IN 2013, A PRIVATE COMPANY IN CALIFORNIA began offering a service that seemed to belong to science fiction. Egg donation, long a practice shrouded in anonymity and altruism, was being transformed into a market. The company, which called itself “Eggsurance,” offered young women the opportunity to sell their eggs to the highest bidder. The pitch was straightforward: you have something valuable; we can help you get paid for it. The prices were substantial. A donor with the right credentials—tall, athletic, Ivy League-educated, ethnically desirable—could earn $50,000 or more per cycle.
The response was swift and polarized. Some saw the market as liberating: women were being compensated for their time, their risk, their genetic material. Others saw it as a violation: the commodification of human reproduction, the reduction of women to their biological assets, the extension of market logic into a domain where it did not belong. The debate was not merely about egg donation. It was about the moral limits of markets.
The question of whether some things should not be bought and sold is as old as markets themselves. Aristotle worried that the pursuit of money could become detached from the proper ends of life. The Scholastics developed the doctrine of the just price to prevent exploitation. The abolitionists argued that human beings should not be property. The question has never been settled, because it cannot be settled once and for all. The boundary between the market and the non-market is constantly contested, constantly shifting, constantly in need of renegotiation.
The Casio F-91W and the Rolex Submariner exist comfortably within the market. No one argues that watches should not be bought and sold. But they are surrounded by goods and services that push against the boundary. The labor that produces the Casio, the materials that compose the Rolex, the conditions under which both are made—these raise questions about what should be bought and sold, and on what terms. The Casio, made efficiently in factories whose labor conditions are opaque, and the Rolex, made in Switzerland under conditions that are better but far from perfect, both participate in global supply chains that test the moral limits of markets. The question is not whether watches should be sold. The question is whether everything that goes into making them should be.
The Expansion of Markets#
The past half-century has seen a dramatic expansion of markets into domains that were previously governed by non-market norms. The trend has been documented most forcefully by the philosopher Michael Sandel, whose 2012 book “What Money Can’t Buy” catalogued the proliferation of market relationships in spheres once considered beyond the reach of commerce.
The examples are striking. In the United States, it is possible to pay for a prison cell upgrade, ensuring that one’s incarceration is more comfortable than that of one’s fellow inmates. It is possible to pay to skip the line at amusement parks, at the Department of Motor Vehicles, even at congressional hearings. It is possible to pay to have one’s child coached by a former professional athlete, increasing the likelihood of a college scholarship. It is possible to pay to have one’s name attached to a university building, a hospital wing, a medical research institute. In each case, a good that was once allocated by non-market mechanisms—seniority, queue, merit, generosity—is now allocated by price.
The expansion of markets has been driven by two forces. The first is ideological: the belief, associated with the Chicago School of economics and its intellectual descendants, that markets are the most efficient and equitable mechanisms for allocating resources. If a good can be bought and sold, the argument goes, it should be; price signals will ensure that it goes to those who value it most. The second is technological: the development of new techniques for pricing, tracking, and exchanging that have made it possible to commodify goods that were once considered non-fungible.
The result is a world in which market logic has penetrated domains that were once governed by other logics—love, duty, citizenship, community. The Casio is unproblematically a market good. But the labor that makes it, the education that trains its designers, the infrastructure that delivers it—these are goods that have been partially or fully commodified. The question is whether the commodification has gone too far.
The Corruption Argument#
Sandel’s central argument is not that markets are always bad. It is that markets do not merely allocate goods; they change the character of the goods themselves. When we put a price on something, we risk corrupting it—transforming it into something different, something lesser.
The classic example is friendship. Friendship is a good that is corrupted by market exchange. A friend who is paid to be a friend is not a friend at all; she is a companion, a therapist, a paid employee. The payment does not merely change the terms of the relationship; it changes the nature of the relationship. The same is true of many goods. A child who is paid for good grades is not learning to love learning; she is learning to love money. A citizen who is paid to vote is not exercising civic duty; she is selling her franchise. A couple who pays for a surrogate mother is not forming a family in the same way as a couple who adopts or conceives naturally.
