A city acquired a vacant
industrial building as part of its development of a nature sanctuary, and many
nearby residents wanted the city to tear down the graffiti-covered former
factory, which they saw as an eyesore. However the four-story brick building
remained structurally solid and large enough to accommodate a number of
nature-related activities, including a charter school, a natural history
center, and offices for nature organizations. The city had to decide whether to
bend to the political pressure or find someone to rehabilitate the building.
In
a famous article on the ethics of abortion, the philosopher Don Marquis argued
that we don’t allow murder because it causes its victims to lose all of the
“activities, projects, experiences, and enjoyments” that they would have had.
“What make killing any adult human being prima facie seriously wrong is the
loss of his or her future,” wrote Marquis.
We
can extend that same argument to the premature ending of the life of a
perfectly good building, as in the case here. While the word “life” has a
different meaning when we apply it to a living being as opposed to an inanimate
object like a building, the ethics related to terminating a life appear as relevant
to buildings as much as bodies. Demolishing something that still has a
promising future raises the same kind of objections we have when we see someone
negligently or intentionally killing someone else. It deprives people of the
“activities, projects, experiences, and enjoyments” that they might have had in
that building.
Drawing
a parallel between killing a person and demolishing a building may seem
extreme. Buildings have no political rights, no feeling of pain, no
interpersonal relationships or any of the other characteristics of a human life
that make murder so immoral. Nor, since the abolition of slavery, do we allow
one person to own another, the way we do buildings. The private-property rights
that accrue to the owner of a building gives that person relatively free reign
to tear it down except in those few instances where historic designations or
other contractual agreements prohibit it.
Law
and ethics, though, almost never perfectly align. What the law allows us to do
does not necessarily make it ethical, which Marquis’s argument highlights. We
can legally engage in war, for example, but that does not make the killing of
other people ethical because, as Marquis observes, it deprives them of their
future, which we have no right to take. At the same time, Marquis argues for
the ethics of mercy killing, of ending the life a terminally ill person who
wants to die because of the pain and suffering that their foreshortened future
holds for them, even though this remains illegal.
This
gives us criteria of when to save a building and when not to. If a structure still
has “life” in it, with enough structural integrity and physical capacity to
accommodate a variety of new uses, we should do all we can to preserve and
rehabilitate it. And if not – if its deterioration has so shortened its life
and made its reuse almost impossible without a nearly complete rebuilding – we
should not hesitate demolishing it unless there is some extraordinary
historical value attached to the structure to merit its reconstruction.
In
the case of the solid industrial building in that nature preserve, the city
needs to do whatever possible to find a new owner or developer willing to rehabilitate
the structure. While the city has no political advantage or legal requirement to
do so, it does have an ethical responsibility, and for many people, that’s
reason enough.
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