One of my weird little quirks is the attempt to avoid capitalist language when it comes to the spiritual. In this case, I’ll define the spiritual as that which connects to our deepest sense of meaning, the wind that breathes through all-that-is. For some of us, that’s the Web of existence, God(s), matters of soul. For others of us, it might be the Big Picture of the universe/multiverse, and the complexities of relation therein. What I am talking about, then, is the root of virtue and value.
In short, I dislike the West’s reduction of all forms of value to the monetary and mercantile; this aversion is why I tend to be troubled by such concepts as forgiveness and mercy.
Forgiveness, as I’ve written about before, comes from the Old English “forfiegan,” to give forth. It essentially means “to forfeit” and comes from the language of debt. I have a bucketload of issues with the language of debt, but today I’ll focus instead on mercy.
Mercy, as I’ve written about in a poem (inspired by the Kyle Rittenhouse trial), roots in the Latin merx – literally “merchandise.” It enters into our lexicon by way of the early Christian church: You literally buy your way into heaven through acts of kindness. This turns generosity into a mercenary act – another word that stems from the Latin merx: one who works only for pay, and not from principle or honor.
When we talk about mercy, I don’t think we have hired assassins in mind. What are we really talking about? Irish has an answer here: the Irish term for mercy is anacal, which comes from the verb ainic, meaning “to protect, to save.” (If you ever wonder why kids used to yell “Uncle!” when their older brother was giving them noogies, it comes from the Irish anacal.)
When we plead for mercy, we are asking for protection, for deliverance from suffering. So we throw ourselves on the mercy of the court, or of god, seeking a mighty shield. Sometimes what we are seeking protection from is the consequences of our own actions.
By rooting mercy in the mercantile, however, we are literally paying someone off for our safety, like protection money to the mob. It’s such an ugly concept, in my view: The sacred as crime boss. And when we show mercy only to obtain mercy ourselves, to earn the unearthly reward that we call “heaven,” we strip generosity of its heart. Generosity ultimate stems from the Proto-Indo-European root gen, to give birth; it is the gift that life gives to life, to ensure its continuity.
I suppose, when it comes down to it, I define the spiritual as that which promotes flourishing – whether of individual beings (human or otherwise), larger communities and ecosystems, the entire system as a whole. Rather than the language of the market, the heart of “flourishing” is the world of plants: what leafs out and blooms, what gives fruit.
Rather than paying someone off, flourishing requires us to look at the complexities of relationship and the work that needs to be done to foster that relationship. To ensure flourishing, we may protect our tender plants with fences and berms; we feed the thirsty and nourish the hungry. We replenish the soil. Sometimes we’re the plant, but we are also the gardener – not just for ourselves, but for others, for the community, for the larger ecosystem.
Let’s stop paying off the Crime Boss in the Sky or pleading with the Great Marshmallow Mother not to send us to our room. When we engage in acts of kindness and generosity, we are instead working toward the larger flourishing of the Whole; we are life giving back to life, to ensure the continuance of life. We are gardeners … and grownups. We are merciless – without merchandise or mercenaries or pay, because the Big Picture isn’t a Walmart and it’s not just about what you get for yourself.
White Cat Grove 
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