The shorebird law has sparked a maelstrom of criticism, much of it irate, but at the core of the distress is a well-worn yet salient argument: that private property rights are being impinged upon unfairly. Although private property is a sacrosanct element of the American way, and environmental regulation can hamper growth, the circumstances involving regions affected by the shorebird legislation are complex. A comprehensive assessment must weigh many interests against the pressures of development. The force of these other interests might well override the prerogatives of landowners.

From an ethical standpoint, there are many interests affected by the shorebird law. On one hand, there is the owner who seeks to build where no building has gone before, in an idyllic setting near water. The basic reason is to benefit from such a marvelous locale, whether that benefit is psychological, spiritual or financial. The desire to build could be part of a cherished dream and involve a lifetime of personal savings.

On the other side are at least the following parties: 1. other people in the affected community; 2. the citizens of Maine; 3. the people of the United States; 4. the shorebirds themselves and other flora and fauna; and 5. nature itself. I’d like to say a little about each of these and why they seem to diminish the absolute right of the self-interested property owner.

First, in regard to 1, many people in the affected community could be negatively affected by development. First of all, more cubes means loss or obstruction of natural areas that were once enjoyed by all. As a resident of Lubec in Washington County, I have seen this happen firsthand.

The subjective hurt from loss of views or trails cannot be encapsulated in monetary equations; it is therefore often overlooked or misrepresented in a cost-benefit analysis. Nevertheless, the psychological pain from losing more and more open space – walks, views and generally beautiful places – can mount. Longtime residents accustomed to a glorious panorama might be grievously saddened by its loss to a big house.

Another way in which locals suffer from drywall going up in “perfect spots” is through increases in property value. If locals can’t keep up financially with developers, rising taxes could force their relocation. In this way, rampant growth can decimate a community that has existed for generations. It is hard to put a price on such a forced exodus; but such intangibles are the stuff by which we measure justice, honor and integrity.

As for 2 and 3, the citizens of Maine and the population of the United States benefit from keeping the last undeveloped corner of the Northeast coastline wildly picturesque. For Mainers, there is pride and a sense of living in a special place, not to mention the influx of tourist dollars. For the United States, there is honor and joy in preserving what little is left of a coast once unfettered in its majesty.

In regard to this point, it should be noted that humanity has drastically changed the land surfaces of Earth in a very short amount of time. A few hundred years ago, colossal trees and teeming schools of fish were the norm. Millions of buffalo did indeed roam, as a famous folk song points out. The Maine equivalent was plump lobsters so numerous they waddled along the beach.

But in just a few hundred years, every abundant splendor has been utterly diminished, except where it has been protected from our collective rapacity. A key question we should be constantly asking is this: What are we leaving our grandchildren? As more houses proliferate and efface the quiet grace of the land, they begin to look a lot like rectangular pimples – or at least they might to future generations who regret not having the opportunity to savor uncluttered coasts.

Some will laugh when I bring up 4 and 5: the needs of animals and plants – and even nature itself. Do these parties have any rights? Can it be wrong from the perspective of a semipalmated plover to be evicted or eradicated? Does nature looked “starved” now that humans have monopolized its resources and harnessed its multifarious creatures and plants?

Builders, lawyers and contractors can chuckle away such questions, but many of us, deep in our hearts, realize animals are quite smart and can feel pain; furthermore, we hold great respect for the gorgeous vitality of nature. Isn’t it ironic that our grasping behavior as individuals is what saps that vitality away? Isn’t it strange that in pursuit of wildlife we perpetually expand to evict wildlife from its habitat? Indeed, we eliminate the habitat itself. At some level, most of us grasp the paradox. And we cradle in our conscience a certain bit of wisdom – that the tapestry of animals and plants woven by nature is due a mighty and even spiritual awe.

Although many people are angry and some even shout, such uncompromising passion does not negate the interests that challenge the property-rights argument. As an ethicist whose family owns shorefront property in Lubec, I straddle both sides of the debate. On one hand, I want the freedom to do with land as I please – perhaps build a nice meditation cabin on a secluded bay; on the other hand, I see there are many parties who cannot or will not speak up, and yet their welfare – and ours, too – may depend on us listening to them.

Chris Crittenden, Ph.D., lives in Lubec and teaches ethics at the University of Maine at Machias.