Longing: The heart that cannot find rest and the spark that still burns

Source: The confession that opened the gates of the soul

Great are you, Lord, and highly praised; great is your power and your understanding is beyond measure.

And man comes, a part of your creation, and seeks to praise you – man who carries with him his mortality, who carries with him the testimony to his sin, the testimony that you oppose the proud. And yet man, a part of your creation, desires to praise you.

You awaken him to find delight in your praise, for you have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.

(Augustine, "Confessions", Book I, Chapter I (397 CE); The painting of Augustine by Rubens, 1638)

Explanation: The frustrated heart searching for itself

The opening sentence of the Confessions is perhaps the most famous sentence in theological literature. Augustine, who lived a hedonistic life before converting to Christianity, realizes in retrospect that all the desires he chased—women, honor, knowledge—were crooked expressions of a single longing: in God is our trust. The "restlessness (inquietum) of the heart" is an expression that combines unease with an active search.

Perspective: A fallen spark seeking to return home

Augustine offers a solution that is also a problem: If longing is satisfied only in God, what is the meaning of all of life until then? The surprising answer is that longing itself is a kind of fulfillment. The "restless" heart is not an empty heart—it is an alive heart. Only the dead do not long. The Zohar (Parashat Vayeira) describes the soul as a "spark" that fell from the divine fire and yearns to return to it. Longing is not a punishment for the fall; it is proof that the spark is still burning. Buddhism sees desire (tanha) as the source of suffering and seeks to extinguish it. Judaism and Christianity see longing as the source of holiness and seek to channel it. One, Judaism, directs it toward a meaningful earthly life, while the other, Christianity (and Islam), aspires to die and unite with the Infinite.

Going Deeper: Longing for a place you are already in

The seventeenth-century Japanese poet Matsuo Bashō wrote: "Even in Kyoto, I long for Kyoto." This is precisely the paradox: you can long for a place you are already in, for a person you are with, for the life you are living. This is a messianic longing, a search for the "true Kyoto," the sublime, the "Kyoto on high." In a different vein, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov writes, "Wherever I go, I am going to the Land of Israel" (Chayei Moharan 156)—this is the longing of every Jew for a Promised Land, the yearning of all generations, the heavenly Jerusalem. Admittedly, Rabbi Nachman reaches the Land, yet refuses to stay there. As usual, the longing is better than reality.

Culture: When the soul sleeps and the heart is awake: Longing as a knocking voice

The Song of Songs—the most romantic book in the Bible—is read in Jewish tradition as an allegory for the longing between the Congregation of Israel and the Holy One, blessed be He. In one of the scenes where the maiden searches for her beloved, it is described: "I was sleeping, but my heart was awake. Hark! My beloved is knocking" (chapter 5, verse 2).

The Midrash (Song of Songs Rabbah) explains: "The Congregation of Israel said before the Holy One, blessed be He: Master of the Universe, I sleep from the commandments—yet my heart is awake to acts of loving-kindness. I sleep from acts of charity—yet my heart is awake to perform them. I sleep from the Temple—yet my heart is awake to synagogues and study halls. I sleep from the end of days—yet my heart is awake to redemption. I sleep from redemption—yet the heart of the Holy One, blessed be He, is awake to redeem me."

The Midrash is saying that longing needs an outlet, a little comfort, a mikdash me'at (miniature sanctuary); it is not only hope that sustains us, but also the successes along the way—acts of kindness, study halls, half an encounter.