Editor’s Note: The opinions expressed in this blog post are solely those of the author.

In the first of my series of sin and virtue themed blog entries, I tackle concepts of pride and humility. Before I explore how Nonnatus House’s fashion dabbling intersects with these concepts, I offer the following information:

Pride is often listed as the first of the seven deadly or capital sins. Historically within the church, pride as sin, is defined as desire for wealth, honor and high position. From this standpoint we can assume that the sin of pride applies only to those outside the hierarchy of religious power. History shows that those claiming direct access to the divine also claimed the right to demand earthly treasures and acclaim from supplicants of favor. In today’s world, pride in one’s accomplishments and abilities are acceptable; indicating appreciation of worth and reflecting a modern arc toward democratic thought. Pride is dignified. Excessive desire for wealth, honor and high position; beyond what is earned, has become something apart from pride in the modern world and subject for different discussion.

Definitions of humility also offer both secular and religious perspectives. In the traditional religious sense, humility is the recognition of the human relationship to an all-powerful deity. It is considered virtue, as it requires low self-preoccupation in order to focus on that divine power that is greater than the individual. In a secular understanding, humility is sometimes considered to be a sense of having low regard for oneself or a sense of unworthiness. The modern world has midwives, and all of us, straddling the need to feel proud and worthy of our abilities and responsibilities while humble enough to recognize our limits.

So now we have Trixie in her new couture nurse uniform with ruffled sleeves and cap in cotton candy pink, while the Nonnatus House Sisters consider modernization of their religious attire. These fashion adjustments brought to my mind the shedding of the mandated white starched nursing caps and traditional skirted uniforms that defined the nursing profession until the 1980s. How well I remember wearing and wrestling with that distinctive cap for the first 10 or so years of my nursing career.

These abbreviated caps were remnants of headwear donned by female workers ranging from maids to nannies as well as nurses during the Victorian era. The head covering originally had the practical and sanitary purpose of keeping hair out of the way of its wearer. As hairstyles changed the style of the caps became smaller and symbolic. Just as various styles of habits and other religious clothing, nursing caps and white uniforms became a visual tool of communication of status as well as unity among its wearers. Worn with pride they were also reminders of the humble status of caretaking and therefore the humble social status of women.

Caps and white uniform dresses complete with measured skirt lengths (no knees, please) became obsolete due to practicality, comfort and cognizance of gender bias. Dresses gave way to pant suits. Some nurses recognized the nursing cap as a symbol of subservience and sought their elimination from mandated dress code. As more men entered the nursing profession in the 1980s, unisex scrubs and no caps became the accepted standard nursing attire. Despite the practicality of the changes, seeking equality of status was resisted as sinfully prideful and lacking a proper sense of humility. Some in powerful positions may still view their own power as bestowed by godly design and deserving of humility by others. For many others, that mode of thinking is also obsolete in modern society.

Clothing of any kind continues to be visual communication and can create a sense of unity among those adopting similar dress. As a result, we all learn to use our attire to communicate a message. As a newly hired midwife in the 1990s I began attending “Grand Rounds” presented by the Obstetric/Gynecologic Department medical staff at the hospital where I had been granted delivery privileges. This formal meeting would include news and announcements from hospital administration, presentations of current research, and discussions of patient cases. It was intended as an educational experience but inevitably became a place of grand standing and autocratic politics among the suits and ties attending. Even more than today, this was a time where men vastly dominated the medical field. As a woman and one of only three midwives on staff, my status provided little power. I knew my attire had to communicate professional competence and self-confidence. On Grand Round days, I donned my black, navy or gray pantsuit and tied a muted pattern scarf around my neck to provide a look as close to a business suit and tie as I could muster in female clothing. I stood tall and tried not to smile too much. I did not feel prideful but proud to represent the midwifery profession with credibility to those who were hostile to our presence within their domain of power. In fact, I was humbled by the privilege that placed me in a position to attempt bettering the world for other women.

Although Trixie and the Sisters of Nonnatus House are seeking money and recognition, they do not seek it out of sinful pride. In the changing world of 1966, they recognize their worth. They seek audience with earthly power structures to negotiate a place within it. They attempt to send a message by altering their appearance: we belong here! They seek a position in a modern world to enable themselves to make that world a better, safer place for others. Alas, Mother Mildred may have a different view. From her religious vantage point the newly designed habits may reek of sinful pride. It is yet to be seen if the humility of medieval garb is to remain for the Sisters of Nonnatus. It is a delicate tightrope to balance spiritual humility with secular reality.