
Does More Education Make You Happier?
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I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish I knew no astronomy
when stars appear
Yes! I thought, as I read these lines from the Russian American poet Joseph Brodsky in a 1989 love poem, 'A Song.' There's something about the ineffable beauty of life that formal knowledge misses. So it seemed to the 25-year-old me, a bohemian musician and hopeless romantic. True, this anti-intellectual view was also flavored by no small quantity of sour grapes, after I'd spent an unsuccessful eight months at college and was barely making rent. I didn't know it at the time, but I was in for a great deal of book-learning in my 30s, which ultimately led to a life as an academic. Although I became a happiness researcher, not an astronomer, I eventually came to repudiate my dalliance with Brodsky's contention.
Still, given what I now do for work, I have to ask: How exactly does higher education affect happiness? Not because college costs a family, on average, nearly $40,000 a year (per student), which gives rise to a legitimate debate about whether people are getting their money's worth; but because one of the most important questions they should weigh is 'Will well-being be better or worse with this investment of time and money in additional schooling?' The answer to whether education pays a happiness dividend is not easy or clear-cut, but I can suggest a few rules to guide a potential student's decision about whether to pursue further studies.
Dwayne Betts: Joseph Brodsky on a Thursday morning
At first glance, the relationship between education and happiness appears very positive. Many scholars have looked at life satisfaction in countries all over the world, and found that educational attainment seems to push it up, in general, for both individuals and countries. Most studies ascribe this effect to the fact that formal education improves labor-market outcomes, which raises living standards, resulting in higher well-being.
A few researchers have looked at the nonfinancial benefits as well. One large study from Spain discovered that, in addition to better career outcomes, people get a happiness boost from the greater levels of self-confidence and self-esteem that higher education can provide. Another study found that at relatively high income levels, specialized education that fewer and fewer people attain (for example, a doctoral degree) becomes a 'positional good,' meaning that simply possessing such attainment boosts social standing; this can translate into enhanced life satisfaction. In this respect, you might think of getting a Ph.D. as akin to buying a Ferrari.
When we look at happiness in other domains of life, things get a bit more complicated. On the one hand, people who have a college degree experience less satisfaction with their amount of leisure time than non-college-educated people do. On the other hand, higher education improves job satisfaction, as well as offering financial benefits—but only if one's career expectations match actual employment opportunities (and this is especially the case in rich countries). The obvious explanation for this might be that some college majors actually do not prepare students for high-paying careers. Universities rarely talk about the reality that, whatever inherent value certain degree qualifications may have, entitlement to a top salary is not one of them—so some graduates get a nasty surprise.
Even worse for happiness is when higher education leads to indebtedness, which can lower well-being a great deal. Scholars have found that student loans are negatively correlated with psychological functioning, and that higher debt-to-income levels predict more symptoms of depression at midlife. This is consistent with the broad finding, which I discussed in this column, that in general, owing too much money is terrible for happiness.
Brodsky's line about astronomy refers to the way knowledge derived from formal education can limit our perception of the sublime—and in that sense, interfere with pure happiness. But formal education is only one way of acquiring knowledge. Many behavioral scientists, myself included, believe that interest is a positive emotion that, when stimulated, makes learning inherently satisfying. The argument is that we are fitter as a species when we learn new things, and thus evolved to want to do so. But not everyone learns in the same way—and conventional, classroom-style education can be a mismatch for the way some people naturally acquire knowledge. For them, college is—in the words of one of my sons—complete torture. The point is that studying astronomy is not the only way to learn about and be interested in the stars.
Robert E. Rubin: Higher education isn't the enemy
Very few families, I imagine, sit around the kitchen table making a college decision purely on the basis of happiness. But in the United States, where the annual college dropout rate is about 33 percent, we would do well to take this variable into account. And the research provides a simple guide to making college a happier experience.
1. Follow the ikigai of college.
First, fortunate is the student who is extremely fascinated by the course of study in greatest demand by the job market. Most students, however, will need to find a balance between these two priorities: interest and reward. One method to help you strike that bargain is to use a simplified version of the Japanese concept of ikigai: in this case, the sweet spot of overlap between what interests you and what is professionally practical. Live in that sweet spot, and you will get as much positive emotion as possible from your work while minimizing the risk of job dissatisfaction. So do the work that universities don't: Inform yourself about which majors lead to the best jobs and merge that list with the majors that most appeal to you.
