Any claim of personal property really comes down to one basic idea: the right to exclude others. The U.S. Constitution mentions government-owned land (Article IV) and personal property (the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments), but it never explains exactly what “property” is, how it’s defined, or how one person or government can legally say, “This bit of Earth is mine” and keep everyone else out [1].
John Locke tackled those questions in his Second Treatise of Government. He started from the idea that, in nature, everything belongs to everyone in common—but because each of us “owns ourselves,” we also own the value our labor produces. His argument goes step by step:
- You own your body and your labor. “Every individual man has a property in his own person. The labour of his body and the work of his hands… are strictly his” [2].
- You mix your labor with something from nature. If you clear a field or build a fence on common land, your work gives it new value.
- Therefore you own that value. Locke says, “He mixes his labour with it, thus… makes it his property” [2].
- But only what he can use before it spoils. Anything beyond your own needs “belongs to others” [2].
It sounds fair—if land truly had no value until someone worked it, then whoever added the labor would deserve all of its worth. But in practice that assumption breaks down the moment land itself becomes valuable simply because it’s scarce.
Take Manhattan’s Central Park, for example. It’s been landscaped and serviced, but its real value is in being open green space surrounded by skyscrapers. If someone fenced off a bit and planted flowers, they wouldn’t suddenly own that parkland—its worth comes from its rarity, not from new labor.
Locke’s rule also gives a massive early advantage to whoever claims first. Those who arrive later either pay a premium or end up left out entirely. Meanwhile, heirs inherit land they never improved, and tenants who pour in sweat and money get none of the upside.
In fact, when the American colonies broke away from King George III, power didn’t spread democratically—it landed squarely with wealthy plantation owners. Four of our first five presidents were exactly those kinds of land barons. They wrote laws that enshrined land ownership as Locke described it, all while building their fortunes on others’ labor.
The real problem is that land often has huge value before anyone tills it—because it’s limited and in demand. Our laws still follow Locke’s 17th-century logic without dealing with the unfair consequences: extreme wealth gaps, unaffordable housing, and rising homelessness.
Locke’s legacy was revolutionary in his own time, but it ignores two simple facts: land can be valuable on its own, and there isn’t enough of it to satisfy everyone. Today, claiming “I worked it, so it’s mine” only amplifies inequality. Maybe it’s time we rethink what “property” really means—and find a fairer way to share the limited land we all depend on.
[1] U.S. Constitution, Art. IV; Amend. V, XIV
[2] John Locke, Second Treatise of Government (1689)