“Ownership of the sublime is not like mastery. To own the sublime is not to have and to hold forever, till death do you part. Ownership of the sublime is service rather than mastery: less like the love of a possessive husband for his trophy wife, and more like the love of a mother for her children: a nurturing love, stewardship rather than dominion. This non-possessive love takes delight in the least trace of the beloved, whether the laughter of a child, received as a gift even though not given as such, or the last rays of a sunset streaming magenta over the horizon after the source is long gone.
Even death can be sublime. We would be so much less sad if we learned how to let go of the things we love. Then they might become truly ours for the first time, in this non-possessive mode that the sublime demands of us. When you go to the movies or read a novel, you invest only the tiniest fraction of what that artwork cost to create. Yet the benefit you derive is immense, despite the fact that you cannot have and hold these artworks as Howard Hughes possessed his millions and kept them from others. This nonpossessive adoration, like the love of parents for their children, combines service, nurturance, stewardship and finally a letting go.
Yes, the earth is ours, our only home. But she is not mine in a personally possessive sense. Yes, my dying friend is my friend in the most intimate and private sense. And I will miss her when she is gone. But I do not love her better while she is alive by refusing to share her with others. We would be so much less sad if we learned this letting go.”
— Living Without a Goal, James Ogilvy
One Response
I have always found the notion of “owning” any portion of the earth to be laughable, and tragic.
Ownership implies nothing but violence and force of arms.