Power, Faith, and Fantasy argues that America's entanglement with the Middle East did not begin with oil. It begins in 1776. American sailors were fighting Barbary pirates in North Africa within a decade of independence. American missionaries were building universities in Beirut and Cairo before the Civil War. Civil War veterans were training Egyptian armies in the 1870s. American doctors were treating Saudi kings in the 1920s. To understand this highly consequential relationship, we need to go back to the beginning.
Michael B. Oren, a historian and former Israeli ambassador to the United States, organizes his history of American failure in the Middle East as the result of a pattern of military overreach, evangelical naivety, and romantic fantasy. But by framing American engagement as a long pattern of failure and delusion, Oren misses a more interesting story of mutual influence, unrealized potential, and unintended consequences.
When this book was published, Mearsheimer and Walt had recently released their influential paper on the Israel Lobby, which argued that America's deep entanglement in the Middle East, and its unconditional support for Israel, was a modern anomaly produced by organized domestic political pressure, often working against American strategic interests. Oren's book is, among other things, a rebuttal. By tracing American involvement back to 1776, he is making the implicit case that this entanglement is not a 20th-century distortion but something older than the Constitution itself. On the historical facts, he's largely right. Whether that history explains Washington's current posture toward Israel is a different question entirely, and one he doesn't ask.
The book's opening section, covering the Barbary Wars, is its strongest. These are America's first international conflicts after independence, rarely examined in history class, and Oren reconstructs them with genuine energy. The new republic, stripped of British naval protection the moment it declared independence, suddenly found its merchant ships vulnerable to corsair raids from Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli, and Morocco. Between 1785 and 1793 alone, Algiers seized thirteen American vessels and held over a hundred sailors for ransom.
What Oren captures well is how this crisis forced a constitutional reckoning. Jeffersonian Republicans, suspicious of standing armies and navies as instruments of tyranny, initially argued that if Mediterranean trade required a navy, perhaps America should simply withdraw. But the Mediterranean trade accounted for nearly 15% of all United States exports. Losing access to it threatened not just wealthy merchants but the livelihoods of workers and farmers far removed from the sea. The Federalists countered that a nation without a navy was a nation without sovereignty.
To convince an isolationist, agrarian republic to fund an expensive navy, Federalist printers and pamphleteers published lurid accounts of American sailors enslaved in Algiers and Tripoli. Captivity narratives were ghostwritten by Federalist printers working from soldiers' letters, emphasizing the horror of being chained, beaten, stripped of their liberty, and forced into hard labor. The sensationalist press campaign shifted public opinion, the Naval Act of 1794 passed, and the first frigates of the U.S. Navy were built.
What the mercantile, federalist elites did not anticipate was the weapon they had handed to the abolitionist movement. Early abolitionists immediately seized on the hypocrisy the captivity narratives exposed. Leaders like Benjamin Franklin would ask: how could a nation express such righteous fury over a few hundred sailors enslaved abroad while holding hundreds of thousands of human beings in brutal, hereditary chattel slavery at home? By elevating liberty to mobilize opinion against Muslim corsairs, American elites inadvertently energized the abolitionist movement which would succeed in abolishing the slave trade in the early 1800s.
There are two places where Oren overreaches. The first is his attempt to draw a straight line from Barbary corsairs to modern Islamic terrorism, a connection that is historically thin and shaped by the post-9/11 moment in which the book was written. The second is a more persistent issue; throughout the book Arab and North African peoples are characterized as barbarians and slavers, defined by discord and hypocrisy. Whether this reproduces the bias of Oren's sources or reflects his own, the effect is the same.
The history here is considerably more complex than Oren's narrative. The "Barbary pirates" were not a monolithic Muslim force: in the 1600s, hundreds of English and Dutch captains brought advanced European sailing technology to North Africa and led corsair fleets. Many "turned Turk," but they were European by birth and training. The most vivid example is Jan Janszoon, a Dutch privateer who took the name Murat Reis and was elected Grand Admiral (President) of the independent pirate republic of Salé in Morocco. His fleet of pirates would raid for slaves as far away as Ireland and Iceland. The Barbary States maintained formal registries of captives, issued safe-passage documents to nations that paid tribute, and negotiated ransoms through established diplomatic channels. This was a multi-ethnic, bureaucratic protection racket.
