Marriage is neither heaven nor hell, it is simply purgatory.

“Marriage is neither heaven nor hell, it is simply purgatory.” Thus spoke Abraham Lincoln, the great heart of America, a man whose wit was as sharp as his wisdom was deep. These words, though clothed in humor, carry the solemn ring of truth. For Lincoln, who knew both sorrow and endurance, understood that marriage, like life itself, is neither perfect bliss nor utter despair—it is the testing ground of the soul, a place where virtue is refined through patience, forgiveness, and understanding. In likening it to purgatory, he did not condemn the bond between husband and wife, but revealed it for what it is: a state of struggle and growth, where the fire of daily trials purifies the heart.

Abraham Lincoln was a man who gazed unflinchingly at the complexities of human existence. His marriage to Mary Todd Lincoln was marked by both affection and turmoil. Mary, passionate and proud, and Abraham, contemplative and melancholic, were bound by love but separated often by temperament and grief. Yet through their years together, he remained steadfast—neither idealizing marriage as paradise nor despising it as torment. To him, it was something in between: a crucible, a purgatory, where two imperfect souls work out their redemption through endurance, compromise, and love that is tested but not destroyed.

In the ancient faiths, purgatory was seen as a place not of punishment, but of purification—a realm where souls, not yet worthy of heaven but too noble for damnation, were refined by fire until they were ready for eternal peace. So too is marriage, in Lincoln’s insight, a sacred middle ground, a workshop of the spirit. It is where the selfish are taught to give, where the proud learn humility, where the impatient learn the art of time. It is not heaven, for perfection is not found there; nor is it hell, for love still burns amidst the ashes. It is the human heart’s training ground, the bridge between passion and peace.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor and philosopher, whose marriage to Faustina was far from serene. Rumors of betrayal and discord shadowed their union, yet Marcus, in his writings, spoke not with bitterness but with grace. “Accept the things allotted to you,” he said, “and love the people with whom destiny has bound you.” Like Lincoln, he understood that love is not measured by ease but by endurance. Marriage, in its purgatorial nature, tests the soul’s capacity to forgive, to persevere, and to find serenity in imperfection. Both men saw that the truest victory in love lies not in escaping its trials, but in transcending them.

Lincoln’s words are not meant to darken our view of love, but to illuminate its reality. Too often do we expect marriage to be perpetual heaven—a realm of unbroken joy and agreement. But such illusions crumble at the first quarrel, the first misunderstanding, the first silence that lasts too long. Likewise, to see marriage as hell is to surrender hope entirely. The truth, Lincoln reminds us, lies between: marriage is the slow work of two souls climbing toward understanding, purging themselves of vanity and fear. In that struggle lies sanctity; in that effort, redemption.

The wise know that purgatory is not endless. It is the path toward purification. So too, the trials of marriage, when endured with patience and love, lead not to despair but to a deeper union. The flame that burns away selfishness leaves behind the gold of compassion. The arguments, the reconciliations, the shared burdens—all these are the fires that temper the soul. When two people pass through them together, they emerge not unscarred, but stronger, gentler, and more whole.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not seek perfection in love, but persistence. Do not fear the purgatory of marriage, for it is the forge in which true companionship is made. When anger rises, let forgiveness follow swiftly. When weariness sets in, remember that the same fire which exhausts also purifies. Take comfort in knowing that every soul who has loved deeply has walked through this same middle realm—where joy and pain dance in equal measure, and where, through endurance, love becomes something eternal.

So remember the wisdom of Abraham Lincoln, children of the heart: marriage is not heaven, nor is it hell—it is purgatory, that sacred middle space where love is made real. Accept its trials as blessings in disguise. Cherish not only the moments of bliss, but the moments of struggle, for they are the fires that shape your soul. For in the end, those who walk through purgatory together do not emerge diminished—they emerge redeemed, holding hands in a light that no trial can ever extinguish.