The Right Choice: Navigating Moral Responsibility in the Modern World
I looked down at my shoes before heading to the supermarket. Brown leather, well-made, reliable. A big brand. That meant the leather wasn’t from some small artisan workshop—it was part of a massive supply chain, a machine that required a steady flow of cattle, tanning factories, global shipping routes, and market demand.
How many cows had to die for these shoes?
The thought wasn’t sentimental—I’m not the type to cry over a steak. It was something else, a moment of clarity about the invisible network of choices we make every day.
The fact that I was about to step into a supermarket, filled with bright lights and neatly packaged products, only deepened the feeling. The leather in my boots, the eggs in the fridge, the milk in my coffee—all of it had a cost far beyond what I paid at the register.
Am I Responsible for the Cost My Life Imposes on the Planet?
The System We Live In
It’s an easy question to dodge. The modern world is a finished product—we didn’t build it, we were born into it. I never decided that cattle should be farmed on an industrial scale. I never signed off on deforestation in Brazil. I didn’t create the system of global shipping that moves leather, oil, and lithium across oceans at the lowest cost possible.
And yet, I participate in it.
Every time I buy something, I cast a quiet vote for that thing to exist. My boots signal demand for more leather. My car—20 years old, but still running—means fuel will continue to be burned. Even my second hand phone, which I rely on daily, is made with metals mined from the depths of the Earth, often through labor I’d rather not think about.
So the question isn’t whether I am responsible. I am. The real question is: how much responsibility do I bear, and what should I do about it?
Rejecting the Extremes
There are two answers that don’t interest me.
The first is the radical ethical stance: the idea that to live morally, I must reject modernity entirely—no leather, no car, no imported food, no participation in any system that exploits or pollutes. This is the logic of extreme veganism, radical environmentalism, and anarcho-primitivism. It’s also completely unrealistic.
We can’t return to a pre-industrial world. Even the loudest critics of global capitalism tweet their anger from iPhones assembled in Chinese factories, powered by energy from fossil fuels.
The second answer is complete detachment: the belief that because I didn’t create the system, I have no moral obligation regarding its impact. This leads to nihilism—if nothing I do matters, I might as well indulge in every convenience without thought. But this is just as empty as the first stance.
If I recognize harm, I should at least minimize my role in it where possible. But not at the cost of living a life worth living.
The Climate Controversy: A Manufactured Guilt?
This leads to the broader debate—the environmental impact of modern life. There is a strange asymmetry in responsibility.
In Europe, individuals are told to cut back, sacrifice, reduce consumption. Take fewer flights, drive less, eat less meat, install solar panels.
Meanwhile, China continues expanding its coal-fired power plants, oil companies keep drilling, and the world's largest corporations—responsible for over a third of global emissions—continue business as usual.
Why should an ordinary person be expected to lower their standard of living while those at the top remain untouched?
And there’s another question buried underneath it all—is oil even running out?
For decades, we’ve been told that oil is a finite fossil resource, created by organic material compressed over millions of years. But some scientists propose an alternative theory—abiotic oil, the idea that oil may be continuously generated in the Earth’s mantle through chemical processes, not ancient plant matter. If that’s true, then oil might not be as scarce or limited as we’ve been told.
Of course, this is not the dominant theory. Most scientists reject abiotic oil, and fossil fuel scarcity remains a major policy concern.
But what’s interesting is how quickly alternative perspectives are dismissed, how aggressively certain narratives are protected.
People treat climate change as an open-and-shut case, yet it remains a patchwork of theories, models, and predictions—some of which have already proven wrong. Does this mean we should dismiss environmental concerns? Of course not. But we should ask why the focus is so narrowly placed on individual sacrifices for climate change, while large-scale environmental destruction caused by corporations goes largely unchecked. Why is it that ordinary people are expected to bear the heaviest burden of "fixing" the planet, while those with the greatest impact continue business as usual?
The Middle Path: Responsible but Free
I arrive at the supermarket, the thought still hanging over me.
If I can’t live purely, and I refuse to live thoughtlessly, then what’s the responsible path forward?
I settle on something simple: be intentional.
Buy secondhand when possible—whether it’s furniture, clothes, or a car.
Choose better sources—free-range eggs, sustainably farmed meat, leather that lasts rather than disposable junk.
Travel, but don’t waste it. A journey should at least be meaningful, not just another indulgence.
Don’t blindly accept narratives—about oil, about climate, about responsibility. Question everything.
I step outside the supermarket, I bought some milk, water. My daughter got a Pistachio croissant.
The world is not clean, and neither am I. But I refuse to be careless.