In a pompous “what does that achieve”, a fellow human caught me off guard one day when I was explaining what I do for work. Embarrassed, I blurted out “Well, if Copernicus and Galileo hadn’t turned a telescope to the sky, we wouldn’t have Wi-Fi”. I recognise that I’ll need to elaborate on how I linked the work of 16th and 17th century polymaths to wireless networking technology and my research on fossilisation processes in Gulgong, NSW. But, if anything, this will give you an insight into a deeper reflection on the value of curiosity-driven research.
In a world of 8.2 billion people, where poverty, war, disease, and starvation persist, it’s logical to question why we spend billions of dollars on research domains where “real-world” applications are not immediately apparent, known as blue skies research. Why send rovers to Mars, explore ancient rocks in the Pilbara, or question why woodpeckers don’t get headaches when there are countless social, political, and technological migraines that need remediation?
As a geologist who never sought to pursue the typical “real-world” jobs associated with the discipline—mining and construction—I’ve grappled with this question. From the outside, I’m a fortunate adventurer traversing the ancient fossil landscapes of Australia. But on the inside, studying our planet’s history has coincided with my personal evolution. This journey has led me to understand that blue sky endeavours, those fuelled by curiosity, are not just valuable to society, but essential.
Let’s take Wi-Fi as an example. This wireless technology allows us to… well, wirelessly, connect to our local internet. While some internet is connected by satellites, its mostly connected by cables under the sea, the longest being almost 40,000 km. Wi-Fi prevents us from being tangled in a web of cables at home, in the office, and at the local coffee shop. Now taken for granted, Wi-Fi’s roots are firmly embedded in curiosity-driven research. CSIRO radio astronomers, Dr John O’Sullivan and colleagues (Dr Terry Percival, Mr Diet Ostry, Mr Graham Daniels and Mr John Deane), applied their specialised knowledge of wave behaviour, originally developed from studying black holes, to overcome reverberation—a critical obstacle in the development of wireless network systems. It is a ‘glorious example’ of blue skies research, as O’Sullivan put it.
Going back even further, famed actress Hedy Lamar’s curious mind led her to co-develop a secret messaging system that laid the foundations for Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, AND GPS, half a century before their launch. Hedy’s genius—despite it being overshadowed by her beauty—demonstrates the power of intellectual curiosity.
For a slight tangent, the advent of telecommunications and wireless technologies inadvertently gave us a new problem to solve, that of pigeons. As much as we hate them, at least in Australia, I’ll have you know that maybe we wouldn’t have a pigeon problem, if we didn’t have Wi-Fi. You see before telecommunications, homing pigeons connected us for 3000 years through the ‘pigeon post’. The US army sold its last ‘war pigeon’ in 1957, perhaps marking the end of our companionship with the piggies (‘pijees’) and the beginning of our distaste toward them. Thanks for all your help, now stop sh*tting on our fence or we’ll frighten you away with a fake owl. For more pigeon support, Peach PRC’s unreleased song about the once loved rock dove really gets you in the feels. This somewhat sad irony is a reminder of how progress reshapes our relationships with the natural world, for better or worse.
History is full of such examples. If Copernicus and Galileo had not questioned the nature of Earth’s place in the universe, perhaps we’d still think we were the centre of it. Perhaps no effort would be made to explore outer space, eventually utilising it to house satellites, capture profound deep space images, or transmit an image of a black hole to our wireless device. We’d assume our place is at the head of the cosmic table, where everything is known and made for us. Unless an immediate apparent ‘real-world’ application was obvious, we’d haughtily exclaim ‘What does that achieve?’. Copernicus, Galileo, Hedy, and the CSIRO radioastronomers might not have foreseen how their curiosities about the world around them would one day contribute to the wild transformation of how we communicate. Yet, their stories stand as a testament to the far-reaching power that curiosity and creativity can achieve.
Never lose your sense of wonder—it might just change the world, or at the very least, how we communicate (sorry, pigeons)
— Tara