Several types of discussion could have followed the unfurling of those data. A social scientist, for example, might have treated physical attractiveness as a subjective phenomenon while chatting about the prejudicial societal forces underpinning the social construction of beauty standards. Kanazawa, an evolutionary psychologist, naturally regarded the data on physical attractiveness differently, as a more objective and definitive fact of nature. It's no surprise then that his interpretation involved a "natural" cause: testosterone. Men who are attractive have more of it, but women with lots of it are unattractive. Regardless of gender, blacks have more testosterone than other races, and therefore black women, but not black men, are less attractive. That's my understanding of the basic thrust of Kanazawa's commentary. (Somebody correct me if I'm wrong.)

Since that article was posted, a forceful and widespread backlash from the general public has resulted in difficulties for Kanazawa. His profile on Psychology Today was (at least temporarily) removed, and there's currently a campaign to have him ousted from his position at the London School of Economics (LSE). I'm sure he's dealing with a lot of hate right now.

In pondering the details, I can't help but wonder: Has the net effect thus far of these (often vicious) recriminations been just or just plain repressive? Should PT ban him for good? That would probably be the most convenient solution, but isn't PT supposed to be a safe forum for scientific debate? I fully recognize that the pressure on them (and now LSE) to do something must be overwhelming. I also recognize that ideas which are likely to have pernicious consequences for disadvantaged groups should not be blithely and recklessly knocked around. Words can hurt.

Still, Kanazawa wasn't violating any of the basic tenets of scientific reporting, at least as far as I can tell. He presented data and proposed a provisional interpretation. There can be little doubt that both the data and his analysis were upsetting. I don't think he can be blamed for reporting the data, but maybe the key would have been to provide a more tactful analysis by acknowledging alternative explanations. In addition, the fact that this all was coming from somebody who is himself a (likely privileged) male couldn't have helped matters. (What if the article had been written by a black female?) Anyone dwelling in that sphere should be familiar with the risks involved. Indeed, Kanazawa probably knew the risks better than most.

But that's not the end of the debate. Tempting as it might be, we should not be content to conclude something like: "Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing. Dude had it coming." The issue is deeper, complicated as it is by an ostensibly universal sense of uncertainty about how to handle subversive science. Do we suppress it or discuss it? What about other, slightly milder, yet still divisive psychological findings, like the fact that having children appears to cause misery instead happiness (Glenn & McLanahan, 1982), or that religious methods of coping with death are largely ineffective (McClain-Jacobson et al., 2004)? Would punishing (and maybe silencing) Kanazawa represent a symbolic step down the proverbial slippery slope towards scientific censorship?

People who are interested in these sorts of questions should watch with interest how this chaos unfolds. Hopefully, Kanazawa's ordeal will serve as a learning experience for everybody, himself included. But I don't think that necessarily means that he should learn not to do it again.

Ted Cascio is co-editor of House & Psychology (John Wiley & Sons).

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