Is trial rhetoric, with its shadings, deliberate obfuscations, and outright deceptions, directly justified and limited by the same moral considerations which control important private conversations, where the same devices may sometimes be appropriate? Is a trial like any other dialogue that can be called moral? Or does such speech find its justification and limitations solely in its purely instrumental relation to the preservation of ordinary moral values—justice or respect for rights—as does killing in warfare? Is a trial lawyer's talking like a soldier's killing? But this cannot be right. Surely a lawyer's speech can contribute to a loss of life, liberty, or property, but dialogue, as the specifically moral medium of human relations, would seem intrinsically valuable, the preferred medium for things of public concern, the polar opposite of violence. Perhaps, then, the conversation which takes place in the courtroom is both controlled by internal, noninstrumental norms, as in the first view, and discontinuous with ordinary moral conversations, as in the second: a form of distinctively political argument, intrinsically valuable, not subject to ordinary moral stric-tures, a realm apart.

It is easy to be depressed about the state of law these days. As the voters have become increasingly fearful and hateful, legislators and judges have made our law less generous and honorable. The death penalty has been reintroduced and corners have been cut in procedural protections to speed it along. The honorable basis of the exclusionary rule—the unwillingness of judges to countenance wrong-doing—has been abandoned. Legal aid for the poor has been cut back. The steam has gone out of civil rights enforcement. There no longer seems to be a vision among lawyers that law can be a source of nourishment for society. The positivist vision of law—the will of the strong—dominates legal thinking. Even the liberals, “burnt-out” and cynical in the light of legal realism, do not think of law as special.

Saul, a Jew, later called Paul, was born in the predominately Greek city of Tarsus located in Asia Minor. The Greek Jew was a zealous Pharisee and a contemporary of Jesus although he had not seen him. One day in approximately 35 A.D. he was traveling to Damascus to arrest Christians who were to be punished (persecuted). On the road to Damascus he was met by Christ, who asked him: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? And he (Paul) said, ‘Who are you Lord?’ And he said, ‘I am Jesus whom you are persecuting …’” (Acts 9:4-5). Paul fell into a coma and lost his sight which was restored three days later by Christ's agent. He was utterly convinced and never doubted that he had been authorized by Christ to be an apostle.

The most important facts that should never be lost sight of are, first, that Paul's experience on the road to Damascus was so dramatic, emotional, and intense that his consequent profound faith in Christ must supply the premise of any interpretation of his epistles. Second, quite different but also extremely important is the almost universal agreement that Paul was a genius. In sum, we are dealing with the discourse of a genius, a very emotional one, who had an overwhelming experience that made faith in Christ paramount in all aspects of his subsequent life.

There is a great deal of confusion in the West regarding the meaning of Jihad and the role it is playing in shaping the Muslim world. Indeed, it has acquired a pejorative connotation in the minds of many Westerners. The purpose of this discussion is to present an accurate understanding of the concept of Jihad.

Islam emerged in the seventh century in Arabia. It grew rapidly and in less than a hundred years established the early Islamic state—an empire stretching from Spain across North Africa, and from the Middle East to the borders of China. It was a state greater in size than the Roman Empire at its zenith.

The historical importance assigned to Islam has been controversially assessed. Some have denied that it is a significant world force, others have “grudgingly” recognized its importance while others have seen it as a pivotal event in world history. We take this latter view: Islam should be recognized as a major force of revolutionary change in the world order. Harold Berman, a contemporary commentator on law and revolution in the west, gives a list of six revolutions which changed the Western world. He provides a helpful list of patterns which emerged from those revolutions which he identifies as fundamental change, rapid change, violent change, lasting change, and change in the whole social system. Each revolution sought a legitimacy in fundamental law, a remote past, and an apocalyptic future. Each took more than one generation to establish its roots. Each eventually produced a new system of law which embodied some of the major purposes of the revolution and which changed the Western legal tradition, without destroying it. The appearance of Islam in the seventh century meets these criteria. Using Berman's framwork Islam can be viewed as truly revolutionary.