have No Moat, and Neither Does OpenAI,” fretted that open-source AI would pillage Big Tech’s castle.
A few years on, the castle walls remain safe. Apart from a brief bout of panic when DeepSeek first appeared, open-source AI models have not vastly outperformed proprietary models. Still, none of the frontier labs—OpenAI, Anthropic, Google—has a moat to speak of.
The company that does have a moat is Nvidia. CEO Jensen Huang has called it his most precious “treasure.” It is not, as you might assume for a chip company, a piece of hardware. It’s something called CUDA. What sounds like a chemical compound banned by the FDA may be the one true moat in AI.
CUDA technically stands for Compute Unified Device Architecture, but much like laser or scuba, no one bothers to expand the acronym; we just say “KOO-duh.” So what is this all-important treasure good for? If forced to give a one-word answer: parallelization.
Here’s a simple example. Let’s say we task a machine with filling out a 9×9 multiplication table. Using a computer with a single core, all 81 operations are executed dutifully one by one. But a GPU with nine cores can assign tasks so that each core takes a different column—one from 1×1 to 1×9, another from 2×1 to 2×9, and so on—for a ninefold speed gain. Modern GPUs can be even cleverer. For example, if programmed to recognize commutativity—7×9 = 9×7—they can avoid duplicate work, reducing 81 operations to 45, nearly halving the workload. When a single training run costs a hundred million dollars, every optimization counts.
Nvidia’s GPUs were originally built to render graphics for video games. In the early 2000s, a Stanford PhD student named Ian Buck, who first got into GPUs as a gamer, realized their architecture could be repurposed for general high-performance computing. He created a programming language called Brook, was hired by Nvidia, and, with John Nickolls, led the development of CUDA. If AI ushers in the age of a permanent white-collar underclass and autonomous weapons, just know that it would all be because someone somewhere playing Doom thought a demon’s scrotum should jiggle at 60 frames per second.
CUDA is not a programming language in itself but a “platform.” I use that weasel word because, not unlike how The New York Times is a newspaper that’s also a gaming company, CUDA has, over the years, become a nested bundle of software libraries for AI. Each function shaves nanoseconds off single mathematical operations—added up, they make GPUs, in industry parlance, go brrr.
A modern graphics card is not just a circuit board crammed with chips and memory and fans. It’s an elaborate confection of cache hierarchies and specialized units called “tensor cores” and “streaming multiprocessors.” In that sense, what chip companies sell is like a professional kitchen, and more cores are akin to more grilling stations. But even a kitchen with 30 grilling stations won’t run any faster without a capable head chef deftly assigning tasks—as CUDA does for GPU cores.
To extend the metaphor, hand-tuned CUDA libraries optimized for one matrix operation are the equivalent of kitchen tools designed for a single job and nothing more—a cherry pitter, a shrimp deveiner—which are indulgences for home cooks but not if you have 10,000 shrimp guts to yank out. Which brings us back to DeepSeek. Its engineers went below this already deep layer of abstraction to work directly in PTX, a kind of assembly language for Nvidia GPUs. Let’s say the task is peeling garlic. An unoptimized GPU would go: “Peel the skin with your fingernails.” CUDA can instruct: “Smash the clove with the flat of a knife.” PTX lets you dictate every sub-instruction: “Lift the blade 2.35 inches above the cutting board, make it parallel to the clove’s equator, and strike downward with your palm at a force of 36.2 newtons.”
