In the course of a marriage, one accommodates the other.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg, whose life was marked by wisdom, patience, and an unshakable sense of justice, once said: “In the course of a marriage, one accommodates the other.” These words are simple in sound, but profound in meaning. They do not speak of grand gestures or dramatic sacrifices, but of the steady, daily acts that weave two lives into one. For to marry is not to triumph over the other, but to learn the art of balance, to bend without breaking, and to yield without losing oneself.

When she speaks of accommodation, she does not mean surrender, nor submission. She means the recognition that two souls, though united, are never identical. Each carries their own rhythm, their own needs, their own flaws. To accommodate is to honor the humanity of the other, to make space within one’s life for their presence. It is the quiet art of compromise, the patient choice to step back today so that both may move forward tomorrow. The ancients would have called this harmony, the balance of opposites that allows a household, like the cosmos itself, to endure.

Ginsburg’s own life bore testimony to this truth. She often spoke of her marriage to Martin Ginsburg, a union built not on dominance but on mutual respect. Martin, a man of law like her, recognized her brilliance and made space for it, supporting her rise even in an age when women were expected to remain in the shadows. She, in turn, honored his strengths and passions, yielding where necessary so that both could thrive. Their partnership is remembered as a living example of her words: accommodation not as weakness, but as the highest form of strength.

History too offers us many illustrations. Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius and Faustina, the Roman emperor and his empress. Though burdened by empire, Marcus often wrote of patience and balance within the family. He understood that to lead a household required as much wisdom as to lead an army, and that harmony could not be commanded, only cultivated. Likewise, Ginsburg’s words remind us that true marriage is not conquest but cooperation, not pride but patience.

The meaning of her teaching is as sharp as it is gentle: marriage is not sustained by perfection, but by accommodation. Two people cannot walk together for decades without friction. But accommodation smooths the rough edges, turning quarrels into lessons, and differences into shared growth. It is this quiet humility—the willingness to change one’s step for the sake of the other—that allows love to endure beyond the fires of passion, into the steady flame of companionship.

The lesson, then, is clear: if you would see your marriage thrive, do not seek always to win. Do not measure love by triumphs of argument or victories of will. Instead, cultivate the art of listening, of yielding where you can, of standing firm only where you must. Let your life be wide enough to hold the presence of another fully. For in this mutual accommodation, love ceases to be a fleeting emotion and becomes a living covenant.

Therefore, let those who enter marriage take heed. Approach it not as a battlefield but as a garden, where both must labor, both must water, and both must yield to the needs of the season. Remember that to accommodate is not to diminish yourself, but to enlarge the bond between you. For as Ginsburg wisely taught, it is not in domination, but in balance, that marriage finds its strength.

Thus, Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s words are a lantern for all who walk the path of love. They teach that accommodation is not weakness, but endurance; not resignation, but harmony. If we carry this truth into our own unions, we will find that marriage, far from being a chain, becomes a shared journey—one where two souls, though different, move as one toward the horizon.