Upon his death in October 1971 Cyril Burt reaped the rewards of a lifetime's dedication to science. Leslie Hearnshaw called him ‘a great figure in twentieth century psychology’, ‘as nearly a polymath as it is possible to be in this age of inevitable specialisation’ Arthur Jensen recalled that ‘his fine, sturdy appearance; his aura of vitality; his urbane manner; his unflagging enthusiasm for research, analysis and criticism … and, of course, especially his notably sharp intellect and vast erudition – all together leave a total impression of immense quality, of a born nobleman’. Hans Eysenck argued that his ‘critical faculty, combined with his outstanding originality, his great insight, and his profound mathematical knowledge, makes him a truly great psychologist; his place in the history books of our science is assured’. He made no bones about regarding Burt as ‘Britain's outstanding psychologist for many years’ and hoped that ‘modern workers would follow his example’.

Within a decade of his death, however, his reputation had been turned upside down, his name reduced to a by-word for scientific deceit. The Sunday Times labelled the case against Burt ‘the most sensational charge of scientific fraud this century’. William Broad and Nicholas Wade, in a popular polemic on ‘fraud and deceit in the halls of science’, found Burt an almost ideal target. He dealt in nothing more than ‘dogma masquerading as objective truth’ ‘he used his mastery of statistics and gift for lucid exposition to bamboozle alike his bitterest detractors and those who acclaimed his greatness as a psychologist’ and he ‘hoodwinked the community of educational psychologists for some thirty years’.