In this room, where he
used to work in winter, Montaigne wrote on the wall (in Latin):
“In the year of Christ 1571, at the age of thirty-eight, on the last day of February, his birthday, Michael de Montaigne, long weary of the servitude of the court and of public employments, while still entire, retired to the bosom of the learned virgins, where in calm and freedom from all cares he will spend what little remains of his life, now more than half run out. If the fates permit, he will complete this abode, this sweet ancestral retreat; and he has consecrated it to his freedom, tranquility, and leisure.”
“In the year of Christ 1571, at the age of thirty-eight, on the last day of February, his birthday, Michael de Montaigne, long weary of the servitude of the court and of public employments, while still entire, retired to the bosom of the learned virgins, where in calm and freedom from all cares he will spend what little remains of his life, now more than half run out. If the fates permit, he will complete this abode, this sweet ancestral retreat; and he has consecrated it to his freedom, tranquility, and leisure.”
Wittgenstein says somewhere that nothing is so
difficult as not deceiving oneself. Maybe I walked into this trap, when I wrote
at the end of my last blog that “although my body may fail the mind still is as
fresh as since I was a child” (but then Schopenhauer walked into the same trap
as well). It’s true that I added to this statement “or so I think”. Moreover,
since I was talking about a feeling, I couldn’t be wrong. For although a
feeling may not be the right one at a certain place or in certain
circumstances, it cannot be false. One has a feeling, whether one wants to have
it or whether one doesn’t want to have it. In the latter case one can be
ashamed about it.
Nevertheless, maybe Montaigne was more to the point
when he wrote in the essay “Of age” that the mind does deteriorate, whether one
thinks so or whether one doesn’t think so. And he adds “by how much the more it
is a disease of no great pain to the sufferer, and of obscure symptoms, so much
greater is the danger”. In other words, often you don’t notice it, and then
it’s a dangerous phenomenon, like a hidden disease. When one becomes older “[v]ivacity,
promptitude, steadiness, and other pieces of us … languish and decay”, so
Montaigne. “Anyhow”, I would say. “Sometimes the body first submits to age,
sometimes the mind”, Montaigne rightly states, and in the end it is this
process that will make that one doesn’t feel young in the mind anymore and that
the mental feelings adapt to the condition of the body.
Until fifty or forty years ago or so most sportsmen
stopped being active when they were about thirty years old. The idea was not
only that above this age the body was not fit enough for top sport any longer,
but also that sport was something for the young and that after this age it was
time to build up a career. Sport and career couldn’t go together and sport at a
later age was “not done” in a certain sense. In case one did continue doing
sport (and in fact, there were still a lot of people who did, although not as
many as today), doing sport was something that you had to take not too serious
or not serious at all.
How much has changed since then. Sport has not only
become an important part of the lives of older people, sport at a later age is
also stimulated, and no longer it is seen as an activity that is actually not
to be taken seriously and that doesn’t fit with a career. Not only has it
become clear that sport at a top level can be done past the age of thirty as
well, but also how fanatic older sportsmen can be! As if they were twenty years
old. And is there something wrong with it? Is there something wrong with
feeling younger than you are? Sometimes and maybe often it is. But as often it
isn’t. And then, although the body languishes and decays, there is nothing
against doing as if the mind doesn’t, even if you are deceiving yourself (or so
I think).
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