

“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!
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.
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.
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.”

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:

Sitting quietly in nature is not just relaxing; it can be a powerful meditative technique.
Seton Sitting: Something special may happen, by Thomas Schenk
Appearing Sunday, May 27, 2012

Are hard polytheists stealing the gods? And if so, what do we stand to lose?
Why do people want supernatural gods?, by Maggie Jay Lee
Appearing Sunday, June 3, 2012
Managing human nature: A job description for HP, by B. T. Newberg
The impossibility of atheism, by Bart Everson
Paganism and the gods, by Glen Gordon
– by B. T. Newberg
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.
“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 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.
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.”
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.
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.
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?

What are we supposed to be doing as Humanistic Pagans? What’s the JD for HP?
Managing human nature: A job description for HP, by B. T. Newberg
Appearing Sunday, May 20, 2012.

Sitting quietly in nature is not just relaxing; it can be a powerful meditative technique.
Seton Sitting: Something special may happen, by Thomas Schenk
Appearing Sunday, May 27, 2012
The impossibility of atheism, by Bart Everson
Paganism and the gods, by Glen Gordon
Unexplaining the unknown: Science’s forgotten power, by B. T. Newberg