Methusalem was 969 years old when he died, his grandchild Noah got after all 950 years. What a noble age? Unbelievable, these ancestors! Either they have held back their secret on purpose or they didn’t know anything about the exceptionality of their age. Maybe they wanted to beware us from the boredom that got hold of them after all these years – nothing but working and procreating (Methusalem begets his first son at the age of 187 years) and this all over again for almost 1000 years. Nietzsche called it the eternal recurrence (die ewige Wiederkehr). Compared to this eternal repetition it could be more promising if the repetition concerns the next generation – a new generation lives what we already lived. And every new generation experiences as unique, what their mothers and fathers have already lived…
I am thinking, whether one can seriously call one’s child Methusalem? …Whether one will already see the old man in the three year old when he is carrying this name? A way out of the dilemma could be to call him (as a girls name Methusalem is really not suitable) Methi until he is ten and Methu until he is 20. And then it is maybe best to not call him at all until he is worthy his name. But what does this mean? …until he is a wise man? And what does this mean? Does it mean until he reaches the point where he can remember? As memory exists only once there is something to remember… It is called experience. And we say that at a certain age we have plenty of it. We talk a lot about experience and always in praise of it.
But whether we really want to remember is a different question. Remembering is often rather a burden. So maybe we don’t want to know anything from a Methusalem.