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In defense of honor

Our veneration of Lincoln’s honesty is part of our veneration of honor, and it tells us something important: On an abstract, philosophical level, most of us would like to be honorable. It’s a commitment we learned as children and one that we’ll teach our own children. Most of us probably consider ourselves honorable, and it seems that the dishonorable things we do are only temporary capitulations to the pursuit of success.

When we shame the rich and prominent for a lack of integrity, we do so because we value honor. Oprah chewed out James Frey for his “memoir” fiasco and baseball fans demanded an asterisk next to the superhuman feats of Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens. Cynics might respond that we only invoke honor as a tool to achieve a base, practical concern — fairness to others or ensuring a level playing field. But the point is that the level playing field is based in honor — Bonds, Clemens and Frey dishonored their professions, and in the process offended a deeply held sensibility in all of us.

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Put another way, at the core of honor stands an individual accountability to ourselves and to others. I come from a high school that had an honor code, so I’ve had cause to give honor plenty of thought. The former faculty adviser to my high school’s Honor Council used to discuss the idea, borrowed from West Point, of defining “honor” as taking the “harder right.” Predictably, not everyone always did.

When our school considered scrapping the code to cut down on cheating with a rules-based approach, I figured that the ends (curbing cheating) mattered most and the administration should just enforce integrity. But one of my teachers made a case for the worth of having honor, not just compliance. Educational institutions need to encourage honor, he said  ­— that’s the point of the codes. In an educational setting, honor should be not just the means but an end in itself.

I think, at heart, that even most cheaters and liars would probably rather behave honorably. Many baseball players, to extend the example of Bonds and Clemens, claim they caved to steroids just to keep up. The same logic applies to college students, and us at Princeton. I’m certain that many cheaters, Adderall abusers and BSers seek success, or even adequacy, at all costs. It’s not a question of honor.

Almost no one is particularly proud of BSing in precept without even cracking the book. BSing is a fundamental misrepresentation of the work someone has done; it’s dishonest and dishonorable. But the proffered excuses for why we do it aren’t frivolous: Professors assign a lot of work, we have lots of other demands on our time, or it was just a bad week.

Of course, BSing in precept or taking Adderall don’t necessarily violate the strict text of our Honor Code. But that’s the point: If it’s an Honor Code, honor doesn’t have to stop where the text does. If these violations of the spirit — as opposed to the letter — of our code ended, the University would be that much better. Honor cuts to the core of everything we do.

It’s no exaggeration to say that society in general, and our campus in particular, runs on honor and integrity. When honor crumbles, life spirals into a corrupt mess as trust loses its foundation and each of us devolves morally. At that point, for purely practical reasons, the University and society must resort to artificially replacing honor. Some sort of outside enforcer must intrusively swoop in to act in place of honor.

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Such enforcers invariably exacerbate the situation. On the one hand, they frustrate reasonable people. The University, or any organization, demeans itself if it has to write rules for every situation and enforce them like elementary school teachers. What’s more, the outside enforcer cannot be as effective as an autonomously honorable community.

In some sense, we find ourselves in danger of just this situation at Princeton today. By moving away from treating honor seriously — by living only by the Honor Code’s words, not its spirit— we’re doing ourselves a great disservice. We invite University over-regulation and well-intentioned but meaningless proposals along the lines of the “Alcohol Honor Code.” If we’re going to avoid such problems now and in the future, it’s likely that students will need to reconsider how we treat honor ­— and our Code.

My high school teacher said it far more eloquently than I could, but I’d distill it by saying that we should still emphasize the choice to take the “harder right” every time. There’s great value for our community and each of us in self-consciously refusing the deceptive comfort of dishonor.

Brian Lipshutz is a freshman from Lafayette Hill, Pa. He can be reached at lipshutz@princeton.edu.

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