For millennia, humans looked up at the Sun in awe and reverence. Ancient civilizations worshipped it as a god, prayed for its warmth, and feared its eclipse. The source of its eternal fire remained a mystery. That mystery was solved in 1939, when physicist Hans Bethe revealed how the Sun, and billions of other stars, truly shines: through nuclear fusion, the merging of hydrogen nuclei into helium at unimaginable pressures and temperatures.
Science had at last given an answer to what had once seemed divine, solving a thousands-year-old mystery. Bethe was reported as saying that he hit upon the answer by looking through the periodic table step by step. “So you see,” he said,
this was a discovery by persistence, not by brains.
Every second, our Sun fuses about 600 million tons of hydrogen into helium, releasing a flood of light and heat that sustains life on Earth. This process — nuclear fusion — is nature’s ultimate energy source. Under the Sun’s immense pressure and temperatures of around 15 million degrees Celsius, hydrogen nuclei overcome their natural repulsion and merge, releasing energy because a small amount of mass is converted into pure energy.
Einstein’s equation E = m c^2 tells us why fusion is so powerful: even a tiny loss of mass corresponds to a vast gain in energy. In fact, a single glass of seawater, if its hydrogen were fully fused, would contain enough potential energy to power a city for a day.
For nearly a century, scientists have dreamed of recreating this stellar fire on Earth. In the 1950s, laboratories began pursuing two main strategies:
But fusion on Earth is even harder than in the Sun. Without the Sun’s crushing gravity, experiments must reach temperatures over 100 million degrees Celsius. As one physicist put it, “containing plasma is like trying to bottle lightning.”
The challenge of fusion is not in making the reaction happen — it’s in keeping it under control. To fuse nuclei, hydrogen gas must be turned into plasma, a special state of matter where atoms are stripped of their electrons, leaving behind a hot, electrically charged soup of nuclei and free electrons. Plasma is not solid, liquid, or gas; it’s closer to a living flame, constantly shifting and unstable.
At fusion conditions, the plasma must be heated to over 100 million degrees Celsius. No material container on Earth can withstand that; it would vaporize instantly. Instead, scientists must hold the plasma without touching it — either with powerful magnetic fields that bend the particles into a looping path, or with lasers that compress a fuel pellet for a fleeting moment.
The problem is that plasma is inherently restless. It writhes and twists like boiling water, develops turbulence, and constantly tries to escape. In magnetic systems, if the plasma touches the reactor walls, it cools and the reaction fizzles. In laser systems, even the slightest asymmetry in the squeeze causes the pellet to blow apart before ignition.
This is why fusion has taken so long: not because the physics is unknown (hydrogen bombs prove fusion works), but because doing it in a controlled, continuous, and useful way is a monumental engineering challenge. As one scientist joked,
We’re not trying to make the Sun. We’re trying to make the Sun sit still inside a bottle.
Despite the challenges, progress has been steady. In 2022, researchers at the U.S. National Ignition Facility announced a landmark result: for the first time, a fusion experiment produced more energy than the lasers required to spark it, a milestone known as “ignition.”
The mood in the lab that morning was electric. As dawn broke over California, word spread that the data showed a true net gain. Exhausted scientists, many of whom had spent their entire careers chasing this milestone, popped champagne at 3 a.m. One veteran reportedly remarked, “I can finally retire knowing we lit a star in a lab.” It wasn’t yet practical power, but it was proof of principle — and a vindication of decades of perseverance.
Meanwhile, ITER, a massive international project in southern France, is building the world’s largest tokamak, aiming to demonstrate sustained net energy gain in the 2030s. Around it, a growing network of researchers continues to chip away at problems in materials, superconducting magnets, and plasma stability.
For decades, fusion was the realm of government labs and global collaborations. But in recent years, commercial ventures have entered the race, reflecting growing confidence that fusion may eventually leave the lab. These companies are experimenting with smaller, more flexible designs, often using advanced magnets or alternative confinement methods.
Bill Gates, through his Breakthrough Energy initiative, has backed several fusion efforts, seeing the technology as a long-term climate solution. Other private investors and public–private partnerships have also joined in. None of these ventures yet produce electricity, and practical power plants remain years away, but the shift is important: fusion is no longer seen only as a scientific experiment, but as a technology with potential commercial pathways.
If achieved, fusion would be a revolution in energy. Its fuels — isotopes of hydrogen like deuterium and tritium — are abundant, found in seawater and lithium. Unlike nuclear fission, fusion leaves behind no long-lived radioactive waste, and there is no risk of runaway meltdowns. Its main byproduct is helium, an inert and harmless gas.
The British astrophysicist Sir Arthur Eddington, who first proposed in 1920 that stars shine through fusion, once asked:
What appliance can contain such prodigious energies as those which supply the Sun?
A century later, humanity is closer than ever to answering his question.
Fusion is not here yet. But the dream is moving from physics journals into engineering blueprints. Each advance — whether in giant projects like ITER, in national labs, or in cautious commercial ventures — brings us closer to the day when humanity might light its cities with the same fire that fuels the stars.
The challenge is immense, but so is the reward: a clean, safe, and virtually limitless power source for a planet in desperate need of one. Bottling a star is no longer just poetry. It is an engineering problem waiting to be solved.
Shravan Hanasoge is an astrophysicist at the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research.