There is the sky, which is all men's together.

Euripides, the tragedian of Athens, once wrote: “There is the sky, which is all men’s together.” These words shine like a torch across centuries, simple yet eternal. In them lies a teaching both humbling and uplifting: that above our divisions, above borders, above quarrels, the sky stretches, vast and unpossessed, belonging to none and yet to all. It is the reminder that while men fight over soil, no man can seize the heavens. It is the eternal inheritance of all humanity, a canopy under which king and beggar alike must walk.

In origin, Euripides was no stranger to the turbulence of human life. His plays often unveiled the frailty of mortals, their passions, their sorrows, their folly. To speak of the sky as common to all was to contrast the pettiness of human quarrels with the boundless order of nature. Men may argue over property, power, and gold, but the heavens—immeasurable, untouchable—remain free. In this saying, he urges mankind to lift their gaze from the dust and remember what unites rather than divides.

History provides many echoes of this truth. In 1961, when Yuri Gagarin, the first human to journey into space, looked down upon the earth, he did not see borders or nations; he saw only one planet beneath the infinite sky. His words, “I see Earth! It is so beautiful,” were the modern echo of Euripides: the heavens belong to no nation, but to all mankind. And when men from rival lands later stood together upon the Moon, they proved that the sky was not a prize of conquest but a realm of shared wonder.

The ancients themselves practiced this recognition in ritual and story. Sailors who navigated the seas by the stars knew that the constellations were not the possession of one city but a map written for all who dared to venture. Shepherds in distant lands looked at the same constellations as kings in palaces. The sky bound humanity together across distances and ages, reminding each that above them was a realm beyond ownership, a realm that calls forth awe rather than greed.

The teaching, then, is profound: the sky is a mirror of unity. It reminds us that what is most essential—air, light, water, and the very breath of existence—is not meant to be hoarded, but shared. To forget this is to sink into the madness of division. To remember it is to awaken to the truth that humanity is one family beneath one heaven.

Practically, let us live as heirs of the sky. Do not let boundaries of nation, race, or wealth blind you to the shared wonder of existence. When you look up at night, remember that the same stars shine upon your enemies, your friends, your ancestors, and your children yet unborn. Let this remembrance soften pride and dissolve enmity. For if the sky refuses to be owned, so too must the soul resist being chained by hatred or narrowness.

Thus, Euripides’ words call to us still: “There is the sky, which is all men’s together.” Let them be a summons to humility, to unity, to reverence. For while our feet tread different soils, our heads are lifted to the same heavens. And in that shared gaze, mankind may yet find peace, hope, and the strength to live as one beneath the eternal blue.