Murdoch isn't suggesting that love is simply learned through repetition, like mastering an instrument. Rather, she's insisting that love is a kind of knowledge that exists only in the doing—there's no theory, no preparation, no safe rehearsal. A young parent who has never felt responsible for another human discovers what love actually *is* through the sleepless nights and small surrenders, not through any book about parenting. The paradox cuts deeper than it appears: you must already be somewhat loving to begin, yet you cannot fully understand what love means until you've failed at it, adjusted, and tried again.