A Philosopher's Vision of Fundamentalism By EDWARD ROTHSTEIN "They believe in human dignity across the nations, and they live

their creed," Kwame Anthony Appiah writes in his elegantly provocative new book, "Cosmopolitanism: Ethics in a World of Strangers" (W. W. Norton). "They share these ideals with people in many countries," he continues. Moreover, they are "thoroughgoing globalists" who resist both "the crass consumerism of modern Western society" and the "narrow nationalisms of the countries where they were born." Who are they, these transnational idealists with their utopian visions? Before identifying them, Mr. Appiah, a philosopher at Princeton University, almost teases us into admiration of their goals. In fact, with his meditative, conversational prose, he has already mounted a defense of similar universalist ambitions. But these particular idealists, he says, are actually "young, global Muslim fundamentalists; they are the recruiting grounds for Al Qaeda." At first, we are shocked, brought up short. The description was so seductive, the virtue so plain. But that is one of Mr. Appiah's points. The fundamentalists' ambition is also a form of universalism, and it is profoundly believed. They too have their vision of human dignity, their grand plans, their notion of utopian possibilities. And like other utopians, they "resist the call of all local allegiances, all traditional loyalties, even to family." How then are these universalists any different from those in the West who might use political rather than religious concepts, substitute notions of reason for sharia, and affirm individual liberties rather than a communal ummah? Who is to say which universalist ideal is superior, and why? Those questions reflect a great relativist temptation that has been much indulged in recent years, but Mr. Appiah will have none of it. In fact, one of the goals of this short but pungent book is to try to describe a more ethical form of universalism that would not resemble any imagined by a fundamentalist. He calls it "cosmopolitanism." The word cosmopolitan, he points out, dates back to the Greek Cynics of the fourth century B.C. and means a "citizen of the cosmos" - someone who transcends the restrictive loyalties of a citizen to a particular polis, or city-state. The concept was also heralded by the philosophers of the European Enlightenment who attempted to define the "universal rights of man"; in 1788, Christoph Martin Wieland wrote that cosmopolitans "regard all the peoples of the earth as so many branches of a single family." The concept fell on hard times during the 20th century - cosmopolitanism was a code word used by both Hitler and Stalin as a slur against the Jews, who were seen as rootless aliens. But Mr. Appiah believes it is due for a revival, particularly at a time when cultures confront one another in battles over matters ranging from ownership of historical artifacts to acts of terror. Mr. Appiah also argues that cosmopolitanism is far different from the universalism of Islamic fundamentalism, which he calls a "malign universalism." In fact, universalism, he suggests, has often led into dark and unsavory realms, even in the Age of Enlightenment: he cites Edmund Burke's chastisement of Rousseau, for example, whose five children were summarily tossed into orphanages: "A lover of his kind, but a hater of his kindred." There are dangers in universalism and dangers too in its sweeping claims, perhaps as many as there are in the kind of narrow allegiance to kith and kin that Mr. Appiah also criticizes. We are always "partial to those closest to us," he notes, loyal to connections of nation, clan, family. These impulses pull inward, denying any universalism other than an expansion of our own vision. They may be supplemented, he suggests, but they cannot be ignored. So we are all caught in our distinct worlds of belief and allegiance. Moreover, if it is so difficult to come to agreement on principles with those who see the world as we do, how much more so is it to find common ground with those of an alien culture? "Nothing guarantees that we

will be able to persuade everyone else of our views," Mr. Appiah writes. "This is a constraint that cosmopolitans, like everyone else, must accept." But how, then, is a larger perspective possible that does not deny the particular? And how does universalism avoid malignancy? Mr. Appiah's exploration of a middle course seems directly connected to the experience of his own educated family in Ghana, which provides a model of the cosmopolitanism he seeks. His English mother and his African father, who was a leader of the independence movement in the Gold Coast, offered a storehouse of cultural interactions. There is his Auntie Grace, a Christian, who married a Lebanese Muslim and became a consummate cook of cross-cultural virtuosity. There is his family's intriguing mixture of premodern beliefs and scientific rationalism: his sister once sacrificed a white ram to protect the family from evil witchcraft. There are the tribal differences and international bustle of the city, Kumasi, where "scores of languages of Ghana" were heard along with a global sampling of tongues and tastes. And that was a form of cosmopolitanism, in Mr. Appiah's view. It develops out of immersion and contact. It does not require agreement; it expects disagreement. It is messy and unpredictable. Some allegiances are stronger than others; some require support. Cosmopolitanism is also more a matter of temperament than of principle. The model Mr. Appiah invokes is conversation - conversation in which multiple perspectives take one another into account. Mr. Appiah is so sure-footed and gracious in his explorations that one feels engaged, hopeful, advocating his cosmopolitan ambitions. Mr. Appiah also personally reflects his own ideal. But one worries over the complications. For while Mr. Appiah celebrates this miscegenation of belief and perspective, he does not mean to offer a relativistic shrug. There are distinctions to be made. The scientific world-view, Mr. Appiah notes, is more successful in describing the world than witchcraft. It has a superior claim, at least in certain matters. There are also important distinctions to be made between the "malign universalism" of Islamic fundamentalism and the "benign universalism" of cosmopolitanism. The first permits no difference or dissent. It is monochromatic, fundamentally intolerant. And that is its malignity. "There are limits to cosmopolitan tolerance," Mr. Appiah points out: it cannot abide intolerance. But how then is that confrontation between fundamentalism and cosmopolitanism to be dealt with? Each opposes the universalist ambitions of the other. And it is of some importance who succeeds in convincing whom, and what kinds of arguments can be used. The cosmopolitan may, finally, have limited options: in some confrontations, even conversation comes to a stop. New York Times January 9, 2006 Connections http://www.nytimes.com/2006/01/09/arts/09conn.html?pagewanted=print