In our globalized world, the supply chains that create our products grow increasingly complex. Even so, modern technology allows us to thoroughly research every company we purchase from, and to track the history of the products we buy and their component parts. If we know that our discretionary spending is being used to fund a cause antithetical to our values, do we not have a responsibility to not only cease buying such a product, but to encourage others to follow suit? Likewise, if we can choose between a cheaper item that was produced using child labor in abysmal working conditions and a more expensive item that was produced ethically, is it not our obligation to “vote with our dollar” and support the latter practice, even if our wallets take a hit? There are other, more tangible reasons to avoid buying products from global corporations. Buying locally allows us to strengthen the bonds of community with our immediate neighbors and humanizes the free market. Isn’t it better to know our grocers, bakers, and dairy farmers by name? Shouldn’t we choose the crummy local diner over the shiny chain restaurant, if only because the staff knows what you mean when you order “the usual?”

Some might argue that there’s an important distinction between buying a product for one’s own benefit—the profits from which are pledged to questionable causes—and supporting such causes directly. After all, money changes hands all the time. Surely, we would not be morally culpable for the illicit actions of a local employee, even if his salary is partially funded by our purchases at his establishment. So why should we be held responsible for the manner in which corporations choose to use their profits? Also, when choosing between a variety of different sources, how does one decide which is the most ethical? Every product is likely to have a dubious history to some degree, and the closer we approach this “perfect” ethical product, the more expensive it is likely to become. The most “ethical” lifestyle in this sense is also the most expensive. Can we really justify spending beyond our means in an effort to promote the common good—an act that might be equally performative as actually helpful? Would it not be more ethical to purchase cheaper products, and use the money we save to do good in our homes, churches, and communities?

Is the command to “love thy neighbor” inimical to globalist consumerism? Or does the complexity of the supply chain absolve us of responsibility for the results of our spending habits? How can we reconcile the good life with our role in the global economy?