Lessons in meaning from surface science

‘Why is that interesting?’ ‘How does that impact the real world?’ ‘What is the point?’ Many of us involved in the chemical sciences must answer these questions about our work. Chemistry’s historic role in society inspires me to undertake research that tackles modern-day problems (fuel cells, photocatalysis, photovoltaics). However, regardless of how cool it is to fire femtosecond laser pulses at single atoms, those questions still nag at me when I reflect on ‘the point’ of my own work.

Adding grains of information to the desert of human knowledge is a romantic justification for academic research (in a good way!). However, we researchers often find ourselves delicately dancing between this purist ideology and insisting that our work will have practical impact depending on the needs of a grant, journal or conversation. Of course, it is understandable to want one’s research to serve society. But often that connection isn’t particularly tangible, and it can feel a bit dirty when we spend considerable time convincing others (and ourselves) of the purpose of our work. This feeling can also be mixed with impatience. Not only does the research have to mean ‘something’, it has to mean something now. Of course, this is frustratingly unrealistic. So whenever the purist-practical seesaw in my mind feels lop-sided, I find an example from my field of surface science serves a refreshing antidote of perspective.