We have the world to live in on the condition that we will take

“We have the world to live in on the condition that we will take good care of it. And to take good care of it, we have to know it. And to know it and to be willing to take care of it, we have to love it.” Thus spoke Wendell Berry, the farmer-philosopher, the poet of the earth, whose words are both a warning and a benediction. In them echoes the ancient covenant between humankind and creation — a sacred bond as old as Eden, as enduring as the soil beneath our feet. For Berry teaches that life upon this earth is not a right of ownership, but a stewardship of love, and that to betray this trust is to lose the very home in which we dwell.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Berry’s lifelong devotion to the land — his years of tending farms in Kentucky, of walking the fields and forests, of listening to the slow, eternal rhythm of nature. He spoke not from theory but from communion — the deep knowing that comes only from living closely with the earth’s seasons and silences. His words remind us that care begins in knowledge, and knowledge begins in love. The one who loves the land seeks to understand it; the one who understands it learns how to protect it. Thus, love is not sentiment alone — it is the root of responsibility, the force that binds the human heart to the fate of the world.

In this quote, Berry outlines the sacred order of stewardship. First, we are given the world to live in — not as conquerors, but as guests. Second, we are commanded to take good care of it, for our existence depends on its well-being. But such care cannot come from ignorance or indifference. To care, we must know — not only with the intellect, but with the senses, the heart, and the soul. And yet, knowledge without love is cold and hollow; it does not endure. Only through love do we awaken to reverence, and only through reverence do we act with wisdom. Thus, the chain is complete: love leads to knowledge, knowledge leads to care, and care sustains the world.

The ancients understood this sacred cycle. In the teachings of St. Francis of Assisi, the humble saint of nature, we see the same truth: that every creature is our kin, every tree a teacher, every river a song of God’s mercy. Francis did not separate love of creation from love of the Creator — to him, they were one and the same. When he spoke to the birds and blessed the wolves, he was not performing a miracle of speech, but a miracle of understanding — the same miracle Berry calls us to reclaim. For to know the world as Francis did, as Berry does, is to see it not as material to be used, but as mystery to be honored.

History offers us also the tragic tale of what happens when this covenant is broken. Consider the Dust Bowl of the 1930s, when greed and ignorance stripped the Great Plains of their vitality. The land, plowed without restraint, turned to dust and rose in storms that blackened the sky for hundreds of miles. It was a lesson written in suffering — a warning that the world, when mistreated, withdraws its gifts. The farmers who endured that devastation learned too late what Berry now reminds us: to take good care of the earth, we must first know it; and to know it truly, we must love it.

But Berry’s words are not only a rebuke — they are an invitation to redemption. For the power to renew the world still lies within us. The act of knowing can begin anew in every garden, every forest walk, every act of quiet attention. To know the earth is to observe its rhythms, to honor its limits, to see beauty where others see only use. The act of loving begins when we allow ourselves to be moved — by the cry of a bird, by the scent of rain on soil, by the miracle of seed to fruit. From these awakenings grows the will to care — to live lightly, to restore what has been broken, to act not for profit but for posterity.

The lesson, then, is both simple and profound: love is the foundation of stewardship. Without love, knowledge becomes exploitation; without knowledge, love becomes sentiment. The world endures only when both dwell together in the human heart. If we would secure the future — for ourselves, for our children, for all creation — we must become again the lovers and caretakers of the earth, not its masters. We must see that to heal the soil is to heal the soul, for the two are bound as body and breath.

Therefore, my friends, let us take this wisdom as a sacred commandment for our time. Know the world. Love the world. Care for the world. Walk its fields, learn its seasons, tend its life with gentleness and awe. For the gift of this earth is not eternal unless we make it so. And when we live in harmony with it — when our labor becomes an act of love and our knowledge an act of reverence — then, and only then, shall we be worthy of the home we have been given. For as Wendell Berry reminds us, the earth will endure only as long as love itself endures — and love, if it is true, must always take care.