In Praise of the Useless Life: A Monk's Memoir is not so much a personal reflection on the value of monastic life as it is a series of vignettes from the lives of the monks of Gethsemani Abbey in Kentucky. Br. Paul Quenon opens the book with the surprising statement that his life, his vocation, is a permanent vacation. Lest the surprise cause scandal, in the next sentence Quenon shifts from the noun to the verb; the monastic life is a “vacating,” leaving both the world and the clutter of one's mind and heart for the rugged places of solitude where there is “wilderness to be alone, free of the world and at rest in God” (1).
In his effort to describe that wilderness, Br. Paul uses metaphors of play, games, teamwork, and wrestling to describe the reality of monastic life. The image that seems most important to him, however, is that of the dance: “The God of perichoresis ever draws us beyond, out into a wide open course—into endless movement, into the limitless depth and height of God” (8). The vignette “The Urge to Dance” describes his own abandonment to dance once when on retreat in Merton's hermitage:
[T]he sky moved my feet. Looking up, I discovered the half-moon dancing in a circle, forgetting that I was stepping and swaying in a circle myself. A jet tracer cut a straight line through tree curves and clouds … As above, so below do I … My body draws down to earth, drifts up to sky, each movement unplanned, a surprising, flowing symphony of what the heart wants to do next, then next, then next.” (57–58)
Br. Paul's reminiscence about the wilderness of his “vacation” includes a chapter about the role of liturgy and music in his own monastic journey and a chapter on the “Schola Natura,” the way that immersion in the rhythms of nature has shaped his spiritual life. There is also a chapter about his battle of wits with a mockingbird that insisted on singing through the night where he slept on a porch. These three chapters might be useful as supplemental reading for a course in spirituality, but I think students might need some guidance in unpacking them.
The rest of the book, however, does not really offer much in the way of reflection on the “uselessness” of monastic life. The book includes recollections about Thomas Merton, who was Br. Paul's novice master, and stories about the various hermitages the monks built during the 1960s and 1970s. There are descriptions of Br. Paul's own forays into poetry and photography, and descriptions of famous, influential people who have visited Gethsemani over the years. The book as a whole leaves one wondering just how successful Br. Paul has been at living his “vacation,” at vacating the world and leaving behind the clutter of his own mind and heart.
Br. Paul ends his book by reflecting on a question that Thomas Merton asked his novices: “Did you get what you wanted when you came to the monastery?” His answer:
“I have the moment. … I sit as if this is all I could ever know or care to know. There is nothing else to want. I listen to the cicadas and forget about wanting and not wanting. Such moments are themselves something worth wanting, but they do not come by wanting. They are a windfall.” (133)
This book is like that—like a windfall of apples. Much of what falls is not particularly appetizing or useful, but in among all the odd bits, there are some apples that are quite tasty and juicy.
