My wife faced a critical ethical dilemma in her medical practice a few years ago. Her boss mandated that physicians in the office sign off on work performed by physician assistants and nurse practitioners—even when the physician hadn't observed the work or wasn't even present. This practice would enable the institution to bill at a much higher rate despite the physicians' having no actual participation in the patient's care. My wife refused.
Her superior assured her this was standard practice—"Everyone does this," she was told. "It's just how healthcare billing works." The pressure was immense. Compliance would mean continued employment and professional advancement; refusal could jeopardize her position and colleague relationships. Yet, in that moment, my wife chose honor over advancement, integrity over expedience. Ultimately, she moved to a different institution rather than participate in a culture that devalues honor.
This wasn't just an isolated ethical decision. Her choice reflected participation in a deeper reality—what Douglas Campbell would call "ontological incorporation" into truth itself. As she later explained,
"Being truthful is my way of being with God. Put another way, the surest way I know for me to turn away from God is to turn away from the truth."
In our current political climate, such choices can seem quaint, even naive. When powerful figures dismiss dishonorable behavior as "just politics" or "smart business," when religious leaders rationalize moral compromises for partisan advantage, honor itself appears outdated—a relic from a different era, unsuited to our pragmatic age.
Yet, I would argue that
Honor—properly understood not as reputation or status but as integrity against fragmentation—has never been more essential.
As people whose identity emerges through participation in the Triune God's self-giving love without domination, we're called to embody a different way of being in the world, where integrity matters more than advantage and character forms through participation in communities of truthful practice.
Honor Disintegrated
Honor has fallen on hard times in American public life. When winning at any cost becomes the primary value, truth-telling, promise-keeping, and consistency between public claims and private actions become negotiable. The result is what Augustine would call a disordering of loves—a fragmentation of the self where what we say bears an increasingly tenuous connection to what we do.
I've witnessed this fragmentation across both political parties and ideological divides. Progressive friends sometimes justify deception or intimidation in service of social justice; conservative colleagues sometimes rationalize moral compromise to secure policy victories. Both reflect participation in what Wells calls the "working for" mode—believing that honorable ends justify dishonorable means and that we can achieve integrity through fragmentation.
Theological implications run deeper than mere hypocrisy. When we separate public performance from private character, we participate in idolatry that prioritizes appearance over reality. We create a false self—an image designed for consumption rather than a life formed by covenant. This division between outward show and inward reality is what Jesus condemned in the religious leaders of his day: "You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean."
Honor as Participation in Wholeness
The Christian tradition offers a different understanding of honor—not as reputation or status but as participation in the wholeness of being. The Hebrew concept of Tamim, often translated as "blameless," describes not moral perfection but the integration of character—a congruence between inner conviction and outer action, between who we are and what we do.
This integrity stands at the heart of the covenant relationship with God. Abraham was called to "walk before me faithfully and be blameless." The Psalmist asks, "Who may dwell in your sacred tent?" and answers, "The one whose walk is blameless... who speaks the truth from their heart." This vision of honor doesn't require flawlessness but wholeness—participation in truth through word and deed.
Jesus intensified this connection between inner character and outer action. In the Sermon on the Mount, he repeatedly moved beyond external compliance to internal disposition: "You have heard that it was said... but I tell you." His concern wasn't just with behavior but the heart producing it. Honor in Jesus' teaching emerges not from reputation or status but from participation in the integrity that aligns inner being with outer action.
Understood through Wells' framework, honor involves "being with" truth rather than merely "working for" it—participating in reality rather than manipulating it.
When we practice honor in this sense, we don't simply follow the rules or maintain appearance; we participate in the very character of God, who is Truth.
The Components of Honor as Participation
What does this participatory understanding of honor include? Four elements seem essential:
First, participation in truth through truthful speech. Honor begins with a commitment to accuracy, even when costly. This isn't just about avoiding explicit lies but cultivating what Dietrich Bonhoeffer called "costly truth"—participation in reality even when deception might seem expedient.
