Doing the right thing

Do you draw a distinction between doing the right thing because you want to and because you feel you ought to?

You might give a coworker a lift to their home, somewhat out of your way[1] because:

(a) You're happy to spend that time with them
(b) You want them to get home easily
(c) You feel you should, and want to because someone else may have to help you similarly, but actually think "agh, why today?"

[1] Purely hypothetical example.

In some sense they are the same, because your total satisfaction in doing it must be positive, or you wouldn't be doing it. But motivation feels like it matters.

Can you even define the difference? For instance, would you just make the problem go away if you could? Yes, in case (c). But why not in (a) and (b) -- you'd want to help, wouldn't you? Or assume your ethics seek to maximise happiness. Do (a) and (b) increase happiness in you both, and (c) in her only?[2]

[2] Where happiness is defined as genuine happiness, and your satisfaction at making happiness in others (possibly because you want them to behave similarly from similar logic, or out of gratitude, or just because you maximise hapiness) doesn't count, but is some sort of second order happiness.

And, habit will eventually convert you into a or b more often.

What fictional characters define this? Deep Wizardry (Diane Duane) makes a point of a truly willing sacrifice working better than someone who feels they ought to. But doesn't define it for us.

Carrot Ironfounderson probably genuinely enjoys helping people. Vimes I think is more I have to do this or I'm as bad as he is. Carrot seems a whole lot more happy about it. But is someone like that a better person? Does that question have meaning?

Hornblower in the West Indies

Hornblower in the West Indies disturbs me for some reason. Partly it's the anticlimax; after Hornblower's sailed about the seven seas defeating most of the navies and armies of europe singlehandedly peace, however desirable to experience, isn't as exciting.

I've always felt tremendous empathy for Hornblower. He constantly forces himself to do and be what's necessary, while being rather shy himself. He's supposedly curbing his naturally gregarious (or unconfident?) nature, yet all the instances related of his talking to his subordinates are where he does end up snapping at them.

In Lord Hornblower, Freeman talks back to him, politely, and he just doesn't handle it. And more so in West Indies. He has his friend his clerk suggest an idea to his captain, who he doesn't really get on with, so he can give him credit in the dispatches to make up for some bad luck. I understand sort of how it could come about, but it seems too like laughing at him behind his back.

And for some reason, I don't know why, I never warmed to Spendlove; I feel sure I'm supposed to, I just didn't.

And he's horribly patronising to his wife when she talks about the navy. How can he love her, and think she's so intellegent, without listening? ETA: But the bit where she asks him for money isn't a problem like I'd remembered. He's a bit shocked at the amount, but does trust her without more than a moment's hesitation.

I would put it down to being late; The Crisis, whilst I enjoyed it more, was somewhat morbid. But yet, the intervening book, Hotspur was just about the most rollicking and Horbloweriest of them all.