It is impossible to repent of love. The sin of love does not

When Muriel Spark wrote, “It is impossible to repent of love. The sin of love does not exist,” she struck a chord that echoes through the corridors of the human spirit — a defiant, luminous declaration that love, in its truest form, is beyond reproach. The world may condemn passion, circumstance, or the consequences that follow love’s pursuit, but love itself — pure, selfless, uncalculated — can never be wrong. For love is not the transgression; it is the redemption. It is the divine force that lifts humanity out of despair, even when born from chaos or sorrow.

In her words lies both tenderness and rebellion. Spark, a writer of fierce moral insight, understood the tension between society’s judgments and the soul’s longings. She lived in a world quick to name love as sin when it strayed from convention — yet she knew that love cannot be corrupted, only misused. To repent of love would be to repent of the very essence that makes us human, for love is the one act that moves us closer to the divine. We may regret our choices, our blindness, our attachments — but never the love that gave those moments meaning.

The ancients knew this truth as well. In the myths of Greece, the gods themselves bowed to the power of love. Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, was both adored and feared — not because love was sinful, but because it made mortals and immortals alike vulnerable to truth. Even when love led to ruin, as in the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, it remained sacred. Orpheus defied death itself to reclaim his beloved. He failed in the end, yet who would call his love a sin? His grief became the root of music, and his song turned sorrow into immortality. From love’s ashes rose beauty — and that, Spark would say, is proof that no love is wasted.

In the realm of history, Oscar Wilde stands as a mirror of this wisdom. Condemned and imprisoned for his love, he was branded by his age as sinful. Yet in the silence of his suffering, he wrote, “Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground.” Wilde understood, as Spark did, that love is not the crime — only the world’s fear of it is. He emerged from his pain purified, his heart scarred yet luminous, proclaiming forgiveness where others had given him shame. In him, love transcended sin; it became sanctity.

To love truly is to live without apology. The soul that has loved — even wrongly in the eyes of men — carries a spark of eternity within. For what is divine love if not unconditional? To repent of love would be to deny the lessons it brings: compassion, humility, courage, and surrender. Even when love wounds, it teaches. Even when it ends, it ennobles. The only sin is the absence of love — the coldness of heart that refuses to feel, to forgive, to risk.

And yet, the world teaches restraint before it teaches reverence. It fears love’s wildness, its refusal to obey rules. But the wise know that love is not bound by law; it is bound only by truth. It is not measured by outcome, nor tarnished by failure. Every act of love, however fleeting, leaves an imprint upon the soul that time cannot erase. The one who has loved deeply — and without shame — has touched the eternal, for they have lived in harmony with the rhythm of creation itself.

Thus, my child, learn this lesson: never repent of love. Regret cruelty, deceit, or indifference — but not the love that once set your heart aflame. Do not curse the wound through which light entered your soul. Love, even when unreturned or misunderstood, has already done its sacred work — it has expanded your being. To love is to walk with the gods for a moment, to taste immortality in mortal form.

So walk forward, unashamed. The sin of love does not exist. Love bravely, love honestly, love without fear of judgment. Let your love be the proof that you have lived, not merely existed. And when your days are done, it will not be your wealth or power that endures, but the love you gave — the one thing, in this world and beyond it, that never needs forgiveness.