In my corporate leadership days, I practiced this discipline by beginning meetings transparently, acknowledging our financial position rather than the rosier picture the board wanted to hear. This wasn't mere strategy but participation in the covenant community where truth forms the foundation of mutual trust. Such truth-telling represents not naive idealism but spiritual resistance against the deception culture that threatens democracy and faith.
Second, participation in promise through promise-keeping. Honor requires alignment between word and deed—fulfilling commitments even when circumstances change or costs increase. The Psalmist praises the one "who keeps an oath even when it hurts."
Our baptismal covenant includes explicit promises to resist evil, proclaim the Gospel, seek and serve Christ in all persons, and strive for justice and peace. These promises bind us not through external force but through participation in the community shaped by these commitments. When we treat these promises as optional or subject to partisan qualification, we withdraw from that participation and fragment our integrity.
Third, participation in the community through mutual accountability. Honor flourishes only through participation in communities where mutual responsibility creates the conditions for integrity. The Naval Academy honor concept states: "A midshipman does not lie, cheat, or steal, nor tolerate those who do." This last clause recognizes that honor requires not just personal integrity but communal participation.
As a midshipman, I discovered how this community of practice formed my character through daily habits of accountability. When classmates called me out for small deceptions or exaggerations, they weren't merely enforcing rules but inviting me into deeper participation in a community constituted by truthfulness. This experience shaped my understanding of freedom as participation in communities without domination rather than mere absence of constraint.
Fourth, participation in dignity through universal respect. Honor includes treating others with dignity regardless of advantage or agreement. This respect isn't based on the other's status or usefulness but on their inherent worth as bearers of God's image—their participation in the divine life that grants them inviolable dignity.
In our increasingly dehumanizing political discourse, where opponents become enemies, and disagreement justifies contempt, this aspect of honor offers a compelling witness. When we maintain respect even for those with whom we profoundly disagree, we participate in God's honoring of all humanity—what Campbell describes as God's refusal to "other" the other.
Honor as Community of Practice
Military traditions offer valuable perspectives on honor properly understood. The Academy honor codes, the officer's commitment to "duty, honor, country," and the tradition of resigning commission rather than executing dishonorable orders all reflect the understanding that effective military service requires not just individual integrity but participation in communities of practice that form honorable character.
This tradition recognizes that true honor often requires personal sacrifice. The Medal of Honor typically recognizes not those who secured victory at any cost but those who risked or gave their lives to protect others—often those under their command. Honor in this context means placing principle above personal survival, covenant commitment above individual advantage.
The critical insight here isn't that military personnel possess superior virtue but that military institutions recognize something essential about character formation: We become honorable not primarily through individual will but through participation in communities that practice honor together. This understanding aligns precisely with Campbell's emphasis on participation and Wells' focus on "being with" rather than merely "working for."
Practicing Honor as Participatory Resistance
In our current moment, where shamelessness has become a political strategy, and moral compromise is rationalized as necessary pragmatism, honor itself becomes a form of participatory resistance. When we maintain integrity between word and deed, when we fulfill promises regardless of cost, when we tell truth even when lies might better serve our immediate interests, we bear witness to a different way of being in the world.
This resistance begins with small daily practices that form honorable character through participation:
Speak precisely. Resist the temptation to exaggerate, minimize, or distort based on audience or advantage. Practice describing reality as accurately as possible, especially when truth proves inconvenient to preferred narratives. This precision isn't pedantry but participation in truth itself.
My practice involves a daily examination, during which I review conversations for moments of shading the truth or strategic ambiguity. This isn't self-flagellation but participation in the covenant community, where truthfulness makes genuine connection possible.
Keep commitments. When you say you'll do something, do it—not just when it benefits you but especially when it doesn't. Let your word create an obligation that transcends circumstance or convenience. This isn't mere rule-following but participation in the faithfulness that constitutes a covenant relationship.
