British cruiserweight Jordan Thompson's world-title challenge ends in a brutal fourth round stoppage loss to IBF and Ring Magazine champion Jai Opetaia In London.

The prime minister wants more students to study maths and English until the age of 18.

This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here.

Barry Manilow is an American institution. It’s okay if you think so too: I won’t tell anyone.

First, here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

Mark Leibovich on a lesson of Dianne Feinstein’s career Have Republicans learned nothing from the War on Terror? One big benefit of remote work Good luck getting into the club.

You Know the Words

Her name was Lola. She was a showgirl.

Come on. You know the rest. Everyone does.

And so did the crowd at the Barry Manilow concert I attended in Las Vegas last week, on the night that he broke Elvis Presley’s record for the most shows at the Westgate Las Vegas Resort & Casino.

Oh, I know. Roll your eyes. We’re all too cool for Manilow, the Brooklyn kid who became a schmaltz superstar, the guy whose music for almost five decades has practically been the definition of unhip, shamelessly sentimental “adult contemporary.” We smirk—yet we know every word.

Think of the scene in the 1995 movie Tommy Boy—and if you haven’t seen it, it’s better than you’d think—where Chris Farley and David Spade are on a road trip and “Superstar,” by the Carpenters, comes on the radio. Neither of them changes the station. “Talk about lame,” Spade sneers. “I can live with it if you can,” Farley says. A minute later, both of them are singing along and crying.

So, kind of like that.

But how is it possible that even those of us who aren’t dedicated fans know Manilow’s songs so well? In the days of vinyl, I never bought a Barry Manilow album. And yet, reviewing my old iTunes list, somehow, over the years, I have managed to accumulate something like 15 of his songs, and even more on Spotify. Who could have put those on there? I have every Steely Dan record; a full trove of the Beatles; classics from Squeeze, The Alan Parsons Project, the Clash, and … This One’s for You?

Barry Manilow is woven into my music collection because he is a cornerstone of the late-20th-century American soundtrack. He’s not going to appear in the canonical music histories, especially because some of his hits were written by others. His musical structures are not going to be analyzed; his lyrics are not going to be pondered. (He is, however, an aging white male, so he might pass muster with Jann Wenner, a co-founder and the former publisher of Rolling Stone.)

You may not realize it, but if you’re of a certain age—really, of almost any age beyond childhood—Manilow has likely been a part of the musical backdrop of your life. He certainly was part of mine.

I can admit this now that I’m approaching the phase of life that scientists call “geezer.” If you had told me when I was in high school, back in the 1970s, that one day I’d drop a chunk of cash on a Manilow concert, I’d have snorted in disgust. It’s not that we didn’t appreciate Barry back then, but if you were trying to be a virile young fellow, you were only supposed to tolerate him, and only around girls.

And yet, despite my ostensible indifference to him at the height of his fame, there was always some Barry in the background, especially where early romances were concerned. I had a big high-school breakup with a girl across town just as “Even Now” came out; thank heavens I was too darn manly to admit that the song put a lump in my throat (and still does). I fell for a young lady who lived far away from me during a too-brief summer stay in Boston, and of course we had a lovely “Weekend in New England,” and … well, if all this sounds corny, of course it was. To be dramatic and corny about love—about everything, really—is one of the great privileges of youth.

By the time I was heading off to college at the end of the ’70s, I was a typical mainstream-rock consumer: Boston, Bob Seger, Meat Loaf, the Cars. (I also had Partners in Crime, by Rupert Holmes. I stand by this choice.) Once in college, I immersed myself in new wave, synth-pop, the “second British invasion,” and the roster of glittery superstars and one-hit wonders created by a new thing called MTV. Clearly, I had outgrown Barry Manilow.

Except I hadn’t. I first heard “Ships” in my 20s—an Ian Hunter song popularized by Manilow—and to this day, it reminds me of my difficult relationship with my own father. “Copacabana” is always going to remind me of dancing with friends right into my 40s. In my 50s, with a first marriage behind me, I called up a nice divorcée I had been dating and told her, with a bit of warbling Manilow in my voice, that I was “ready to take a chance again.”

So was she. And that’s how both of us, years later, ended up in Las Vegas, watching an 80-year-old Barry Manilow belt out his greatest hits at the Westgate.

