As priorities shift toward results, the place of curiosity in science research is increasingly revisited. Photo credit: Hans Reniers via Unsplash
Aristotle was the first to draw a distinction between different forms of knowledge: that pursued for immediate utility, and that pursued for its own sake. The first form emphasises what will this deliver? The second, what is there to understand? Whilst both forms prompt us with a question, the former is more goal orientated, the latter exploratory.
In contemporary research, the more exploratory form is often labelled “blue skies science”. This research is justified on the grounds that fundamental (i.e. basic, curiosity driven) research is valuable simply because it is fundamental. It has inherent value. It begins not with a defined benefit, but with the belief that understanding itself is worthwhile. Not offering a clear application from the outset, it can be described as science for science’s sake.
Sometimes the most revealing questions are the ones that appear least urgent.
“Blue skies” research draws its name from a deceptively simple question that has inspired scientific curiosity for generations: why is the sky blue? To many, such a question appears indulgent, because its application is not immediately apparent. Yet it is often these open-ended questions that quietly reshape our thinking and alter the conceptual tools with which we approach the world.
“Blue skies” science is sometimes framed as bold and visionary, but in reality much scientific progress, in both “blue skies” and applied science, advances through incremental steps rather than sudden breakthroughs.
It is important, however, not to romanticise this mode of inquiry. “Blue skies” science is sometimes framed as bold and visionary, but in reality much scientific progress, in both “blue skies” and applied science, advances through incremental steps rather than sudden breakthroughs. Risk and uncertainty are inherent, and progress is frequently slow. In an era defined by limited funding and urgent global challenges, this is not a trivial consideration for us.
When John Tyndall answered why the sky is blue in 1869, he did more than satisfy curiosity. His work on light scattering later informed understanding of how particles move through air, contributing to insights in respiratory physiology. “Blue skies” research begins without a defined goal, and its applications are often indirect, delayed, and difficult to predict in advance. For example, MRI technology grew out of research into nuclear magnetic resonance which had no medical purpose at the time.
Historically, much of science operated within this longer time horizon of application. Knowledge accumulated gradually, often without immediate clarity about where it would lead. Yet contemporary research landscapes have shifted this. With the rise of governmental and private grant systems, there has been increasing emphasis placed on a more objectively driven model, often referred to as “safe science.”
“Safe science” is structured around clear aims and defined returns. It specifies outputs, attaches them to timelines, and aligns projects with measurable outcomes. This model provides accountability and enables funders to justify investment. In part, it has emerged from restricted funding systems offering shorter term grants, a structure some argue constrains discovery. More subtly, it shapes the kinds of questions that are considered fundable in the first place.
Funding structures do not simply distribute resources. They influence what counts as a legitimate scientific question.
A recent BBC article presented proposed cuts by UK Research Innovation (UKRI) as evidence of a broader shift away from curiosity driven science and towards research which is more closely aligned with government priorities. UKRI rejected this interpretation, insisting that fundamental research remains protected and pointing to the £14.5 billion allocated to curiosity driven research.
Yet while writing this article, I attended Voice of the Future, an event at Parliament hosted by the Royal Society of Biology where early career researchers can question MPs on pressing issues in science. There, Emily Darlington MP spoke about the ‘three bucket philosophy’, arguing that blue skies, applied, and innovative science can sit alongside one another. In principle, this presents a model of balance.
In practice, that balance appears less equal. Recent funding discussions already point to a shift in emphasis, with greater support directed towards research aligned with strategic priorities such as energy, climate, and health. Minutes from a Science and Technology Facilities Council meeting openly acknowledged ‘a major shift of funding from curiosity-driven research to priority areas.’ In that context, the headline figure of £14.5 billion tells only part of the story. An increase in overall spending does not show how that money is distributed; which fields are being strengthened and which are being left more exposed. Some research areas may benefit, but the system still works selectively, directing support towards certain forms of inquiry while making others harder to sustain.
Some research areas may benefit, but the system still works selectively, directing support towards certain forms of inquiry while making others harder to sustain.
What is being shaped, then, is not simply the scale of scientific research, but the conditions under which certain kinds of knowledge come to appear worth pursuing in the first place. When crises feel immediate, that emphasis is understandable. Research without obvious application can appear indulgent when climate systems destabilise, biodiversity declines, and public services face real pressure. Why investigate how a reef fish navigates its environment when the reef itself may not survive the decade? With finite resources and urgent problems unfolding, prioritising projects that promise tangible and immediate impact feels sensible and responsible.
It is reasonable to expect value from publicly funded research. The difficulty arises when the demand for demonstrable usefulness precedes understanding. Complex systems often require sustained observation before their significance becomes visible. If researchers must prove impact before they have had the opportunity to fully investigate a phenomenon, some insights may never emerge.
Darwin did not submit a two-year grant proposal, complete with impact statement and deliverables, before publishing On the Origin of Species.
When he joined HMS Beagle, he did not know what discovery awaited him. Through time, careful observation, and the steady accumulation of evidence, he developed a theory that underpins much of modern biology. Collecting beetles, barnacles, and fossils may have appeared trivial in isolation, yet the broader pattern only became visible through patience and intellectual freedom.
It would be mistaken to frame “blue skies” and “safe science” as opposing forces.
It would be mistaken to frame “blue skies” and “safe science” as opposing forces. They are better understood as different points along the same spectrum. HMS Beagle itself was a state funded vessel tasked with surveying coastlines and producing navigational charts. Its mission was clearly goal-orientated and aligned with what we now call “safe science.” Darwin’s curiosity-driven work unfolded within that structure. Application and exploration are often interwoven, each enabling the other.
The central question is not which approach is superior, but what happens when one becomes the default lens through which all research is judged. If funding systems reward only short-term predictability, research that cannot specify its utility in advance will struggle to survive.
Science conducted for its own sake is…a recognition that some of the most consequential insights begin with a question whose legitimacy was never guaranteed.
A healthy scientific landscape requires both targeted inquiry and intellectual freedom. Directed research addresses the problems we can already define. “Blue skies” science expands the boundaries of what we are capable of recognising as a problem in the first place. Science conducted for its own sake is not an argument against accountability: it is a recognition that some of the most consequential insights begin with a question whose legitimacy was never guaranteed.
