Speaking of finite ends, what about this sex drive?  Is that rush of vasculature-relaxing hormones the essence of sex?  Or is it the finite end that drives us to a transcendent means?   That film of latex turns even the most meaningful moment of erotic love into an icon of mutual masturbation.  Or maybe it turns an erotic act of mutual masturbation into a substitute for love.

In all these examples of concupiscence, the fulfilling act not only substitutes for the “real thing” but it also closes the door to the potential of the “real thing”.