2. Avoid debt as much as possible.
For the sake of happiness, avoid educational debt as much as possible. For people lucky in their family circumstances, student debt is not an issue, even if they attend expensive private universities. For others, however, more limited resources mean starting at community college and staying within a state system, or learning through one of the many affordable, virtual courses proliferating today. I was in the latter category when I finally went to college in my late 20s; I graduated one month before my 30th birthday. I had little money, was starting a family, and knew that a debt load would depress not just my well-being but theirs, too. I found an institution where I could pursue my degree through distance learning, and completed my studies within a budget of $10,000, including books. Plenty of people get their higher education this way, without incurring the happiness penalty of huge debt.
3. If you hate school, find a different path.
For decades, education researchers have debated whether different 'learning styles' exist and what they are. Many subscribe to the idea that some people learn better through the written word, while others learn visually, and still others assimilate knowledge best by spoken-word methods. Although this theory—about text, image, speech modes—is still contested, there is little dispute that traditional college simply isn't best for everyone, or even necessary. According to the trade-skill staffing company PRT, the United States has a critical shortage of tradespeople in fields such as plumbing and electrical contracting. I strongly suspect that one factor behind this shortage is an everyone-must-go-to-college mentality. The overt intentions may be admirable but can conceal an unconscious snobbery about class and profession that pushes into higher ed many talented, hardworking young people who would be much happier in occupations that do not require a college degree.
One last point is that the happiness gained by education might not be the same at every point in your life. Had I stayed in college as a teenager, I would certainly have majored in something of dubious job-market value and gone into significant debt in the process. A decade later, the education I got was both practical for my professional future, and inspirational, enabling me to understand myself and the world. At 18, I was not ready to study, and doing so gave me no joy. At 29, I thrilled to the glories of differential calculus and the mysteries solved by regression analysis.
I wasn't only a quant-head—I also took courses in poetry. And it was then that Brodsky's words took on a deeper meaning, opening up for me an apprehension of the fleeting beauty that knowledge brings all through life. Indeed, 'A Song' closes with the following lines:
It's evening, the sun is setting;
boys shout and gulls are crying.
What's the point of forgetting
if it's followed by dying?

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In the train carriage on my way to a meeting when hay fever got the better of me, I followed each sneeze with a 'sorry', even though the carriage was fairly empty and nobody was sitting next to me. When I replied to a work email requesting me to invoice for an article I'd written, I began: 'Sorry it's taken me a while to get this over to you', even though my response was written less than three hours after the original message popped into my inbox. And, most dramatically, when my next-door neighbour reversed straight into my car on our shared drive – even though I was stationary – I got out and found myself saying 'sorry' to him, although the prang was clearly his fault. (Fortunately, he admitted this and only a tiny bit of damage was done.) While my enthusiasm for apologising may at first glance sound over the top, in fact, there is nothing at all unusual about it, according to new research. Indeed, Britons typically utter the word 'sorry' nine times a day – adding up to an incredible 3,285 times a year, the study commissioned by Interflora found. And, just as I do, the researchers discovered 90 per cent of Britons routinely apologise for things which aren't their fault, such as someone bumping into them, trying to squeeze past a person in a queue, or accidentally interrupting someone. Psychotherapist Tim Arthur confirms, 'the phenomenon of excessive apologising is something I encounter frequently in my practice'. He adds that the prevalence of a 'cultural script' of politeness is one of the most distinctive aspects of Britishness. A 'cultural script', he explains, is a socially shared pattern of behaviour and communication that becomes almost automatic. 'In Britain, this often manifests as a reflexive tendency to apologise, even when no harm has been caused or when the fault clearly lies elsewhere.' According to Arthur, ours is not the only culture where the frequency and reflexivity of apologising are particularly marked, with Japan and New Zealand being the other two countries with a similar tendency. 'In Japan, for example, apologising is integral to maintaining social harmony, often functioning as a ritualistic expression of respect rather than an admission of guilt,' he says. 'Meanwhile, in New Zealand, there is also a notable tendency towards modesty and self-effacement, partly influenced by Maori cultural values that emphasise humility and collective well-being. Similar to Britain, New Zealanders may apologise pre-emptively to mitigate any perceived disruption or imposition.' But, while we may find apologetic companions in these places, they are far from typical, says Arthur. In cultures with more individualistic orientations, such as the United States or most European countries, directness is often valued over excessive politeness. 