The Cancellation of James Watson Marked Our Descent into a Time of Anti-Genius and the Fall of Civilization

Civilization advances because, every so often, individuals with extraordinary minds produce insights the rest of us could never reach. Without such rare figures, the modern world—from the railway or the motor car to digital technology—simply wouldn’t exist. James Watson, who passed away on November 6, 2025 at the age of 97, was almost universally regarded as one of these exceptional people. His discovery (and it was his discovery) of the double-helix structure of DNA earned him a Nobel Prize and ultimately transformed fields as diverse as oncology and forensic science. Yet few are willing to consider that Watson might have been among the last great geniuses produced by Western society.

In 2007, Watson made public comments linking race and intelligence. He noted how low the average IQ of Sub-Saharan and how this means that its nations cannot possibly reach a Western level of development; their future will be poverty and chaos.  These remarks ignited a level of outrage far beyond anything he had previously experienced.

As I detail in my recent (and the final) biography of him, Genius Under House Arrest: The Cancellation of James Watson, Watson had a long history of making blunt or uncomfortable observations, or even “gaffes.” Earlier in his career these had prompted little more than irritated criticism from defenders of social orthodoxy, such as in 2000 when he upset female students at a lecture at the University of California at Berkley by noting that thin women tend to be depressed and that dark skin is associated with a higher sex drive.

But by 2007, a cultural shift had taken place: the emerging ideology we now call “Woke” had begun to override traditional scientific values such as empirical truth and achievement. The backlash this time was swift and total, effectively exiling Watson from public life.

Watson became a symbol—a widely publicized example meant to warn others against straying from accepted narratives. If someone of his stature could be ostracized, anyone could be. Western society had flipped from encouraging intellectual non-conformity and tolerating the quirks of brilliant minds to treating such people as threats.

In a climate dominated by emotional sensitivity and the insistence that “equality” outweighs facts, people with a genius profile suddenly found themselves vulnerable. This is deeply damaging because, as I argue in the book, genius is a psychological package deal: exceptional creativity is almost always accompanied by traits that society finds difficult.

Research on highly creative scientists consistently reveals patterns that distinguish them from their more conventional peers. Most scientists tend to be cooperative, conscientious, emotionally stable, and above-average in intelligence—traits that support careful learning, adherence to norms, and incremental research. Their social conformity is partly due to their intelligence: it helps them detect prevailing expectations and align their behaviour and beliefs with these in order to attain social status.

Geniuses, however, operate differently. Their intelligence is exceptionally high but often uneven. Watson, for instance, was brilliant with numbers and words but so spatially impaired he struggled with simple tasks such as peeling an orange or learning to drive. Similar quirks have been noted in many creative giants—A.J. Ayer never learned to drive, and Einstein famously got lost even in familiar surroundings.

Such individuals typically score low in Conscientiousness. This makes them less bound by established methods and more inclined to entertain ideas others find bizarre or unthinkable. Their elevated Openness sends them wandering across disciplines, picking up diverse strands of knowledge, which they later combine into breakthrough insights. Historically, many produced their defining work outside their formal training: Watson studied Zoology but revolutionized biochemistry; Darwin held a Theology degree. Low impulse control can also mean they blurt out uncomfortable truths. One friend of his joked to me that Watson possessed “truth Tourette’s.”

Breakthrough thinkers also tend to be low in Agreeableness, this being a combination of empathy and altruism. If their personality leans toward autism (that is low cognitive empathy), they will prioritize systems and truth-seeking over social harmony. They notice details others overlook, pursue explanations obsessively, and often fail to anticipate how provocative their statements will seem. Watson himself was stunned by the fury his 2007 comments provoked and was distressed by the idea that his parents—lifelong Democrats—would be upset by what happened had they still been alive.

In addition, geniuses are often low in altruism; they have heightened psychopathic traits. Such people may feel little concern for the offence they cause and may even rather enjoy challenging comfortable orthodoxies. Friends of Watson often suspected he sometimes liked ruffling feathers, especially when dealing with scientists he considered unremarkable; the conformist, careerist types who have no genuine interest in the “scientific gold” of new truths.

Finally, many original thinkers wrestle with psychological instability. Their heightened anxiety — as long as they are not cripplingly high in anxiety — keeps their minds constantly active, generating connections others would overlook. In his memoirs, Watson openly described bouts of anxiety and depression and also a longing for idealized love. Insight for such people often arrives suddenly, as if bubbling up from the unconscious where it works away in order to avoid conscious anxiety. Watson’s discovery of the structure of DNA came to him almost like a religious experience: “For over two hours I happily lay awake with pairs of adenine residues whirling in front of my closed eyes. Only for brief moments did the fear shoot through me that an idea this good could be wrong.”

Geniuses are rare, emerging from uncommon genetic combinations usually found in parents who are intelligent but not extreme outliers. From an evolutionary perspective, they benefit the group: societies with a small number of extremely intelligent, mildly antisocial individuals gain innovations that allow them to compete and survive.

In eras in which survival is uncertain, the awkwardness and social disruption caused by geniuses are tolerated because the rewards outweigh the costs. Their uncompromising devotion to truth fits naturally within cultures that treat Truth itself as sacred—such as earlier scientific communities steeped in a religious pursuit of Truth.

But what happens when societies become wealthy, secure, and insulated from existential danger? When mortality retreats from daily experience, religious belief fades, and life feels less meaningful? What happens when the memories of war and hardship grow faint, and cultural emphases shift—perhaps influenced in part by the psychological tendencies of women, as Simon Baron-Cohen has observed—toward kindness, emotional comfort, and egalitarianism?

In such a world, the genius becomes a liability. He violates cherished norms, says things that hurt feelings, and challenges ideological taboos. Universities stop protecting him; instead, they push him out. Forced to seek private funding and navigate practical constraints he is poorly suited for, his capacity for major discoveries diminishes. Hence the metaphor of “house arrest”: Watson spent his final years full of ideas he dared not voice. When he reiterated his earlier comments in 2019, his remaining honours were stripped away, and he died in a state of effective internal exile.

If our culture does not reject the ideological environment that suppresses these rare minds, innovation will slow, difficult problems will go unsolved, and we may eventually decline into a world where technologies we take for granted—computers, stable electricity—are mere memories. In this broader sense, the meaning of Watson’s life extends far beyond the double helix.