Still, the book fails to explain how a young United States could take on the established navies of North Africa. What's missing here is the backstory of American colonies which had once been the maritime heart of the British Empire's shipbuilding sector, blessed with old-growth timber that few nations could match. By the Revolution, one-third of all ships in the British merchant fleet were American-built. When the U.S. broke away, it retained this industrial capacity and skilled workforce. The result was a class of heavy frigates built from ultra-dense oak, fitted with long 24-pound guns, and capable of overpowering any corsair in open ocean combat. However, despite that strength, this was not a war fought in the deep Atlantic. The Barbary corsairs operated in the shallow, reef-choked coastal waters of North Africa. The American super-frigates had deep drafts and could not safely chase the agile, shallow-draft Barbary xebecs into the reefs without running aground. The USS Philadelphia did exactly that while blockading Tripoli, and its 307-man crew was enslaved.
With no bases or supply chains in the region, the US navy survived logistically through an alliance with the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. The march on Derna tells a similar story. William Eaton's plan was reckless by any measure. He would build a private army in Egypt, march it across the North African desert, overthrow the ruling Pasha, and install the Pasha's exiled older brother, Hamet Karamanli, as a US-friendly replacement. He only had eight American marines. The other five hundred soldiers that followed him were mercenaries motivated by the prospect of gold and plunder. Oren views this campaign as America's first experiment with regime change abroad. Running out of food and water in the desert, mutiny was barely avoided. The starving army that arrived outside Derna in April 1805 took the city in a battle that would be immortalized in the Marine Corps Hymn "to the shores of Tripoli." Yet, the Americans never reached Tripoli. American diplomats in Tripoli negotiated a separate peace treaty with the Pasha that paid a ransom for the Philadelphia's crew and abandoned Hamet Karamanli entirely. The war ended not with victory but with continued tribute payments and an ally abandoned to face the Pasha's revenge.
The entire justification for building the navy and waging war was that paying tribute was too expensive and too degrading for a sovereign republic. However, Oren doesn't let us know that when the final accounts were tallied, the United States had spent considerably more on the war than it would ever have paid in tribute to keep its ships sailing safely.
Reading Oren's account of the Barbary Wars, a question forms that the book never addresses: if the Barbary States were so dangerous and so disruptive to Mediterranean trade, why did Britain, with nearly 800 warships, pay tribute for centuries?
For Britain and France, paying the Barbary tribute was not humiliating. It was a competitive weapon. Both empires could absorb the protection payments and understood what those payments accomplished: any nation that could not afford tribute had its shipping raided, its insurance rates driven up, and its merchants priced out of Mediterranean trade. Denmark, Sweden, the Italian States, and the newly independent United States were all targets of a system that preserved Anglo-French commercial dominance. When the Barbary States attacked the young United States' shipping, they were encouraged by British leaders resentful of the newly independent nation. American merchants had sailed these waters freely under British protection for generations and experienced their sudden vulnerability as an affront to their dignity as citizens of a sovereign republic. That wounded sense of entitlement, rather than any rational cost-benefit calculation, is what drove the United States to fight rather than pay. However, once the US fought the Barbary States, the other powers couldn't tolerate paying either. This is what led Britain and the Netherlands to launch the Anglo-Dutch Bombardment of Algiers in 1816, framing it as a humanitarian crusade to end Christian slavery. Those same justifications would drive France's invasion and colonization of Algeria in 1830.
With American trade in the Mediterranean secured in the Barbary Wars, the primary theme of America's relationship with the Middle East shifted from "Power" to "Faith" for a century. Following the Second Great Awakening, waves of American Protestant missionaries arrived in Istanbul, Beirut, Jerusalem, and Cairo, convinced that communities would convert eagerly when presented with pure American Protestantism. They didn't realize that converting a Muslim from Islam carried the death penalty under Ottoman law or that Eastern Christians fiercely resented the implication that their centuries-old traditions were defective. After decades of effort, American missionaries achieved virtually no conversions in the Middle East.
To stay in the region, the missionaries pivoted to providing education, medicine, and the first modern printing presses. They established the Syrian Protestant College in Beirut in 1866 (later the American University of Beirut), Robert College in Istanbul, and the American University in Cairo. These schools offered instruction in modern sciences, mathematics, English, and Western administrative methods. The Americans failed completely to create a Protestant Middle East, but in the process they built the intellectual infrastructure for an Arab cultural renaissance. And by educating a generation of local elites in Western concepts of self-determination and nationalism, American missionaries sowed the seeds for the eventual end of Ottoman rule.
