What is happiness? This is a question, but I think there is a better one: when does happiness occur? Let’s turn our attention to that now.
Viktor Frankl, in the context of his logotherapy, makes the answer clear: in order to have meaning in one’s life, one must set a goal that is transcendental, which is to say, a goal that aims of contributing to something other than, or even larger than, yourself. But the achievement of the goal is not what brings happiness. Rather, as he says, in the progress you make toward your goal, “happiness ensues.” Happiness, in short, is a byproduct.
This relates nicely to Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s notion of Flow. Happiness, to Csikszentmihalyi, happens during the state of flow. To achieve “flow,” you need a task, and that task must fit certain parameters to allow you into this state.
It’s worth pointing out a couple important ideas. One is that there are many people who long to achieve leisure. Leisure time is, of course, time where we are freed, or imagine we are freed, from work, drudgery, and distractions. But leisure time, it turns out, is idle time that allows for rumination. When one is unoccupied, negative thoughts creep in. When you are concentrating on a task—and that task is to be done for its own sake, not for some abstract goal—then there is no attention left for rumination! It’s that simple.
As the philosopher Pyrrho suggested with the idea of ataraxis, “the only freedom is freedom from worry.”
Happiness, in short, takes effort. And the effort comes from a task that you give yourself—let’s say for me it’s photography. My photographic practice, as Csikszentmihalyi describes, must follow eight characteristics. Complete concentration on the task at hand—a kind of mindfulness, really. The task must be able, best you can, to provide instant feedback—you need to see that you are doing well. Time will both speed up and slow down. The experience of the work, art, or craft is intrinsically rewarding—you’re not doing it for a material reward, per se. it must be effortless. It must balance your skills against the challenge the task presents: if the challenge is to high, you’ll get frustrated, and too low you’ll get bored. The actions align with your awareness in complete absorption. You have a feeling of control. When all these factors are met—and I’m sure you’ve been there before—you will be in a state of flow.
The personality that Csikszentmihalyi explains as autotelic is the one that does things for their own sake. I don’t photograph, that is, to be rich or famous or get a show or whatever other goal my ego can come up with. I do it because I love it. Because it keeps me conscientious. Because it just feels good to do it. Same with writing, with playing the piano—but also, on occasion, with cooking, or cleaning out the attic.
Another interesting aspect of flow is that is accentuated and increased when done in a group. Have a family task that is interesting, demands some skill and challenge? Try it together.
As I prepare to travel to North Carolina to do my two-month artist residency, I am aware that I am working with the idea of meaning. From Viktor Frankl, I glean the idea that I am working to make art, a meaningful body of work that people might enjoy. That alone gives me meaning. From Csikszentmihalyi, I know that as I undertake the work, if I am conscientious, I will forget the worries of home—the mortgage, my tax filings, my health care paperwork, and all the other obligations I worry over—and immerse myself in what Alfred Stieglitz simply called “camera work.” I will concentrate on my subject, my composition, the view camera movements, the exposure, development, and printing. I will not pursue happiness; I will simply be in it. I will be free of worry, which is the only freedom we have.
I invite you, too, to try Csikszentmihalyi’s books on flow. One, Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience, is more for people like me who’ve had some psychology coursework and can understand the experiments and jargon. Finding Flow, however, is meant for a more general readership, and is interesting (and shorter).
This ends, for now, a brief overview of the meaning of life. It is, simply, to take on a task that will do good for something beyond yourself, and in so doing, with full concentration, you will achieve—however briefly—happiness because you will have shifted your consciousness away from worrying and into the task at hand. Choose the task well: it needs to be challenging, but not more than your skills can handle. You can try something new; just start small, learn all you can, and progress. You will achieve, in addition, confidence. Such has been my experience with photography.
Look: if I can start from scratch with my father’s camera, or terrible poems written in high school, and yet go on to publish books, to win grants and fellowships and artists residencies, and to see my photographs framed and on the wall of a gallery, I assure you that you can do anything. There is absolutely nothing unique about me, really. The older I get, the more ordinary I find myself. But it does not limit my ambition to find meaning, to be happy, and to contribute something to the world.
You can do this, too.