The hunger that no meal satisfies

At a crucial moment in the film 101 Dalmatians, Pongo and Perdita and their 15 Dalmatian puppies are all watching TV, waiting for the right moment to escape from the wicked Cruella de Vil. One of the puppies, Rolly, despite being captivated by the film, says, “I’m hungry, Mother. I’m hungry.” Perdita says, “Now Rolly, you’ve just had your dinner.” Rolly insists, “But I am, just the same. I’m so hungry I could eat a . . . a whole elephant.”

There are two kinds of hunger. There’s a hunger that has a name. It’s a hunger where you know what you want but you haven’t got it or can’t have it: when you interviewed for a job, and you can’t understand why they didn’t appoint you; when you long with all your heart to have a baby, but it’s not happening; where you’re dying for something to eat, but the cupboard’s bare; when you just want something, something in your life to go right for a change, but people keep letting you down. Such hunger can become all-consuming, transforming your temper, your relationships, your patience, your clarity of thought, your whole character. We are what we eat, they say. We’re also capable of becoming contorted into the shape of what we hunger for.

But there’s another kind of hunger. It’s a hunger that lingers deep, disturbingly, in the bottom of your soul, but it doesn’t have a name. There’s no simple solution to it, no hot meal or job title or box ticket that will satisfy it. The Irish band U2 famously articulated this second kind of hunger when they sang with longing and bewilderment: