There Is No Soul

While a score of angels
danced a galliard
    on the head of a pin
Frederick II of Prussia,
  priding himself on
     intelligent pragmatism,
indulged in experimentation;
  the progenitor of a 
     brave new creed --
science became a prerogative
  of state.
He ordered a man to be
     sealed in a jar -- somewhat
like a thousand-year-old egg,
though he knew he wouldn't
have to wait the millennium
                 for ripeness.

Unsealing the jar after the
  appropriate deathtime,
       he gazed in fond wonder
at the remains, and scrubbing
  around in there, daintily
       picked at the bones.
Nowhere, he exulted, was there
  sign of the ineffable! Not
       to be seen was that
                   ephemeral thing
  known as the soul and he
scribbled in his neat script
                   'There is no soul!'
Much predating Nietzsche, who
  would later paraphrase him.
The angels whirled and laughed
  in their dancing madness.