Shelf Life: The War for Islam.

Bernard Lewis is justly regarded as the world's premier living authority on the history of the Middle East and the Arab world; any further praise of his work, therefore, is superfluous. But not so fast: In his new book, The Crisis of Islam: Holy War and Unholy Terror (Modern Library, 184 pp., $19.95), Lewis meets, with his customary excellence, the particular needs of a new generation of readers. In the current confrontation between the U.S. and Islamist terrorists, the average educated citizen is confronted with competing explanations of the religion the killers claim to represent: Is Islam a "religion of peace," or is it an essentially terroristic creed?

Lewis is the man to ask, and in this book he provides a remarkably concise and compelling answer. "Most Muslims are not fundamentalists, and most fundamentalists are not terrorists," he writes, "but [a crucial 'but'] most present-day terrorists are Muslims and proudly identify themselves as such." In other words, the religion itself is not to be blamed for terrorism, but terrorism undeniably exists within Islam's boundaries and forces Islam to face an unpleasant yet ethically necessary choice. Lewis is frank on this point, both in his defense of Islam and in his denunciation of those who pervert it:

Islam as such is not an enemy of the West, and there are growing numbers of Muslims, both there and here, who desire nothing better than a closer and more friendly relationship with the West and the development of democratic institutions in their own countries. . . . At no point do the basic texts of Islam enjoin terrorism and murder. At no point -- as far as I am aware -- do they even consider the random slaughter of uninvolved bystanders. . . . [The 9/11 terrorism] has no justification in Islamic doctrine or law and no precedent in Islamic history. . . . These are not just crimes against humanity and against civilization; they are also acts -- from a Muslim point of view -- of blasphemy, when those who perpetrate such crimes claim to be doing so in the name of God.

But what about all those Muslims who were photographed dancing in the streets in celebration of the 9/11 atrocities? Lewis attributes their glee, at least in part, to the sin of envy -- which "sentiment," he points out, "was also widespread, in a more muted form, in Europe." In fact, in one of the book's most fascinating passages, Lewis outlines how certain strands of German philosophy contributed to the rise of Islamist anti-Americanism: "A negative view of America formed part of a school of thought, including writers as diverse as Rainer Maria Rilke, Oswald Spengler, Ernst Junger, and Martin Heidegger. In this perception, America was the ultimate example of civilization without culture; rich and comfortable, materially advanced but soulless and artificial; . . . technologically complex but without the spirituality and vitality of the rooted, human, national cultures of the Germans and other 'authentic' peoples." This philosophy became very popular among the Arab intelligentsia, and influenced, among other things, the formation of the Iraqi Ba'ath party. As recently as last year, Saddam Hussein gave a speech invoking (in Lewis's summary) "the theme of American artificiality and lack of a genuine nationality."

Thanks anyway, Saddam, but we have all the culture critics we need right here at home. Meanwhile, the U.S. is engaging in its own act of highly practical culture criticism abroad: The current war against Islamist terrorism is America's bid to strengthen the better angels of Islam's nature against the dark impulses that celebrate the murder of innocents.

Lewis provides an excellent brief summary for the non-specialist of how what was once "the leading civilization in the world" came to be seen by many as synonymous with all that is most sinister in the human heart. And he does so with an intellectual sensitivity that makes his book a source of remarkable insights, and a joy to read.

-- What is man, that you should be mindful of him? The psalmist addressed his question to God, but in our violent times the inquiry has a new urgency in the purely human sphere. Why is man's life sacred, and why is his freedom worthy of protection against the designs of other men? Political scientists Robert P. Kraynak and Glenn Tinder have edited a valuable collection of philosophical and religious reflections on these issues.

In Defense of Human Dignity: Essays for Our Times (Notre Dame, 252 pp., $27) is a rich book, featuring analyses of the thought of figures as diverse as Kant, Luther, Dostoevsky, and St. Paul. Among the highlights is the essay by Catholic University political scientist David Walsh, in which he defends the continuing viability of the liberal project often known as "rights talk." Walsh points out that even on the hottest of hot-button issues, the language of rights is not the problem, but quite possibly the solution. "What," Walsh asks, "is the most effective rhetorical means of opposition" to the policy of abortion-on-demand?

It does not lie in any broadly based moral appeal and especially not on the basis of religious first premises. Such proposals play precisely into the strategy of those who would castigate the prioritization of life as a matter of private or religious disposition and therefore of no relevance in the arena of public argument. No, the most compelling basis for opposing abortion is that of human rights. . . . To the extent that the most marginal members of the human species are cast aside, to the same extent does the specter of arbitrariness loom over the notion that any of us are entitled to inviolable dignity and respect. . . . Self-evidence of human rights can provide the public lingua franca [because it guards] the full measure of our sense of ourselves and of the mystery in which we exist.

Walsh offers an eloquent -- and heartening -- defense of the liberal order as "the closest [political] approximation of the Christian valuation of man."

-- For decades, conservatives have been wishing for their own counterpart to The New York Review of Books: a magazine that would be intelligent, literate, comprehensive, but, well . . . not quite so Bolshie? Such a journal now exists, and ought to be much more widely known. The quarterly Claremont Review of Books: A Journal of Political Thought and Statesmanship is an intellectual feast, offering -- under the editorship of distinguished political philosopher Charles R. Kesler -- provocative and well-written reviews of books on all aspects of public affairs. The Claremont Review's large, almost tabloid-sized pages remind one of the old American Spectator; its content gives the reader the thought of -- in just one recent issue -- Harry Jaffa, Angelo Codevilla, Peter Augustine Lawler, and a host of other conservative worthies. For lovers of conservatism, books, or both, this journal is a must. A one-year subscription costs $19.95; to subscribe, call [phone], or e-mail [e-mail].

-- Richard Pipes is a renowned anti-Communist historian perhaps best known for his monumental three-volume history of Russia; in his new book, The Degaev Affair: Terror and Treason in Tsarist Russia (Yale, 153 pp., $22.95), he shows himself equally adept as a miniaturist. Sergei Degaev (1857-1921) was a member of the People's Will -- a Russian anti-tsarist group that Pipes calls "the first organization in history dedicated to systematic political terrorism" -- and in 1883 participated in the assassination of Alexander III's security chief. Degaev's terrorist allies foreshadowed the political murderers of our own day -- not least in their cultivation of middle-class support, of a kind later generations would call "radical chic." But the chief fascination of this killer is his subsequent career: He fled to America, and under the assumed name of Alexander Pell became a beloved college math teacher at the University of South Dakota. His students, who knew nothing of his past, praised him for his kindness and school spirit. His story, with all its ironies and mysteries, is ably told by one of America's greatest scholars.