The corruption argument is subtle. It does not claim that markets are always wrong or that non-market alternatives are always pure. It claims that markets can degrade the goods they touch. The degradation is not always visible; it is often a matter of meaning, of social understanding, of the way we relate to one another. But it is real.
The corruption argument has implications for the Casio and the Rolex. The Casio, as a simple functional good, is not easily corrupted by market exchange. Its value is transparent; its meaning is clear. The Rolex, by contrast, is a good whose meaning is tied to non-market values: heritage, craftsmanship, beauty. The market does not merely allocate Rolexes; it shapes what Rolexes mean. The question is whether the market has corrupted that meaning—whether the Rolex has become a mere signal of wealth rather than an object of genuine appreciation.
The answer is not obvious. Many Rolex owners genuinely appreciate the engineering, the history, the design. But the market has undoubtedly shaped the meaning of the watch in ways that are not entirely under the control of individual owners. The Rolex is a signal, and the signal is determined by the market. The Casio, signaling nothing, is free of this burden.
The Exploitation Argument#
A different argument against the expansion of markets is the exploitation argument. Markets can be exploitative when they take advantage of inequalities in power, information, or circumstance. The sale of kidneys, for example, is illegal in most countries because it is thought to exploit the poor, who would be more likely to sell their organs than the rich. The poor person who sells a kidney is not making a free choice; she is making a constrained choice, driven by desperation. The market, in this view, does not respect her autonomy; it takes advantage of her vulnerability.
The exploitation argument is distinct from the corruption argument. It does not claim that the good itself is degraded by market exchange; it claims that the conditions of exchange are unjust. A kidney that is sold is still a kidney; it does not become something else. But the transaction is unjust because it exploits inequality.
The exploitation argument has obvious relevance to the labor that produces consumer goods. The Casio, manufactured in factories whose labor conditions are often opaque, raises questions about exploitation. Are the workers who assemble the watch paid a living wage? Do they work in safe conditions? Do they have the right to organize? These questions are not about the watch itself but about the conditions of its production. The Rolex, manufactured in Switzerland, operates under better labor conditions, but it too raises questions about the global supply chain that provides its materials.
The exploitation argument also applies to the marketing of luxury goods. Do luxury brands exploit the desire for status, the aspiration for a better life, the vulnerability of consumers who are told that their worth depends on what they own? The question is uncomfortable, because it cuts close to the heart of consumer capitalism. The Rolex is sold as a symbol of achievement. But the achievement it symbolizes is often the achievement of having enough money to buy a Rolex. The circle is closed. And the exploitation is not of the poor but of the aspirational.
The Democracy Argument#
A third argument against the expansion of markets is the democracy argument. Markets, by their nature, respond to willingness to pay, not to need or merit. When markets allocate goods that are essential to democratic citizenship—education, healthcare, political influence—they undermine the principle of equal citizenship.
The argument is most familiar in the context of healthcare. In countries without universal healthcare, access to medical treatment is determined by ability to pay. The wealthy receive better care; the poor receive worse care. This is not merely a matter of inequality; it is a matter of democratic principle. If citizens are not equal in their access to health, they are not equal in their capacity to participate in democratic life.
The same argument applies to education. When the best schools are available only to those who can afford them, the principle of equal opportunity is undermined. When political influence can be purchased through campaign contributions, the principle of one person, one vote is undermined. The market, in these cases, does not merely allocate goods; it distributes power. And the distribution of power is properly a matter of democratic decision, not market allocation.
The democracy argument has implications for the luxury market. The Rolex is not essential to democratic citizenship; it is a luxury good, and its allocation by market is unproblematic. But the resources that are used to purchase Rolexes—the wealth that makes such purchases possible—are distributed unequally. The Rolex is not the problem; it is a symptom. The market that produces Rolexes is the same market that produces inequality. The two are inseparable.
