To live with someone who likes you, and whose judgement you

The words of Roger Scruton—“To live with someone who likes you, and whose judgement you respect, because you love them, does make quite a difference, I find.”—fall upon the heart like a gentle flame. Within them is contained a truth older than marble, older than the sagas sung around firelit halls. It is not merely about companionship, nor about the fleeting delight of romantic affection, but about the profound harmony that arises when love, respect, and mutual regard meet within the home. For when one abides with another who both delights in one’s presence and whose judgement is esteemed, the soul finds an anchor against the storms of the world.

In ancient times, the philosophers spoke often of the household not merely as a dwelling of walls, but as the smallest unit of the polis, the seed from which the garden of society springs. Scruton’s words echo this wisdom: to dwell with one who likes you is to find rest in their acceptance, and to live with one whose judgement you respect is to be ennobled by their counsel. Combined with love, this triad—affection, respect, and devotion—creates a bond that elevates both lives, making them more than what they could be alone.

Consider the tale of Marcus Aurelius, the Stoic emperor, who though burdened with the governance of Rome, often found his strength renewed by the quiet steadfastness of his wife, Faustina. Though history debates her character, Marcus wrote of her as a source of comfort and resilience. In her presence, he was not merely emperor, but husband—reminded that power is dust if one has no hearth to return to. His meditations reveal a man who drew balance not only from philosophy but also from the grounding force of domestic affection. Here, the lesson is clear: the greatness of a man is magnified when he shares his life with one who both cherishes and counsels him.

The ancients also knew that to love without respect is fragile, as a ship without a keel; and to respect without affection is cold, like marble statues that neither warm the heart nor answer the soul’s cry. Scruton reminds us that the marriage of the two—liking and respecting—is the true treasure. For in such union, even simple days glow with meaning: a shared meal becomes sacred, an ordinary word becomes strength, and silence itself becomes a bond rather than a void.

Yet this truth is not reserved for emperors or philosophers alone. Look to the humble farmer and his wife, who through decades of toil still greet each other with kindness at dusk. Their lives are not adorned with marble palaces, yet because they live with one who likes them, respects them, and loves them, their dwelling becomes a palace of peace, greater than the courts of kings who live in discord. What wealth can rival such harmony?

The lesson for us is plain: choose not only whom you love, but also whom you respect, and who delights in your being. In your friendships, seek those whose laughter gladdens you but whose counsel also shapes you. In your marriage or companionship, do not settle for love alone, nor for respect alone, but strive for the union of both, for this is the fire that endures through years and tempests.

Practically, let each reader take this into their life: listen to the one you love, not merely with the ear but with the heart; speak words of kindness daily, lest affection grow silent; esteem their counsel, for it is the mirror in which you see yourself anew; and above all, nurture the simple habit of delighting in their presence. These are not lofty demands but small, daily offerings that preserve the flame.

Thus, Scruton’s words stand not as idle reflection but as a guide: to live with one who both likes you and whose judgement you respect, bound together by love, is to stand upon a rock in the midst of shifting sands. It is to dwell in a fortress not built of stone, but of trust, affection, and reverence. This, indeed, makes all the difference.