When the Civil War ended in 1865, thousands of trained officers, engineers, and combat veterans were suddenly unemployed, bored, or political liabilities in their own country. Khedive Ismail, the ruler of Egypt, wanted to build a world-class army to break from Ottoman control and project Egyptian power into Sudan and Ethiopia. He needed military experts from a country with no colonial ambitions in Africa. With the quiet approval of General William T. Sherman, Egypt would recruit many American officers between 1869 and 1878 to build the Egyptian Military Academy. These institutions would be instrumental in fostering the 1919 revolution against British rule and would educate Nasser, Sadat, and the other leaders of 20th century Arab Nationalism.
Oren follows one consequential thread from this missionary history through to World War One: the deep sympathy missionaries developed for Christian minorities. Over a century, American missionary networks built a genuine constituency in America for the political cause of Christian secessionism from Ottoman rule: funding separatist movements, documenting repression, and lobbying Washington on behalf of Balkan and Anatolian minorities. When the Ottoman Empire, threatened with dismemberment by European powers during WWI, responded with genocide against Armenian Christians, it was American missionaries who brought the scale of the atrocity to an American public that might otherwise never have known. American charities raised tens of millions of dollars for survivors.
At Versailles, the Western powers proposed an American Mandate for Armenia: making the United States legally and militarily responsible for occupying and defending an Armenian state in Anatolia against both the Turkish nationalist movement and an expansionist Soviet Union, requiring an estimated 50,000 to 100,000 troops indefinitely. Oren's account of this episode is one of the book's most valuable contributions, because it reframes a familiar historical moment entirely. The standard narrative has it that a cynical Senate rejected Wilson's League of Nations, plunging America into isolationism, leaving a weakened League unable to prevent the catastrophe of World War Two. But the senators who voted against the League were also voting on whether to commit American troops to indefinite occupation of Anatolia. The American public that had funded Near East Relief (charity for the suffering Armenian Christians) drew a clear line between wanting to protect religious minorities and fighting never-ending wars. Oren misses the irony here: the missionary networks that had spent a century advocating for Armenian and Greek self-determination had helped fracture a diverse empire, but were unwilling to fight to defend them from the violent consequences.
After the war, the Spanish Flu spread across the globe, reaching the Arabian Peninsula and killing one of Ibn Saud's favorite sons. Help came from American doctors who had been building a quiet presence in the Middle East for years. Dr. Paul Harrison, a Johns Hopkins-trained surgeon, treated hundreds of members of the royal family and ordinary citizens. In 1923, Dr. Louis Dame treated Ibn Saud himself for a serious illness. That care left a deep personal gratitude. Years later, when Ibn Saud considered who should explore and develop Arabia's oil reserves, he chose America. The ARAMCO concession and the US-Saudi alliance that followed were built on a mix of anti-colonial goodwill and the trust earned by doctors. Oren records this story, but doesn't highlight the theme that soft power built America's most consequential alliance in the modern Middle East.
The book's third section examines the orientalist fantasy: the vision of the Middle East as a land of biblical grandeur corrupted by backwardness, populated by peoples incapable of self-governance, filtered through travel writing, diplomacy, and popular culture from The Sheik to Lawrence of Arabia. This is the book's least compelling section, not because the subject is unimportant but because Edward Said and others have covered Orientalism more rigorously.
More damaging is a structural absence throughout the book: we almost never hear from Arab, Turkish, or Persian voices. Local populations appear as objects of observation. What did Ottoman officials make of the American missionaries? What did Egyptian students think of their American teachers? What did Ibn Saud's doctors mean to the people they treated, beyond the political alliance they later enabled? The book that could answer these questions would be far richer than the one Oren wrote.
The book's single biggest omission is Iran. Oren neglects the story of Howard Baskerville, an American teacher in Tabriz who died fighting for the Iranian Constitutional Revolution in 1909, a story that would have fit his themes perfectly. Leaving it out is an editorial choice that guides the reader away from the possibilities for cooperation, peace, and mutual admiration between America and the Middle East. America squandered immeasurable goodwill in Iran when it overthrew Mosaddegh, and covering this early history would have helped establish what was lost.
On the creation of Israel and the events after 1948, Oren's pro-Israel bias becomes more visible and his account less reliable. Readers should treat this last section of the book with particular caution. I found significant factual errors and mischaracterizations in his narrative of the Nakba and Israel-Arab conflicts.
Power, Faith, and Fantasy is a book worth reading. Oren convincingly demonstrates that America's relationship with the Middle East is older and deeper than most Americans understand. But read it with your own questions ready, because the most interesting history lies beneath the surface of the narrative Oren chose to tell.