Modesty

Aristotle’s virtues included modesty. Now this was not modesty in the sense of breathless reporters asking you, as you sit at base camp gazing up at the South col of Mt Everest, how it felt to be the the first person to summit in nothing but a pair of undies: “it’s not about me” you might murmur, “it’s about my team, the people around me, they are the real heroes”. Heroes they might be but in this instance modesty is different. To run with the mountaineering example said reporters might yell: ‘for god’s sake man, go put some merino on, cover up, your mother would be appalled.” Modesty, in this instance refers to a mode of dress that basically avoids encouraging sexual attraction in others. Hmm. That there is likely a vibrant online group that shifts their buttocks closer to the screen at the mention of merino wool leggings, is not the point.

The word modesty itself comes from the Latin word modestus which is basically translated as ‘keeping within measure’. i.e cover up. Broadly speaking, standards range from forbidding exposure of any parts of the body, to hair or how to sport loose fitting clothing. It can also extend to how one should slip into speedos on a beach, taking a shower in the lido, or what to wear when the doorbell goes as you grind through the Daily Mail’s editorial over a hot pot of coffee. Said standards obviously depend on the audience too, and specifically what parts of the body are poking out. Any situation needs context, but all else be told, if the mother-in-law is close by, button everything up. Unlike investing in junior silver stocks at time of reckless monetary expansion, some risks are not worth taking.

It is not surprising that much of the moral code surrounding modesty, has been shaped by religion. Indeed, all the great religions have sought to provide tramlines to guide any sexual interest arising perhaps from a tight-fitting pair of Lululemon leggings. In Buddhism, modesty is seen as a purifying quality that everyone should aim for, but it is the monks who are encouraged to keep the robes in order. Vanity, in Buddhism, is also frowned upon, and so the quality of being unpretentious is common. Faults are accepted, shared even, thereby helping to mitigate any feelings of self-loathing.

For Christians, nakedness was sort of the accepted norm, before that is, the ‘fall of man’, the sticky transition from a state of innocent obedience to God, to a state of guilty disobedience. Blame lies of course, for those who follow their scriptures, with the serpent, who suggested to Adam and Eve a lightly diced platter of fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, might help cleanse the palate after whatever main had been served that fateful day. Thereafter, their shame at going against God, sought them to cover their nakedness for good. The likes of Top Shop soon spotted a gap in the market and here we all are.

In Hinduism, it is a bit different, and the concept of modesty has evolved. Whilst covering up is encouraged, much of the moral code as it were, is shaped not by religious doctrines but by local traditions, social codes, circumstances, and occasion. It is accepted though, that modesty – through appropriate dress – has the energy to transmit spirit and substance in a social discourse. The wearing of football shirts, whatever the occasion, being the sole exception.

It appears almost universally agreed then, irrespective of religion or culture that today, it’s best to cover up. And what’s not covered up, needs to be slapped with high factor sunscreen as per the guidance of many an up-tight health czar. That all holds true, unless you find yourself on a beach by the azure waters of the Mediterranean where a bare buttock or swinging thingy barely raises an eyebrow. The factor 50 is also, optional. There still being the option of some late middle age leathery skin to go for. Health czars included.

Europeans who decide to head to the UK for their summer, four-week downing of tools though, should heed the story of Stephen Gough. Stephen Gough, for those who are unaware, is a British pro-nudity activist. He is also a former Royal Marine so likely well cut out for being a pro-nudity activist. Quite why he chose pro-nudity over anti-nuclear is anyone’s guess, but perhaps he read up on the merits of carbon free baseload power. Who knows. Anyway, Stephen who to his mother’s delight, carved out a brand under the moniker, ‘The naked rambler’ walked the length of the British Isles, naked. And then did it again the following year. When he tried it a third time, presumably taking the same route through the rural lanes of many a Conservative constituency, the parishioners were ready. He was arrested. ‘That’ll teach him’ you mutter. Sadly not, he did it again the following year, and was arrested. Again. Since then, he has been in and out of prison, seemingly unable to keep his clothes on. It’s surprising his lawyer hasn’t suggested he move to Paxos, but then, one imagines the fees are good. So too the opportunity to have one’s photo in the regional press. For those who want to see more, dig out Richard Macer’s BBC documentary One life, The Naked Rambler. Albeit a stiff whisky to hand.

Stephen Gough’s error was to go it alone. To leave himself vulnerable to arrest, there being only one of him, and any two bobbies in a typical patrol car. A safer way to scratch his itch would have been to sign up for the World Naked Bike ride, an event whose motto is, despite the obvious risk of chaffing, ‘as bare as you dare’. Safety in numbers. One imagines the social activist, Conrad Schmidt, who first thought such an event might garner some interest from corporate sponsors, would be a lively guest at any mid-week dinner party. ‘Good pants, bad pants’ would just be the start of it.

So that’s that. All told, whatever one’s leaning, best start any social encounter covered up. Modesty matters.

If you have an itch to scratch, read the room.

And make sure your mother-in-law is in a different post code.