'Here, apologies are more likely to be seen as an admission of culpability rather than a routine social lubricant.' The roots of our excessive politeness in the UK can often be traced back to childhood and early family dynamics, suggests Arthur. Individuals raised in environments where conflict was minimised or where there was a high value placed on keeping the peace may develop a conditioned response to avoid confrontation at all costs. This certainly strikes a chord with me. My early upbringing was very much focused on living in a harmonious household, avoiding arguments – even when an occasion could have easily warranted one. Moreover, educational settings can reinforce this pattern, says Arthur. 'In many British schools, children are encouraged to be 'good' and 'polite', with non-compliance often framed as problematic. This early conditioning can make assertiveness feel socially risky or even transgressive,' he says. Again, I recognise that the ethos of my girls' school would definitely fit with this description and also helps explain my adult behaviour. But if repeatedly saying 'sorry' and displaying politeness are such norms in our society, where's the harm? Why can't we just keep apologising and carry on as we are? Unfortunately, says Arthur, over-apologising can have several negative psychological repercussions. 'Firstly, it may undermine self-worth, as the habitual admission of fault can erode one's sense of competence,' he says. 'My clients often report feeling 'invisible' or taken advantage of when their apologies become a reflex rather than a considered response.' He adds that from an interpersonal standpoint, habitual apologising can also alter power dynamics. 'In professional settings, it may signal submissiveness or lack of confidence, inadvertently leading to being overlooked or undervalued. As one of my client's insightfully noted, 'It's like I'm constantly taking up less space, just in case someone else needs more',' he says. So, it's clearly time for me and my fellow sorry-sayers to get a grip and learn some techniques to prevent ourselves from becoming doormats. Not that I'd ever want to become rude or aggressive, but rather it would be helpful to reframe our behaviour so as not to perennially suggest that we are at fault for whatever life throws at us. Arthur points to a technique called 'cognitive restructuring' as being helpful in this regard. This challenges the belief that politeness requires self-deprecation and instead of defaulting to 'sorry', this is replaced with affirmative language that maintains respect without implying any sort of mistake. 'For example, instead of saying 'sorry for taking up your time', you could try saying 'thank you for your patience',' Arthur suggests. He also encourages 'mindfulness' when speaking – or, put simply, being aware of the automatic responses that come out of our mouths. 'When you notice an apology forming, make yourself pause, assess the situation, and consciously choose a response that reflects your true intent.' Clearly this is going to take some practice after years of ingrained behaviour and, indeed, Arthur says in his practice the training often involves repetitive role-play scenarios, where his clients practice replacing apologies with clear statements of intent. 'This can involve using 'I' statements to express feelings without attributing blame, such as: 'I'd like to share my perspective on this,' or 'I prefer to approach it this way'.' Keen to work this through, I also book in a session with executive coach Sara Cremer who, like Arthur, works closely with clients to achieve the sweet spot between politeness, respect and assertiveness and who has some useful tips to incorporate into daily and working life (see below). Armed with their expert advice, have I noticed any change in recent days? I have indeed consciously stopped myself beginning emails with the word 'Sorry'. I was also rather chuffed with what I managed to say at my last tennis coaching session about one of my wayward shots. Rather than the 's' word, I joked, 'Well, that's not going to give Roger Federer anything to worry about!' Meanwhile, back at my corner shop this morning, as I bought a loaf of bread and was asked, 'Cash or card?', I simply replied: 'Card, please.' My reward was a friendly smile and a nod from the shopkeeper. I seem to be making progress. Think about your body language: standing tall, maintaining eye contact and using open gestures can communicate confidence and assertiveness, even when words are kept polite. Use positive words: replace 'sorry' with affirmative language that avoids suggestion of a mistake. For example, instead of saying 'sorry the meeting has overrun', you could try saying, 'what a fascinating discussion we've had'. Think before you speak: rather than talking on autopilot, consider what you're saying and each time you sense an apology coming, force yourself to pause and replace it with a positive phrase instead. State how you feel: to get your point across, think of a three-point script, with the three points starting: 'When you', 'I feel' and 'The consequences are'. So, for example, 'When you don't stand up for me when your mother is criticising my parenting, I feel deeply hurt and unsupported. As a consequence, I will let you take the children to your parents on your own next time.' In this way, you are noticing a behaviour, not ascribing intent or emotion to it. And the consequence adds in a boundary. Don't use email or WhatsApp: these are terrible methods for complex or nuanced communication, fraught with the possibility for misunderstanding, particularly if you want to be assertive about something you're not happy with. Instead arrange a time to have a face-to-face conversation to talk it through. Don't assert in anger: wait 20 minutes. If you're properly wound up by something get out of the house or office, go get a coffee, walk about for a while. Don't be assertive while you're still wound up as you won't come across as assertive, you'll come across as ranty. It's much better to be calm when making your point. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.