Flow as a component of meaningful living
The modern concept of flow may have been anticipated by a number of Greco-Roman authors
We all want to be happy, but if by happiness we mean some sort of Disneyesque state of permanent bliss (as in “and they lived happily ever after”) then we are embarking on a fool’s errand. Instead, modern positive psychology tell us that a good life is made of a combination of what many ancient Greco-Romans mistakenly thought were two incompatible components: hedonia (i.e., pleasure) and eudaimonia (i.e., meaning, largely derived from prosocial activities, or the practice of “virtue”).
Indeed, in a recent essay on the difference between meaning and goals in life, I linked to an article by Anna Katharina Schaffner that discusses pertinent empirical findings and suggests that, approximately, a good human life results from a mix of 80% eudaimonic activities and 20% hedonic ones. That is, the main dish of life is made of meaning-producing pursuits, peppered with a bit of pleasure to make things more interesting.
But I left out a third component that positive psychologists have been very interested in: flow. The term refers to a state of complete absorption in an activity, where nothing else seems to matter. Developed by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi in the 1970s, the concept describes those moments when people become so immersed in what they’re doing that they lose track of time and self-consciousness, experiencing what feels like effortless control and intrinsic enjoyment. The term emerged from interviews where people described their peak experiences using water metaphors—feeling “carried by the flow” or “floating” through whatever they were doing.
Flow experiences share a number of core characteristics. People in flow demonstrate intense concentration on the present moment, with action and awareness merging into automatic, effortless performance. Self-consciousness disappears, replaced by a strong sense of personal control over the situation. Time becomes distorted—hours can feel like minutes—while the activity becomes intrinsically rewarding, pursued for its own sake rather than external rewards. Recent research has simplified the picture reducing flow to three essential dimensions: (i) absorption (deep, undistracted immersion); (ii) effortless control (high mastery with fluid performance); and (iii) intrinsic reward (inherently positive, optimal arousal).
In order to experience flow three psychological conditions are required. First, clear goals and progress markers provide direction and measurable advancement. Second, immediate, unambiguous feedback allows real-time performance adjustments. Most critically, there must be a balance between perceived challenge and personal skills—tasks that are too easy generate boredom, while those too difficult trigger anxiety.
According to positive psychologists those people who have “autotelic personalities”—characterized by curiosity, persistence, and intrinsic motivation—experience flow more readily. The activity must involve mindful engagement (passive activities like watching TV rarely produce flow) and occur in relatively distraction-free environments.
But did the ancients actually talk about something like flow? I’m glad you asked. A warning, though. What I’m about to say is my own speculation supported by my understanding of the ancient literature and how it fits with modern science. Both ancient scholars and positive psychologists may object to some of my readings below. Caveat emptor.
A reasonable argument can be made that some Ancient Greek and Roman philosophers described concepts similar to Csikszentmihalyi’s flow theory, and moreover developed frameworks for understanding and cultivating these optimal states of being. Let’s take a look at some potential examples.
Beginning with the Presocratics, one might be tempted to read a reference to flow in Heraclitus of Ephesus’ famous warning to his fellow citizens that they were “sleepwalking” through life, not paying proper attention, not being immersed in the reality of existence. They were living a passive life rather then the sort of engaged existence that is most meaningful for a human being.
Plato’s Phaedrus arguably provides the most vivid ancient description of flow-like states through the concept of theia mania (divine madness, an idea also found in Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, and Hinduism). The philosophical madness Plato speaks of realizes itself in complete absorption in the pursuit of truth: “The madness of a man who, on seeing beauty here on earth, and being reminded of true beauty, becomes winged, and fluttering with eagerness to fly upwards … takes no heed of things below” (249d5-e1).
This description seems to capture multiple characteristics of the state of flow: complete absorption (taking “no heed of things below”), loss of self-consciousness (being “regarded as mad”), intrinsic motivation (driven by love of wisdom), and merging of action and awareness (the soul becomes “winged” and unified).
The Charioteer Allegory, also found in the Phaedrus, illustrates optimal psychological integration through the metaphor of reason controlling emotion and appetite. When the charioteer (reason) successfully balances the white horse (honor) and black horse (appetite), the soul achieves optimal functioning—a parallel to flow’s emphasis on balancing challenge and skill.
Moreover, Plato’s Symposium describes the contemplative ascent toward beauty itself, where the philosopher experiences “a wondrous vision, beautiful in its nature” (210e) characterized by complete absorption, time transcendence, and autotelic experience—the contemplation of beauty becomes its own reward.
Plato’s most famous student, Aristotle, also developed a philosophical framework containing systematic parallels to modern flow theory. His version of eudaimonia, usually translated as flourishing, describes optimal human functioning as an “activity of the soul in accordance with virtue” (Nicomachean Ethics 1098a16-17)—an active state of complete engagement rather than passive feeling. This seems to parallel flow’s emphasis on active participation over mere passive pleasure.
Moreover, Aristotle’s concept of energeia (activity/actuality) captures dynamic engagement where potentiality becomes actualized. In Metaphysics 1050a21-23, he discusses the nature of being and the distinction between potentiality and actuality. In this context, flow can be thought of as a dynamic engagement that allows us to realize our potential in specific activities.
But perhaps theoria (contemplation) provides the most direct Aristotelian parallel to flow states. The Peripatetic describes contemplation as the highest form of human activity: “the activity of the best thing in accordance with its proper virtue would be perfect happiness … this activity is contemplative” (Nicomachean Ethics 1177a1). The key flow characteristics appear to emerge clearly throughout book X, chapter 7 of the Nicomachean Ethics: complete absorption (“we can contemplate more continuously than we can do any action”), intrinsic motivation (“this alone would seem to be rested in for its own sake”), and loss of ordinary self-consciousness (“each person would seem even to be this divine element”).
