There’s an old Buddhist story about a doctor. He worked in the middle of a war that went on and on. All the wounded he treated went right back to the front lines to be injured all over again, or killed. And this doctor couldn’t see the point in it any more. No matter what he did, a lot of good people died. And he didn’t know what to do about it. He tried withdrawing from the world, but that didn’t make it any better. He tried to be cynical and heartless, but despite his best efforts at giving up hope he couldn’t quite manage it completely. He even tried to take control of the people around him, and manipulate them into changing things, but no matter what he did he could never control things enough to change everything that needed changing. So this doctor started looking for enlightenment. He went on a long journey, and he met many people and did many things. I won’t bore you with the details of everything he found on the way. But eventually, after many years, there came a moment when he finally understood. And then he knew he had to put into practice what he’d learnt. And he went back to the front lines, to tend to the wounded and heal the sick. Of course it didn’t make any more sense than it did before, he didn’t have any more control over the world than he’d ever had, but that wouldn’t stop him from holding back death whenever he could. It’s what Doctors do.