It used to be the norm in western culture
for men to wear hats, and there was a common and recognized etiquette regarding
the wearing of the western hat. One did
not wear it, for example, when in someone’s home, or in a house of
worship. One would remove one’s hat when
the dead were carried out in one’s presence.
One would also remove one’s hat in the presence of one’s sovereign (or,
in America, when the National Anthem was being played)—and significantly, when greeting a woman (see inset picture).
Common
to all these occasions of hat removal (called “doffing one’s hat” for the
historically-minded) was the desire to show honour to someone or
something. (It was often coupled with
the equally-ritualized act of standing up if seated. Thus, if a group of men were sitting down
together at a table and their King happened to approach, they would all rise as
a sign of respect.) It was part and
parcel of a universally-recognized way of being civilized, and refusal to doff
one’s hat would have been taken as a deliberate act of defiant disrespect and
insult.
It
almost goes without saying that such ways have vanished almost without a trace. When I remove my hat now in the presence of a
woman (or rise to my feet when she enters the room) I am often regarded with
either studied incomprehension or perhaps befuddled amusement, as if I had said
something anachronistically medieval like, “forsooth” or “gadzooks”. A generation or two of feminism has all but swept
away such special treatment. If I hold
the door open for a woman (another anachronistic act of masculine honour), the
woman is often surprised. And sometimes,
not pleased. “Thanks, but I can get my
own door”, say the spiritual children of Betty Friedan.
I’m sure they
can. But the door was not held for them
because I thought them weak. On the
contrary the door was held open (and the hat removed and the relaxed seated
posture abandoned) because I recognized in them something strong. That is, like all persons whose roots are
sunk into what is left of Christendom, I recognize that a woman is worthy of
honour simply because she is a woman.
God has shared with womankind a secret He has not shared with the
men—namely, the ability (all things being equal) to bear life and to function
in the world as His co-creator, with all that this entails. Through childbirth, a woman becomes the
unique instrument of God as He continues to create the world. That is one reason (among others) why men
should honour them. Certain tasks are
the specific tasks of men in society, and certain other tasks pertain
especially to women. On this binary, the
world has been built, and on it the world continues to spin. One can express this by saying, “Men are from
Mars, Women are from Venus”, or one can say, “In the beginning God created male
and female”. But however it may be
expressed, this non-interchangeable binary is the basis for everything that is
precious, healthy, and strong in our society.
(Our current re-defining of gender and preoccupation with “transgender
rights” threaten to undo this.)
Two groups of
people recognize this binary ordering of the world instinctively: children and classical love poets. Children know that mommy and daddy are not
interchangeable. When there is burglar
in the house or aliens on the roof or spiders under the bed, it is daddy who
gets the call. When there is a hurt to
be kissed or a wound to be bandaged, that is a job for mommy. This was brought home vividly to one dad, who
watched his little boy fall off his bike, skin his knee, and go running past
him into the house to find mommy. He
thought with some hurt perplexity, “Why did my child not run to me?” He need not have been so perplexed: the child loved his dad, but knew that mommy
was the one to find for that specific task, not daddy.
The other group
that understands this dynamic are the love poets. Most men understand this spiritual binary, at
least when they are in love. Whether or
not they manifest their love in poetry, they all know that when a man proposes
to a woman, he is the one who goes down on one knee. Having her
go down on one knee and kneel before him
would not only violate historical custom, but something more basic. He is honoured by recognizing in her
something worthy of veneration. That is
why he kneels to her—and doffs his hat, and rises to his feet, and holds her door. Nowadays such behaviours are sometimes
considered gallant, or perhaps quixotic.
They used to be considered as simply civilized.
None of this
masculine behaviour, of course, is logical.
It is something deeper than merely logical. It is mystical. Mysticism (as I here use the term) taps into
the deepest roots of what it means to be human; it expresses the inner tao of the way we were made. Some deny that there is anything mystical
about gender and say that recognizing validity in any specific gender roles is
hogwash or worse. In this view gender has
no transcendent significance; but simply describes anatomical or biological differences.
It seems
therefore that a great abyss has opened and now separates those who regard
womanhood as something special, precious, and worthy of honour from those who
regard it as simply one of two anatomical options. But there are losses involved when a culture
embraces the second view as thoroughly as ours has. In a previous generation, everyone
acknowledged that in event of catastrophe, one must save the “women and
children” first. Now it is every man (or
woman) for himself. The world has grown
more dangerous for women, and darker for everyone. When a culture denies its mystical roots,
everyone is the loser, regardless of their gender.
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