The Stoic concept of prosoche (attention/mindfulness) provides another parallel to flow’s emphasis on focused attention. Pierre Hadot—in Philosophy as a Way of Life (p. 84)—defines prosoche as “a continuous vigilance and presence of mind, self-consciousness which never sleeps, and a constant tension of the spirit,” thus describing sustained attention that enables complete absorption in present activities.
Epictetus analyzes attention at length in Discourses 4.12, where he says: “What is to prevent your playing, then—but with attention? … There is no part of the activities of your life excepted, to which attention does not extend, is there? What, will you do it worse by attention, and better by inattention?” The Stoic prosoche also seems to me to be a reminder of Heraclitus’s warning seen above not to sleepwalk through one’s life.
Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations contains exhortations to engage in flow-like states. For instance, his reminder (to himself) that “both the longest-lived and the shortest-lived lose an equal amount of time, because the present is the only thing one can lose, since that is all one has, and no one can lose what he does not have” (2.14) captures flow’s emphasis on present-moment absorption.
Or consider Seneca’s Letter 1, where he writes: “Nothing, Lucilius, is ours except time”; or “Life is long, if you know how to use it,” from On the Shortness of Life, 2. Seneca’s emphasis on present-moment engagement parallels flow’s focus on immediate experience. At the same time, his concept of virtue as intrinsically rewarding mirrors flow’s autotelic nature: “Do you ask what I seek from virtue? I answer, Herself: for she has nothing better; she is her own reward.” (On the Happy Life, 9)
Even the Epicureans got into the flow game, it seems. Epicurus developed sophisticated concepts that in a way are parallel to flow theory, for instance through his analysis of ataraxia (freedom from mental disturbance) and its connection to mental pleasures in the Letter to Menoeceus: “The pleasant life is not the product of one drinking party after another or of sexual intercourse with women and boys or of the sea food and other delicacies afforded by a luxurious table. On the contrary, it is the result of sober thinking—namely, investigation of the reasons for every act of choice and aversion and elimination of those false ideas about the gods and death which are the chief source of mental disturbances.”
Echoes of flow in the ancient world emerge also outside of the philosophical literature. For instance, Hesiod emphasized the connection between craftsmanship and the divine, as the Muses inspired creativity and skill in various crafts, including poetry and music, which were seen as integral to the cultural fabric of society. Rhapsodes, professional singers of pre-classical poems, are described by Socrates in Plato’s Ion as being in the thralls of a kind of divine inspiration that comes across a lot like a flow state.
Pushing things a little, perhaps, we can also think of how athletic performance was conceived in Ancient Greece. It was closely linked to the concept of kalokagathia, which emphasized a balance between physical prowess and moral virtue. Athletes were expected to demonstrate not only their physical abilities but also qualities like loyalty, self-improvement, and ethical behavior, reflecting the belief that a sound mind and body were essential for personal development. And of course athletic performance isn’t too far from military endeavors. In Homer one can see a number of descriptions of warriors achieving what looks like flow-like states while they are completely absorbed in combat, as well as the flow concept of seeking the appropriate balance between skills and challenges (in the Iliad, Patroclus famously failed to respect that balance, and tragically died at the hand of Hector).
Definitely establishing that the Greco-Romans grasped the concept of flow, even though of course they did not use modern terminology, would require a more serious scholarly effort, beyond the scope of this essay. But I hope I have been able to at least stimulate your curiosity about the topic. The more practical question is what do we make of the possibility that a good life has three, not two, components: eudaimonia, hedonia, and flow.
Let me again summarize the various aspects of flow:
Complete absorption in the ongoing task;
Loss of self-consciousness while carrying out the task;
Merging of action and awareness;
Clear goals and immediate feedback;
Balance between challenge and skill (not too easy, not too difficult);
Intrinsic motivation;
Transformation of time perception.
According to the ancient philosophers these aspects can characterize not just physical or athletic performance—which constitute many of the modern examples of flow—but also intellectual and, most crucially, ethical ones. Ideally, following both the Stoics and Aristotle, practicing virtue for the skilled lover of wisdom (or for the sage) comes natural and automatic, and one doesn’t even have to think about it—like an expert driver handles a car. Since flow applies to both eudaimonic and hedonic pursuits, it can be thought of, in a sense, as the link between the two: the most satisfying pleasures are those for which we experience flow, which goes also for the most rewarding meaningful activities we embark on. A good life, then, results from habitually carrying out meaningful activities, occasionally peppered with some pleasure, both components ideally pursued while in a state of flow.
The convergence I have tried to sketch between ancient wisdom and modern psychology suggests that flow theory taps into fundamental aspects of human consciousness recognized across cultures and millennia. The ancient concepts provide both historical validation and philosophical depth to contemporary research, hinting at the conclusion that optimal experience may represent a universal aspect of human flourishing rather than merely a modern psychological construct.
In rowing, we call it “swing.” Beyond description and almost otherworldly. Thanks for the reminder, Massimo.
I love the connections one can draw across history on the experience of flow. For me, this is most likely to occur at the piano, but there are times when I experience it during seemingly mundane activities like cooking or housework. This makes me wonder, referencing back to the 80/20 purpose/pleasure ratio, to what extent flow fits into both categories, and if perhaps, it is something that should be maximized within experience itself.
I also wonder to what extent flow correlates to the experience of other mammals, and even more distant cousins in the animal kingdom. Pure speculation with no empirical basis: the things that interfere with flow are those things that are most uniquely human.