Anybody who writes is engaged with language. So I have an excuse for taking my readers down the linguistic rabbit hole with me. Today, I am enthralled with the word “innocent.” Let me explain.

It all started with a dog. During my daily stroll, a friendly mutt jumped my leg, his tail wagging, snout nuzzling, and eyes begging to be petted. The owner laughed, and I smiled as I bent over to return his warm greeting. Continuing my walk, I found a new lightness in my step. Then I remembered the owner’s response. She too enjoyed the moment. What was it about that dog that lifted both of our spirits? My own dog did as much for me. Even when she lay dying in my daughter’s arms, I remember her reaction when I entered the room—she rolled her eyes towards me and wagged her tail. She was happy to see me. Her attitude was spontaneous and not colored by any premonition of her eminent death (as far as any human can tell). In fact, her response was not different from my preschool daughter who, bursting with joy, used to run into my arms upon my return home from work. Both, most would say, were innocent because they lived solely in the moment. The difference, of course, is that my daughter, like the rest of us, would eventually learn to live beyond the moment. The future’s possibilities would capture her imagination not only with its promise of happiness, but also with its risks of harm and the certainty of death. These are the mixed possibilities that all adults face. So does that mean we are all doomed to lose our innocence? Perhaps not. . .

You might write this next paragraph for me with the obvious statement, “live in the moment.” But I think there is more to be said about innocence. It really is not age dependent and may not require us to forego our efforts to plan a future or even to deal with our mortality. The etymology of the word “innocent” suggest much more. The Latin root, in “not” and nocens, “wicked,” means “not wicked.” And nocens is further derived from the verb “to harm.” It is also the root for our word “noxious;” and its genealogy can be further traced back to the Greek nekros, which is, literally, a “dead body.” Our forebears knew what was innocent—both extrinsically and intrinsically. It is not only the naiveté of childhood. An “innocent” life presents itself to the world as one lived without harming others. And that life is truly alive in its very essence, for it cannot be wicked or obnoxious, analogously like the body of the living dead. The latter image is prefigured in the Greek root and elicits a rather bleak existence for the not innocent.

What we term innocent then is more than mere childlike. It is not just the ignorance of mortality or of the trials and tribulations that lie ahead. That ignorance is similar to what we see in other species, especially those that become our pets. We can identify it as a form of innocence. For example, not so long ago, I saw a rooster dead in the road. What was memorable about this incident was the coterie of barn animals surrounding the small corpse. They seemed baffled, like they were waiting for the rooster to rise and parade his cockiness. Eventually, they went about their normal activities. They may have missed the rooster, but seemed not to understand his death. Not anticipating or having to deal with the finality of death is a blessing our toddlers share with all animals. The novelty of life appears to them as an endless adventure. When we adults observe their playfulness and spontaneity, we are inspired to embrace life as the blessing that it is and to live every moment fully. However, that childish innocence cannot be regained simply by ignoring our responsibility to an unfolding future. On the contrary, we must prepare ourselves to accept or change what is to come without harming others and with our personal integrity intact. A life that benefits rather than harms others can face physical death with equanimity; for it averts a more noxious death of the human spirit. That life has meaning and is the only path to the innocence we seek—not as a birthright given, but a virtue attained.

Normally, I would end this blog with the last sentence. But there is a postscript my conscience demands be shared. Sometime ago I wrote about an innocence that is culpable (ref. “A Culpable Innocence”). Of course, that “innocence” was not what I described here, but instead a false innocence born of a willful naiveté or refusal to acknowledge the harm our actions might do to others. Many times in the recent decades, Americans have given silent consent to military interventions without consideration of the human consequences. Not only are we responsible for the suffering of those who fall victim to our weapons but also of those we commission to weld those weapons. We charge our soldiers to harm or even kill others. During World War II, they fought to preserve life and liberty for America and its allies. The soldiers who returned from that war intact seemed to meld back into society and to build constructive lives for themselves and their communities. Our subsequent wars, however, have not been so kind to our returning soldiers. The Vietnam War saw more live fire engagements with enemy combatants than any previous war. Our soldiers, however, were not seasoned veterans, but mostly draftees who fought to survive, not to defend the homeland which was never threatened. Many did not return whole in spirit and did not feel welcome as heroes, but as unwitting reminders of an unwanted war. More recently, many of our returning soldiers from Afghanistan and Iraq suffer with the memories of their wartime experiences. The Iraq war has long been recognized as a war of choice, not of necessity. Though Afghanistan was initially invaded to defend our country against Al Qaeda, it has since become an American protectorate against a Taliban insurgency. Neither of these wars has eliminated the terrorist threat that has since metastasized around the world. But they have taken their toll of American soldiers. Too many of them cannot cope with their return to civilian status and find their only escape in suicide. My personal belief is that we are asking too much of these young men and women. It is not only their lives that are put in jeopardy, but their innocence. Fighting to survive, whether for yourself or your comrades, may justify a sense that you did what you had to do, that you did your duty. But the actual wartime experience may have no broader meaning. As such, it can weigh on the conscience as an unremitting emptiness, a dark night of the soul. War is an evil undertaking in any circumstance, but absent an overarching justification it can be a culpable delusion for its supporters and a recurring nightmare for its participants. It can jeopardize the attainment of that most prized virtue, innocence.