If a relationship is going wrong, if a marriage is going wrong

Hear now, O seekers of truth and guardians of the heart, the words of Rory Stewart, a man of both intellect and compassion, who once said: “If a relationship is going wrong, if a marriage is going wrong, the answer cannot simply be to say, ‘You can’t afford to break up because you are going to lose the house.’ The answer has to be only one thing, which is, ‘I love you.’” These words, though modern in sound, echo with ancient wisdom — for they speak of the eternal struggle between material security and spiritual devotion, between the walls we build around our lives and the flame that gives them meaning.

In these words lies a truth that pierces through the noise of the modern age: that love, and not convenience or comfort, must be the foundation of every union. Too often, men and women remain bound not by affection but by fear — fear of loss, fear of loneliness, fear of ruin. They cling to what they have built together — the house, the wealth, the appearances — mistaking those for the essence of the relationship itself. But Stewart reminds us that when the heart falters, when the bond trembles, it cannot be patched by possessions. No wall of brick or roof of tile can shelter a love that has grown cold. The only remedy for love’s wounds is love itself — spoken, renewed, and lived with courage.

The origin of this thought springs from Stewart’s reflections as a public servant, scholar, and man who has walked among many peoples and traditions. He saw, across cultures, how often the union of two souls becomes a contract of necessity rather than an act of devotion. In societies both rich and poor, the fear of losing stability often overshadows the yearning for authenticity. Thus, his words are not only about marriage, but about the human condition — our tendency to cling to the material when the spiritual is failing. To say “I love you” in such a moment is an act of defiance against despair, a reawakening of the bond that first brought two hearts together.

The ancients, too, spoke of this truth. Consider the tale of Marcus Aurelius and Faustina, the Roman emperor and his wife. Their marriage endured trials both public and private, tested by rumor, absence, and the weight of empire. And though Marcus Aurelius might have bound their union with power or wealth, he instead wrote of love’s endurance: that the greatest harmony in marriage lies in mutual respect, kindness, and affection — not in worldly gain. For him, as for Stewart, love was not a transaction but a discipline, a conscious act renewed through time and toil.

There is something heroic, even sacred, in Stewart’s insistence that the answer to brokenness must be “I love you.” It is a call to humility and bravery alike. To say those words when all seems to be unraveling is not weakness — it is strength beyond pride. It is the voice of the soul reaching past pain, past ego, past the tally of wrongs and possessions, to affirm what endures. For love, when true, does not ignore hardship; it transforms it. It says, “Though we have fallen, though our home shakes, I still choose you.” This is the kind of love that builds not houses, but temples of the spirit.

Yet Stewart’s words also contain warning. If love is absent, no wealth or logic can replace it. To stay together out of fear is to live among ruins, pretending the walls are whole. The ancients called this shadow living — to dwell beside the ghost of what once was, while denying the truth. Thus, his wisdom teaches that love cannot be preserved through pretense. It must be spoken honestly or allowed to end with dignity. The I love you he speaks of is not mere sentiment; it is a test of truth. It asks: Do you love still, or are you merely afraid to leave?

So, my listeners, let this teaching sink deep into your hearts. In times of strife — in marriage, in friendship, in any bond that binds you — do not look first to comfort, convenience, or pride. Look to love. If it lives, nurture it; speak it aloud even when your voice trembles. If it has died, do not cage its memory with fear. Let it rest, and walk forward in honesty. For a house may crumble, but love, when it is genuine, is a foundation eternal.

And thus we learn from Rory Stewart: when all else fails, the answer is not found in law, or wealth, or reason — but in the courage to say, “I love you.” These are the words that rebuild what was broken, or release what cannot be saved. They are the beginning and the end of every sacred union. Let them be spoken with truth, and you shall find not only peace between hearts, but peace within your own.