Depraved by Ricky

          The word depraved comes to us via the 14^th century AD (1325-75 to be less precise). The Middle English (or was it Middle Earth???) word depraven (Anglo-French) which in turn was descended from the Latin depravare.  But then who really cares about that.  Does that make me depraved because I don't really care from where the word came?

          I sort of enjoy the obsolete usage of the word, as in; The Republicans keep depraving President Obama's efforts, citizenship, and religious faith.  Especially since their real reason for attacking him (beyond being power hungry)  is not his politics but his skin color.  They are afraid of losing the support of Black Republicans who could vote as a block for a black candidate. 

          The more common usage of the word falls into three primary categories: 1. to make morally bad or evil; 2. to vitiate; and 3. to corrupt.  So here's the problem with these definitions.  What is morally bad or evil?  In Christianity the moral code is fairly standard among the various sects, but not entirely.  Other religions have other criteria.  In Christianity it is morally wrong to lie and bare false witness against someone, but does that make homophobe closeted homosexual preachers “depraved” or just lying hypocrites? If a husband or boyfriend lies in answering the question, “Sweetheart, do you like this new lamp I bought?” to avoid hurting the feelings of his loved one OR to avoid an argument over the lamp, is he depraved for not telling his honest opinion?

          What is evil?  Most religious people would agree that the Devil is evil, but what acts does he do that are evil?  Tempting people to violate the moral code?  If tempting people is evil, then all people who encourage others who are on a diet to eat something “just this once” or talk an alcoholic into having just one little drink would be classified as evil.  I doubt most people would agree to that.  Is Ted Haggart evil because (before he was allegedly “cured of his homosexuality”) he “was” a hypocrite?   If the Devil is evil because he says there is no God, what about parents who declare Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny real to their children, or people who lie and cheat on their income taxes? Are they all evil too?  What about the case of political parties or individual political groups who lie about and distort the truth about another candidate?  Are they also evil?  If Americans cannot yell “FIRE” in a theater as a joke without being punished, why can people in political campaigns slander an opponent with no legal consequence?  Isn't slandering a good man “evil”.

          I really don't even want to discuss the “to vitiate” and “to corrupt” categories, so I am done ranting except for one more thought.  If there is no God or Supreme Being or etc., how can there be a legitimate moral code to base our laws upon.  Where can a person go to find a place where his so called “depravities” are his “pursuits of happiness”.

Origin: 
1325–75; Middle English depraven  (< Anglo-French ) < Latin dēprāvāre  to pervert,corrupt, equivalent to dē- de-  + prāv ( us )crooked + -āre  infinitive suffix

de·prave [dih-preyv] 

verb (used with object), -praved, -prav·ing.

to make morally bad or evil; vitiate;corrupt.

Obsolete . to defame.

vi·ti·ate [vish-ee-eyt] 

verb (used with object), -at·ed, -at·ing.

to impair the quality of; make faulty;spoil.

to impair or weaken the effectiveness of.

to debase; corrupt; pervert.

to make legally defective or invalid;invalidate: to vitiate a claim.

© 5 Dec 2011 

About the Author 

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach.  Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.  After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010.   I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.

Military Me by Phillip Hoyle

I didn’t serve in the Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard or Reserves. I dropped out of Boy Scouts after moving up several classes and earning lots of badges. Although I liked singing in the choir at Boy’s State I pretty much detested its political plotting, campaigning, and especially marching. I wasn’t military material; not competitive, obedient, or strong enough. Still I had a strong military background; I grew up in a military town, Junction City, a railroad town next to Fort Riley in central Kansas. I grew up next to where General George Armstrong Custer with his Seventh Cavalry planned military campaigns against aboriginal folk. I grew up next to military games of the Seventh Cavalry Armored Division that in my time featured jeeps, tanks, big guns, infantry, and nighttime flares. I grew up knowing my great grandfather had worked at three Kansas forts when he first emigrated here from Germany and that two of my uncles had served in the military. I grew up in schools peopled with the children of Army officers, GIs, and civil service employees. I sat in classes with kids who had lived the past three years in Germany. I attended school with girls who grew up in Europe and spoke heavily accented English. Daily I heard the chop, chop, chop of overhead passing helicopters from the base airport. When we drove through the Fort I saw barracks, parade grounds, war memorials, historic officers’ houses, weapons, and armories. I saw the PX and the Commissary.  I went to church with folk from the Fort. I carried out groceries to cars owned by soldiers. I watched my neighbor polish his boots to the most unbelievable shine. I got to know his Japanese wife. I shopped in Army surplus stores, daily walked past GI bars, and on payday night saw lines of enlisted young men waiting to enter whore houses on East Ninth Street. I saw silk jackets with wild-looking dragons on their backs brought home from Asian assignments. I heard stories, saw military parades, and watched as convoys passed by on Interstate 70. I played Army with my neighborhood buddies using either plastic soldiers or our own play guns. I viewed endless military newsreels while awaiting my turn at the Saturday morning gun club in the basement of the Municipal Auditorium where local police took their target practice, in the same building that housed the USO. Army was everywhere, even in my imagination, but I couldn’t feature actually entering the service in any of its forms. I wasn’t a good match.

Dad told me of a worship service when America was on the brink of war, probably at the onset of the Korean conflict. The preacher that Sunday had waxed eloquently about the terrible enemy that was threatening our values and safety. After Dad had turned off the organ, stowed his music scores, and said goodbye to the choir, he stopped to shake the preacher’s hand.  He asked, “Why is it that preachers preach peace until the nation is on the brink of war and then preach war?” He said the preacher got really red in the face, but he didn’t tell me the man’s response to him, or if he did I have no memory of it. I was fascinated with Dad’s ability to support and confront, a natural counseling approach he had never studied. He did so out of a sense of conscience, a tribute I suppose to his father’s being reared Quaker. His people were thoughtful and honest. Coming out of high school in the early thirties, he was unable to attend college, but he was an avid reader, a theologically curious church lay leader, and very bright. I don’t recall Dad leading me away from military service, but I do remember his interest that I become a preacher. Perhaps he wanted me to preach peace.

In a Christian Ethics course in Seminary I developed a great interest in how decisions are really made, at least that’s how I expressed it. I opined over and over in the class the function of emotions in moral judgment and action. I criticized our texts that said little about their roles. I studied extensively in nineteenth and twentieth century philosophical, theological, and psychological theory of the passions to find out all I could. The teacher of the course liked to quantify our responses to ethical problems. “On a scale of one to ten,” he’d say, “where do you place yourself…?” We were supposed to choose a number. War was one issue. I refused to quantify my response but, knowing myself, explained that if I were faced with an enemy I would probably defend myself and my family. Having lived around the military all my childhood, even without being interested in becoming a soldier, I realized I’d probably want to defend my loved ones and country in some way. I might declare myself a pacifist theoretically, but if the enemy was crossing the border with guns aimed at me, I’d come to the defense. I was pretty sure that my response would be visceral. Visions of helicopters and jeeps, guns and GI’s still played out their power in me even fifteen years after I’d moved away from the Fort. I guess that’s just old military me.

On the other hand I pretty much believe in the sanctity of all life. Also I can pretty much be a wimp. Maybe I’d argue with myself as the enemy approached and have no chance to use a gun I don’t know how to shoot, be run over by an enemy who is stronger than I, or otherwise fight without any chance of winning. And if I lasted very long, I’d surely wonder “winning what?” Now that is really old me even though I can still hear the big guns blasting off in the distance of my childhood. Guess I’d better stick with philosophy.

© 23 Nov 2011  

About the Author  

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com