The entire basis of private property stems from the root of self-ownership. I own myself. A side root off of that, is I am responsible for all my actions, because my actions are an expression of myself or the effects of myself. Property is just an extension of my actions or effects of myself. If one is against this self-ownership principle, then they themselves null and void the argument automatically, because if one argues against it, they are using their own body to make the argument which is exercising the principle of self-ownership AGAINST self-ownership. From this standpoint, the endgame becomes that individuals own their property and are responsible for all the property they own or use. This in and of itself has the incentive for individuals to keep, extend and enhance their property as much as possible. Of course, not everyone follows this but the lack of using property rights is fine. Property rights are optional. Not everyone changes their oil every 3-5 thousand miles, nor cleans their gutters every few months or even brush their own teeth twice a day. But this is the cycle of nature. Those who do not brush, change oil or clean gutters, eventually spend more time, money and effort to fix the problems, than those who are proactive. Again, it is not in my self interest to rip my shoes, dirty my gun or screw up my clock... I want to extend and benefit from the property I own, not destroy and waste it.
YouTube - Jethro Tull - Wond'ring Again
There's the stillness of death on a deathly unliving sea,
and the motor car magical world long since ceased to be,
when the Eve-bitten apple returned to destroy the tree.
Incestuous ancestry's charabanc ride,
spawning new millions throws the world on its side.
Supporting their far-flung illusion, the national curse,
and those with no sandwiches please get off the bus.
The excrement bubbles,
the century's slime decays
and the brainwashing government lackeys
would have us say
it's under control and we'll soon be on our way
to a grand year for babies and quiz panel games
of the hot hungry millions you'll be sure to remain.
The natural resources are dwindling and no one grows old,
and those with no homes to go to, please dig yourself holes.
We wandered through quiet lands, felt the first breath of snow.
Searched for the last pigeon, slate grey I've been told.
Stumbled on a daffodil which she crushed in the rush, heard it sigh,
and left it to die.
At once felt remorse and were touched by the loss of our own,
held its poor broken head in her hands,
dropped soft tears in the snow,
and it's only the taking that makes you what you are.
Wond'ring aloud will a son one day be born
to share in our infancy
in the child's path we've worn.
In the aging seclusion of this earth that our birth did surprise
we'll open his eyes.
