Ontological Angst

Lord David Muir, Scottish bard, storyteller, and evangelist visited the L'Abri manor house this past week. I told him that I taught Descartes in my classes--and the next day he told me he had written me a poem. Here it is:

“Ontological Angst” by Lord David Muir

I think; therefore I am, I think

But sometime I will cease to be

So then what happens to my thought?

A problem of ontology

I think but the content of my thought

It seems to matter not at all

And so I think, and so I live

And while I live, I have a ball

But while I live, Ah, there’s the rub

What thought comes beyond this coil

When others rise beyond this life

And I am left to be despoiled

Ontology then is not a cure

For all of life’s circumstance

I’ve heard there’s cure for all life’s ills

And he is called “Lord of the Dance.”