The Casio, by its modesty, avoids this critique. It does not require great wealth. It does not signal status. It does not participate in the machinery of inequality in the same way. But it is produced by the same global capitalism that produces inequality. The Casio is not innocent; it is merely less implicated.
The Case of the Surrogate#
The debate over the moral limits of markets is often abstract. But it becomes concrete in cases like commercial surrogacy. The practice—in which a woman is paid to carry a child for another family—raises all three of the arguments against market expansion.
The corruption argument: Does commercial surrogacy degrade motherhood, transforming it from a relationship into a contract? Does it change the meaning of the child, turning a person into a product? Critics argue that it does; defenders argue that it empowers women to use their bodies as they choose.
The exploitation argument: Does commercial surrogacy exploit poor women, who are more likely to become surrogates than wealthy women? Does it take advantage of economic desperation? Critics argue that it does; defenders argue that it provides economic opportunity for women who might otherwise have fewer options.
The democracy argument: Does commercial surrogacy undermine the principle that all citizens are equal, by creating a market in reproductive capacity? Does it create a class of women who are paid to bear children for others, reproducing inequality across generations? Critics argue that it does; defenders argue that it is a matter of personal choice.
The debate over surrogacy is unresolved, and it will remain unresolved because it touches on fundamental values that are not easily reconciled. The same is true of the broader debate over the moral limits of markets. There is no algorithm that tells us what should be bought and sold. There is only the messy, persistent work of democratic deliberation.
The Limits of the Casio#
The Casio F-91W, for all its simplicity, raises its own questions about the moral limits of markets. The watch is produced in factories whose conditions are not always transparent. The materials that compose it—lithium for the battery, rare earth metals for the circuit board, plastic for the case—are extracted under conditions that are often exploitative. The supply chain that delivers it to the consumer passes through multiple jurisdictions, each with different labor and environmental standards.
The Casio is not morally pure. No product is. But its modesty makes it less visible to moral critique. A $20 watch does not attract the same scrutiny as a $20,000 watch. The labor that produces it is invisible; the materials that compose it are anonymous; the conditions of its production are unremarked. The Casio is not exempt from the moral limits of markets; it is merely beneath notice.
The Rolex, by contrast, is visible. Its production is scrutinized. Its marketing is analyzed. Its symbolism is debated. The Rolex is a subject of moral inquiry in a way that the Casio is not. This is not because the Rolex is worse; it is because the Rolex is more significant. It represents more: more wealth, more status, more meaning. And significance invites scrutiny.
The Unresolved Question#
The question of what should be bought and sold is not going away. It is being raised in new contexts, in new forms, with new urgency. Should we be able to pay for priority access to vaccines? Should we be able to pay to offset our carbon emissions? Should we be able to pay to preserve our digital legacy after death? Should we be able to pay to have our social media posts promoted to more users? Each of these questions is a version of the same question: where should the market stop?
There is no final answer. The boundary between the market and the non-market is not a line that can be drawn once and for all. It is a zone of contestation, a site of democratic struggle, a place where values are articulated, debated, and sometimes changed. The Casio and the Rolex sit on different sides of that boundary, but the boundary itself is mobile. What is unproblematically a market good today may be contested tomorrow. What is off-limits today may be commodified tomorrow.
The philosopher Elizabeth Anderson, in her book “Value in Ethics and Economics,” argues that the question of what should be bought and sold is not a question about efficiency but a question about social relations. Markets are not neutral mechanisms; they are social institutions that embody and reinforce certain ways of relating to one another. To decide what should be bought and sold is to decide what kind of society we want to live in.
The Casio and the Rolex, in this light, are not merely watches. They are positions in a debate. The Casio represents the view that markets are fine when they allocate functional goods to those who want them. The Rolex represents the view that markets can also allocate meaning, status, and identity—and that this allocation is not always benign. The debate between them is the debate over the moral limits of markets. It is a debate that will not end. And perhaps it should not.
This is the ninth in a ten-part series on the architecture of value. Next: “The Measure of a Life”, on what it means to value well in a world that measures everything by price.