I’m addicted to history. I can’t get enough of it. In my studies of the past, one thing that I find endlessly fascinating is the effect individuals have on the course of history. Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King. What would our world (and even our individual lives) be like today had these men not lived and/or had not done what they did?

I’m not sure that I can put T. E. Lawrence on the same scale as a Caesar or Lincoln, but nevertheless his life is one of those that just erupts into history and achieves what would seem to be the impossible, leaving an earthquake of an impact on the past, the aftershocks of which still reverberate in the present. The film Lawrence Of Arabia emphasizes this power of the individual; but while extolling Lawrence’s amazing achievements, the movie also stresses the vulnerability and pain that an individual faces—especially an individual whose talents and successes have elevated him to the realm of mythology where his slightest mistakes and weaknesses are magnified ten-fold.

As soon as the film starts, it is clear that Lawrence is unique. He rides his motorcycle with surety and abandon (to his unfortunate demise). He possesses skills that others in the British Army lack, namely an understanding of Middle Eastern culture and military strategy. He is a misfit—not truly at home with his British comrades, but clearly not Middle Eastern with his fair skin and piercing blue eyes. Yet Lawrence himself seems aware of his calling in life. He knows where he needs to be: in the desert, inspiring the Arab tribes to unite to defeat their Turkish oppressors. Nothing can hinder him from achieving his dream for the Arabs.

Much of the first half of the film lauds Lawrence’s success in the desert. He earns the trust of Prince Feisal and elevates himself in the eyes of the Arab warriors whose company he keeps through learning to dress like them, ride camels like they do, and endure the trials of the scorching desert with them. He even risks his life to return to the most merciless part of the desert, the “Sun’s Anvil,” to rescue Gasim who is left behind when he succumbs to the heat. Lawrence also masterfully persuades the fickle and violent Auda and his forces to join him and Sherif Ali in their surprise attack on the Turkish-held port of Aqaba. The film shows how this Englishman has pretty much singlehandedly inspired and organized a seemingly unstoppable Arab army.

The defeat of Aqaba is perhaps Lawrence’s greatest triumph, having survived the desert and begun to unify the bickering Arab tribes. However, just before this great victory, Lawrence executes Gasim, the very man he had risked his life to save, after Gasim murders one of Auda’s men as part of a blood feud. Lawrence’s inserting himself into Arab issues isn’t new, but his propping himself up as executor of justice and executioner is. Additionally, Lawrence shoots Gasim multiple times, certainly more than is necessary to achieve his death. Later in Cairo, Lawrence confesses that a part of him enjoyed the killing. At this point in the film, the emphasis on the power of the individual is disturbing, to say the least. Lawrence takes life as easily as he saves it, and both enemies and friends fall under his command.

Lawrence executes his own justice.

Though it can be argued that Gasim, a murderer, deserved to die, several other deaths in the film are just as or even more disturbing since Lawrence is either responsible for them or is their initiator. (Spoiler alert!) When one of his young servants, Daud, falls into a sinkhole while crossing the Sinai Peninsula with Lawrence and the other servant boy, Ferraj, Lawrence’s effort to save Daud seems weak and halfhearted. Likewise, when Ferraj is wounded in a botched detonation to destroy a Turkish train, Lawrence shoots him in the head supposedly to prevent his being captured and tortured by the Turks, a fate which the Arabs say is worse than death.

However, Lawrence himself is captured and tortured by the Turks later in the film, and he survives. Although he is changed by the horrifying ordeal, I wonder if he would have preferred for someone to have shot him in the head to prevent his pain. In other words, is Lawrence inconsistent in his administration of justice and mercy? He definitely allows his personal pain to influence his decision-making. When he and his Arab fighters come across bedraggled and fleeing Turkish troops, Lawrence deliberates briefly but then orders their annihilation in a bloodbath in which he gleefully (and somewhat insanely) participates.

Lawrence leading his troops into battle.

In each of these instances, we see the influence of the individual in history—the power of one man to change minds, inspire action, and accomplish the seemingly impossible. At the same time, the film shows how the inner conflict of one person can also affect history. Lawrence, unsure how to deal with the discomfort of being an outsider and scarred by his treatment at the hands of his enemies, lashes out against both those for whom he cares and those whom he despises, leaving a trail of death and destruction behind him even as he tramples the enemies who block his path to Damascus and a united Arab Middle East.

What happens when Lawrence and his Arab cohorts occupy Damascus really sums up what we often see with great individuals whose actions help shape the course of history. Although his achievements draw the world’s awe and admiration, Lawrence ultimately fails in what he wants to do. Unable to set aside their petty differences and age-old rivalries, the leaders of the Arab tribes nearly come to arms in the very venue in which Lawrence intends for them to declare their freedom and begin their new world. Lawrence might be a great leader of men, but he is flawed—just as are his Arab friends. His own personal conflict is magnified due to his Cyclopean image. Small errors become large ones, and Lawrence finds himself alone in the hall and without his dream.

For Me Then…

“The trick…is not minding that it hurts.”

At the beginning of the film, Lawrence shows off to some fellow British soldiers as he puts out a burning match with his fingers. In response to one of his fellow’s protests that such an action is painful, Lawrence replies, “The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts.” To the contrary, though, the film clearly shows that Lawrence is frequently hurt and does “mind it.” While performing his nearly immortal tasks, Lawrence suffers physical pain and discomfort, along with the mental anguish of regret, the memories of trauma, and the unending search for who he is. In large part, this quest for identity inspires Lawrence’s actions and, thus, also his greatness; but in the end it leaves him lonely and reckless. Those at his grand funeral sing his praises, but obviously know nothing about the man behind the legend. History places Lawrence of Arabia on a pedestal; but as the film shows us, sometimes an individual who seems the least affected by the world’s madness could actually be simply trying to escape his/her own world of hurt.