I think Harold fails to trust us enough. I am remined of my friend Harriet's suggestion that when we feel a passion for a work (she was referring to Blakes 7) we fall in love with the platonic ideal of that work, which the artefact itself merely points at, or hints at. I agree with her, and I think other fans of the same work may see the same ideal as we do, and their enthusiasm or their fanfiction or their critiques may help us to see that ideal-behind-the mask more clearly.
A broken statue may suggest to you an intact work of beauty that never existed. And I do not doubt that people achieve the sublime state that Harold wants us to feel, by using massively flawed and broken works as hints of something greater behind them, things that perhaps no single work of art can ever match.