Some years ago, a friend of mine went to work in Afghanistan as a midwife, taking her new husband and even newer baby with her. My admiration was matched only by my unease. Her moving and impressive dispatches failed to diminish my disquiet, which only grew as “security” forces hovered and neighbours were murdered.My friend is what Larissa MacFarquhar would call a “do-gooder”, alert to the ubiquity of human need and responding with severe moral sacrifice. Their outlook on life discomfits us. As MacFarquhar says several times, for do-gooders, it’s always wartime, a relentless fight for right that demands everything of us. They are a reproach, a tacit judgement on our moral parochialism. Do-gooders are not easy company.MacFarquhar adopts this slightly unorthodo