I am not a professional music critic, but it’s a great show. Other aging stars have had to dial down the pitch and bring in backup singers, but Manilow did some justified showing off, his voice climbing his trademark modulations. I suppose when you’ve done more than 600 shows in a row, you’ve got it down to a science, but somehow, Manilow came across as if it were one of his first appearances and he was just amazed that so many people showed up. (I didn’t realize, until seeing him in person, how intensely his fans, the self-dubbed “Fanilows,” love him. He clearly loves them back.) Most of all, it was just fun.

Sure, I’ll admit that some of Manilow’s stuff gives me hives. He is famously the composer of some well-known commercial jingles, including for State Farm and Band-Aid, so some of the songs I’ve always disliked, such as “Can’t Smile Without You,” always sound to me like an annoying commercial earworm. Manilow himself admits that Andrew Lloyd Webber hated Manilow’s version of “Memory.” So do I. (Don’t tell Sir Andrew, but I hate the song no matter who does it; Manilow’s rendition is just especially treacly.) And it might earn me the enmity of the Fanilows, but I never liked Barry’s first big hit, “Mandy.”

But Manilow and the songs he sings are critic-proof. Even Manilow gets it: During the show last week, he admitted that his music is a standard on elevators and in dentists’ offices. “As long as there are teeth,” he quipped, “my music will never die.” It’s not great art, but then, neither were the Carpenters, another beloved ’70s act. (“We’ve Only Just Begun” was written by Paul Williams for a bank commercial, by the way.) Manilow’s voice—much like Karen Carpenter’s, come to think of it—has always just been there as part of my life, and I’m not going to pretend I didn’t like it back then or that I don’t like it now.

You don’t have to admit that you agree with me. I understand. Let’s just say that I can live with it if you can—and that neither of us is going to change the station.

Related:

Rock never dies—but it does get older and wiser. Surrender to Steely Dan.

Today’s News

Senator Dianne Feinstein died last night at the age of 90. House Republicans failed to advance a short-term spending bill to avoid a government shutdown this weekend, in a major blow to Speaker Kevin McCarthy. A state of emergency has been declared across New York City, Long Island, and the Hudson Valley due to severe flooding.

Dispatches

The Books Briefing: A new book looks at the “underground historians” of China resurfacing moments from the past that authorities would prefer be forgotten, Gal Beckerman writes. Up for Debate: Conor Friedersdorf asks readers whether Democrats should stick with Joe Biden, and discusses controversy over a talk about racial color blindness.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

Evening Read
Courtesy of The National Zoo

Basil the Opossum Has One Eye, a Big Heart, and a Job to Do

By Elaine Godfrey

This week was a bittersweet one at the zoo. Visitors to the Smithsonian National Zoological Park, with their panda-patterned hats and panda umbrellas, flooded in to say farewell to the zoo’s three giant pandas, who will soon be on their way back to China. To honor their departure, zoo staff are hosting a multiday Panda Palooza, with panda-themed movie screenings, kids’ activities, and cake for the bears. After all, the pandas have been D.C. icons since the first generation arrived more than 50 years ago. Today, zoo-adjacent restaurants sell panda pancakes and panda cake pops. The D.C. metro system sells panda tote bags, and the Washington Mystics women’s basketball team adopted Pax the Panda as its mascot.

But I went to the zoo last week to see a very different animal. I arrived at the Small Mammal House, walked past the South American prehensile-tailed porcupines and a pair of Australian brush-tailed bettongs, and found Basil the opossum asleep, his fuzzy body curled into a ball, his chest rising and falling. When Mimi Nowlin, a Small Mammal House keeper, climbed through a door into the back of his enclosure carrying a plastic tub of capelin, the creature’s eye—he has only one—fluttered open. He stood up on tiny legs. And as Nowlin held out a chunk of fish with a pair of silver tongs, Basil waddled forward, opened his toothy mouth, and chomped. A few minutes later, after the tub was empty, Basil shoved his head in and licked the sides. He had bewitched me, body and soul!

Read the full article.

More From The Atlantic

The science of consciousness is having a rumble. Iran’s influence operation pays off.

Culture Break

Boy walking home on Ross Street in the historic district of Chinatown in San Francisco in 1966 (Vincent Maggiora / San Francisco Chronicle / Getty)

Read. Orphan Bachelors, a new book by Fae Myenne Ng, is an exemplar of the historical memoir.

Watch. In The Royal Hotel, two young women take bartending jobs in a male-dominated remote mining town to make some cash (in theaters next Friday). It’s one of our critics’ 22 most exciting films to watch this season.

Play our daily crossword.

P.S.

I knew when I wrote this nostalgic reminiscence about Barry Manilow that some of my friends in the office (especially among the younger generations) might, shall we say, harbor a dissenting view. So I’m handing over the postscript today to my colleague Sam Fentress, an assistant editor here at The Atlantic. Sam turned 27 today—happy birthday, Sam!—and he raises an admittedly uncomfortable point about a big part of Barry’s oeuvre.  — Tom

Cheers to Barry Manilow; may he live to grace us with another 637 Vegas nights. I love “Copacabana”—a perfect karaoke song—but if I could permanently excise one trauma from American cultural memory, it would be the three (3) Christmas albums he recorded from 1990 to 2007 (the third was retail-exclusive to Hallmark stores, which I believe is what they call a “red flag”). I can’t think of a sonic experience more prone to induce apoplexy than the first 30 seconds of his medley rendition—he loves a medley, bless him—of “Carol of the Bells” and “Jingle Bells.” Brace yourself, and your loved ones around you, as he struggles to meet the unforgiving tempo in that Cheez Whiz drone. Never have I felt more inconsolable in a CVS checkout line.        

— Sam

Due to a technical error, yesterday’s newsletter included a past version of the Culture Break section. You can find the updated section here.

Did someone forward you this email? Sign up here.

Katherine Hu contributed to this newsletter.

When you buy a book using a link in this newsletter, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.

Fear the soggy bottom

Read more...

Scientists have successfully adapted the haricot variety so it can be grown in British soil.

Welcome to Up for Debate. Each week, Conor Friedersdorf rounds up timely conversations and solicits reader responses to one thought-provoking question. Later, he publishes some thoughtful replies. Sign up for the newsletter here.

Question of the Week

Should Democrats stick with Joe Biden or replace him with a younger presidential nominee in 2024?

Send your responses to conor@theatlantic.com or simply reply to this email.

Conversations of Note

At Brian Beutler’s new Substack, he compares the posture toward coalitional politics that led to Barack Obama’s rise with the less confident posture that characterizes the Democratic Party today:

Fifteen years ago, it seemed natural rather than heretical that new ideas and leaders should challenge older ones, and Democrats had more confidence to confront Republicans directly across a range of liabilities. They correctly identified a “culture of corruption” that had run rampant in the Bush years, and exposed much of it on their march back to power. They didn’t reflexively close ranks around whichever leaders felt most safe—far from it, one of the big reasons Barack Obama challenged Hillary Clinton for the presidency, and was able to win the nomination, is because Nancy Pelosi (who was then House speaker) and Harry Reid (who was then Senate majority leader) encouraged him to run. Liberals argued in a freewheeling way about the candidates they supported, without panicking that they might undermine the cause of change.

That whole spirit is gone.

Today we see a great deal of sorting on the center and left into party-aligned media on the one hand, and more factional progressive media on the other; we see a party that suppresses misgivings about its leaders, too insecure about the relative popularity of its own values to feel comfortable grappling with internal dissent. You’re expected either to rage against Joe Biden for not endorsing all 117 items on a laundry-list agenda nobody's heard of; or you’re supposed to pretend not to understand that an old guy who stutters is a suboptimal spokesperson for a major political party. You’re expected to take it for granted that everything is terrible, or to clap for the Democrats and encourage others to clap along. That doesn’t leave much space for those of us who aim, in the words of a storied old British editor, to see life steady, and see it whole. Who value both consistency and open-mindedness to reason and evidence. Who fully understand the stakes of our elections, but think there’s still plenty of space for and value in vigorous intraparty criticism. In all other realms it’s considered completely normal to grow frustrated with the management of entities (sports teams, businesses, non-profits) we loyally support. It should be acceptable in politics today as well.

Beware the Identity Trap

In The Atlantic, Yascha Mounk shares an excerpt from his important new book, The Identity Trap. It is an attempt to understand the form of identity politics that is ascendant on the left and in many institutions. Mounk calls it “the identity synthesis.” Others call it “wokeness” or “the successor ideology.” In Mounk’s telling, it can be traced back to the ideas of four thinkers: Michel Foucault, Edward Said, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, and Derrick Bell. And Monk argues that at least three of them would reject it.

