Seton Sitting: Something special may happen, by Thomas Schenk

27 05 2012
from American Werewolf in Japan

“To meditate, we have to break our habitual responses – let the ant be a part of our world and our body be part of the ant’s world.”

Many years ago, I spent a year teaching outdoor education to grade school children.  The students would be bussed out from the city for their once-a-year instruction about wild nature.  In addition to providing the scientifically-oriented subjects that were the core of our outdoor education curricula, I attempted to get students to sit quietly for a few minutes and attend to the sensory qualities of nature.  To get them to quiet down, I would tell them: “if we sit quietly, something special might happen.”

Usually I did not have much success getting the kids to be still, but one morning I had a group sitting quietly when two fawns walked right into the middle of the circle we had formed.  Wow, I thought, this is special!  Strangely, it didn’t create nearly the buzz among the students I expected.  Later I asked the teacher why the students were not more impressed.  She said, “They think you do this for every group.” Oh well!

Seton Sitting

In the lingo of outdoor education, the technique of sitting quietly in this way is called Seton Sitting.  It was named for the naturalist Thomas Seton.  It is nothing more than trying to sit very quietly in a natural area until the wildlife forgets you are there.  Some people call it “still stalking.”  Once while Seton Sitting a Northern Goshawk landed on a ledge a few feet from me and graciously ignored me for about ten minutes.

Though its goals are not quite as lofty as enlightenment or attaining oneness with God, Seton Sitting is not too different from the formal practice of meditation.  In both Seton Sitting and meditation, you have to ignore the ants that crawl on you and a lot of other stimuli – you have to become somewhat ignorant.

Breaking habitual responses

In practicing meditation, we create a “space” between stimulus and response.  Our ordinary response to an ant crawling up our leg is to brush it off.  To meditate, we have to break our habitual responses – let the ant be a part of our world and our body be part of the ant’s world.

Once we become proficient in creating this mental space, we can do a couple things with it.  We can remain in the silence and emptiness of this space or choose some object of attention, such as an idea, symbol, or impression, and become deeply immersed in it.  Both have their distinctive values.

In the practice of meditation, we learn to become non-responsive to both external and internal stimuli. The external stimuli cannot be shut out; the internal stimuli – thoughts, emotions, desires — can be slowed, but not stopped.  The practice of meditation deepens as we learn to let both external and internal stimuli pass through us without our getting caught up in them.

This is not easy.  Most of us have a strong inclination to respond to a thought or image by thinking it through.  In the early stages of learning meditation, again and again we find our self abstracted from the present moment, entangled in a thought or image.  With time, though, maintaining this space between the stimulus and the response becomes easier; when it becomes truly easy, this inner space provides a haven of self control and serenity.

Something special may happen

The poet T.S. Eliot described the modern condition as being “distracted from distraction by distraction.”  Our world pulses with disjointed stimuli, blowing the mind this way and that like leaves in the wind.  The distracted mind’s readiest refuge is in entertainments abundantly supplied by the popular media.  But, these entertainments are just “distraction from distraction.”  To gain clarity and rootedness requires a different approach.

A formal meditation practice may be the right approach for some, or just sitting quietly with nature might work better for others.  One has to try a few things to find what works best.

Is it worth the effort?

As I told my students many years ago, “if we sit quietly, something special might happen.”

The author

Thomas Schenk

Thomas Schenk

Thomas Schenk: “If asked, I’d call myself a Space-age Taoist, Black Sheep Catholic, Perennial Philosophy Pantheist, Dharma Bum.   In other words I am a kind of spiritual and philosophical mutt.  I’m not out to change the world, for I believe the world has a much better sense of what it is supposed to be than I ever could. But I do try to promote the value of the contemplative life in these most un-contemplative of times.  I don’t know if the piece presented here has any value, but I feel blessed that I can spend my time thinking about such things.  My version of the American dream is that here, as the child of a line of farmers and peasants going back through the ages, I have the privilege to live with my head in such clouds.”

Thomas is also the author of the naturalistic spirituality blog Golden Hive of the Invisible.

Check out Thomas’ other articles:





Managing human nature: A job description for HP

20 05 2012
Tree Planter, from Arbor Day Foundation

Like managing a forest, we manage human nature.

Job descriptions help us know that we’re doing what we’re supposed to be doing.  So what’s the JD for HP?

This post is the first in a series examining HP through the lens of the work of Loyal Rue.  For an overview of Rue’s basic concepts, go here.

Help wanted: Manager of human nature

“The measure of a religious orientation,” says Loyal Rue in his book Religion Is Not About God, “is not whether it gives an accurate account of divine reality, but whether it effectively manages human nature.”

