"The Morality of the Hat"

The Morality of the Hat
The Speaker, March 2, 1901

There was a time when we (like most ill-dressed people) were reformers of dress: we had indeed several proposals for which little can be urged but their originality. We thought that the waistcoat in morning dress might be constructed with a kind of flap which should fall down in the form of a tray to support the cup at afternoon tea. We thought that at private views and other such uproariously public occasions, the man of fashion might wear round his neck a simple and not ungraceful label inscribed "I beg your pardon. It is a fine day," to save him the trouble of addressing all the valued acquaintances upon whose toes he trod. But as both these young ideals were accepted somewhat coldly (by the aristocrats among whom we move) we have fallen back rather upon the historic and conservative contemplation of things as they have actually developed. And here, as in every other department that we have studied, we have found that Radicals like ourselves are the only people left who have any reverence for the past.

We have concentrated our souls upon the hat: the loftiest, the most holy of questions: for was not swearing by the head in numberless countries almost a religious oath? But the particular ceremonial function which the hat fulfils in Western countries is somewhat peculiar.

Of course this use of the hat as a salute has, in modern life, an obvious practical convenience. There is no other part of dress that could be used as a sword or bayonet as used in military saluting. The French, with their genius for a natural ritual, have precisely expressed the matter in speaking of a coup de chapeau. The human mind cannot seriously contemplate a gentleman taking off his cuffs to a lady, or stopping in the middle of the street to detach his necktie and wave it respectfully in the air. Even the French would not wish any one to salute a neighbour with "a blow of the waistcoat." But all this concentration of courtesy in the hat is merely a local accident of dress: other races of men have really expressed respect by the removal of other appendages. In the East, for example, the shoes are removed as an expression of reverence: and this is really quite as strange to our conceptions as those we have mentioned. We have only to imagine the condition of Bond Street if every time a gentleman met a lady he sat down on the pavement and began to unlace his boots.

The East and West seem condemned to be topsyturveydoms to each other, and it is but one of the thousand symbols of the fact that in one case the headgear is immovable and the foot-gear constantly shifted, and in the other the head-gear is constantly shifted and the footgear immovable. But the whole matter goes much deeper than this. The Eastern custom of removing the shoes on entering a house or temple has an obvious practical meaning. The Western custom of removing the hat can only, to our mind, have a meaning entirely philosophic, abstract and religious.

The meaning of the removal of shoes is clear: it is to preserve the house from the defilements of the street. But no one can suppose that a visitor can defile anything with his hat. It is unusual to see a gentleman rubbing his head on the road before entering a house or rubbing his hat on the carpet after entering it. If these customs are known, they are at least very recent developments of the fashion of "familiarity." It seems to us that the whole question of the hat belongs (we use the phrase with no base intention) to a higher level.

It is not only true that many Eastern civilizations do not remove the hat as a sign of respect. One of the greatest, for example, the Jewish civilisation, assumes the hat as a sign of respect. And this, when we come to think of it, is a very natural and a very fine idea. To hide the face, to cover oneself from the terror of perfection, seems the natural movement of self-subordination. And if the actual appearance presented by a synagogue, where all the worshippers wear the black silk "stovepipe" is not poetic, this is certainly not the fault of the Semitic idea, but of the Aryan hat. At any rate, it is sufficient for the purpose of our argument to point out that this great people do connect worship with the wearing of the hat: some individuals, indeed, push the matter so far as to wear several hats; which may be taken as an expression of almost exaggerated reverence for the universe.

If, by the operation of other causes, it has become natural to us to uncover ourselves to anything or any one that we respect, the causes of this difference in the instinct of courtesy cannot be uninteresting to consider, though it would probably be hopeless to finally explore them. But it is at least to be suggested that reverence is in all cases compounded of the two elements of fear and trust. The old Hebrews had the element of fear just tinged and made dramatic by a touch of trust. The modern world has had, through Christianity, the element of trust just tinged and made dramatic by a touch of fear. The great danger of the life of our age is that in losing that one touch of fear in all its pleasures, it may lose the whole structure of happiness, like a palace in the Arabian Nights. But this new or Christian element of confidence in the beauty of things, rather than fear of it, is bound to have a suitable ritual. It is its nature, in its highest form, to love the beauty of the thunderbolt as much as the ancients feared the beauty of the flowers. It is possible then that this general instinct in modern civilization to uncover in the presence of the holy thing is an instinct towards simplicity and self-exposure, a modified form as it were of being "naked and not ashamed." The modern black hat is instinct with the sense of shelter, protection, and privilege; it is itself a kind of portable roof. If it is true that the Englishman's house is his castle, it is at least equally true that the Englishman's hat is his house. Not in vain is it called a "chimney-pot" hat; the same beautiful object which lifts itself to the stars on the top of the middle-class house is carried in its lighter and more symbolic form on the top of the middle-class head. It seems to us at least possible that when an Englishman takes his hat off to a lady he is essentially coming out of his house; that impenetrable house of privacy, and self-approval, and consuming fear of humanity. He is believing, if for a single moment, that he may be crowned with the stars.