Once upon a time, there was a rich man who lived in a great house. Every morning for a long time, there was a bird singing beautifully in a tree outside his bedroom window. He woke to the bird’s song, and it was lovely. It gave him hope.

One morning, he noticed the bird’s song was weaker, and the next day it was weaker still. It was obviously unwell. So the rich man decided he had to help the bird; after all, he had become very attached to the creature, and he was very rich and powerful. He knew what was best. He ordered his servants to carefully capture the bird, bring it inside in a cage, and nurse it back to health. Specifically, he ordered that the bird be fed the best meat, and served his best wine. In a few days, the bird was dead.

What does this, paraphrased from the writings of Chuang Tzu, tell us? Maybe that we should avoid the temptation to see the world as an extension of human existence; that we are pilgrims in a strange land. Maybe that action and inaction are the same. Or maybe this:

We are many, and we are one; we are one, and we are different.

Ah yes, I like that. Now what does that teach us about moral action in this world at war?