That effectively sums up what HP is all about: managing our human nature.  That may not sound very lofty, but it’s true.  When it comes down to it, we are managers of our own natures.

We manage our responses to our environment, to each other, and to ourselves.  In so doing, we cultivate an amazing multiplicity of experiences, from the serenity of meditation to the joy of human bonding and the wonder of beholding the stars in the night sky.

Why manage human nature?

Why do we need to manage our natures at all?  Hmm… well, let’s just say being human can be messy.  We don’t find ourselves perfectly humming machines where all is accomplished flawlessly and without effort.

No, we find ourselves a bundle of impulses, full of conflicting desires and uncertainties.  I want this cookie and that sexy piece of meat over there; I want to be loved, to become a respected member of society, and to feel at home in this universe.  These goals may pull me in different directions, and the most efficient way to achieve them is by no means clear.

So, managing human nature is necessary as a basic matter of fact.  It’s natural, in fact.  We all do it to some degree; we simply couldn’t carry on without doing so.  Managing human nature is itself part of human nature.

Like many abilities that come naturally to us, such as maintaining our health or courting a mate, managing human nature is a job that can be done better or worse.  Instinct and socialization (which may include religion for some people) give us basic management skills.  At the same time, we can always strive to improve beyond these basics.  Adopting a personal path of growth is one way to continue learning to manage one’s nature better and better throughout life.

HP is a path of human nature management that gives special priority to naturalistic understandings of how the universe works, as well as mythological means of enriching subjective experience.  In this way, we cultivate fulfilling experiences of a certain mythic quality, while at the same time maintaining an accurate and up-to-date picture of the universe.

To what end(s) do we manage?

At the most general level, Rue finds that humans have two basic ends or teloi that explain why we need to manage our natures.  First, we want fulfilling lives full of meaningful experiences.  This he calls the telos of personal wholeness. Second, we need a functioning society enabling us to pursue those experiences.  This is the telos of social coherence.

These individual and collective interests often pull in different directions.  Thus, in order to achieve these “twin teloi”, we must learn to manage our human natures.  And the better we manage them, the better we achieve these ends.  It’s as simple as that.

There is a third possible telos to consider: living sustainably within our environment.  We can’t have either personal wholeness or social coherence if the land cannot support us.  This third end is implied in Rue’s work, and Michael Dowd makes it explicit by adding ecological integrity to the other two.

Religions, when they function correctly, help us achieve these ends.  They structure our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors in such a way that we gravitate in the right direction.  In Rue’s words, “It is about manipulating our brains so that we might think, feel, and act in ways that are good for us, both individually and collectively.”

Managers, not bosses

At this point, let’s clear up some potential misconceptions: we are not bosses of human nature.  We can’t be, because we are not in full control of ourselves, if “we” means our conscious, rational, ego-directed selves.  If we could just will ourselves to behave as we’d like, we’d have no need of spirituality.

Nor are we the rational charioteer reigning in unruly beasts, as Plato would have it.  Often our most brilliant ideas seem to “come to us” as if from beyond.  The conscious, deliberative self is neither the chief executive nor the brains of the operation.  At best we are middle management (one view demotes us all the way to press secretary).

Rivers and forests are managed.  Resources are managed.  So too do we manage our own natures.

These are crucial caveats because a fundamental aspect of spirituality may well be that it connects us to something greater – the environment, society, and the vast unconscious.

So let’s be clear: HP is not about being the boss or the brains; it’s about managing how we relate to what ultimately transcends us.

Adaptive and maladaptive management

Not all religions manage human nature well.  Some become maladaptive.  Their pictures of how the universe works may be out-of-date, leading to a crisis of intellectual plausibility (in Rue’s terms).  Or their ethics may no longer fit current social or ecological conditions, leading to a crisis of moral relevance.  Many of today’s world religions suffer from both of these maladaptive traits.

HP attempts to right the course of our religious evolution.  By embracing the naturalism of modern science, and foreswearing supernatural explanations, it addresses the issue of plausibility.  By fostering deep affective bonds with each other, our environment, and ourselves through enriching experience with mythic texture, it addresses the issue of relevance.

Such affective bonds rearrange priorities, and ultimately motivate changes in behavior conducive to personal wholeness, social coherence, and ecological integrity.  In this way, HP steers a course between supernaturalistic inaccuracy and nihilistic irresponsibility.

Performance reviews

So now that we have this cushy managerial position, it’s time to relax and kick our feet up on the desk, right?  Not quite.

As managers, we must produce results.  On a very simple level, we can give ourselves a “performance review” now and then by simply observing what we do on our paths and how it makes us feel in response – both in the short term and in the long term.  What’s working well, and what leaves room for improvement?