Mounk writes:

The identity synthesis and far-right populism may at first glance appear to be polar opposites; in political practice, one is the yin to the other’s yang. Many attacks on so-called wokeness are motivated by bad faith. They fundamentally misrepresent its nature. But that is no reason to deny how a new ideology has acquired such power in our society. In fact, it’s imperative to recognize that its founders explicitly saw themselves as rejecting widely held values, such as the core tenets of the civil-rights movement.

The lure of the identity synthesis to so many people is a desire to overcome persistent injustices and create a society of genuine equals. But the likely outcome of uncritically accepting this ideology is a society that places an unremitting emphasis on our differences. The effect is to pit rigidly defined identity groups against one another in a zero-sum battle for resources and recognition. Critics of the identity trap commonly claim that progressive activists are “going too far.” But what is at issue is not having too much of a good thing. The real problem is that, even at its best, this ideology violates the ardent aspirations for a better future to which all of us should remain committed.

I’m optimistic about America’s ability to thrive going forward as history’s most successful multiethnic nation state, where the wonderful diversity of our polity functions as a strength. But I do not think a multiethnic nation can thrive if its politics are organized around raising the salience of group identity and putting different racial factions in zero-sum competition with one another. Nor do I think that any individual can be treated with the dignity all humans possess when reduced to membership in any stereotyped category that rejects or denies their uniqueness.

Revisiting Coleman Hughes on Color-blindness

In a past installment of Up for Debate, we pondered whether racial color-blindness ought to be the ideal in interpersonal relationships. In a future installment, we’re going to ponder color-blindness in public policy. Today, I want to flag the latest from the writer Coleman Hughes, whose TED Talk on color-blindness and subsequent debate with the columnist Jamelle Bouie has served as the peg for our pondering. At The Free Press, Hughes recounts opposition to even releasing his TED Talk to the public:

TED draws a progressive crowd, so I expected that my talk might upset a handful of people. And indeed, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a handful of scowling faces. But the reaction was overwhelmingly positive. The audience applauded; some people even stood up. Throughout the meals and in hallways, people approached me to say they loved it, and those who disagreed with it offered smart and thoughtful criticisms.

But the day after my talk, I heard from Chris Anderson, the head of TED. He told me that a group called “Black@TED”—which TED’s website describes as an “Employee Resource Group that exists to provide a safe space for TED staff who identify as Black”—was “upset” by my talk …

On the final day of the conference, TED held its yearly “town hall”—at which the audience can give feedback on the conference. The event opened with two people denouncing my talk back-to-back. The first woman called my talk “racist” as well as “dangerous and irresponsible”—comments that were met with cheers from the crowd. The second commentator, Otho Kerr, a program director at the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, claimed that I was “willing to have us slide back into the days of separate but equal.” (The talk is online, so you can judge for yourself whether those accusations bear any resemblance to reality.)

In response to their comments, Anderson took the mic and thanked them for their remarks. He also reminded the audience that “TED can’t shy away from controversy on issues that matter so much”—a statement I very much agreed with and appreciated. Because he said as much, I left the conference fairly confident that TED would release and promote my talk just like any other, in spite of the staff and audience members who were upset by it.

Two weeks later, Anderson emailed to tell me that there was “blowback” on my talk and that “[s]ome internally are arguing we shouldn’t post it.” In the email, he told me that the “most challenging” blowback had come from a “well-known” social scientist (who I later learned was Adam Grant). He quoted from Grant’s message directly:

Really glad to see TED offering viewpoint diversity—we need more conservative voices—but as a social scientist, was dismayed to see Coleman Hughes deliver an inaccurate message.

His case for color blindness is directly contradicted by an extensive body of rigorous research; for the state of the science, see Leslie, Bono, Kim & Beaver (2020, Journal of Applied Psychology). In a meta-analysis of 296 studies, they found that whereas color-conscious models reduce prejudice and discrimination, color-blind approaches often fail to help and sometimes backfire.

I read the paper that Grant referenced, titled “On Melting Pots and Salad Bowls: A Meta-Analysis of the Effects of Identity-Blind and Identity-Conscious Diversity Ideologies,” expecting to find arguments against color blindness. I was shocked to find that the paper largely supported my talk. In the results section, the authors write that “colorblindness is negatively related to stereotyping” and “is also negatively related to prejudice.” They also found that “meritocracy is negatively related to discrimination.”

