they sold out. will you?

You swore you'd never put money before morals, success before integrity. But most people have their price. What's yours? asks Emma Cook

What wouldn't you do as part of your job for an extra pounds 10,000 a year? How much pride would you swallow for double that sum? And double that again? At what point does pragmatism begin to reek of compromise and opportunism bare itself as pure sell-out? Have the following people surrendered personal integrity to naked self-interest: the committed NHS surgeon lured by a Harley Street salary; the university scientist who is funded by a multi-national tobacco company; the established actor who makes millions from commercials; or the pop star who plays Wembley? Twenty years ago, the answers in each case would have been a unanimous yes. Then it was so clear and easily identifiable; public institutions and private practice, independent companies and corporate conglomerates, art and commerciality, underground and mainstream. Given such distinctions, it was easier to point the finger when someone crossed the great divide and sneer "sell out".

But these days the boundaries have blurred and everyone has their own arbitrary definitions of just how far they'd go. "I wouldn't mind doing TV work as long as it wasn't cigarette advertising", or "I'd teach in an private school if they offered grant-assisted places" or "I'd work for a Murdoch paper but I couldn't do political pieces."

Now it seems acceptable for doctors to combine NHS and private work. Alternative comedians will happily appear in beer ads. And bands such as Blur can play Wembley and retain a certain amount of "indie" status.

None the less, the idea of "selling out" is still a crucial and a current one, partly because for many people who still have jobs - and want to hang on to them - compromise is an inevitability. Consequently, we're desperate to identify role-models around us who appear to rise above it; who still maintain a modicum of integrity. Unlike the cash-obsessed Eighties, no one in the Nineties is willing to acknowledge they've got a price even though most people have. Scott Woods's was pounds 250. He was the Labour supporter and actor picked from the books of the Ugly Showbiz Agency to pose for the Torys' high-profile "demonic eyes" advertising campaign. In his defence he said: "I was not told they would be using them to show Tony Blair as a demon, I would have refused to do that, because he isn't that sort of man." That's the problem with arbitrary lines - draw one and you'll eventually step over it.

Paul, now 31 and working in corporate marketing for a large City firm, stepped over his line long ago, but what's interesting is how he has come to terms with it. He became interested in left-wing politics at university and used to spend most weekends selling the Socialist Worker in Leeds. In London he worked for a small environmental charity. "Originally I thought it was a good combination, to bring marketing skills to a worthwhile cause." In reality, it didn't work out like that. He explains, "I didn't feel that I was changing anything. It was frustrating. I wanted more power and prestige. When the City job came along I did have reservations - I felt guilty at first. I avoided speaking to any of my old mates from Leeds. In fact I still do, partly because I've moved on but also I feel they judge me. It took a long time to really convince myself I was doing the right thing and yes, if I'm honest, the thought of an attractive salary helped." He still seems prickly when the dreaded "sell-out" word crops up. "I don't see it like that. I don't feel I'm any less useful here than I was in my last job. I'm helping businesses to run more effectively which no one could call a bad thing; it's a case of giving your best to the task in hand."

Andrew, 34, once a left-wing probation officer and now a solicitor specialising in commercial law, is more prosaic. "I no longer choose to help others. I want to get on, have a nice life and continue to live in London. What would you rather do, earn pounds l20,000 or pounds 20,000?"

In a way, his honesty is actually more refreshing than those who construct a convenient moral justification around their transition. Richard, 36, left the NHS seven years ago to set up a private medical network, Medcall UK, with another doctor. He argues that Medcall works alongside the NHS offering a 24-hour service to foreign visitors who would otherwise drain stretched resources. In his own private way, he says, he's helping to preserve the public sector which he still has a great deal of respect for.

It seems that even if strongly held principles sustain you through your twenties, by your thirties these are often ousted, or at least overshadowed, by other considerations. As Professor Michael West, from the University of Sheffield, explains, "People begin to want jobs with more challenges, more autonomy and if your job isn't particularly motivating or exciting, ideals alone can't carry you through. They're not enough to keep you somewhere that's really unsatisfying." Add to that the increasing lack of status attached to many public sector professions and it's clear that money isn't the sole incentive. Cary Cooper, professor in organisational psychology at Umist, says, "People may also move for an increase in prestige. Jobs like teaching used to be well respected but now society doesn't value them as much so they're more likely to think 'why don't I do something else and get more money?'"

When disillusion is a factor, which it so often is within the private/public sector context, then sell-out is probably too damning a term. But what about other more clear-cut areas where strongly held scruples are severely tested? In 1991, Ken Livingstone agreed to write a weekly column for the Sun. "It was the most agonising decision I ever had to make," he admits. "The Sun had been boycotted ever since the Wapping strike, but we were coming up to election and a newspaper that reaches 10 million people seemed like a good platform for my views." This was a case, he says, of the means justifying the end. "Almost my entire time in politics have been choices of greys; there's never been one that I could characterise as being between good and evil. I broadly take the view that I'm prepared to compromise if it takes me closer to my objective but not if it takes me further away."

To eradicate any inner-conflict, people tend to shift their own internal goal posts. Professor Cooper says: "They probably do feel guilty deep down. If they've held some position in society and then feel they've compromised, it makes them defensive," he says. "It would be better if they just owned up and said 'I need the money for my family' or whatever, but they'll always give another reason."

Nowhere is this reason more rehearsed than in the public eye, where actors, pop-stars and comedians will always have a handy explanation as to why they most-definitely-have-not-sold-out. Regarding his TV commercials, Jack Dee recently told one interviewer: "I think it's kind of immoral to turn down money if you get the chance to get it ..." Bob Hoskins is more candid about his BT ads. "Best job I ever had," he chirped to one paper. "Course, people are going to gripe, but that's down to them, innit?" But why do people gripe when their favourite stars are seen to go corporate; why does such an association undermine credibility? Graham McCann, a social, cultural and political theory lecturer at Cambridge University, explains: "There's still the romantic idea that one suffers for one's art and there's a clear distinction between culture and commerce." Especially in music, where pop "artists" do their best to distance themselves from the commercial hand, even if it feeds them. Which is why Jarvis's donation of a pounds 25,000 Mercury award to War Child, the music industry's charity, was the greatest non-sell-out gesture to date. One that could be superseded if Oasis has indeed split; effectively terminating Britain's largest musical money-making machine at its peak. As Professor Cooper says, "The majority of us sell ourselves day-by-day, hour-by-hour. We want people out there who aren't doing this. It makes us feel better that not everybody is out to grab, accumulate and acquire." And while we take time out to admire our idols' integrity, it allows us to forget that we've all got our own price - many of us are just waiting for someone to pay it.