Honor is a very old idea that, at its most basic level, means doing things as society ideally expects them to be done, especially when alternatives are easily available and more likely to be beneficial. However, there is far more to honor than just the basic definition would suggest. Think, for example, of the 18th century duel between gentlemen, a way of settling a disagreement “honorably.” Implied in this sense of honor is a sense of equality as they are on a level playing field and either one has an equal shot at winning (no pun intended). Also implied in the arranged duel is a sense of trust: each duelist expects his opponent will follow the rules of the duel, will not fire early, and will stand their ground. Finally, there is a sense of respect and responsibility implied as well: each duelist respects the other person enough to take the time (and risk) required to meet them in an arranged duel are responsible for making sure they act honorably throughout. The duel itself has, at least in my experience, fallen out of fashion since then, but the ideas behind it have not.
It would be difficult for me to say if I live by a personal honor code in daily life. I work as hard as I need or want to, don’t cheat, am generally honest, and try to live by the simple motto “don’t be dumb.” At Wesleyan, daily life is not difficult to manage. This is a fact. Understanding a thing or two about making decisions and a willingness to do what needs to be done is all that is required; an honor code is neither needed nor present. The honor code that does exist is really more of a not-dishonor code that, when followed, merely means that dishonorable activity is avoided.
There are still times and places for honor in its various forms, and though the context is very different, I find that I follow an honor code as I travel through the wilderness. Honor in this context is not something guiding the proceedings of adversaries, but is instead an unspoken bond formed between paddle partners, the few individuals you are with, or perhaps even yourself. However, the same associated concepts apply to this honor as did to the duel, and for that reason I feel there is an honor code inherently present in wilderness conduct.
“And so we shove off; on our knees with the spray skirt cinched tightly around Sam’s waist. We point our Tripper up river and ferry through gently rolling waves. I’m in the stern with my eyes glued to a prominent rock that marks the start of the run. My heart is beating hard and fast so I focus on breathing deep and slow. We reach the rock and Sam draws across the bow. Our boat spins. The current grabs. We’re committed.
The landmarks are all there. Our line is circuitous but clear; sandwiched between a looming cliff face and boat submerging waves.
We start calling out moves…”
-Fred Sproat, Canoe & Kayak Magazine. The passage above is an excerpt from a draft of an article discussing a set on the lower Coppermine River
Our actions in this passage, both implied and stated, would be honorable with regard to my wilderness honor code, though it may not be immediately apparent why. In order to answer why our actions are honorable, lets turn back to the ideas inherent in the duel. First we have equality. This manifests itself largely in putting the group before yourself. This was a canyon set, we were running first boat, and there was a fair bit of reluctance towards running this; we ran not only because we had to, but also because it meant that the second boat would have a safety boat. Although we were concerned individually, refusing to run the set would mean you put yourself before the group as a whole, or even the other members of the group, who would be forced into additional risk on your behalf. Another type of subtle equality also goes on here. Fred is in the stern. Our boat and its bowman (me) are technically under his command as the stern does the majority of the steering. But note the use of singular and plural pronouns here: it is not Fred’s line, it’s our line. At the moment we break our ferry (a technique used to cross a river in current without moving downstream that is used to move from shore to your ideal position for dropping into a rapid without getting sucked in) and spin the bow downstream, we cease to act individually and are described as a single entity. This shows equality in that we are equally responsible for the boat’s success or failure in the rapids, and it shows trust. Fred is not steering us through danger, we are steering us through danger. There is an implied trust that neither individual will lose their nerve, freeze up, or fail to perform and with that comes the responsibility not to let your paddle partner down. We fight the urge to grab the gunnels as we are thrown around in the boat by huge waves or panic in the moment before impact instead of bringing the bow around to bear down on a drop we wished to. This is our honorable responsibility, and the assumption they will do the same is much like the implied respect of the duel.
Honor plays a relatively clear role, for me, in running whitewater. In the other aspects of wilderness tripping, it is very much still present in the many social norms and expectations that exist in any small group setting. However, daily life can only occasionally hope to offer up a decision that has both the significant and immediate impact most decisions in wilderness tripping do. Honor has little place in daily life beyond basic moral standards which most people adhere to in the first place not because it no longer exists, but simply because it is no longer relevant to many ‘normal’ parts of modern life.