In parish leadership, I've learned that seemingly small commitments—returning calls when promised, arriving when expected, following through on offers of help—create the foundation for larger communal trust. These aren't trivial details but essential participation in the community of practice where integrity becomes possible.
Accept responsibility. When you make mistakes, acknowledge them promptly and thoroughly. Resist the culture of blame-shifting and excuse-making that undermines accountability at every level. This isn't self-abasement but participation in the truth that makes reconciliation possible.
After sermons in one of my parishes, an elderly parishioner regularly wrote me notes to correct grammar errors in my delivery. My instinct was to defend or minimize, but instead, I acknowledged the mistakes regularly the following Sunday. That small act of responsibility formed me more deeply than any theological study, teaching me that honor emerges through humility rather than perfection.
Practice consistency. Apply the same standards to allies that you apply to opponents. Judge actions based on principle rather than partisan advantage. Resist the tribal impulse to excuse "our side" while condemning identical behavior from "their side." This isn't inflexibility but participation in the universal principles that transcend tribal division.
On my podcast discussing racial reconciliation, I've made it a practice to acknowledge problematic aspects of politicians I generally support while recognizing genuine contributions from those I typically oppose. This consistency isn't a political strategy but participation in the truth that transcends partisan division.
While seemingly small, these practices constitute spiritual resistance against the disintegration of honor in our public life. They form the foundation for communities of integrity that can withstand the corrosive effects of expediency, pragmatism, and tribal loyalty.
Honor as Participation in National Renewal
The connection between personal honor and national identity runs deep in American tradition. Washington's commitment to civilian authority, Lincoln's willingness to risk reelection rather than abandon emancipation, and King's nonviolent resistance to injustice all reflect participation in understanding that national character emerges from personal integrity.
The corruption of honor in our current moment threatens not just individual character but national identity. When we rationalize dishonorable means for supposedly honorable ends and excuse moral compromise as necessary pragmatism, we withdraw from participation in the values we claim to defend.
I've seen this corruption manifest in both progressive and conservative movements. When the ends justify any means—whether defending traditional values or advancing social justice—we've already lost what we claim to protect. As Augustine understood, we can't achieve justice through unjust means or truth through deception. Integrating means and ends isn't naive idealism but essential to the integrity we seek.
The recovery of honor as participatory virtue begins with communities—particularly faith communities—that embody values different from those dominating our political discourse. When churches, synagogues, and mosques cultivate internal honor codes that transcend partisan division, when religious leaders hold members accountable regardless of political affiliation, they create spaces where a different kind of citizenship becomes possible—one based on participation in truth rather than manipulation for advantage.
From Honor to Prophetic Patriotism
Honor properly understood creates the foundation for genuine patriotism—a love of country expressed not through blind loyalty but through participation in constitutional principles and democratic practices. In our next essay, we'll move from considering honor to examining the meaning of country. We'll explore how honor shapes understanding of national identity in ways that transcend both nationalist idolatry and cosmopolitan detachment.
In a political environment increasingly dominated by shamelessness and expediency, the recovery of honor as spiritual practice offers counter-witness that serves both faith and democracy. By cultivating participation in truth that shapes both internal conviction and external action, by fulfilling promises regardless of cost, and by telling the truth even when lies might better serve immediate interests, we participate in the renewal of both church and society.
The alternative isn't outdated formalism but a different kind of realism that recognizes how deception and compromise corrupt not just individual character but community and country. As the prophet Jeremiah reminded Israel, "Stand at the crossroads and look... ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls." The good way begins with honor—participation in integrity that aligns word with deed, conviction with action, and promise with fulfillment. In walking this way, we find personal integrity and national renewal through participation in truth that transcends partisan division.
Key Terms
Honor: Integrity against fragmentation; wholeness of being that aligns inner conviction with outer action. Full entry →(Coming soon)
Participation: Mode of being where identity emerges through relationship rather than isolation. Full entry →(Coming soon)
Covenant: Relationship of mutual commitment that transcends transactional exchange. Full entry →(Coming soon)