Chris Anderson, the head of TED, responded on the platform formerly known as Twitter.

For those interested in this subject, the paper Grant referenced is a nuanced and thought-provoking read containing findings that could be coherently invoked by people on either side of this debate. I see why Hughes believes it bolsters his position, as well as how adherents of multiculturalism, the paper’s example of what it calls an “identity-conscious ideology,” would conclude that it supports their position. To invoke it as if it establishes that Hughes’ arguments about color-blindness are factually incorrect strikes me as a misleading overreach.

Provocation of the Week

Many American colleges are effectively lying about their tuition, Dan Currell argues at National Affairs:

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, colleges discovered that the appearance of high tuition was good for marketing. Positioning one’s school as “almost as expensive as Harvard” created a sense of exclusivity and, somewhat contrary to economic theory, resulted in increased applications. It also led to free media coverage, as newspapers found stories about the high cost of college were evergreen.

Of course, almost nobody was willing to pay Harvard-level tuition for a middling college education. Colleges resolved this problem by canceling out their high sticker prices with “institutional scholarships” that had no money behind them; they were simply the discounts a school had to offer to convince students to enroll. The game was easy: It required no fundraising to endow scholarships, just the appearance of a high price paired with the appearance of a scholarship. This “high-sticker, high-discount” practice worked magic for enrolling students—and it was free. It soon spread to institutions nationwide.

In its early years, high-sticker, high-discount pricing was regarded as a harmless white lie. Schools advertised slightly overstated tuition, which they offset using phantom scholarships that were really just discounts. But things got out of hand quickly.

Throughout the 1980s, colleges kept publishing ever-higher tuition numbers. Meanwhile, the tuition students actually paid rose only slightly. A 1992 New York Times article offers a snapshot of college pricing in the early years of the high-sticker-price/high-discount era:

College tuition bills have been skyrocketing for the past decade. According to the National Center for Education Statistics, the average tuition fee for a private four-year college has exploded to $11,379 last year from $3,811 in 1980; a prestige school like Harvard will charge a whopping $15,870 in tuition for 1992-93....Based on current projections, this year’s tuition of $14,403 for a private school will spiral to about $34,000 by the year 2005.

Controlling for inflation, college tuition had risen about 600% from 1927 (when Mr. Allen’s letter appeared in the Times) to 1992. And, as the article above predicted, published tuition would spiral upward in the decade after 1992. But as few people realized then or now, the apparent rise in tuition after the mid-1990s would be almost entirely illusory.

By 1999, the fundamental dishonesty of college pricing had become clear to anyone willing to take a closer look. That year, American private colleges purported to award scholarships worth more than all the tuition they collected—which is to say, their average discount had exceeded 50%. It would take an endowment worth about 15 times a school's annual budget to fund scholarships at that level. Only a handful of schools have such bulge-bracket endowments; a typical healthy college’s endowment is three or four times its annual budget, and many colleges would be happy to have an endowment equal to a year's operating costs. These scholarships, therefore, could not have been real.

There are a lot more interesting details in the full article. And that’s it for today. See you next week, in October.

Thanks for your contributions. I read every one that you send. By submitting an email, you’ve agreed to let us use it—in part or in full—in the newsletter and on our website. Published feedback may include a writer’s full name, city, and state, unless otherwise requested in your initial note, and may be edited for length and clarity.

Manchester's Jordan Thompson, who challenges Jai Opetaia for the IBF belt on Saturday, has gone from budding tennis star to boxing world title challenger.

The "most successful podcast in British history" is the first into the British Podcast Awards' Hall of Fame.

Want to stay current with Arthur’s writing? Sign up to get an email every time a new column comes out.

To achieve greater well-being, you have two tasks. The first is to increase your level of happiness; the second is to manage your unhappiness. To know which side of the ledger to start on, some self-evaluation can be useful. One tool to help with that is known as the Positive and Negative Affect Schedule (PANAS) test, which rates your natural levels of happy and unhappy affect—or, in lay terms, mood—compared with those of other people. In my teaching and writing, I have found PANAS to be one of the most useful and reliable tests for self-understanding, because it separates your total well-being into discrete emotional channels.

Even without a PANAS test, you might have a pretty good idea of whether happiness or unhappiness presents the greater challenge in your life. One person who certainly did was the eminent 20th-century British thinker Bertrand Russell, who was not only a philosopher, mathematician, and logician but also a Nobel laureate in literature.