On a more complex level, as a community we can constantly work toward ever-more rigorous tests.  As a path that values scientific investigation, it only makes sense that we should test our methods for efficiency.  If we claim cultivating a relationship with mythology can enrich our lives, for example, we ought to develop ways to verify that hypothesis.  That takes time and loads of effort, but it will be worth it if we can pull it off.

Now that we’ve got a job description, we can rate how well we’re doing.  What we’re supposed to be doing as Humanistic Pagans is managing our human natures toward personal wholeness, social coherence, and ecological integrity.  So, as a final note, let’s ask:

Are we making progress toward that goal?  How well our we doing?  How can we do better?

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Naturalism and the gods, by Glen Gordon

6 05 2012
Sunset on Water, by Virtually-Supine

"Deities are processes which superimpose and overlap each other in complex patterns of creativity."

Having a naturalist sensibility, I find supernatural concepts of deities within paganism difficult to accept. Having been unsure if concepts of deities are applicable or valuable, I drifted towards an agnostic humanism. Exposure to the blending of process theism and religious naturalism in Karl E. Peters’ book Dancing with the Sacred reawakened my interest in polytheism.

By applying naturalistic process theism to polytheism, I find deities are processes which superimpose and overlap each other in complex patterns of creativity, and ceremony is a powerful method of actively participating in any given process.

Process theology emphasizes God as the act of becoming, and moves away from God as an omnipotent being. In this regard, god is found in the events which shape our experiences and initiates change in our lives.

Religious Naturalism finds value in religious expression and experience and holds the natural living-world sacred without supernatural intervention.

Peters combines the two perspectives by seeing god as continuous evolutionary creativity. Thus, god is found both by the scientist seeking to understand the building blocks of life and in the religious experience longing to understand humanity’s place within the cosmos.

Upon reading Peters, my thoughts wandered to the groupings of atoms that create matter, the weather cycle, evolution of lifeforms, and human expressions like art, literature, and music, as being processes in their own right.

Into action

As a member of a group of pagan and naturalist Unitarian Universalists, I began implementing these concepts into group ceremonies. One ceremony revolved around the planting of native seeds at our UU church. We spent a week preparing the ground with meditative intent. In song and dance, we sowed the seeds under the night sky of the autumnal equinox.

These experiences helped me understand myself as an active co-creator within the processes of the natural living-world. Having combined my efforts and will with creative evolutionary processes, deities were no longer individual personal beings but processes toward which I contributed in active participation.

Beyond anthropomorphism

These realizations had me question the usefulness of anthropomorphism as a means of deification. Giving deities human-like forms made sense at one point of human understanding. The primary experience represented in a deity is easiest to access through human action. Perhaps to understand how deities worked, they gave them human form.

The downside is these images became the focus of worship. In a post-modern context, with our expanded understanding of the world around us, a focus on anthropomorphism feels outdated. It can help us understand processes related to the human experience, but limits us to a human-centric understanding.

Seeking the transpersonal

The idea of transpersonal psychology is to explore the impact of experiences which transcend the phenomenon of ego and otherness. A transpersonal relationship with a deity expands our experience through action. The deity is no longer a vague idea of the sacred, but a continuous experience of co-creation that is malleable and present within each passing moment.

This contrasts with the need of many Neopagans to seek interpersonal relationships with deities. In my experience, images may become useful in identifying and understanding the process of deities, but is not static representation, nor should they be the focus of worship. I prefer seeking a trans-personal relationship that allows me participation in the sacred process that is the deity.

Naturalistic polytheism

Seeing deities as active creative evolutionary processes broadens my views on ceremony and the religious experience. Because of this, worship is not passive, but an active expression of co-creation with the universe and natural living world.

I refer to this approach as naturalistic polytheism. It has allowed me to acknowledge that the scientific and the sacred are not contradictory, but part of each other.

Perhaps, in taking a naturalistic perspective of deities and mythology, the traditions of the past can come to life, and help us develop new ones specific to who we are as humans today.

The author

Glen "Fishbowl"

Glen Gordon writes about animism, religious naturalism, and Unitarain Universalism on his personal blog Postpagan.com™. Under the name Fishbowl, he has participated in the broader bioregional animist community at gatherings and in internet forums. As an active UU, He has given sermons on bioregional animism at his local UU church in Northern Idaho. The video Biorigional Animism in Five Minutes features the words of one of his sermons. He also co-facilitates a The Palouse Nature Covenant, a group of pagan and naturalist UU’s exploring themes of nature and ecology through worship.