Once again, the United States is at war. Just as in the 1960s and 1970s, the battlefield is halfway around the globe in a third world country. The deployment of military force is again justified partly in terms of national interest, but also in terms of bringing modernity, freedom and prosperity to a people whose society can be described in terms such as “traditional,” “despotic,” “backward,” “undemocratic,” and/or “underdeveloped.” The exact meaning of the polar opposition signaled by the words “modern” and “traditional” is, like all politically charged terms, subject to debate and far from stable, but the polarity has figured importantly in international affairs ever since the end of World War II, and its salience was sharply heightened by the suicidal attack on New York's World Trade Center in September, 2001. That tragedy, together with the erratic bellicosity of the American response—directed not solely at the perpetrator, Al Quaeda, but also at Saddam Hussein's cruel dictatorship in Iraq—put modernization back in the headlines for the first time since 1975, when the United States pulled out of Vietnam in defeat. With the return of modernization comes the vexing problem of what to make of differences between “us” and “them.” What ethical obligations do scholars have in a world increasingly crowded with people who are eager to sacrifice lives—their own or others'—for the sake either of preserving tradition, or of hastening the triumph of modernity? Most pressing of all, given the potentially civilizational scale of the conflict, is another integrally related question: what does the future hold for ethnocentrism?