Yesterday I wrote this:

Love is the active desire to share a world, to see with. Love pursues the accomplishment of perfect sharing despite futility.

Some will point out the futility and on that basis to give up the pursuit, but this happens when love is lacking.

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Would someone who loves chocolate refuse to eat a portion of chocolate she knows she cannot finish? The chocolate is intrinsically good. Eating it is not a means to having eaten it.

Where something is a means and not an end in itself it is not intrinsically valued. Love is intrinsic valuing.

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In its imperfection, love is not absent, only its outer edges. Its imperfection is incompleteness, something remains to be done. But this is only a way of saying that it is inexhaustible.

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Today I read this passage by Martin Buber:

Religion as risk, which is ready to give itself up, is the nourishing stream of the arteries; as system, possessing, assured and assuring, religion which believes in religion is the veins’ blood, which ceases to circulate. And if there is nothing that can so hide the face of our fellow-man as morality can, religion can hide from us as nothing else can the face of God. Principle there, dogma here, I appreciate the “objective” compactness of dogma, but behind both there lies in wait the — profane or holy — war against the situation’s power of dialogue, there lies in wait the “once-for-all” which resists the unforeseeable moment. Dogma, even when its claim of origin remains uncontested, has become the most exalted form of invulnerability against revelation. Revelation will tolerate no perfect tense, but man with the arts of his craze for security props it up to perfectedness.

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Perfect –  ORIGIN Middle English : from Old French perfet, from Latin perfectus ‘completed,’ from the verb perficere, from per– ‘through, completely’ + facere ‘do.’

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