[Arthur C. Brooks: Aristotle’s 10 rules for a good life]

“Throughout my childhood,” he wrote in his 1960s autobiography, “I had an increasing sense of loneliness, and of despair of ever meeting anyone with whom I could talk.” Russell’s misery proved to be the mother of invention, though: His greatest accomplishment was to help found the field of analytic philosophy, by which he intended to take the discipline beyond academic chin-scratching and into the practical realm of solving life problems—including his own unhappiness—by breaking them down into manageable pieces. If unhappiness is your biggest challenge, Russell’s approach might be just what you have been looking for.

Russell’s self-cure for unhappiness started with a very strong hypothesis, written in his aptly titled The Conquest of Happiness: Our misery comes from errors. “I believe … unhappiness to be very largely due to mistaken views of the world, mistaken ethics, mistaken habits of life,” he wrote. These mistakes destroy the “zest and appetite for possible things upon which all happiness, whether of men or animals, ultimately depends.” From there, he broke down the problem into eight categories of common errors. The solution to unnecessary unhappiness, he proposed, was rectifying each one.

Error 1: Fashionable pessimism
Russell believed that people who considered themselves enlightened tended to be negative and pessimistic, and were actually proud of it. They were very focused on all that was wrong in the world, and believed “that there is nothing left to live for.” This wasn’t a new sentiment—indeed, as Clark Lawlor, a scholar of 18th-century literature writes, “Melancholy was frothily fashionable” in that period for “anyone who desired to seem in the slightest bit sensitive or clever.”

Russell mocks this pose as a pathetic conceit that should be abandoned. In case you worry that this means abandoning realism about the truth, researchers have shown that pessimism can distort one’s perception of reality.

Error 2: Social comparison
Russell rails against competition, noting that what most people fear is not falling into destitution but “that they will fail to outshine their neighbors.” The problem here is not that we are competitive per se, but that we assess our worth on the basis of what others have and do. As the old expression (sometimes attributed to Theodore Roosevelt) goes, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” As the psychologist Sonja Lyubomirsky and her colleagues have demonstrated in experiments, social comparison is associated with increased unhappiness.

Beside deriding this tendency to base one’s self-evaluation on comparison, Russell implies a solution: Instead of looking at what your neighbor has and feeling resentful, focus on what you have and feel grateful. Failure to do so leads to the next error.

[From the March 2022 issue: How to want less]

Error 3: Envy
Envy describes the condition of being unhappy not because you have little but because someone else has more. This is a huge source of misery, as I’ve written previously here. Envy is entirely human but, left unchecked, is associated with depression, hostility, and shame. It is also ridiculous, especially when it is directed toward those whose achievements we admire.

And therein lies Russell’s remedy: “Whoever wishes to increase human happiness must wish to increase admiration.” In other words, look for people who excel in ways you would like to, and crowd out resentment with frank appreciation.

Error 4: Evading boredom
“We are less bored than our ancestors were,” Russell wrote, “but we are more afraid of boredom,” which leads us to pursue more and more sources of distraction. He wrote these words in 1930—imagine if he lived in the present time, musing thus on X (formerly Twitter) while waiting for a light to change. If he lived in our time, of course, he might also note that researchers have found a significant increase in boredom among adolescents from 2008 to 2017—during the explosion of devices and social-media use.

The solution we can infer from Russell lies not in more distraction but in less. We need to stop fearing boredom and be comfortable with what is going on around us, whether it’s exciting or not. This is an argument made eloquently by my colleague Ellen Langer, who defines mindfulness as the practice of actively noticing new things. You can do that only when you are not distracting yourself.

Error 5: Coping with fear
Clinical anxiety is one of the most common mental disorders today; according to the National Institute of Mental Health, nearly one-fifth of U.S. adults experienced an anxiety disorder in the past year. Russell believed that anxiety is rooted in fear of “some danger which we are unwilling to face.” Our understanding of the disorder today tends to be more biological than this; research shows that anxiety is associated with involuntary physical stress symptoms such as hyperarousal.

Whether we emphasize the biological or the psychological aspects of anxiety, Russell’s cure for it is that we name our fear and “think about it rationally and calmly, but with great concentration, until it has been completely familiar.” If we can succeed in doing this, then “in the end familiarity will blunt its terrors.” Another way of expressing this would be to recommend exposure therapy, which coaches patients to confront the source of their fears openly so that they start to feel less threatened.

Want to hear more from Arthur C. Brooks? Join him and a selection of today’s best writers and boldest voices at The Atlantic Festival on September 28 and 29. Get your pass here.

Error 6: Senseless guilt
Russell was an avowed atheist who rarely missed a chance to point out what he saw as religion’s weaknesses—principal among them the sense of sin and unworthiness. “In consciousness certain kinds of acts are labeled Sin for no reason visible to introspection,” he wrote, arguing that this mislabeling of normal behaviors leads to unhappiness.

Whether or not you agree that religion is to blame (personally, I don’t), the more general point about guilt is a good one: It’s something we tend to experience when we feel undue privilege compared with others—a sort of inverse envy, you might say. One version of this is “survivor’s guilt,” which people experience when a misfortune that befalls others passes them by.

Implicitly, Russell urges us to set aside the stigma of unnecessary guilt. A good remedy for that is simple gratitude. Study after study has shown that gratitude can be practiced even when not felt, and reliably chases away the blues. This is also an effective response to the next error.

[Arthur C. Brooks: Seven habits that lead to happiness in old age]

Error 7: Virtuous victimhood
Russell was critical of what he called “persecution mania,” in which one is “perpetually the victim of ingratitude, unkindness, and treachery.” One version of this is what some researchers have called “virtuous victimhood,” which they describe as claims of unjust treatment paired with assertions of moral standing. The point is not to deny that some people truly are the victims of abuse, but to suggest the risk of internalizing that harm in a defining way: When victimhood is fundamentally how you see yourself, Russell argues, that compounds unhappiness. Research supports this notion, showing that self-pity can stimulate anger and depression. To recognize injustice is right and proper, but resisting self-identifying for too long as a victim can be healthy.

Error 8: Fear of public opinion
A senior citizen I know recently told me that she was much happier since getting older, for one big reason: She finally didn’t care what others thought of her. Russell put it another way: “One should as a rule respect public opinion in so far as is necessary to avoid starvation and to keep out of prison, but anything that goes beyond this is voluntary submission to an unnecessary tyranny, and is likely to interfere with happiness in all kinds of ways.” Easier said than done, of course—research shows that our pain over social exclusion affects us physically. For example, an episode of social rejection can stimulate the anterior cingulate cortex in much the same way that stubbing your toe does.

Russell’s implication that using reason is the right way to correct the problem now has research to back it up. That same study showed that the right ventral prefrontal cortex—a brain region used in conscious reasoning—also becomes active when social pain is encountered, and moderates our distress. Just as you can reason with yourself that a stubbed toe won’t kill you, you can also decide to disregard what others think.

One of the most valuable aspects of Bertrand Russell’s logic is that he doesn’t suggest misery is in itself bad. No doubt he would have acknowledged that unhappiness is an appropriate response to many situations in life. As regular readers of this column will have heard from me before, negative feelings keep us alive and safe, and even enable us to learn and grow. What Russell is saying is that by correcting errors in our thinking, we can avoid unnecessary suffering.

[Arthur C. Brooks: Ben Franklin’s radical theory of happiness]

As I hope I’ve shown, Russell’s philosophical assertions stand up well to social-scientific scrutiny—which underlines what an excellent strategy they make for all of us. One way to apply his eight insights into common mistaken conceptions is to turn them into a set of affirmations to start the day.

1. Pessimism won’t make me cool or smart—just wrong and unhappy. I choose to be an optimistic realist.
2. My self-worth cannot and will not be measured by what others have.
3. I will look for people to admire, and my admiration will overcome my envy.
4. Boredom is nothing to fear. I will not distract myself with mindless diversions from the business of living.
5. I will name my fears. I will face them with courage and resolve.
6. When good things happen, I won’t feel guilty. I will enjoy them and be grateful.
7. Injustice is inevitable, but I will reject a permanent identity of the victim and resist grievance.
8. The opinions of others—especially those of strangers, and especially about me—are meaningless, and I will disregard them.

I don’t know whether Bertrand Russell himself managed to live according to these affirmations—philosophers are not always known for taking their own advice. But we can certainly govern our unhappiness and live better by following his ideas.

Police said a 27-year-old was detained after killing another man in the central town of Soalheira.