MEDANSKY: Honor without a code


There’s a problem with cheating in the Ivy League, and Dartmouth students want to fix it. They’ve proposed an honor code that will obligate students not only to confess to their own academic transgressions but to reveal the dishonestly of others, too.

Their proposal has created a wave of discussion. Princeton students want to implement a similar policy. Brown students are adamantly opposed. And Yalies? They “support the code,” according to the Harvard Crimson — in, mind you, 1950 — citing its appeal to “a Yale man’s morality.”

Sixty-two years later, cheating is still a problem. As you read this, Harvard is investigating some 125 undergraduates implicated in a mass plagiarism ring. Jonah Lehrer, a 2003 Columbia grad, stepped down from his job at the New Yorker over the summer when it was revealed that he had fabricated quotes in a recent book. And here at Yale, CNN’s Fareed Zakaria resigned from his position on the Yale Corporation in the wake of a plagiarism scandal.

America craves stories of smart kids doing dumb things. To them, the Ivy League is a foreign entity: distant, majestic and unknowable. When their kids fail, it is a disappointment, but when those kids fail — those lucky, lucky Ivy League kids — it is Greek tragedy, and the major news media is all too eager to play the chorus.

Academic dishonesty is bad no matter where you choose to pursue your degree. But it could certainly be argued that, given our relative privilege, Yalies have a particular imperative not to do so. We’re lucky to be here; Yale gives us so much. It’s a little presumptuous to bite the hand that feeds.

The recent scandal at Harvard has prompted the Associated Press to ask whether an honor code would help rein in potential plagiarists. Author David Callahan told the AP that when a school like Harvard doesn’t have an honor code, then “someone’s not paying attention.”

“This is a major failure of leadership in higher education,” he mourned.

This mindset is not new; the 1950 Crimson article proves as much. Just last year, Harvard endured a firestorm when it asked freshman to sign a so-called “kindness pledge” encouraging them to “sustain a community characterized by inclusiveness and civility.” In 2008, News columnist Julia Knight proposed instituting an honor code at Yale to “introduce valuable information and inspire important discussion.”

The idea of an honor code is inherently appealing. After all, everyone likes honor, and code evokes sexy Round Table-era mystique. It is an easy fix — one that sates those critical outsiders reading the New York Times and IvyGate. It makes us look like we’re fixing things. Reputation restored, right?

Not so fast. When it comes to instating an honor code, Harvard and her peer institutions should reject such an impulse.

Universities must take care to avoid top-down approaches to eradicating dishonesty. This, to many university administrations, is counterintuitive. Yet Harvard’s freshman pledge endured mockery due to its authoritarian tinge (be nice or else). When it comes to punishing cheaters, bureaucracy has its place. But deterring them? That’s a shift in culture, not policy.

Schools where honor codes succeed — like Washington and Lee or William and Mary — have policies seeped in tradition. When their students uphold the honor code, they are connecting with the past in a meaningful, visceral way, the same way Yalies feel a tingle of pride when they drink a Mory’s cup or study in Sterling. These honor codes don’t succeed simply by existing; they work thanks to the weight of the past. And when universities heavily market their honor codes to potential applicants, they create some degree of self-selection in the incoming class. Institutional shifts don’t occur overnight; they’re the result of generations of social engineering.

If we really want to address academic dishonesty once and for all, we need to look at its causes, not the Band-Aids that hide them. Address the pressure-cooker culture at Harvard and Yale; address the perception that grades are somehow correlated with moral worth; address the prevalent I’ll-just-do-it-at-the-last-minute attitude. Only after looking at these underlying causes can we seriously consider the implications of an honor code. Maybe there’s a place for an honor code at Yale, but it should come from deliberation and discussion, not reputational anxiety.

Marissa Medansky is a sophomore in Morse College. Her column runs on Tuesdays. Contact her at


  • The Anti-Yale

    “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.”

    I guess in a world of “ranking” (academia) then dishonest achievement is a form of false witness against your neighbor. (I’m a higher rank than he/she is.)


  • hzaleskimd

    Reading of cheating is always saddening, particularly given that we have, as Yale students, been given opportunity at a wonderful education. I entered Yale in 1962, having attended a small public high school. The seeming “gulf” between my preparation and that of students who had attended private or boarding schools was wide. It required about a year to “catch up” and the thought of cheating entered my mind on several occasions. Feeling the trust placed in me by Yale and my scholarship fund gave me the strength to resist. The road was difficult but the satisfaction of graduating cum laude without cheating made it all worthwhile.

  • lakia

    Steeped. Not seeped.

  • penny_lane

    Here, I’ll fess up:

    I falsely claimed illness on more than one occasion to get an extension/as an excuse for missing class. My form of academic dishonesty of choice.

    I think the problem with cheating in the Ivy League stems from the pressure students are under. I lied because more often than not I needed to prioritize one paper over another, or I missed class to do an assignment or catch up on much needed sleep.

    The one time I did admit the truth (I watched Obama’s inauguration), the professor looked at me with such disgust. One time I asked for an extension a week in advance, and was given a yes at the expense of half a letter grade. (Luckily, it was an A paper–but only because of the extension.)

    I would never in a million years have plagiarized or copied another student’s answers on a test, but technically, by lying, I did cheat. I’m not one of those people who can pull all-nighter after all-nighter and still do well. When I produce excellent work it is because I’ve had the freedom to cogitate, to breathe, to let something sit while I work it out. I can’t imagine I’m the only one.

    I found a way to get myself that breathing space, and though I was often wracked with guilt, I don’t regret it, because I produced some of my best work that way, and got more out of it than if I’d phoned the assignment in.

    People ask if some of the alumni of previous generations could have gotten into Yale. I ask if they could have made it through.

    Yalies don’t need an honor code–they need a break. To watch an important historical moment unfold. To get a good night’s sleep. To ponder a work of literature as deeply as it deserves. To read more than the abstract before citing an article. I don’t know what this means in practical terms, but I do know that college really doesn’t have to be so miserable that our values go out the window.