Love as a State of Perpetual Want

“To love is to be in a state of perpetual want.”  Friedrich Nietzsche

“From craving arises sorrow; from the cessation of craving comes peace.”  The Buddha

“To love is to be in a state of perpetual want,” wrote Friedrich Nietzsche, a line that pierces straight to the heart of our restless condition. Love, for Nietzsche, was not a serene harmony but vital turbulence: the current that keeps existence in motion. To love is to reach, to desire, to yearn for what we can never wholly grasp. It is, in his view, the very expression of life’s creative yearning, the same force that drives the artist to paint, the thinker to question, the body to live.

Love, then, is not peace; it is movement. It creates a gap in the heart, an ache, a leaning, a pull towards the other. Even in moments of deep intimacy, something remains beyond reach: the ungraspable interior of the beloved. We can touch, but not merge; understand, but never exhaust. This distance is not the failure of love but its condition. Love requires the space between to stay alive.

Nietzsche embraced this restlessness. He regarded it as the driving force of creation, the will to power; not for control but for expansion, growth, and self-overcoming. For him, love arose from abundance, the overflowing of life’s energy seeking expression beyond itself. Conversely, stillness was death. Love’s infinite desire was not a wound to be healed but a song of vitality, the push to becoming. His philosophy was one of fire, designed to burn brightly, even at the cost of peace.

From a different perspective, that of the Buddha, the same restlessness appears in a different light. The Buddha also recognised that the human heart is in a constant state of desire. Instead of celebrating this, he examined it as a doctor assesses an illness. He named this thirst tanhā (craving) and saw it as the root of suffering. 

Craving is not merely the desire for pleasure or possessions; it is the restlessness of the mind itself, the inability to find peace in the present moment. It is the desire that underpins every “I want,” every “if only.”

From this perspective, Nietzsche’s “perpetual want” binds us to dukkha, the subtle friction of existence experienced through attachment. Love, when infused with craving, becomes possessive, anxious, and self-defensive. We call it love, but beneath it beats fear: fear of loss, of change, of not being loved in return. 

We cling to the beloved as if holding them tightly could protect us from the impermanence of all things. Yet, as the Buddha observed, whatever can be held will one day slip through our fingers.

However, there is another kind of love, not the restless love driven by craving, but the spacious love of awareness. This love recognises change as its very foundation. It does not seek to possess but to witness and accompany. It is rooted not in desire’s hunger but in the fullness of presence. Such love might still ache; it is not indifferent, but its ache is tender, not desperate. It allows the beloved to come and go, to grow and change, because it understands that love is not about possession but about participating in the flow of being.

At the core of this transformation is the reduction of the I-factor. The Buddha recognised that craving arises from the illusion of ownership; me and mine, yours and mine. The restless mind remains fixated on what belongs to me, what threatens me, and what I might lose. This self-centred cycle of I love, I need, I fear, I want is the source of the ache that never disappears. As the grip of “I” loosens, the desire to defend, control, or possess begins to fade.

The wonder is that love does not fade when the “I” relaxes; it deepens. When love is freed from the weight of self, it becomes expansive, inclusive, and quietly joyful. There is no longer my love or your love; there is simply love flowing through the space between beings. The heart, no longer tied to ownership, finds peace in participation.

This loosening has implications beyond the personal. The “I-factor” is not only psychological but civilisational. Modern culture, especially in the West, amplifies the self: the consumer, the achiever, the romantic protagonist. It turns love into possession and freedom into preference. The Buddha’s insight is a counterpoint to this cultural restlessness, a reminder that liberation does not come from having more but from needing less.

The Buddha’s middle way avoids both extremes: asserting a fixed self and denying the self. By seeing that there is neither a permanent self nor a complete absence, the mind awakens to the flow of experience that is alive, responsive, yet unpossessive. In this space, restlessness naturally subsides. What remains is not cold detachment but the warmth of freedom and love without clinging.

The tension between Nietzsche and the Buddha should not be hurriedly resolved. Nietzsche’s vision celebrates the fiery, embodied vitality of human life; the courage to strive, desire, and create meaning from restlessness. The Buddha’s perspective reveals the peace that emerges when striving itself is recognised as the source of suffering. 

One embraces the fire; the other transforms it into light. Nietzsche’s love burns fiercely; the Buddha’s illuminates gently. Between them, we observe the full spectrum of human longing, from the heat of passion to the radiance of compassion, from the ache to become to the stillness that allows all things to exist.

Perhaps Nietzsche’s constant desire marks the beginning of love, and the Buddha’s realisation signifies its maturation. Restlessness pulls us towards each other, but understanding enables us to love without fear. The restless mind perceives passion; the peaceful mind understands intimacy. When restlessness is recognised for what it is, the craving seeking fulfilment starts to settle naturally. What remains is not the end of love but love free from attachment.

To love, then, is to live with the ache of impermanence and to find, within that ache, a gentler joy. The wound of longing becomes the doorway to compassion. The wanting that once sought to possess transforms into the tenderness that allows. In this way, love evolves from fire to light. Evolves from the consuming desire to have and to hold to the luminous spaciousness that supports all things.

The ability to hold both fire and light, passion and peace, is love’s most human form; embodied, imperfect, and awake.

Rory Singer

You can also read this post on our Substack journal, Unfolding.